Past Forward- A Serial Novel: Volume 6

by Chautona Havig

  “Do you mean running or perhaps you mean ruining?”

  Laughing, Laird jogged down the rest of the stairs and began pulling coats from the library. “I suppose some people might think it’s ruining, but I don’t think you’d let it do that.”

  “I wouldn’t.” Willow thought about his comment as she watched Aggie and the others bundle up for their outing. “I don’t think it is at all. The farm is my life. It’s where I live and what I do. It’s part of me. Back when we were doing too much—then it ran my life. I just took it back again.”

  Aggie glanced up from a stuck zipper. “You sure you don’t want to butcher tomorrow?”

  Willow shook her head. “Chad should see a movie before I do anyway. I get motion sick sometimes—the camera spins.” She shuddered. “No thanks.”

  “Motion sick from a movie?”

  Willow nodded at Laird. “Eight Cousins. The room spun and spun until I thought I’d throw up. Then I did.” A collective “Eeeeewww” followed and Willow grimaced. “Sorry. Shouldn’t have mentioned that. I’ve felt queasy all morning as it is.”

  “Sure you don’t want me to stay?” Aggie’s hand rested on the door, having given up on the zipper altogether.

  “I’m sure.” She winked at Cari, erasing the child’s crestfallen face, and said, “Remind me to look at Ronnie’s jacket when you get back. I think it just needs some soap to smooth it.” A fresh wave of nausea washed over her.

  Just as the door closed behind Aggie and clan, Willow rushed for the bathroom, grateful that they had one downstairs now, and lost the contents of her stomach. Instantly, she felt hungry. “That just makes no sense.”

  Willow tried a piece of bread and it seemed to settle her stomach. She stared at her hands as if they would tell her if whatever made her sick would contaminate the meat. Unsure, she called Chad. “I’m sick.”

  “What kind of sick.”

  “Wondering if I should fix dinner or butcher chickens so I don’t infect all of us sick.”

  Chad groaned. “That’s not what we need with eleven extra people in the house.”

  “My thought exactly. Weird thing is, though, after I vomited, I was hungry. I just ate bread. I feel fine.”

  “Maybe something didn’t sit well with your stomach.”

  It made sense. She’d eaten leftovers of “spanoodlie,” whatever that was supposed to be, and no one else had. It hadn’t set well with her the first night they ate it either. “I think you’re right. I finished off the left over noodle stuff Aggie made when we ran out of stew for lunch. It bothered me the night she made it too.”

  “That’s probably it. You’re fine. Go wallow in chicken guts. Aren’t you worried about the kids getting grossed out, though?”

  “If they don’t’ like it, they don’t have to stand around and watch.” She grinned at the expression she knew Chad would make right about then. “However, since they’re probably pulling up to The Fox right about now, I doubt it’s an issue.”

  “Gonna see that shipwrecked movie, eh?”

  “That’s my guess. Laird and Tavish haven’t stopped talking about it since they heard it’s in town.” Willow washed her hands again. “Okay, I’m off to do ‘disgusting things to innocent birds,’ or whatever it is you say I do. See you when you get home. We’ll have roasted chicken for dinner.”

  Three hours later, Aggie arrived and found Willow asleep on the couch, the baby fussing upstairs, and the boys calling to her from their room. Before she could order silence, Ronnie screeched, “Aunt Willow! That movie was awesome!”

  Willow’s eyes flew open. “Wha—”

  “Patience, kindness, goodness…”

  Chad crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the craft room doorjamb. “What are you doing?”

  “I just realized that Kari doesn’t have anything suitable for Becca’s wedding. I thought I had some leftover velveteen from that skirt—”

  “I meant the mumbling—patience, kind—”

  Willow blushed. “Oh, I was just trying to add a bit of fruit to my diet.”

  “What?”

  A slow smile spread across her face. “I’m tired of feeling tired and queasy—that noodle stuff did a number on me—so I thought I’d work on adding fruit into my diet.”

  “Fruit?”

  “Fruits of the Spirit. ‘Love, joy, peace…’”

  “Got it.” Chad crossed the room and pulled down a pillowcase from the top shelf. “You put it in here so it wouldn’t get dusty. Remember?” As she took it from him, he tilted her head to gaze into her eyes. “Lass, you haven’t felt good for longer than the noodle stuff. You were tired and said your stomach was sour last week.”

  “Of course, I’m tired.” She glanced out the door before turning back to him. “I have extended house guests. I have to clean the bathrooms every day. I have to do four times the dishes. I have no place for those dishes so they clutter my counter. I have—”

  “Okay. Okay. I just thought it was a bit odd. No one else feels weird. Surely one of the kids would have come down with it by now.”

  “It’s not a virus. It can’t be. It’s just me not used to—” She peeked around the corner once more. “—different foods. It’s just that. I’m sure of it.”

  As if her paranoia for being overheard was contagious, Chad glanced out the door himself. “Aggie thinks there might be another cause. She didn’t want to mention it because—” He frowned at her. “Stop. She’s being nice.”

  Guilt flooded Willow’s face. “Sorry.”

  “Anyway,” Chad continued with another glance out the door, “she remembered what the doctor said after the boys were born so she didn’t want to say anything that might be painful, but…”

  “But what?” The brain fog that had accompanied her illness did little to help her decipher Chad’s ambiguity.

  “She thinks your symptoms sound like pregnancy rather than a virus.”

  Seconds ticked past as Willow digested his words. “Not likely though, right? Dr. Kline said—”

  “Right. Not likely. But not impossible either.”

  A flicker of hope blazed in her heart before she could extinguish it. As overwhelming as the idea of another baby in such close succession was, she couldn’t let herself “go there.” Her eyes met his, blinking back tears shaking her head. “Still doubt it. If it is, we’ll know sooner or later, but I can’t deal with thinking about that right now.”

  “It would be a bit much to deal with.” He frowned. “Is it horribly insensitive of me to hope she’s right?”

  Dread filled her heart. He’d be disappointed when no baby came of it. “Why hope that?”

  “Just knowing that you can conceive—that future children, if we ever wanted to go there, aren’t out of the question.”

  “Knowing that would mean we’re on four in three years. I’d say we’d have enough right there.”

  His next words nearly choked her. “I suppose. Still, it’d be something, wouldn’t it?”

  For several hours as she cut and basted the dress, tried to choke down dinner, and rested with eyes closed while Aggie took the children for a drive, Willow mulled his words. Did Chad mean that he wanted another child—and another after that? He wouldn’t want as many as Aggie had. Would he? Even Aggie had said she wouldn’t have planned to have eight, much less the ten she was now responsible for—or would be soon. “We’ll likely wait until Tavish on up are in college before we consider another pregnancy, but we wanted to have children together—to give Ian someone to play with too. But maybe then with only six at home, we’ll want to have another or two.” Aggie had leaned closer and whispered, “But I suspect we’ll be enjoying our uninterrupted sleep, lack of potty training accidents, and ability to do things that require longer attention spans by that point. I just don’t rule out possibilities, and Luke doesn’t panic that I’m over-extended. Win. Win.”

  What was with these men and their over-developed desire to procreate? Weren’t two adorable sons and a darling daught
er sufficient? Luke had all those nieces and nephews—and a son. Possibly a daughter. That thought sent her mind down new tracks. Lord, please let this be a girl. Maybe then he’ll feel complete.

  She couldn’t stop thinking about it and blamed Chad for her mind now being obsessed with other people’s reproductive plans. It’s none of my business. I have to remember that. It’s none of my business. As she put away her project, a new thought slapped her upside the head. But as for me, I don’t want to even think about a baby every year. I love my sons—my Kari. I just wasn’t ever prepared for this, Lord. I never planned on any of this. Give me the strength not to shut Chad out when he talks like this.

  All hope of remaining calm and rational disappeared when she stepped into her room and found a pregnancy test lying on her pillow.

  Aggie stood in the kitchen drinking coffee when Willow burst into the kitchen the next morning, Kari strapped to her chest and the boys carrying their single egg-in-a-basket. “Morning.”

  The boys held up their baskets, excited. “Eggs!” Lucas nodded his echo to Liam’s announcement but said nothing.

  “Whew. It’s cold out there. I sure hope Luke has the pipes fixed, or you’d have a problem again.”

  “Not really. The house isn’t left open to the elements anymore.” Aggie watched Willow, her curiosity nearly exploding in an eruption of verbal mortification. She attempted to bite her tongue. It failed. In another attempt to keep her mouth shut, she took a gulp of coffee and nearly screamed as it burned her tongue and seared her throat. “Aaah.”

  “Hot?”

  Ya think? She nodded. “I get too eager. Luke says I’m going to permanently numb my tongue someday.” Inwardly, she added, But I wouldn’t if you’d just tell me if you took that test!

  “I did that with hot chocolate as a girl. Almost every time. Mother used to say I’d get cancer from it or something.”

  Summoning up her courage, Aggie opened her mouth to ask if Willow had taken the test, when the door opened and Chad stepped into the kitchen. Willow grinned and kissed him. “Morning. You’re home late.”

  “Busy night.”

  “In Fairbury.” Aggie’s eyebrows rose. “You’re kidding me.”

  “Nope. Two domestic disturbances, one accident—guy was so drunk he ran into a house. That one on Lilac that you like, lass.” Chad dropped into a chair. “Got any coffee? I’m beat.”

  “You don’t walk the beat at night,” Willow teased as she grabbed the last bit of coffee from the pot Aggie had made.

  “Guess who I saw walking today.”

  “Who?” Willow untied Kari from the wrap and handed her to Chad.

  Aggie listened and watched, curious about Willow’s demeanor. Something seemed wrong. Maybe the test had been negative. That wouldn’t be much of a surprise, but the disappointment… Chad’s voice cut into her thoughts.

  “—just walking down the street. No scooter. No skateboard. No bike—nothing.”

  “Aiden Cox walking. Is he okay? Do you think his parents finally gave him an ultimatum or something?”

  Chad shrugged. “I don’t know. It was kind of sad, actually. He looked so… so… unlike himself. I don’t know how to explain it.”

  Children slowly filed into the kitchen, each accepting a bowl of oatmeal with less than enthusiastic faces. Aggie kept her back to Willow and gave each one a silent admonition to keep their opinions to themselves. It worked. Except for Ronnie. “Again!”

  Aggie felt Willow’s eyes on her and chose to ignore it. Antagonizing their hostess two days before they expected to leave would be bad enough, but on a day when she wanted to be nosy—unthinkable. “You can be grateful for that or you can have nothing until lunch. What’ll it be?”

  She felt Willow shift behind her. Chad’s strangled voice told her he’d started to say something and Willow had stopped him. Note to self: Thank Willow later. As she and Ronnie stared down one another, Aggie grew tempted to insist he eat just to get the battle of wills over. He’d obey. He knew better than to refuse to do as he was told, but she didn’t like to force a kid to eat. Insisting was the easy route. Not backing down when the child issued a silent challenge, practically ordering her to change her mind and offer something else—not so easy.

  “Okaaaayy.”

  Ronnie accepted the bowl and tried to turn away, but Aggie knew she had to follow through—all the way. “That doesn’t sound grateful for what God gave you for breakfast.”

  “But He didn’t. You did. And you gave me oatmeal again.”

  “The condition was that you take the food and be grateful.” The battle raged once more. Raged in complete silence until Luke stepped in the room, his hair still damp from his shower.

  “Ronald, take that bowl, thank Mommy for making you a warm breakfast, and then thank Aunt Willow and Uncle Chad for providing the food as well. No more arguing with Mommy.”

  In less than half a minute, Ronnie complied and climbed to the table to eat his food, his happy-go-lucky demeanor belying the previous uncomfortable minute or two. Aggie sagged. “How do you do that?” She glanced over at Willow. “Do your boys ‘hop to’ when Daddy speaks too?”

  “Yep.”

  “To be fair, they usually obey us equally well—or not, just as equally.”

  “Well, they’re all still learning,” Luke interjected. “The boys are still little—all of them.”

  “Still. Ronnie will try to engage with me in ways he’d never do with Luke.”

  That’s,” Luke said, wrapping his arms around his wife and resting his hands on her swollen midsection, “because he knows you don’t like the confrontation, so he hopes you’ll back down.”

  “And you do.” Willow’s quiet voice sounded disbelieving.

  “I don’t like it, no. But I don’t show that. I’m less emotional about it—more matter-of-fact. Kids pick up on that stuff.”

  When Willow followed Chad from the room, Aggie could have sworn she heard Willow say, “And you thought another one or two would be a good idea.”

  Her heart sank. Maybe Willow had taken the test. Maybe it wasn’t negative. She felt her throat swell. Maybe positive was the problem.

  Lord, I should have stayed out of it. Ugh.

  She filled a bowl with oatmeal and dumped cinnamon and sugar mixture on it. “…the Savior to help you. Comfort, strengthen and keep you. He is willing to aid you. He will carry you through…”

  “Mibs?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “What’s wrong?” Luke’s concerned expression cut through her.

  “Sometimes I don’t know how to mind my own business.”

  Chaos erupted in the Tesdall kitchen as Laird quipped, “I thought that was called being a woman…”

  Chapter 199

  The noise in Aunt Willow’s house drove Tavish to the barn for quiet, but Vannie occupied his favorite place, her nose stuck in some Austen novel—another one. Before she even had a chance to peek over the top of her book, he climbed back down and glanced around him, looking for some other place to find solace with his book. Some guy was in the greenhouse—Laird had said it was baby Kari’s father, but Tavish didn’t believe it. Half what Laird said was a failed attempt at a joke.

  He tried the porch swing, but the little kids waved at him through the window, pounding, calling. If he didn’t leave, someone would break through the glass. Not the best way to start a day. He tried the new barn, but it didn’t have the comfortable feel of the old one. The animals were noisy—too many of them in one space. That thought amused him. Each animal had its own roomy stall and he thought too many. Two is almost too many. I like empty barns.

  The sheep smelled—not as bad as in summer, but they smelled—and the noise— He couldn’t stand the noise. If he wanted chaos and smell he could stay in the house with little kids and dirty diapers. Not exactly the kind of escape he needed. He crossed the pasture and wandered up the stream. Small pockets of ice clung to shallow places along the edge, but the water flowed, if a bit more shallow than during t
he summer fishing trips. Tavish grinned. Fishing—the pool. That great tree with the branches that practically cradled you.

  He ran. Each step warmed him, giving him ideas. He could just climb down and run up and down the edge of the stream if he got cold. It would work. Not as nice and warm as the hayloft in the barn but solitary and his.

  It took him longer to climb the tree than it had in summer. His gloves made it awkward until he gave up and pulled them off. Once settled in the branches’ hammock, he pulled the gloves back on and opened his book. With clumsy fingers, thick with padding, he found his place. Alone out there, he could read for hours—or at least until he became hungry. Tavish patted his pocket. Apple and chips were still safe. He might last until the end of the book.

  Sometime later—how long he never did know—a bird managed to drag Tavish’s attention from his book. He stared at it, just feet away from him, curious. The way it clung to the tree and something about its beak made him wonder if it might be a woodpecker of some kind. The bird and boy each sat in their place on the tree and regarded the other with curiosity and, Tavish suspected, on the part of the bird, suspicion.

  Nothing happened—no noise, no movement, no wind or tuft of breeze shifting—nothing that he could pinpoint. But one second the bird stared at him as though part of a silent duel, and the next it flew—straight toward him. Tavish startled, dropping his book. Without thinking, he dove; his finger grazed the edge but he missed. The book crashed through the wafer thin coat of ice over the pool and splashed into the water just as Tavish lost his balance and tumbled down after it. He fumbled for the rope, trying to grab it to save himself from a dunking, but it was gone. Where had it gone? He dropped into the freezing water.

  Pins and needles poked him. Stinging sensations radiated through his arms to his fingers and through his legs to his toes. He tried to swim, but the current, his heavy shoes, his jeans, his heavy coat and scarf—everything conspired against him. His lungs felt as if his body had shrunk and no longer fit, squeezing them. He couldn’t breathe.