The idea, as nice as it sounded, proved more difficult than Willow expected. As she tried to nurse Kari, she also tried to keep both boys lying next to her—an impossible task that did little but annoy everyone involved. “Just lie still!” she insisted, but they didn’t.
All through the ineffectual feeding, the boys tried to climb from the bed, the baby fussed with every jostle and jolt, and Willow fought back irrational tears. Somewhere between saving Liam from yet another tumble and realizing that half Kari’s discomfort had to do with a foul-scented diaper, it occurred to Willow that the following Christmas, she’d still be there, with three little ones needing her—and an infant expecting vast quantities of her time and energy.
Then she cried.
Chapter 205
She awoke with a start. Liam slept on the floor, Lucas snoozed half hanging over the bed, and Kari played with her braid, chewing on it. Willow sat up, groggy, and with the idea that something was wrong—she’d forgotten something. Still, the stench of Kari’s diaper assured her that she needed to take care of that first.
By the time Kari played on the floor, clean and happy, Willow had forgotten that something had been forgotten, and took care to put each boy into bed. They fussed but fell asleep again within the minute. Still exhausted, she took Kari downstairs and settled on the couch with her. Jon’s words came to her, and frustration filled her once more. “…save so much time if you had a line—”
Willow’s eyes widened. “The cookies!”
She grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around Kari. Once in the kitchen, her heart squeezed and panic flooded her. “Oh no!”
Flames shot into the air from the barn windows and side door— “That must have been what woke me,” she remarked illogically.
Second after second passed as she considered the best options—what to do first. A glance at Kari answered the question. She grabbed the car keys and wallet and carried the baby out to the van. Too cold… the van would be too cold. After strapping the baby into her seat, Willow turned on the engine, set the brake, and rushed inside again.
The boys protested as she dragged them from sleep once more and out into the cold. Still, she worked, trying to calm them but more concerned about safety than happiness at that point. One by one she strapped them in their seats and backed the van around until it was as far away from the house as possible without blocking the drive. Setting the vehicle in gear, she jumped out and ran toward the barn, pulling out her phone and called Chad.
“The barn’s on fire.”
“What?”
“I said,” Willow spoke each word with slow, distinct precision, “the barn is on fire.”
“And what does that mean? I didn’t sleep well last night. I can’t figure out riddles now.”
She hesitated, staring at the van behind her. “No riddle. Flames. Ash. Smoke. I need the fire department and you to call Jon to come back, although I bet he can see flames. Come.” She slid the phone shut and shoved it toward her pocket, but it fell to the ground. She ignored it and ran for the hose.
Of course, it wasn’t there. It was in the barn. The barn! The animals! Willow dragged open the large barn doors and smoke billowed out, choking her. Remnant bleated in fear and Lacey kicked and screamed, but the ill lamb they’d been treating made no noise at all. It was either dead or in serious pain.
She crawled along the ground to Redundant’s stall and unlatched it. The goat refused to move. Choking and sputtering, Willow felt her way along the sides of the stall to the back and leaned against the wall. Risking a kick, she raised her foot and shoved the animal’s backside as hard as she could before jumping aside. She jumped just in time. It worked, though. After one attempt to kick, the goat bolted from the stall. How she got the animal out of there, she didn’t know.
Lacey’s screams—Willow had never heard anything so horrifying. The horse stamped and reared, anxious to flee. Willow froze just feet away from the stall latch. Help me, Lord. I need to do this. She flung herself at the stall door and pulled at the latch. Of course, the animal refused to leave her stall. Memories of Black Beauty flooded her memory. Hoping there was enough truth in the book to do her and Lacey some good, she fumbled for the wall where the animal’s blankets and saddle were kept. Flinging a blanket over the animal’s head, she urged the horse forward, but nothing seemed able to convince Lacey to move.
Another coughing fit forced her from the barn. She gulped air, her lungs burning with each deep breath, and glanced around her for something to lead the horse to safety. Flames flickered in the main barn now and along the top of the roof. Willow rushed inside for a knife and then back out to the clothesline. She cut a length of line and took another painful gulp of air before she ran back into the barn for one last attempt to save the horse. Portia circled her feet, fighting her with every step, but Willow kicked the dog out of the way. The blanket was gone—under the horse’s feet. She searched for another one, but the smoke made it impossible. Frustrated, she tore off her sweater and pulled it over the animal’s head, leaving only her thermal. With the sweater covering the animal’s eyes and a rope looped around her neck, Willow managed to lead Lacey out of the barn. She pulled the sweater off and sent a stinging slap to the animal’s rump. That shouldn’t have been quite as satisfying as it was, she thought between fits of coughing.
The flames slowly crept over the barn, filling the door. The heat from the barn made her lack of sweater and coat unnoticeable—at first. She rushed for the hose and remembered just as she arrived. No hose in winter. Frustrated, she stared at the empty spigot as if it would give her some answer. It did. “The greenhouse!”
From within the greenhouse she turned on the spigot, uncoiled the hose, and dragged it outside, spraying water everywhere. Outside, she sprayed the barn, her hands and arms freezing as the water soaked them—soaked her. The more she shivered, the less strength she had to add pressure to the hose. Frustrated, she dropped it and ran inside for a coat and gloves—gloves that wouldn’t help much but might purchase a few more minutes until the fire engines with their stronger sprays could come.
Jon barreled up the drive and parked too close to the barn for her comfort. He jumped from the truck. “I called, but it went to voice mail. The flames—”
He jerked the hose from her hands and pointed to the house. “Get the kids out of the house. I’ll do this.”
“They’re in the van.”
Sirens wailed, growing closer, but not yet visible. Willow dashed in the house and grabbed a bucket. Outside the back door, she filled it from the spigot and tossed the water through the blazing window. Over and over she raced back and forth, trying to beat a lost cause.
Chad arrived a driveway length ahead of the fire truck. He ran to her side, jerked the bucket from her, and pointed to the van. “Get the kids in the van and get out of here the minute the trucks get up the drive.”
“The kids are in the van,” she rasped. I didn’t want the wind to shift and the fire to jump over to the house.”
He started to turn away—to refill the bucket, but Willow clung to him, still choking between words. “It’s useless. The barn is gone—greenhouse too, I think.”
“I—”
She buried her face in his jacket and whispered, “What would mother say?”
Chad didn’t answer. He held his wife and shifted his gaze between the van where his children waited for someone to drive them to safety and the barn that had nearly destroyed it. Just as the fire trucks pulled into the farmyard, he spied Lacey running across the far end of the west pasture. “Is that Lacey?”
She nodded.
“How did she get out? I thought horses panicked in fire.”
“She did. I thought she’d never do it, but she finally left. You should call the vet. She got a lot of smoke.” Willow raised her eyes to his. “I didn’t get the lamb. It wasn’t making any noise, so I didn’t go back in for it.”
A fresh round of coughing hit her just as a paramedic burst from the truck.
&nb
sp; Chapter 206
Snow covered the landscape when Willow awoke the next morning. With Chad inside watching the children, she crept from the house to survey the damage. Even after a night of heavy snow, the air still smelled of smoke. Willow stood twenty feet from the barn, staring at the remains of what had been such an enormous part of her childhood, lost in the past.
“What’s that, Mother?”
“It’s a swing.” Mother pushed the seat ever so slightly. “If you sit on it, I can push you.”
She stared up at Mother, her eyes shining. “Really? Can I try it?” She stared at the rafters above. “It won’t fall, will it?”
“I nearly broke my neck getting it up there, but it’s secure now. I wouldn’t give you something that wasn’t safe.”
Hoisting herself up into the seat wasn’t as easy as she had expected. Mother didn’t step in to help until she asked. “I can’t do it. It keeps moving. How do I do it?”
So, Mother showed her how to hold onto the ropes, put one foot on the seat, and pull herself up into a standing position. “Now just squat a bit and then sit down fast.”
It worked. Her legs dangled over the edge of the board and she kicked the air. “I can’t reach. How do I make it go?”
A push sent her flying over the ground. “How’s that?”
“Again!” When the next push didn’t come, she remembered. “Oops! Please? Can—will you push me again, please?”
Laughter filled the barn as Mother pushed her. “Let’s try that request again. You don’t want to get in the habit of adding please at the end like an afterthought. How else could you say that?”
“Um… Please will you—”
Mother stopped her. “That would work too, but if you put please in the middle of the sentence, then it doesn’t sound like you were trying to get it out of the way or that you almost forgot it. Try asking, ‘Will you please...’ and then make your request. See?”
She didn’t really understand, but she nodded, her braids flopping with the exuberance of her movement. “I see. This is fun!”
“Now try something. When you get all the way back close to me, stretch out your legs and try to pull yourself forward.”
Mother explained how to “pump” her legs. Legs forward when swinging forward, toes reaching for the sky, and then pulled back under, almost touching her bottom, when the swing flew backwards.
“This is ‘citing! I feel like I’m flying.”
“Well, in a sense,” Mother agreed, “you are. You are flying through the air; you’re just tethered so you don’t fall.”
Just then, her hands slipped from the swing and she landed flat on her front. Mother shouted, “Don’t raise your head!”
So she kept still until Mother stopped the swing and came to examine the damage. She sniffled, trying not to cry but the scraped chin and palms hurt and it had taken several seconds before she could force air back into her lungs. “I—”
“Shh… let’s go clean you up. You can try again once your hands are clean and you have gloves on.”
Mother had moved the swing to the barn every winter—to protect it from the elements while still giving her the fun of swinging—until Willow was too tall to get much enjoyment out of it. After Christmas, she’d planned to hang the swing in the barn for the boys. “Not now,” she whispered as if the hush of snow wasn’t quite quiet enough for her.
She’d butchered thousands of chickens in that barn, canned thousands of jars of food. Soap, candles, even summer meals. All the meat, vegetables, and fruit in the freezers—gone. The greenhouse was a warped, twisted pile of metal and smoke-stained, melted plastic. Ryder would be heartbroken.
Willow’s mind slowly walked through each inch of the space, remembering. The loft where she’d read books or hidden from Mother when she’d been angry over something Mother said. The stall where Dolly, Chuckette, Rump Roast, Dinner, and so many other cows had spent the coldest winter days. The stall for the goats. The splinters in the ladder. The scent of old wood and hay combined. Chad’s dish barrel—that one strange act of understanding and kindness had likely done more to help her through her grief than every other overture combined.
Her throat constricted as she remembered lost tools—the shovel she’d used every year she could remember. Her mind saw the scythe hanging on the wall—the very one that had nearly killed her. Mother’s woodworking tools. She’d never learned to use them properly, and now they were gone. The garden cart, the saddles for Lacey. Willow choked to think Chad’s tack had burned because she didn’t rescue it in time. The boys loved their rides on the horse.
Her canning pots, pressure cooker, roasting pans, soap molds—gone. She’d have to start all over—buy new supplies. That thought made her think of Ralph Myner. Willow made a mental note to write down what she purchased, what it cost, and where she bought it. His community might need that kind of updated information.
Her throat ached to see the horrible beauty of a charred skeleton of the barn nestled in the snow. “Beauty from ashes—isn’t that what Isaiah says?” She closed her eyes, allowing the tears she’d stifled all night to slide down her cheeks. “Something like that.”
“I want to say, ‘the Lord gave and the Lord has taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.’ I just can’t—not yet,” she admitted to Portia. The dog stared up at Willow with sorrowful eyes as if she understood the pain in Willow’s voice.
Jon’s car crept up the lane and pulled into its usual parking place. He stepped from the vehicle but didn’t move closer. A minute passed—maybe two. In her peripheral vision, she saw Chad go out and talk to Jon, making her expect to see the man turn around and go home. Instead, he reached for something. Willow’s eyes slid sideways. Kari. Jon took Kari and moved toward the house as Chad came to join her.
“You okay?”
“I will be. I can’t believe I burned down our barn. I’ve been up in the loft with lanterns and didn’t burn it down. Cookies.” Willow relaxed as his arm slid around her shoulders and pulled her close. “I can’t believe I did this much damage with forgotten cookies.”
“If it makes you feel any better, the fire chief didn’t think burning cookies did this.”
“I don’t know what else could,” she protested. “I left them in there for who knows how long—an hour? More? I fell asleep, Chad!”
“You needed your rest.”
“Well I could have had it without leaving the barn to burn down.”
Chad started to protest, but her snickers prompted a few of his own. “Okay well, we’ll see what Nick says when he gets out here.”
“Nick?”
“Eller… the fire chief. He’s coming out to try to determine the cause.”
Willow stared up at him, questioning. “Why? What difference does it make?”
“They have to rule out arson—insurance stuff.”
“Do we have insurance on it?” Willow thought hard, trying to remember. “I don’t know.”
Chad squeezed her shoulder. “I’m sure Mother had insurance. I’ve seen the paperwork. She was good about that stuff.”
He stared at the charred remains. “I’m sorry, lass.”
“Well, at least we have the other barn—a place for the animals. That’s good.” Willow sounded unconvinced even to her own ears.
“It’s okay to miss it. It’s okay.” Chad pulled her even closer, wrapping both arms around her. “I’m sorry.”
They stood there, her cheek on his chest, staring at the half-collapsed building. A minute or two passed before she asked in a choked whisper, “Can we hang a swing from the new barn rafters? Will that work?”
Chad listened, his nose wrinkling at the scents surrounding him, as Nick Eller described what he’d found. “—wiring. Looks like a rat here.” Nick pointed to the space behind the stove. “Also,” Nick pulled out a zip-lock bag and opened it. “We found this. Looks like it might have been a journal of some kind, but this is all that’s left from what we could find.”
The piece of spin
e and leather reeked of smoke. Chad touched it—still wet. “Kari’s journal—the one Willow refused to read.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and stared up at the sky he shouldn’t see from inside a barn. “This loss just got bigger.”
“I’m sorry, man. At least you can tell her it’s not her fault. The cookies might have ruined the stove… maybe scorched the back wall, but it would have taken quite a while to get up this kind of flame. This was totally electrical. With all the old wood—the hay—once a flame lit, it went up fast.”
With the piece of journal in hand, Chad went to find Willow. She sat on the floor of the living room, trying to show the boys how to stack her tree blocks into some semblance of a house. Liam saw him first and ran to him. Kari grinned up at him from her spot on the floor. Lucas offered him a block as if hoping he’d be able to do whatever it was that Mama wanted to see.
His throat swelled at the sight of his little family all clustered together on their living room floor. Three children—he’d always wanted three children. His little family today looked much as his had as a child—the two boys and the baby sister. To be sure, all of the children were closer in age than he and his siblings had been, but he couldn’t help but notice the similarity.
Willow gazed up at him. “Everything okay?”
“From where I stand, everything looks perfect.”
“Becca called. She offered to come back early.” At his questioning gaze, she added, “I told her if she did, I’d fire her.”
“And she believed you?”
“She’s not coming back early…” Her eyes smiled at him. “I can be very imposing when necessary.”
“I’ve got good news—of sorts. And bad news.” His throat constricted again as pain reentered her eyes. “Which do you want first?”
Past Forward- A Serial Novel: Volume 6 Page 23
