Past Forward- A Serial Novel: Volume 2

by Chautona Havig

  A crack of light appeared from the door. “Willow? You sleeping?”

  She started to sit up, but Chad opened the door further and waved her back in bed. “Don’t get up,” he whispered. “I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable and that mom and Cheri didn’t pester you.”

  “You’re supposed to be asleep. You have to get up in a few hours.”

  After shoving Willow’s shoe under the door to keep it open, Chad sat on the floor in front of her nightstand, wrapped his arms around his knees. “I’m used to it. Did you like the movie? I think I heard You’ve Got Mail.”

  “It was nice. I didn’t understand a lot of it. They were talking on computers somehow. Makes no sense to me.”

  “I like Tom Hanks.”

  “Who is that?”

  A comfortable sense of the new familiar settled around them. Willow didn’t fit in his world and comments like that were delightful reminders of that. “Joe Fox. His real name is Tom Hanks.”

  “I didn’t like how they got divorced. That was sad.”

  “Who, Joe’s father? I didn’t like that whole sub-plot. It wasn’t necessary to the advancement of the story at all.”

  Her head shook and the light streaming in from the hall made interesting shadows on the wall as she gesticulated. “No, Joe and Kathleen. Why did they each have to be married? Couldn’t they have just been single people? The infidelity made me feel icky.”

  Chad’s heart dropped. He hadn’t thought about how she’d see things. Had he been more perceptive, he could have prevented her from being exposed to things he knew her mother had deliberately avoided or at the least, warned her of content first. “Willow, they weren’t married. Neither one of them was married.”

  “I guess I don’t understand why they made it seem like they were then. Either way, it wasn’t necessary. That Frank was a great character, though. I liked what they did with him.” She snickered. “‘Thank yer.’”

  Chad rested his back against the nightstand, feeling like things were right in his world again. “Thanks for understanding about my sheriff set.”

  “I like the relationship you have with Chris and Cheri. It’s endearing most of the time. I just think sometimes you don’t seem to know when to be serious and when to be silly.”

  “I think you’ll find that we act most silly when we feel most serious.”

  He sensed a question in her. The temptation to urge tiptoed to his heart but he chased it away again. She’d ask when she was ready. It came sooner than he expected—almost in a rush.

  “How can Cheri be so grateful for such an awful experience? What happened to her when she went to camp that time—it terrifies me. I don’t think I could be thankful for it.”

  Chad ached to explain it in depth. The family had given their word that they would keep those weeks of Cheri’s life private. “Willow, I can’t tell you all I want to about that time. It’s not my story to tell. I can tell you that I truly believe if you lived it as Cheri did, you’d say the same thing that she does. It changed her life, for the better, and she would do it over again in a heartbeat.”

  “I don’t think so, Chad. I’ve learned from this that I am weaker than I ever imagined. It scares me to think that such a thing can happen in this country. I just want to go home, hide out on my farm, and forget the world and the people in it if it means I’ll be safe from that kind of persecution. I don’t think I’m prepared for difficult times.”

  Chad sought her hand, praying. Not prepared for difficult times—her life, in the eyes of so many, was a series of difficult times, and yet he understood what she meant. As he wove their fingers together, he prayed aloud. Asking for faith, understanding, and boldness in Christ, Chad prayed for guidance and wisdom. Eventually, he felt her hand slacken and her breathing grow soft and rhythmic. He stood at the side of her bed, watching her sleep for a moment, before turning to leave the room. His mother’s silhouette blocked the doorway.

  “Is she ok, Chaddie?”

  “She feels inadequate as a Christian.”

  The surprise in his mother’s voice told him what she’d say before she whispered, “How is that possible?”

  “Cheri’s persecution really hit home. It’s the antithesis of what the Finley farm is all about. Where Cheri embraces her painful circumstances, Willow flees them as her mother taught her. Seeing the other side...”

  Marianne followed her son into his room, pulled the covers over him and laying one hand on his cheek said, “I’m proud of you, son. I cannot begin to tell you how proud I am of you.”

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  The men bustled into the house with their “kill” and dusted off the first flakes of winter. As Chad shrugged out of his coat, the corners of his mouth tugged upwards slightly at the sight of Willow’s flower arrangement. He’d have to thank his mom later.

  “Hey, Marianne? Guess what I found!”

  “Shhh,” his mom fussed as she rushed from the kitchen looking extra chipper and festive.

  “What?” Christopher’s stage whisper wasn’t much quieter than his yell.

  “Willow’s still asleep. You guys be quiet, or I’ll send you down to the basement.”

  “What about breakfast? I’m starving!” Chris whined in his best mock toddler voice.

  Ignoring her son, Marianne wrapped her arms around her nephew. “Congratulations, Luke, I can’t wait to meet her. You need to bring everyone over some afternoon soon.”

  “Aunt Mari, I’d rethink that invitation if I were you. We’re not a visit, after all. We’re an invasion.”

  “Good,” she quipped leading her nephew to the kitchen. “Then we surrender!”

  Pineapple chunks and cheese cubes sat on the counter as a pre-breakfast appetizer, but after one pass by the four hungry men, only toothpicks and two dirty plates remained. “Mom, got any of your cinnamon rolls left?” Chad was hungry enough to wake Willow deliberately so they could eat.”

  “No, and I’m not putting in the casserole until I hear some movement from upstairs.”

  “Where’s Cheri?”

  “She’s down in the basement, digging out the tree. Chris, why don’t you go help her? Chad, you could get the ornaments…”

  The guys disappeared from the kitchen and a knowing look passed between them. At the foot of the basement stairs, Chad paused. “You go down; I’ll be there in a minute. I just want to make sure she’s not up there wondering when we’re all going to wake up. I can just see her doing that.”

  “Don’t let mom catch you!” Chris warned as he thundered down the stairs.

  Chad peeked into Willow’s room and almost snorted aloud. No wonder Willow still slept soundly. The blinds were down, the curtains drawn, and only one tiny, daring ray of sunlight managed to peek through any of the cracks. He leaned against the doorjamb and watched her sleep, wondering what about the picture bothered him. Then he realized. Most people assume a rested peaceful look in their sleep that you rarely see on their faces. Willow just looked like Willow with her eyes closed. The peace in her heart and the life she led, while hard and requiring much labor, was peace lived daily. He’d never noticed how clearly it showed in her face until he watched her sleep.

  A hand on his shoulder made him jump. He looked down into his mother’s warning eyes and hugged her, whispering as he did, “Look at her face, Mom. She looks just as gentle and peaceful awake as she does asleep.”

  Marianne turned him from the door and pushed him towards he stairs with a mock scowl. “Get down there and help,” she hissed menacingly. “Or I’ll bring out the hidden albums. I think Willow would get a huge kick out of a certain little baby boy watering my roses in the buff.”

  Chad jogged down the stairs. His mother had claimed for years that she had certain pictures squirreled away for opportune blackmail, and though none of the Tesdall children had ever found them, they also weren’t willing to risk it. She peeked in at Willow and smiled as the young woman stretched, rolled over, and resumed her rhythmic breathing.

&n
bsp; She breathed a prayer as she turned from the room. “Lord, I always thought it’d take something drastic to pull Chad out of his shell, but I never realized it’d be a good drastic. With his job—” she sighed under her breath. “My faith was weak again. I’ve got that down to a science. Think we could work on some strengthening exercises now?”

  Willow awoke. Again. Her head felt fuzzy from lack of movement. She wanted fresh air and a walk. Maybe if she got dressed, she’d catch the men before they left. She hadn’t planned on a shopping trip, and it would likely slow them down, but after waking several times and finding it still dark, she was ready to give up.

  Not a sound reached her as she wrapped Cheri’s spare robe around her. She’d have to slip into Cheri’s room and snatch her clothes. As she passed the top of the stairs, light shone from the first floor and oddly enough, it looked like it was coming from outside.

  Quickly, she padded downstairs and glanced out the narrow window that flanked the door. Light filtered into the room, and snowflakes fell steadily on the lawn and shrubs. She remembered a clock on the oven, so Willow hurried to see what time it really was, but as she stepped in the kitchen, she stopped short.

  “Oh excuse me,” she gasped, blushing. She turned to rush from the room and the sight of Christopher and Marianne wrapped in each other’s arms, kissing.

  “Willow, did you need something?” Marianne asked without moving from her husband’s arms.

  She didn’t even turn around as she said, “Oh, no, I was just going to see what time it is. It was so dark in my room that I thought it was night still.”

  With each word, she inched from the room uncomfortably. Marianne smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry. I went in before I went to bed and closed it up so the light wouldn’t bother you. I’m putting a casserole in. Would you like to take a shower while it bakes?”

  “Um—” Her eyes traveled uncomfortably to Christopher’s hands as they massaged his wife’s arms.

  Taking the casserole from the fridge, Marianne shoved it in the oven and punched the timer. “Come on. I’m sure Cheri has some sweats or something that’ll fit you.”

  All the way up the stairs, Marianne’s mind whirled. Should she apologize for making Willow feel uncomfortable? As she chattered about Cheri’s wardrobe options, she tried to read Willow’s body language to determine how to respond. She wasn’t ashamed of the display of affection but neither did she care to make a guest uncomfortable.

  “Oh look, Cheri bought these last year and never wore them. I’m not sure why…” Marianne prattled about the velour warm up suit and t-shirt as she found clothes, toothbrush, and towels and placed them in the bathroom.

  As soon as Willow shut the door, she hurried downstairs. The shouts of her sons and husband sent her back upstairs. “Well, you didn’t tell me you were wrapping! Chad, Christopher, I need you.”

  Seated around the couch, Marianne explained the scenario with a hint of a blush on her cheeks. The Tesdalls weren’t prudes. They showed genuine affection, occasionally more passionate when privacy was probable, but they were always discreet and tasteful. Willow’s discomfort seemed more pronounced than when a niece, nephew, or even one of Cheri’s friends burst into the house.

  As he listened to his mother explain the situation, Chad chuckled. “Care to share with us Chad?” his father asked, instinctively knowing it was going to be interesting.

  “I just remember when she said after we saw the Princess Bride. There is that line about the five perfect kisses, and she said, ‘What’s so big about a kiss anyway? Two lips smashed against each other. Whoop-dee-doo.’ I told her she’d think differently someday.”

  “Smashed lips!” Christopher laughter joined Marianne’s muffled titters. She tried to hush him, but it didn’t work.

  “Chad, what do you think? I started to apologize for making her uncomfortable, but you’ve seen us, we’re not—well—”

  “No, I don’t think you have anything to apologize for. As much as Cheri, Chris, and I complain, we really do like knowing you’re still—”

  “You’re as bad as she is,” Chad’s father teased. “It’s called being in love. You should try it sometime.”

  At the sight of her son’s embarrassment, Marianne stepped in and redirected the conversation. She’d watched the knowing looks between Chris and Cheri, heard the speculations of the family, and even Libby had mentioned that she hoped when enough time had passed and Willow was ready for the right man in her life, that it would be Chad. If he felt half the pressure that she did, Chad would run. They could thank Linnea for that.

  “So, Chad, what do you think? I’m not going to lie, and I won’t apologize for showing proper affection for my husband, but if I need to apologize for making her feel uncomfortable…”

  He sat lost in thought before shaking his head. “No, you shouldn’t mention it at all. In fact, I’d appreciate it if you’d be a little extra affectionate. Willow needs to see it. I’ll try not to gag.”

  “What do you mean ‘Willow needs to see it?’”

  “Just that she hasn’t. Can you imagine never having seen a husband and wife, any husband and wife, kiss? Can you imagine never hearing your father say, ‘I love you?’ Things that are so commonplace for us are earth shattering for her. I can’t even begin to describe our discussion of her showing affection for men!”

  This piqued Marianne’s interest. “Oh no, that’s something I want to hear. I’ve watched you with her Chad, and the only reason I haven’t said anything is because I trust that you know what you’re doing.”

  As he tried to explain, Chad stuffed his hands in his pockets leaning back into the chair. “It’s strange, Mom. Because of who she is, I can’t treat her like anyone I’ve ever known. Mom, I slept over at her house—a few times—when no one else was there! Granted, most of those times were during the day because I worked night shift but still.”

  “And why did you think that was a good idea?”

  Marianne saw the hurt in her son’s eyes and hoped he wouldn’t become defensive. Christopher could sound so accusatory when he didn’t know how to handle things. She needn’t have worried.

  “She was injured. She has no one. I could milk the goats and was strong enough to help her up and down the stairs.” He sighed and in that involuntary escape of air, Marianne saw that he didn’t think they’d understand. “I was who she trusted. I couldn’t not do it, Pop.”

  She watched Christopher fight his tendency to put everything in a carefully packaged box. She had often told him as they reared their children, “You can’t decide how everything should go and then force it to go that way. Sometimes you have to use discernment instead of rules.” In fact, the rare times that she disagreed with him in decisions regarding their children had always come down to that one concept. “Just because the scenario doesn’t fit your idea of the perfect script, doesn’t mean it needs to be written out of the play.” Now she wondered if he would control himself before he alienated his son.

  “You probably know best, and it’s never wrong to serve the body of Christ. How you do it—well, still. I can’t—”

  It killed her to watch him struggle. Their son had opened himself up to them, knowing that his father might open his mental lecture list and pull out the appropriate one for the occasion. To her relief, Christopher stuffed it down. “Anyway, tell us about the affection problem.”

  Chad told about the conversation he’d had with Willow. His parents sat dumbstruck as he described her nonchalant attitude of holding the hands of three men in almost as many days without the slightest idea that it would mean anything more than friendly reassurance and appreciation. “You know how you always said you could tell when a girl’s father quit showing her affection around their teen years?”

  Christopher nodded—a look of dismay on his face. “You don’t think…”

  “Well, no. I don’t think Willow is in danger of trading her virtue for male attention, but considering she’s never had any, I think she is both oblivious to
it being any different than female affection as well as having a deep need for it. If she didn’t so thoroughly disassociate herself from any hint of romance, I couldn’t be the big brother slash friend that I am without having another Linnea on my hands.”

  “Oh I’m sick of that girl’s name! I’m sick of her impact on our family! I’m sick that our son, my kind-hearted, handsome son, has run from every decent girl he’s ever met thanks to that—”

  Her husband silenced her with a low murmur, “Enough, Marianne. Don’t let the bitterness back.”

  Before anyone could speak, the bathroom door squeaked. Chad leaned forward and whispered, “Don’t walk around lip-locked, just be affectionate like you always are… just a bit more often!

  “Morning, Willow!”

  Willow brought her towel downstairs brushing her hair as she came. “What should I do with the towel? The racks are full up there.”

  Marianne jumped to grab it. “I’ll take it. Would you like some juice? I’d offer you fruit or cheese, but the guys inhaled it when they got back.”

  “Where is everyone?”

  Chad smiled from his spot on the couch. “Downstairs. They’re wrapping gifts. I’m supposed to be down there, but I had a few things to discuss with Mom and Dad.”

  “Well you go down and wrap; I’ll get Willow to help me with breakfast.”

  On cue, Christopher passed through the kitchen as Marianne checked the casserole, murmured something into his wife’s ear, kissed her cheek, and followed his son down the basement steps. Smiling to herself and half-forgetting her earlier concern, she winked at Willow. “What a man will do to get a meal.”

  “So what I can I do?” Eagerly, Willow looked around the room for anything to focus on other than Marianne’s face.

  “Is something wrong?” Marianne doubted Chad’s confidence that affection would be good for Willow to see. “Can you reach in that cupboard—no the next one. Yes. Can you get me um six… no, seven of those plates?”