Past Forward- A Serial Novel: Volume 2

by Chautona Havig

  I know I should not hope that you’d consider meeting with us at some point, but I do. My numbers are on the card I’ve enclosed. Please call any time. I haven’t told my wife about you. She’d be crushed if she knew she had a grandchild and then you chose not to let her be a part of your life. I cannot do that to her. Whatever you may think of us, I am not my son, and my wife is a kind, gentle woman.

  Sincerely,

  Steven Solari

  Willow’s first inclination was to throw check and letter into the fire. Her hands felt soiled having touched them. A cold sweat sent shivers down her spine, but Willow refused to allow her emotions to control her. She smoothed and folded both letters before returning them to their envelopes. In the kitchen, she slipped them between the salt and peppershakers, grabbed the strainer and stockpot, and carried the Dutch oven to the sink. Time to make soup and eat lunch. She’d handle emotions later.

  Chad found her sitting at the kitchen table surrounded by a fabric catalog, paper, pen, and a couple of letters—clearly in shock. “Willow?”

  “I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it!”

  “What!”

  With a dejected gesture, she waved her hand at the mess on the table and dropped her head on her arms. Chad picked up the letters and read them. The letter from the Finleys, while lacking in the warmth and urging he hoped they’d show, encouraged him. Perhaps Willow was on her way to being a part of her family. However, at the sight of the check and the letter from Steven Solari, Chad’s blood pressure reached dangerous levels.

  “What an absolutely inexcusable—”

  “I know! How could I have done something so stupid!”

  “Aww Willow, it’s not your fault. You didn’t tell that reporter anything—”

  Her shocked face stopped him. “Reporter? What are you talking about?”

  “Solari’s letter. His contacting you is unconscionable.”

  “Oh that,” she dismissed. “I’m still processing those.”

  “Well,” Chad tried again, “If that’s not the problem, what is?”

  “I was so upset about it all that I went through my fabric catalog, wrote down every piece of fabric I liked and bought them all!”

  “This is bad why?”

  “Let me rephrase then. I just spent over three hundred dollars on fabric that I don’t need just because I didn’t want to think about the implications of those letters.” As he opened his mouth to reply, she added quickly, “And I called to place my order! We don’t do that!”

  Despite a heroic attempt to suppress them, chuckles followed her horrified ejaculation. “So she is a normal woman after all!”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s common knowledge, Willow, that a significant portion of American women deal with stress by their favorite sport—shopping.”

  Her amazement was evident. “What am I going to do with three hundred dollars’ worth of fabric? I don’t need any clothes for ages yet!”

  “Make them for someone else. Make clothes for Aggie’s children or for Christmas presents, or make quilts or whatever else you can do that you do but you never let yourself do that you wanna do…”

  “But three hundred—”

  Chad picked up the Solari’s check. “Well, you could always cash this…”

  “That is just—it’s just—just not funny.”

  Changing the subject, Chad made a show of sniffing the air. “Do I smell chicken soup?”

  “Yeah. I almost forgot to add the vegetables.”

  “Is that bread?”

  She tossed him the potholders. “Here. It’s probably done.”

  He’d underestimated the effect her mini shopping spree had on her. Silently he pulled the bread from the oven, ladled soup from the Dutch oven, sliced and buttered the bread, squishing the loaf in the process, and cleared the table for dinner. As he worked, he saw some of what his father had warned him. His natural inclination was to wrap an arm around her shoulders and reassure her but now…

  Impatiently he brushed aside his new misgivings. He’d take it to the Lord later, but right now, she needed a bit of strength that she couldn’t manufacture for herself and subconsciously, she was probably expecting it. As he placed her bowl in front of her, he sat on his heels at her side and draped an arm around her shoulders. He waited for her to meet his gaze and then smiled into her eyes.

  “It’s ok, Willow. You can afford an occasional extravagance. Be thankful that it won’t mean not eating for a month and let it go. Now you know you’re just as vulnerable as the next person, and you’ll be prepared.”

  As she took a bite of her soup, she grinned back at him. “Maybe I should be stupid more often. This is nice. I wasted my day moping about those letters. My snow day was a bust.”

  “It’ll snow again.”

  “But it won’t be the first snow.”

  Chad remembered an entry from Kari’s journals about snow days. “Oh, I think you can just pretend like this one didn’t happen. You weren’t even home when it started snowing so you really should wait for one where it’s actually snowing.”

  “That’s cheating!”

  “Not,” he hedged, “When you make the rules.”

  That night, in his apartment, Chad prayed. For what seemed like hours, he poured out his heart to the Lord regarding his life, Willow’s life, and whatever their relationship was. His father was right. He saw her as another little sister to pester, protect, and occasionally pamper. He treated her much as he had Cheri when she’d returned from what he called “the pit.”

  However, something wasn’t right in his spirit. He knew his father’s cautions had unsettled him on another level. He bared his soul to the Lord and peeked inside himself, wondering why the idea of Willow marrying was so distasteful to him but found no answers. He didn’t love her. Well, not as he saw his father loved his mother. So many confusing thoughts whirled through his mind but always returned to the same question. What would happen if Willow did marry? The idea that once would have sent him clicking his heels for joy as he escaped the confines of a friendship he hadn’t sought, now filled him with dread that life could change so drastically.

  He slid open his phone. As he waited for Luke to answer, Chad grabbed the last Coke from his fridge and settled into the corner of his couch, his free hand massaging his temple. “Hey Luke. Got a few?”

  “Couch is open. Will this be cash or credit?”

  “How’s my tab?”

  “Staggering, but I’ll let it slide,” Luke agreed with mock reluctance.”

  “You have the gift of giving.”

  “But not the gift of gab so why don’t you do the talking?”

  “Of course, it’s Willow again. You were right to send me back there...” Chad waited for Luke’s response but then smiled as he realized if he waited, his minutes would be flying off his phone. “Dad thinks I need to be there for her as well, but—” He sighed. It seemed so logical when he was thinking to himself, but aloud it sounded strange.

  For ten minutes, Chad shared the conversation he’d had with his father and then with the Lord. He told Luke about his misgivings at the idea of Willow marrying and that the longer time went on, the more convinced he was that perhaps he shouldn’t marry. “That’d take care of one of us anyway. Maybe if I was just upfront with her. Would it sound weird to tell her, ‘Look, you’re like my other little sister and I want to keep treating you like that, but if you ever get married, I’m probably going to have to change how I show it?’” Even as he spoke, he knew it sounded ridiculous—pathetic.

  Again, silence reigned. Each minute that passed sounded like an old-time cash register’s “cha-ching” in his ear. Finally, Luke answered. “I understand Uncle Christopher’s concerns, and I think they are valid. I also see your point and yes, that’d probably work, but before you say anything or change anything in your relationship…”

  Chad waited again. He waited. And waited. “Yes?”

  “I think there is something else you co
uld consider. It’d solve both the problem of how you respond to Willow when she marries and how you respond to the fact of her marriage.”

  “That’s why I pay you the big bucks.”

  “Well actually—”

  “Now, now, don’t get all wrapped up in the details, just give me your solution, oh wise Swami of mine,” Chad teased as he relaxed sinking into the couch again and feeling like life was all right again. As a child, he’d always felt that if mom or dad couldn’t solve a problem it was ok. That’s what God made Luke for—his own personal problem solver.

  “Marry her yourself, Chad.”

  “Oh, not you too!”

  A pregnant pause passed before Luke continued. “I’m not talking about heart throbs and romance, although I recommend them highly…” Luke cleared his throat. “I just think that a good friendship like yours is a good enough reason to marry.”

  “Marry so that no one else can. Somehow that doesn’t sound very ‘giving myself up for my wife’ kind of thing.”

  Luke tried again, pausing often as he usually did. “Chad, you love Willow. You love her in the most important way for a husband to love his wife. You serve her. You ‘agape’ her. This is exactly what she needs. That is giving yourself up for her, and you do it daily. You’ve done it since the first day you drove away from her farm, over to Ferndale, and bought that cell phone so she wasn’t alone and unable to get help if she needed it. You didn’t want to go but you did.”

  He took a deep breath. This wasn’t what he’d expected to hear and Chad wasn’t sure he wanted to hear anymore. “And ten years down the road when she meets the man she should have married—the man who can love her both as a servant husband and as Solomon, she’ll resent me for removing the chance for her to have the kind of marriage she should have dreamed about her whole life.”

  Luke’s quiet calm voice came across the line and touched Chad’s heart in a way that nothing had ever affected it. “Chad, once she marries you—or anyone else for that matter—there is no ‘man she should have married’ down the road. And, perhaps the reason she hasn’t dreamed of the perfect romantic ‘happily ever after’ fairytale is because the Lord was preparing her for a life with a stodgy old guy named Chad.” Luke paused. “I’ll send a bill next week. Night—”

  “Wait, there’s something else.”

  “Now what?”

  Knowing he was setting himself up for major teasing, Chad forged onward bravely. “I got Willow’s Christmas present in the mail today, and there’s a problem.”

  “What is that?”

  “It’s not assembled.”

  Laughter rang out across the airwaves and taunted Chad as Luke retorted, “Then assemble it, man.”

  “It’s wood.”

  “That was low. Wood as in raw wood, wood as in screw together wood, or wood as in, stain it and go?”

  Chad grinned. He had Luke interested. He needed that advantage before he confessed his goof. “Well, kind of all three minus the screws but add the glue.”

  “What is it?”

  “A dulcimer kit?”

  Sighing, Luke replied sarcastically. “Why do you sound like that’s a question and you don’t know.”

  “Because I’m waiting to be bashed over the head with it.”

  “Why did you buy a kit? You always hated models.”

  “I didn’t know I did. I went back to the website after I bought it and in tiny print it says, ‘not assembled.’ Apparently that means it’s a kit rather than you need to string it and pop the pegs in and you’re ready to go.”

  Luke’s response was disheartening. “You’d better get to work. It’s just barely a month away—”

  “Will you help me?”

  “Will you take Laird home while Aggie and I are off wherever we end up going after the wedding?”

  Chad grinned. A week with a teenaged boy and no women to complain about what they ate. This would be fun. “Of course! That’ll be great. What are you doing with the other kids?”

  “Well, I don’t know. I’m trying to find a way to send a few here and there so that it’s not too much work for any one person. Mom’ll keep whoever is left, but I don’t want to overwork her, and I want to be gone for a couple of weeks so—”

  “What about Willow? Think Aggie would let them go to Willow’s farm? I think they’d have fun.”

  “I’ll get back to you on that. On a scale of one to ten, what do you think she’d say to a request like that?” Luke held his breath expectantly.

  “Nine point five at the lowest.”

  “I’ll stop by sometime this week and look at your mess—er gift.”

  “Will I ever be out of debt, Luke?”

  “Start praying. If Aggie says yes and Willow agrees, we’ll call you paid in full.”

  “Yes!”

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  For a week, Willow left the letters on the kitchen table, open and easily perused. She mucked barn stalls and prayed. She cleaned the chicken coop and prayed. She cooked, knitted, hooked her rug, and prayed. She milked the new goat, which Chad christened “Ditto,” and prayed. Then, she prayed some more.

  For hours, she worked on the foundation site for her forthcoming greenhouse. Her original plans had been scrapped for a lean-to design kit that she’d found in one of her mother’s stacks of catalogs. It was more expensive and larger than she’d planned, but the added advantage of putting it next to the barn and close to the house was enough incentive to move fences and arrange plans for a larger scale operation than ever. She’d have lettuce in January just like Mr. Tesdall’s big grocery store. Oh, and she prayed with every shovel, every moved wire, and every nail.

  Saturday, a week after the letters arrived, was December first. She awoke with a child-like delight that not even the loss of her mother’s help and camaraderie tempered. Chad was coming to spend the day, the goat was giving milk like nothing she’d ever had, and she’d gotten a call from the greenhouse company that her kit was on its way.

  After breakfast, she cleaned the kitchen and left a pile of pancakes warming on the stove for whenever Chad arrived. She hurried upstairs, feeling quite girlish, and into the attic pulling down the box of artificial greenery. Chad found her tying “pine” swags across the front porch, wrapping the posts, and adding large deep red bows to the pivotal places.

  “Hey, looks great! What do I do?” he called as he jumped from the truck.

  “I’ve got pancakes on the stove if you’re hungry first.”

  “Be back to help you when they’re gone,” he promised.

  By the time Chad returned, the front porch looked like a Thomas Kincade Christmas painting. Willow greeted him without preamble. “Can you go up into the attic and get the box in the middle of the floor marked, ‘Porch tree’?”

  “You have a tree for your porch?”

  “Humor me. I want my tree.”

  He hurried upstairs, returning minutes later with the large box. Amazed, he watched as she screwed a long pole into a traditional tree stand. “It’s leaning to the left.”

  “Straighten it will you?”

  As he held the pole straight, he asked the obvious question. “Is there a reason you are putting your tree out here?”

  “It’s for the birds.”

  “Then why do it?”

  “For the birds,” Willow repeated. “You need to clean your ears.”

  “Sooooo,” Chad asked once more, “Why do the birds need their own tree?”

  “They don’t. It just gets them to come close enough to the house that I can watch them from the couch. The chickadees are quite friendly and entertaining when the jays aren’t around.”

  “Ahh. I see you still have the letters out.” Willow seemed to wilt before his eyes, making Chad feel like a heel.

  “I know. I keep praying and praying about it, and I don’t know... At times like this, I really miss Mother’s confidence. She’d know what to do, and she’d just do it.”

  “I think your indecision is because you kno
w your mother’s judgment was clouded by fear, and you don’t want to repeat that.”

  They worked together as she assembled her unusual tree. Branches slid into drilled holes in the “trunk,” and when she didn’t like something, she pulled it out, tried a different one, and stood back to see the result. Chad was curious. “Where’d you get this tree?”

  “Mother bought several the first few years, trying to find one that didn’t get mangled in storage. Later she cut the rejects apart to make two perfect trees. This one used to be in the spare room during December. I’d wake up Christmas morning and the tree would be all set up and decorated for me as a surprise.”

  “You didn’t decorate with your mother?” The idea didn’t fit what he knew of the Finley women.

  “I helped with the downstairs tree, but you know how little hands are. They don’t make for an attractive look when the top third or half is almost bare. This way I got to help, and Mother got to have a perfect tree too.”

  “So how did it end up out front?”

  Willow smiled remembering. “I decorated the living room tree one year when mother was sick, and she liked it, so she told me to take the other one back to the attic and confessed why she’d always had two.” She stood back from the tree and nodded satisfied. “That’s perfect. I’ll make the ornaments later. I want to get started on the living room and I’m cold!”

  Inside, Chad helped her carry down boxes of decorations from the attic. With her guidance, Chad wrapped the banisters in imitation evergreen, commenting all the while that he’d expected live trees and décor. “I can’t believe you have all this fake stuff.”

  “With all the dry heat in here, what else could we do?”

  The logic couldn’t be denied so Chad wrapped, humming The Holly and the Ivy as he retraced his steps and tied ribbons at regular intervals. His festive mood seemed to heighten Willow’s enjoyment. She disappeared into the library several minutes later, he heard the scratchy sound of an old Victrola playing and Bing Crosby’s voice crooning about a White Christmas.