Past Forward- A Serial Novel: Volume 2

by Chautona Havig

  He clambered down the stairs and leaned against the doorjamb as she sorted albums. “You have a Victrola. I forgot about that. Come on.”

  He grabbed her hand and twirled her into the living room half-waltzing, half two stepping as he did. “Come on, it’s Christmas!”

  “Not yet it isn’t.”

  “So,” he continued as though she hadn’t argued the point. “Are you up for company on Christmas?”

  “Why?” The song ended and she put on another before going back to decorate the windows again.

  “Because I have to work from ten till six the morning of Christmas eve and then again from two until ten.”

  Her eyes sought his from across the room looking miserable. “That is terrible. Why—”

  “Hey, they gave my first Christmas off. Most places wouldn’t do that for a rookie. It’s my turn, so I took the short break so Judith could have more of the day free.”

  “You’re a good man, Chad.”

  “Well,” he teased, “It’s about time that you figured that out. I’ve been telling you for months— ”

  “There is a box on the table labeled popcorn strings, can you get it and start hanging them?”

  “You saved popcorn strings?”

  Willow’s laughter blended with Up On the Housetop perfectly. “No, silly, they’re crocheted. We worked on them all summer one year.”

  The strings were amazing. From just a few feet away, you’d never know the “popcorn” was crochet thread and the “cranberries” were wooden beads. Chad looped and draped expertly thanks to a Christmas fanatic of a mother and a perfectionist sister.

  “Stairs are done. Next?”

  “Doorways,” she replied without even glancing at his handiwork. He felt a little miffed that she didn’t care admire—er—inspect the work, but a question from her interrupted his thoughts. “So the ladies’ Bible study is having a gift drawing. I have someone I’m supposed to buy for. We can’t spend any more than twenty dollars, but I’m confused.”

  “Sounds pretty straight forward. What’s the problem?”

  “Well, is that twenty dollars for the gift, for materials to make a gift, and for people who buy everything, what about their wrapping paper and their card? Do they count that as part of the twenty—”

  Chad dropped the length of evergreen and went to switch out the album as she chattered. Beneath the question was the real one—the one he knew she couldn’t seem to articulate—probably because she didn’t know it herself. If Willow knew the real question, she would have just asked it. “Willow, are you concerned about the gift itself, the limits, or who you got as a name?”

  “All of it. I’m not supposed to tell who it is, but I guess that’s so the girls can’t do a process of elimination thing. I could tell you, right?”

  “Right. Who’d you get?”

  “Lee,” she admitted ruefully. “I already made her a skirt, but I don’t know exactly how much I spent making it. I’ve never paid much attention to that.”

  “Lee loves your tote bags. I’ve heard her talk about swiping one of yours when you’re not looking. Maybe you could make one to match the skirt.”

  “I can’t give her both, it’d be over that limit—”

  “So give her the tote for the exchange and give her the skirt because you were going to do it anyway.” Chad didn’t quite see the difficulty, but he listened and decorated doorways like a pro.

  “That might work.”

  “Now what?” he queried as he admired the festive air in the house. Who wouldn’t love such attention to Christmassy detail?

  “Can you take that table by the window and carry it up to the spare room?”

  Chad emptied the table of its vase of dried flowers and hand-embroidered doily, and hefted it over his head, carefully avoiding the ceiling. He shook his head in disbelief as he saw a pile of old blankets protecting both the floor and the wall and a woodpile on top of it. Only Willow Finley had a woodpile inside and outside her house.”

  Once she had rearranged the living room a little, Willow called for tree number two and began assembling it to someone singing “Silent Night.” “Hey, would you put the branches in? I’ll set up candles if you can get the branches in for me.”

  For the next hour, they worked silently but in a harmony even Chad couldn’t deny. Wordlessly, they passed each other things they needed, often before the other realized it, and a feeling of familiarity stirred in Chad’s heart. It reminded him of his parents. They often worked for hours on a project, never speaking, always complimenting one another in their actions, until, when they completed the job, they stepped back, arms around each other, and admired the final product. Maybe dad and Luke—

  “Chad? If you have to work Christmas, how will you get any rest? You go to bed after six and have to be up and at work by two. I don’t see how—”

  “I have a plan if you want to hear it.”

  “Well obviously,” she teased, “or I wouldn’t have asked.”

  “Mom and Dad are going to do Christmas on New Year’s Eve so I can be there—you’re invited by the way. I thought if you felt like company, they could come spend the day with you. I’d come here after work, take a nap, spend a couple of hours with you guys, and then go to work again. We could have dinner during my lunch hour.” He grinned at the agreeable expression on her face before he added, “I know Mom would help.”

  “I love it. I’ll write your mother a letter today!”

  Willow set down her ornaments, hurried upstairs, and returned with a box of hand embellished stationary. Curled on the couch and surrounded by evidence of Christmas, Willow wrote a letter of invitation to Chad’s parents and handed it to him for approval.

  Mr. and Mrs. Tesdall,

  Chad has told me of his work schedule on Christmas Day, and I wondered if you would like to come to my house for the day. Chad plans to have dinner with me, and your company would bless him as well, I am sure.

  I am hoping to hear that you’ll come,

  Willow Anne Finley

  While he read, she worked on another letter. He waited rather impatiently for Willow to finish and exchanged the letters eagerly. As he read the second letter, Willow folded the first letter, slipped it into an envelope, and addressed it, waiting patiently for Chad to finish reading her second one.

  Dear Grandmother Finley,

  I was pleased to receive your letter last week. I’ve been praying over your suggestion since then, and I think a trip to the city might be fun and a good way to meet you. I know you were here for Mother’s funeral, but I don’t remember much about that day.

  If it would be convenient for you, I could come into Rockland next Friday, December 7, and meet you wherever you’d like, assuming you contact me in time. I can’t leave before seven in the morning and must be home before seven at night, but otherwise, I can adjust my schedule to yours.

  Respectfully,

  Willow Anne Finley

  “You could add your phone number in a post script so she can just call, and you don’t have to worry about mail problems.”

  “Oh,” she exclaimed delightedly, “I’ll do that. Is there anything else you’d change or add?”

  “I don’t understand why you didn’t tell her that you didn’t give that sensationalist reporter the interview she thinks you did.”

  Willow fidgeted with her letter for a minute. “I didn’t see how it would help them with the pain of anything, so why bring it up again?”

  After dinner, when all of the boxes and containers were safely stored back in the attic closet, Willow made hot chocolate, brought out the sugar cookies she’d made the night before, and set them on the end table. Reaching for her Bible, she handed it to Chad. “Would you read Luke?”

  Chad took the Bible awkwardly. He’d always hated reading aloud. “Well—”

  “Please?”

  The pleading in her tone and the eagerness of her expression was impossible to deny. He took the Bible and turned to Luke as he watched her walk around
the room lighting the dozens of tiny candles everywhere. Flame by tiny flame, she transformed her homey living room into a veritable fairyland.

  She sat at his feet and grabbed a box he hadn’t noticed from under the table. Chad smiled as he noticed hand drawn holly and berries decorating the box. The Finley women even decorated boxes! “In those days a decree went out from Caesar Augustus…”

  As he read, his voice halting and faltering at times, Willow arranged her tree blocks, tea light candles, and fairies into an arrangement on the table. “… While they were there, the time came for her to have her child, and she gave birth to her firstborn son. She wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.”

  Log upon log she designed her house, occasionally changing this section or that, after testing the stability of the “floor.” “…Do not be afraid; for behold, I proclaim to you good news of great joy that will be for all the people.’”

  Once each floor was complete, she added tiny trees, stars, and snowflakes, creating a winter wonderland on her coffee table. “…’Glory to God in the highest and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.’“

  Tea light candles came next, her hand measuring the heat from each candle to ensure it didn’t overheat any portion of the structure. “… And Mary kept all these things, reflecting on them in her heart.”

  At last, once she arranged everything exactly how she wanted, she nestled each fairy in a special place in the house. Satisfied with her work, Willow leaned against Chad’s legs and the couch, listening as he finished reading the passage. “… ‘Now, Master, you may let your servant go in peace, according to your word, for my eyes have seen your salvation, which you prepared in sight of all the peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles, and glory for your people, Israel.’”

  Only the occasional crackle of wood in the woodstove broke the absolute silence and stillness around them. Candlelight flickered, sending delightful shadows dancing across the room, but still they sat. Both pondered, like Mary, the thoughts in their hearts.

  Willow tried to imagine a Christmas without her mother. She remembered the singing as they made cookies, the secrets, the fun in choosing the perfect gift, and the anticipation of almost their favorite day of the year. A tear splashed onto her cheek, then another one. Her heart heavy at the finality of yet another chapter in her life, she turned her head into Chad’s knee, rested her arm across it, and laid her head down, weeping softly.

  Unaware of Willow’s distress, Chad’s eyes roamed over the room. He couldn’t help but marvel at the childhood Willow had stored in her heart. The tree was bedecked with ornaments that were priceless in both their artistic intricacy and the love and time invested to create them. Her toys were a part of her adult world and yet no one could accuse Willow of immaturity or childishness. Child-like at times? Definitely.

  What a life her children would have! His mind’s eye saw her sitting at that very coffee table, helping a little girl with pigtails build the perfect structure to house new fairies, angels, and, of course, candles. He pictured them writing and illustrating their own stories, and he wondered if Willow had books in her library that had never been seen or read by anyone but her or her mother. “Every child should live like this,” he thought to himself. Then as an afterthought, he allowed one other thought to invade his mind. “Or at least, I want mine to.”

  About that same time, he felt a damp spot on his knee and heard her sniffle. “Aww, Willow, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s ok. I just cry over everything these days. I’m getting used to it. It used to hurt more to cry,” Another heart-rending sniffle tore at him as she continued. “But now it’s like washing a burn—it’s soothing, but you know it will hurt again soon enough—too soon.”

  Chad’s hand smoothed her hair, but he said nothing. Neither of them knew how long they sat there, not talking, but enjoying the sights surrounding them. “Merry Christmas, Willow,” Chad whispered.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  “Ok, Luke, now what?” Chad wiped his brow, thrilled that he’d managed to get the body of the dulcimer assembled.

  “Sand.”

  Chad sighed. He hated sanding. However, Luke pushed a chair his way and handed him a ball of steel wool. As he rubbed the wood to a glassy smooth polish, Chad talked. He talked about his dreams, his goals, and how it seemed that every day he walked further away from them to the opposite extreme of life.

  “I mean, I always thought I’d become a cop. I did and I’m not sorry—really. I want to be a cop. I just thought I’d be doing drug busts, or maybe negotiate hostage situations, or even internal affairs. Instead, I ended up in Fairbury, and I turned down my shot at the east side precinct.”

  “Do you regret it?”

  “No, that’s just it. I don’t. I keep seeing myself as part of the Fairbury police for a long time.” While he had Luke’s ear, he rambled about his apartment, how everyone complained of him living in limbo, and how now he didn’t know where to start, what to do, and where to go. “Dad’s right it would be easier, but I don’t know. I don’t know what I want. I just know that every day my life just seems more perfect than the last.”

  “You just told me how much you love what is right in front of you, yet you reject it.”

  Chad set the dulcimer on the workbench and stood. “I know. It’s just so ridiculous.”

  “Have you considered talking to her about it?”

  A stunned look took Chad’s features hostage. “I’m—” he stammered, “I’m just supposed to say, ‘hey, why don’t we get married and then we don’t have to worry about what happens to our friendship if one of us gets married.’ Oh yeah, that makes sense.”

  “Well, I’d give her a long time to think about it, and I’d probably make sure you don’t sound like you’re doing her a favor,” he teased. “Think about it.”

  Warmth radiated in the room, but it wasn’t just the stove. Chad almost hated himself for loving everything about it—the quiet camaraderie, the scent of a meal cooking, and knowing that she had looked forward to his arrival. The domesticity of it pricked his conscience, but not enough to make him resent it. Rather, he embraced it just a little more.

  “Oh, I talked to my mom, and she wants you to come for the day on Friday.”

  “Well the last bus leaves for Fairbury—”

  “That’s another thing,” he interrupted. “I get Friday off, and I don’t have to be at work until six on Saturday. We could stay over—”

  “I have a goat—”

  Grinning, Chad interrupted again. “But I have a solution!”

  “What’s that?”

  “I bring the oldest Allen kid out here, and we teach him how to do it. That way, if you need to be gone, you have someone you can call if I can’t do it.”

  “Why not just come home?” Willow liked the idea of more time with Chad’s mother but didn’t quite understand making long term plans to be gone from home more often.

  “Let’s face it, most of the time, you can’t. Most of the time it’s not just about someone to bring in the chickens or milk the goat. You’re usually very busy and need to be here, but this time of year is your opportunity to build relationships with people, and if that means being away from home, then why not?”

  “I don’t know…” she hedged. “Friday is your birthday. Your mother would probably prefer to have you there without me.”

  “Are you calling Mom a liar? Her exact words were, and I quote, ‘Tell Willow I want to take her to little India and a few of the craft stores while she’s in town.’“

  Willow passed Chad his plate of roasted chicken and vegetables. “Do you think he can learn it?”

  “Who?”

  “The Allen’s boy—Caleb.”

  “You’ll go?”

  “I have to meet Grandmother at the Mad Hatter—what a name—at eleven-thirty.”

  It was as if he could read her mind. While they ate, he watched her expression as she worked thr
ough her thoughts and feelings. He knew she considered it irresponsible to leave work. Would milking a goat fall into a category with making candles and planting a garden or was it closer to mail delivery—nice if someone else does it, but she’d go into town if necessary?

  “Should I let Grandmother borrow Mother’s journals? I was thinking especially of the early ones.”

  His brain tried to switch gears and almost slipped. He took a drink of his milk, hardly noticing the difference in flavor for once, before he answered. “No. I think she’d enjoy reading them, and I know they’d be a lot of encouragement to her, but you don’t know this woman. People change. She might not be the same person your mother loved and trusted.”

  “You’re right. They’re not something I can loan and not expect back. Mother used to say, ‘Never loan what you wouldn’t give away.’ I’m not sure why she said that. Who would I have loaned anything to? I didn’t know anyone.”

  Chad sensed her dissatisfaction. “You know, you could let me take them into town and make copies of them.”

  “Copies?”

  Those random things that Kari had never explained jumped out at the oddest times. It was logical, when he considered it, that Kari might not have needed to explain the function and purpose of a copy machine. “Just a machine that takes a picture and prints it.”

  Fascinated by the idea of instant reproductions of anything on paper, Willow sighed. “I want to see one of those machines work sometime.”

  Without another word, she left her half-full plate, returning minutes later with her mother’s first two journals. “Thanks.”

  After dinner, Chad helped wash the dishes, and while Willow mopped the floor, he loaded the stoves for the night, before pulling on his jacket. Work called. “I’ll bring Caleb out tomorrow around four-thirty, ok?”

  “That’d be great. Thanks.”

  Once she heard the crunch of his tires on the new layer of snow, Willow crept from the kitchen and retrieved her knitting bag from the library. Though she was tempted to sit down and start knitting, Willow forced herself to climb the stairs and change into pajamas. Once on the couch, she smiled. Every candle glowed brightly in the room. Chad’s thoughtfulness warmed her heart and made the room seem less empty.