Past Forward Volume 1

Volume One

Chautona Havig

Copyright
201
2 Chautona Havig

Smashwords Edition

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Chautona Havig lives in a
small, remote town in California’s Mojave Desert with her husband
and eight of her nine children. When not writing, she enjoys paper
crafting, sewing, and trying to get the rest of her children
educated so that she can retire from home education.

Fonts: Book Antiqua, Alex Brush, Trajan Pro,
Bickham Script Pro.

Cover photos: AVGT/istockphoto.com and
gradyreese/istockphoto.com

Cover Art: Chautona Havig

Edited by Barbara Coyle Editing

The events and people in
this book, aside from the caveats on the next page, are purely
fictional, and any resemblance to actual people is purely
coincidental and I’d love to meet them!

Connect with Me Online:

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http://chautona.com/chautona/blog/

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All Scripture references are from the NASB.
NASB passages are taken from the NEW AMERICAN STANDARD BIBLE
(registered), Copyright 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973,
1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation

A cool blast of air surprised Willow as she
opened the police station door. A female officer smiled and waited
to squeeze past her. “Chad is just around the corner fixing another
pot of worthless coffee. He’ll be right with you.”

Without waiting for a response, the officer
called, “Chad, citizen in the building. Don’t fight destiny for too
long.”

Willow stood awkwardly at the counter
clutching her tote bag in her hands and wishing she’d thought to
stop at the mini-mart on the corner. Mother always did that. The
restrooms had external entrances, and Mother used them to wash her
hands and face and run a brush through hair that inevitably became
windblown on the five-mile trek to town.

The officer striding toward her seemed to
grow taller by the footstep. “May I help you?”

“I—Well, I don’t know if this is the right
place to come but—”

“I’m Officer Tesdall—Chad. I’ll—”

Willow tried again, interrupting Chad
Tesdall’s assurance that he’d help or find someone who could. “My
mother is dead.”

“What?”

“I woke up this morning, and she wasn’t
awake. She’s always awake before me, so I went to see if she was
ill. She was too still and I smelled—” Willow blushed as she
remembered that her mother didn’t like—hadn’t liked—to hear
discussions of bodily functions. “Her hand—face—they were
cold.”

For the first time, the reality of her loss
overtook her. Willow covered her face with her hands and sobbed.
Chad stared at the woman before him for a moment and then shouted
for Chief Varney. “Chief! I need some help in here!”

The chief of police emerged from his office.
He paused, sizing up the situation before asking, “What’s the
problem?”

“Her mother is dea— has pass— is no longer
with us,” he stammered awkwardly.

“Good grief, Chad, didn’t you learn how to
do a sympathetic notification in the academy?”

Chad nodded watching as the chief brought
Willow a chair and passed her a box of Kleenex. “She notified
me,
sir.”

“Did you kill your mother ma’am?” The
chief’s confused and horrified voice would have been comical had
the situation not been so awkward.

Willow fumbled with the Kleenex box as she
dug a handkerchief from her tote bag and blew her nose. “Oh no!
It’s just that I didn’t know what to do about it when I found her.”
She sniffled again, wiping the tears from the corners of her eyes
on the back of her hand. “I’m not a very good carpenter, and I knew
she’d need a coffin, so I haven’t dug the hole yet. I couldn’t bury
her without a coffin—could I?”

Chief Varney and Chad stared at each other
for a moment before the chief found his voice. “Um, no ma’am. That
would have been illegal. You did the right thing coming here.”

“Oh good. Mother told me what to do about
finances and things like that if something happened to her—way back
when I was really little actually—but she didn’t say anything about
the—” The woman swallowed hard. “—body.”

“Ma’am, what is your name?”

“Willow.” She folded her hands in her lap in
an attempt to gain some control before tears swallowed her again.
“Oh. Finley. Willow Finley.”

“And where do you live?”

“About five miles up the highway. We have a
farm—”

The chief picked up the phone. “Chad, follow
her out to her house, and I’ll meet you there. I want Darla with
us.” He gave her what was likely meant to be a reassuring smile. In
her estimation, it seemed more like a grimace. “I’m very sorry for
your loss, miss. Officer Tesdall will escort you home and wait for
the ambulance with you.”

“I don’t think an ambulance will do her any
good now.” Both men looked at Willow sharply, but her expression
was humorless.

Thirty minutes later, Chad and Willow rolled
up the long driveway to the old farmhouse the Finley women called
home. It had taken Chad, the chief, and the chief’s wife Darla to
convince Willow that it was perfectly safe and acceptable to ride
in a police car, or any car for that matter, especially under the
circumstances. She’d proposed to walk and meet them at the farm but
eventually capitulated when the chief opened the door and said,
“Young lady, my men don’t have an hour or two to wait around while
you mosey on home. Get in the car.”

“Cars are interesting,” she said after five
miles of near silence, “but they make my stomach flop
around—especially around the curves. I don’t think I’d want one,
but that did get us here very quickly.”

Chad nodded, uncertain of what to say.
Willow hadn’t said much in the short drive to her house, but what
she had said made him believe she’d never ridden in a car. “Perhaps
it is just my driving. Do all cars make you feel ill?”

“I don’t know. We don’t own one, and as I
told you—”

“‘
Mother’ was very
particular that you never get in a car with anyone for any reason.
Got it.”

The house surprised him. After her comments
about building coffins and digging holes, Chad had expected a
ramshackle place not fit to inhabit. Instead, the old farmhouse was
in excellent repair with fresh paint and a well-groomed lawn
surrounding it. A collie rounded the back of the house barking
furiously and somewhere nearby chickens squawked.

“You have a very nice house, Miss Finley.”
He glanced in the rear view mirror. “I see the ambulance
coming.”

“I’d better go unlock the door then. Thank
you for the drive. I enjoyed it.”

Chad followed Willow, watching as she patted
the dog, calling him Othello, and then disappeared into the house.
Inside, he found her pulling out teacups, juice glasses, and
tumblers. She looked up at him confused. “How many do I need?”

“How many what?”

“I was going to make tea for everyone but we
only have two teacups—” Her hand shook as she picked it up to
demonstrate. A second later, it crashed against a matching saucer,
shattering both into miniscule pieces.

Quiet tears flowed this time as she cleaned
up the remains of the cup. As though confirming that she was all
alone, the single whole teacup stood aside from the other
drinkware. Chad assumed that she’d never drink from that cup
again.

“There’s just the four of us—well, and the
two guys in the ambulance, but no one expects—”

The kettle whistle interrupted him. The heat
in the room was unbearably hot—stifling really—but she seemed
oblivious to it. A breeze, cool in comparison to the kitchen,
ruffled curtains at the window.
Can’t she turn on the
AC?

Paramedics pulled the gurney down the steep
stairs and through the living room, trying to spare her the sight
of her mother being loaded into the vehicle. The chief entered the
kitchen with his wife who sniffled slightly.

“Oh, Miss Finley—”

She stared at the woman, eyes darting back
and forth between the chief, Chad, and the chief’s wife. Her eyes
widened. “Oh—me. I’m sorry; I’m not used to being called that, and
it doesn’t feel like me. My name is Willow.”

“Willow,” Darla Varney continued, “you made
her look so nice. The flowers… they were fresh too, weren’t
they?”

“Yes,” Willow said simply. “I thought she’d
like that.”

Clearing his throat uncomfortably, the chief
suggested they sit at the table. “Miss—um, Willow, do you have your
mother’s birth certificate? Is there family we can call for you
or—”

“Excuse me. Mother had an envelope in the
firebox. I’ll get it.”

Minutes later, Willow returned with a
beautifully decorated but otherwise ordinary manila envelope,
letter sized. The cover was marked, “Family Records,” and inside
they found Kari Anne Finley’s birth certificate, a notarized
affidavit of Willow’s birth, and a list of addresses for next of
kin. The last things they pulled from the envelope were a life
insurance policy, naming Willow as beneficiary, and Kari’s
will.

“No birth certificate for Willow?” Mrs.
Varney stared at the young woman in disbelief.

“I was born here. Mother said she didn’t
know how to file a regular birth certificate and wasn’t sure she
wanted to, so she entered my birth in her Bible and had that paper
notarized that she signed the facts of the situation.”

“They can’t do that can they? Notarize
information on a birth?” Chad’s face showed confusion.

“They can’t now, but before the Patriot Act,
probably—either that or the notary didn’t know any better.” Chief
Varney’s voice sounded distant as he read the documents. When
finished, he looked up at Willow, compassion exuding from him.
“Willow, do you know the contents of these documents? Do you know
where the financial records are?”

Willow nodded. “My mother was always very
forthright about my birth and the circumstances around it. I also
knew from a very young age what to do if she died or was seriously
injured.”