Past Forward Volume 1 (12 page)

“Is there anyone who can take care of the
animals for you?”

“Well, no. It was just Mother and me, and
now—”

Bill tried again patiently, “What about that
cop? Does he know how to feed chickens and milk a goat? Is there
anyone at that church?”

Willow’s head shook automatically but she
said contradictorily, “Well, Chad knows how to…”

“Great! Let’s call. What’s his number?”

Somewhat disconcerted at Willow’s immediate
recollection of Chad’s number, Bill punched the buttons on his
phone and waited for Chad to answer. He explained the situation and
secured Chad’s agreement to house and animal sit Thursday night
through Saturday morning. Satisfied with his arrangements, Bill
turned to Willow and grinned.

“You’re all set.”

“Why until Saturday? Isn’t the—the—whatever
it’s called—isn’t it in the morning? Why won’t I be home in time
for evening milking?”

“Well, we can’t know what’ll happen with DNA
testing or if there’ll be an afternoon session. I’ve booked a room
at the Rockland Towers for Thursday and Friday nights. I thought
I’d drive you back on Saturday after a trip to the zoo or
something.”

They argued for several minutes before
Willow slammed a plate of salad and cold chicken in front of Bill
and said in carefully measured tones, “I’ll bring clothes for two
days, but I don’t promise to stay both days. Enjoy your dinner.
I’ll see you tomorrow evening. Goodnight.”

Without another word, Willow disappeared
through the doorway. Bill heard footsteps on the stairs, returning
once more. He watched amused as she grabbed her salad plate and
disappeared once more. After eating his meal, he found a blank
piece of paper in a notebook of sorts, tore it out, and wrote her a
note.

Willow,

I apologize for upsetting you. I just
assumed that you’d want to see a little of the city. Since things
could go late, I made plans. I shouldn’t have been so presumptuous.
I should have asked. The last thing I want to do is make things
uncomfortable between us.

Thank you for a lovely afternoon. I enjoyed
the movie immensely, and as I saw it last week and barely gave it a
five, you must have been the difference. I have reservations at The
Oakes for dinner tomorrow after you arrive. If you’d care to go,
please arrive in something suitable for a fine restaurant.
Otherwise, we can go get Chinese or something else if you’re
hungry.

Again, I’m sorry. I’m very sorry.”

Willow read the words slowly as she ate her
breakfast on Thursday morning. Between bites of “scrambled omelet”
and muffins, she planned her work for the day and realized that if
she didn’t make soap, she’d have to throw away some of the goat’s
milk in the fridge. Suddenly, soap became a huge priority.

Chad watched fascinated as Willow wiped
beads of perspiration from her forehead and carefully stirred the
soap mixture. He’d asked about the harshness of lye, sending Willow
into a titter of giggles. As she worked, Willow explained the
saponification process and assured him that during the soap making
process, the lye converted into glycerin and was perfectly safe for
use on delicate skin.

She pulled her wooden spoon from the pot,
watching the liquid slowly creep down the spoon and then drip into
the pan like honey onto toast. “It’s ready. Can you bring those
molds over here?”

In what seemed like no time, Willow poured
soap into molds, cleaned out the pans, and cleared the workspace.
Sweat trickled down her temples and left streaks on her cheeks that
looked deceptively like tears. While he dried the pots and the
utensils, Chad asked when she’d cut bars and how long it would be
before the soap was safe to use.

Once the cleanup was complete, and the molds
returned to the pantry, Willow took Chad on a tour of her work,
handing him a list of what she did in the mornings and evenings.
Othello trotted beside them, as though aware that something was
amiss. “Look at him! He’s getting so clingy.”

“Animals don’t handle loss with the
detachment that we assume.” Chad hoped his voice didn’t betray his
concerns. She’d been so lost the previous week, and now she acted
as though everything was back to normal in her life.

“Ok, so you have to check the hen house. We
had to kill the rooster, so it’s important to get the eggs. I let
the chickens out when I feed them in the morning and then…”

All around the little farmyard Willow
chattered about how and what to feed the pig, where to store the
milk pail, reminding him half a dozen times to scald the pail when
he was done scrubbing it. “Othello gets extra eggs, leftover meat,
and if you get desperate, there are packages of frozen organ meats
in the freezer marked with his name on them.”

“No dog food?”

Her laughter rang out merrily. “Where would
we get dog food?”

“Where do you get chicken feed?”

“The feed store in Brant’s Corners delivers
it to the barn every three months.”

“They’d have brought dog food too—”

Willow shrugged. “Then what would we do with
our leftovers and organ meats?”

After the grand tour, they stood at the
pasture gate and watched as the cow munched on grass and
occasionally stared wide-eyed at the onlookers. “She’s a big
one.”

Nodding, Willow smiled. “She’s a
Limousin—longer than a dairy cow. Mother said something about them
having an extra rib, but I think she was joking. I need to look
that up someday.”

“Do you always buy these?”

“No. We’ve had a few Belgian Blues, but we
think these have better meat.”

The pastures were huge. As she pointed out
each section of their land, he noticed a trough in each one. “Which
one will you use for your sheep?”

“All of them. I’ll rotate the sheep behind
the cow.”

“When are sheep available? I mean, it’s not
like puppies or anything, is it? Aren’t sheep born in spring?”

Laughing at his curiosity, Willow glanced at
her watch and slowly returned to the house. “Well, lambing happens
in fall or spring, I think, but most spring lambs won’t be weaned
until June some time if they’re born in April.”

“So are you going to get one?”

She reached for the screen door, turned, and
glanced back down at him. Her hair whipped around her face in the
summer breeze, giving her a languid air that belied her industry
and strength. “Why are you so fixated on the lambs?”

“You want to spin. I think you should have
lambs for spinning.”

“Um, I think I’d have some pretty sick lambs
on my hands,” she chuckled as she crossed the kitchen and hurried
up the stairs. “I’ll be right back. I need to take a quick shower
and get ready for the bus.”

Assuming he was in for an hour of primping,
Chad checked his watch nervously. Three-thirty. The bus left daily
at four-thirty sharp. If she didn’t get a move on, she’d miss the
bus, and he’d be stuck driving her all the way to Rockland.

“Maybe I should call and see if anyone is
available to drive her,” he muttered to himself.

The water stopped above him. Was she taking
a bath? He tried to focus on anything but his watch. The strange
counter and cupboard on one side of the large eat-in kitchen caught
his eye. He’d stood there that first day as she frantically tried
to find enough drink ware for tea. The lone teacup sat alone on the
middle shelf of a narrow section in the center. It had once held a
mate.

With a deep sigh he turned and leaned
against the counter, his thumbs hooked into his jean pockets. She
was all alone, and all he could think of was getting away from her.
Again. How selfish.

“That’s a pretty mournful-sounding
sigh.”

Chad jumped. “I thought you were taking a
bath!”

Willow continued to French braid a small
string of dripping hair from one side of her head to the other in a
semi-crown. “I don’t bathe. I shower. I hate baths.”

“That was the fastest shower I’ve ever—”
here he stumbled. Seen didn’t work. He didn’t see the shower and
didn’t want to imply he had. Heard sounded weird. “Anyway, that was
fast.”

To his dismay and premature embarrassment,
she began to untie the thick terry robe. He hurried to the sink and
grabbed a glass, filling it with water. Willow’s voice followed
him. “Are you all right?”

His peripheral vision caught sight of a
white garbed Willow entering the mudroom and returning again.
“Fine,” he choked. “Just fine.”

“Think this dress will work for dinner at a
nice restaurant?”

“Know where he’s taking you?” Chad tried to
sound disinterested. He turned and glanced over the sleeveless,
white, full-skirted dress. “Looks fine to me.”

“I can’t remember the name. A tree or flower
or something, I think. He said dress up though. This is the nicest
thing I own.”

Impressed, he asked, “The Oakes?”

“That’s it. I—”

“For someone who remembered a ten digit
number the first time she read it, you are lousy with details.”

“I’m lousy with things I hear and some
things that aren’t number related. I’m fine if I read it or it’s
about numbers.”

Grabbing a kitchen towel, she squeezed her
hair repeatedly and combed in between squeezes. “It’ll have to dry
on the way. We have to leave soon. I’ll go get my shoes. Can you
put my suitcase in your truck? It’s by the front door.”

Chad glanced at his watch as she disappeared
through the doorway. It wasn’t even four o’clock yet. Somehow,
she’d translated a shorter travel time in the car vs. walking, but
it still left them leaving much too early.

He met her at the bottom of the stairs, one
hand on her suitcase. “Where’d you get a suitcase, anyway?”

“Mother’s—her graduation gift. She said she
only used it once.” Her voice cracked as she added, “To come here,
of course.” She took a step off the stairs and her shoes came into
view.

Chad shook his head. “Have anything
white?”

Willow glanced at her slightly scuffed but
clean tan Birkenstocks and shrugged. “I have these and my winter
boots. Oh, and I have tennis shoes and regular work boots.”

With a quick glance at his watch, Chad
groaned. “We have thirty-five minutes or so to get you in town,
find some kind of sandals, and onto a bus.”

“What’s wrong with these?”

“They’re fine for everyday wear, but not for
that restaurant and not for court. You need something else. Even
dressy flip-flops will work. We’ll try the market first. They’re
faster than the shoe store.”

“I have flip flops that I made into
slippers. Let me get them!”

Before Chad could assure her that there was
no way slippers would work, Willow raced up the stairs and returned
with the most amazing “slippers” he’d ever seen. “Where did you—how
did you?”

“I didn’t like those plastic things, but I
hate the feel of hard wood under my feet so I knitted new
straps.”

“Those are perfect. Wear those.”

“I’ll get them all dirty!”

As patiently as he could, Chad led her from
the house, locked the door behind him, and urged her into his
truck. “You have shoes, and we won’t have to race. Make yourself
some more, or I’ll buy you some more. I don’t care, but let’s
go.”

They zipped down her driveway, bouncing over
the ruts, rattling their teeth, before gliding onto the highway. By
the time they reached town, Chad realized his mistake. He whipped
into the police station parking lot. Quickly, he jogged around to
open the door for Willow but found her pulling her suitcase from
the back of the truck, her dress leaning against the dusty truck
bed.

“Wait! You’ll get your dress dirty!”

Too late. The front of her dress was
streaked with dust. Undaunted, Willow began beating on it and
brushing the filth from it as though thistledown from a dandelion.
“Does the bus come here?”

“No it parks behind the Fox Theater, but
there’s a street fair tonight. I forgot about it. They have one
every year on Flag Day weekend.”