Past Forward Volume 1 (14 page)

Behind her menu, Willow read each entrée
carefully, unsure what to choose. The beef entrees did little to
tempt her. She ate good cuts of beef frequently and was looking for
a new experience. “Should I choose seafood or poultry? I’ve never
had duck, but I read that it’s oily.”

“It is. It’s terrible actually. Well, some
people like it, but I never have. I love their prime rib.”

“I wanted to try something I haven’t ever
had...”

Bill set his menu aside and smiled across
the table. “What is one thing you’ve always wanted to try—don’t
look at the menu—but never could.”

“Shrimp or lamb.”

After a moment’s pause, he tried again. “How
hungry are you?”

“Famished.”

“Order the roasted lamb with rosemary and
whatever else they do to it here. I think you’ll love it.”

Without a second glance at the menu, Willow
laid it aside as well and smiled across the table. “Thank you.
You’re having prime rib? I don’t see it on the menu.”

“They only serve it on Saturday nights. I’m
having the veal. It’s delicious.”

Their candles flickered, the roses sent
occasional wafts of their heady perfume across the table, and the
music seemed to dance in her subconscious self. Bill appraised
Willow’s outfit with evident admiration. “That dress is lovely. I
won’t ask if you made it. I will ask, however, where you found such
beautiful fabric when I know you and your mother only shopped by
mail.”

“Mother ordered six yards of voile for
decorating her room last year. They sent sixteen.”

“Well, those roses are just amazing. I
remember that fabric incident. Your mother called me from Fairbury
about it. She wasn’t sure how to pay for it without them sending
more fabric.”

“Right. Somehow the person who accepted the
order and processed payment understood what we ordered but the
cutter didn’t.”

“
I’m just amazed at the
cost of the fabric. It wasn’t very expensive, but that is a finely
stitched design on there.”

“Oh, I did the embroidery after I finished
the dress.”

“You hand stitched that entire pattern on
your dress? Why? Why not just buy embroidered fabric?”

Willow had learned quickly from Chad that
doing for yourself what you can pay others to do instead was almost
a universal virtue in this new world she’d entered. “Because we had
ten yards of the fabric and I wanted a pattern to my dress so I
made it. What would we do with ten yards of voile unless I stitched
it into a dress?”

Bill sensed that he’d touched on a sore
spot. “Well I think you did an incredible job. I was impressed with
your cutting skills—not a single petal cut off and all—but doing
all that handwork…”

Her eyes sparkled with repressed amusement
as she realized that Bill was trying to save face. The effect,
enhanced by candlelight and the flush of excitement on her cheeks
left her looking unusually attractive. “I never realized how lovely
you are Willow.”

“Thank you. Tell me that after I’ve been
milking Wilhelmina, and I might actually believe it’s something
other than candlelight and roses.”

Their miniscule salads arrived before he
could respond. Once finished the waiter suggested wine for their
main course which Bill immediately ordered. The waiter glanced at
Willow and smiled. “I’ll need to see your ID please before I can
serve you.”

“I don’t have ID. It’s why I came to
Rockland. We’re going tomorrow to get everything taken care
of—unless you want to see my journals—no, they’re at the
hotel…”

Seeing the waiter’s wary expression, Bill
asked, “What can you recommend that is non-alcoholic?”

When the waiter left, Willow turned back to
Bill and shrugged. “Did I say something wrong?”

“He thinks we’re buying you a fake ID.”

“Why would we do that?”

Amused, Bill explained that people often
purchased counterfeit identification in order to purchase alcohol
or frequent nightclubs before they were legally old enough. “Of
course, people use it for serious crimes as well as things like
that. Identity theft is a terrible problem right now.”

“I am beginning to understand, in ways I
never could before, why Mother was so adamant about staying away
from people—especially people in the city.”

Willow stood in J.C. Penney’s, overwhelmed
by the sheer volume of available clothing. She held skirts that
were hardly long enough to hide the most basic of undergarments and
blouses that plunged lower than her custom sewn bras. On the other
hand, perfectly lovely skirts in every size and color fought with
complimentary or contrasting tops to do little more than thoroughly
confuse her.

Her throat constricted, palms growing clammy
as Willow fought the urge to run screaming from the store. Clothes
threatened to swallow her. People milled in and out of the rows and
racks of clothing. Feeling smothered by the sheer volume of
things
and the people who seemed delighted by those things,
she gasped for air, clutching her knees and closing her eyes to the
coffin of unfamiliarity that buried her.

“Willow?”

“So much—how do people decide—how—” She
dropped to the floor.

“What is it?”

“It’s too much. I don’t know how—”

He pulled her to her feet. “I—why don’t you
try to look at one thing? Maybe if you just focus on what is right
in front of you?” When she refused to open her eyes, he tried
again. “We can go… would you like to go?”

“No. I need this. I’ll do that. One thing.
Like the movie. Focus right in front of me.” She squared her
shoulders and reached for the nearest rack of blouses.

While Willow adjusted to yet another facet
of culture shock, Bill sought help. A saleswoman replacing clothes
taken to the dressing room listened patiently and fascinated as
Bill explained the situation and begged for discreet help. “I’ve
got it. I’ll take care of it. Why don’t you go look for some socks
or towels or something. She’s probably feeling self-conscious.”

Bill wandered away nervously and watched
from afar, as “Jill” hurried with a stack full of clothes to the
rack where Willow listlessly shoved aside skirt after skirt, the
hangers scraping along the metal racks and her almost enjoying the
horrible sound. “May I help you?”

Willow glanced around her, but when she saw
Bill had gone somewhere else, she forced herself to smile at the
young woman. “Oh no, let me help you.”

Before Jill knew what happened, Willow took
half the pile of clothes from her arms and looked around for some
place to put them. “Oh I—” Jill’s forehead furrowed. “I was just
putting these things away. It’s my job. Here, let me—”

“Just show me where they go, and when we’re
done putting everything away, maybe you can help me find an outfit
for tomorrow.”

As they put away the clothing, Willow
explained to the woman why she was in town and needed to be
presentable at the courthouse, but without making her look like she
was a fraud. A dowdy outfit might look as though she was making a
play for sympathy, while arriving overdressed could leave the
impression that she was just another girl from Rockland trying to
hide from her creditors. “That’s what Bill said. I don’t really
understand what it all means.”

“I think I have it. You need a khaki skirt.
Cotton—maybe twill. You want fabrics that you could have ordered.
Then you want a basic white cotton shirt. Wear your hair in a low
bun and slip on shoes—no nylons.”

Willow listened skeptically to the outfit
Jill described, but once she tried them on in the dressing room,
she had to admit that the look was perfect. It looked like
something she’d like, make and wear, but it was also contemporary
enough not to make her look like a charity case.

They found Bill fingering ties and glancing
at his watch. “I was giving you five more minutes and then—”

“I’ve got everything I need right here. I
left my tote bag in the car, though. Would you hold these things
while I go get Mother’s wallet?”

Bill shook his head and led her to the
nearest cash register. “No. You never wander outside alone after
dark in this city. Got that?”

“But you can’t pay for my clothes…”

Bill thanked Jill and paid for the purchases
before turning to Willow and leading her to the food court. “You
can either pay me back, or I can deduct it from the disbursement
account.”

The buildings around the Towers appeared
less frightening at night. Willow turned in a slow arc at the same
place she had stood earlier that afternoon, and awe, rather than
the expected terror, swept over her as she saw the midnight blue
sky dappled liberally with lights from the nearby buildings. “It’s
friendlier at night, isn’t it?”

Oppressive humidity and temperatures still
above eighty degrees urged Bill inside, taking Willow along with
him. “It’s pretty, but man it’s stifling out here.”

“I think it’s hotter in the city.”

Bill agreed. “Miles of asphalt, thousands
upon thousands of cars, and of course, being in this valley doesn’t
help. You’re up by the lake and have your own stream; it has to be
cooler at your farm.”

At the elevator, Bill sent her up alone.
“It’s getting late, and I need to get my car. I’ll pick you up out
front at eight. I’ll order breakfast to arrive at seven if you tell
me what you want.”

“Whatever you recommend is fine. Thank you
for taking me to dinner.”

Without another word, she stepped into the
elevator and punched the button for the eleventh floor. As she did,
she noticed that there was no button numbered thirteen. “Wow, they
really do avoid a thirteenth floor!” she murmured, awed.

Her door, on the other hand, was a different
matter. No matter how often she slid her card into the door slot,
it didn’t work. She reached into her tote bag for her cell phone
and started to punch Bill’s number. Willow paused and then punched
Chad’s instead. If she called Bill, he’d come back upstairs, and he
obviously wanted to go home.

“Hi Chad, I have a problem. Can you help
me?”

Chad’s voice held a trace of alarm. “Sure,
what’s up?”

“Well this place doesn’t have keys. It has a
little plastic card-like thing—it looks like the kind you used to
buy my ticket—”

“A card key, right.”

“Well I’ve tried everything and it won’t
open the door.”

Willow listened as Chad explained how to
find the arrow pointing down, find the front of the card, and let
it sit in the slot long enough for the light to change. Seconds
later, she stood inside her door relieved. “Oh thank you. I didn’t
want to call Bill back, but—”

“No problem.”

“How is everything? Did you find the pail
ok? Did you get the chickens inside? We have an owl that’ll—”

“They’re all sleeping soundly, the goat is
empty and full at the same time, and Othello is holding his nightly
vigil out by the oak tree.”

Willow suddenly felt very homesick. “I can’t
hear the cicadas here. I can only hear cars and horns and sirens,
but only if I open a window and breathe nasty air. I want to come
home.”

“You’ll be here tomorrow night. Just get
through the court hearing and then get on the bus.”

“I need a purse. My tote bag isn’t
appropriate to carry around here. I look funny. The other women all
have purses. Where can I buy one?”

“
You surprise me
sometimes, Willow.”

She kicked off her shoes and sank into a
chair. “How is that?”

“Just when I am convinced that there
couldn’t be a more unique girl in the world, you go and do or say
something utterly ordinary.”

“What’s unusual about needing a purse?”

She heard him stifle a chuckle before he
said, “It’s hard to explain. After court tomorrow, get a cab and
have it take you to the mall closest to your hotel. You should find
a Sears or JC Penney’s or Macy’s or something.”