Past Forward Volume 1 (20 page)

He slid his phone screen to Luke’s number,
punched it, turned it on speaker, and slapped it in the holder on
the dashboard. “Hey, Luke. I need advice.”

“About Willow?”

Unsure how to respond when he’d obviously
been too transparent already, Chad mumbled something about “that
girl needing more friends and less dependence on him for help and
support.” Even as he spoke, Chad knew he didn’t sound very
convincing.

Luke’s gentle voice responded with the last
thing Chad expected to hear. “Chad, when you’re ready to be honest
with both of us, call me back. Until then, take it up with the
Lord.”

The phone clicked. Chad growled and punched
the off button, nearly knocking the phone onto the floor. “Who does
he think he is anyway? I ask for help and get a ‘deal with it
yourself.’ What kind of Chris—”

Shame welled up in Chad’s heart. He’d called
Luke to complain about someone needing help and his desire to tell
her to “deal with it yourself and leave me out of your life.” He
knew the right thing to do, but he only wanted it to be sin if
someone else didn’t do it.

Sighing deeply, he punched the redial button
and prepared for a healthy feast of fried crow. “Hey Luke.”

“You beat your record. I’ll take a slice of
that crow pie from you and feed it to the pups.”

“I was angling for fried but ok. Pie it is
and you can have it.”

After a few chuckles, Luke’s characteristic
silence hovered between them. Impatiently, he waited for whatever
nugget of suppressed wisdom Luke would eventually share and thanked
the Lord for night minutes and long drives to Brunswick. At least
this counseling session was free. The last one had sent him over
his monthly minute plan and cost him an extra twenty dollars.

“You’re protective of her.”

“Not because I want to be!” he protested
vehemently.

“That’s not what I said. I didn’t say you
wanted to protect her but that you do. Well, if Sunday was any
indication. What sparked this call tonight?”

Chad described seeing Willow in town and the
realization that it would be dark before she made it home. He told
of the meeting in the coffee shop and of how Lee had shooed him
away. “So I left.”

“And called me complaining that she needed
more friends?” Luke added with audibly repressed amusement. “Chad,
she was making a new friend, didn’t ask you for anything, and
apparently has managed to survive for twenty years or so without
you holding her hand through them. I think you’re still deceiving
yourself.”

After a couple of stammering false starts,
Chad blurted, “But that’s just the point! It was so nice to be able
to drive away knowing I didn’t have to worry about her walking
along that highway in the dark. I need more of that and less of
her
in my life.”

“Has she decided that she needs you, or did
you decide that?”

Chad blustered, trying to backpedal without
being too obvious about it and succeeded in making himself look and
feel like a fool. “She doesn’t know what she needs, Luke! She
walked home from the bus station.”

“No way!”

A quick reply was the last thing Chad had
expected. He was accustomed to having time to prepare a rebuttal to
Luke’s insightful comments. “What?” The question was a ploy for
time.

“You heard me.”

“Luke, maybe you didn’t understand her
situation. Willow lives five—”

“I understand. I understand that for twenty
some odd—”

“Twenty-two” Chad interrupted irritably.

“Twenty-two years,” Luke continued, “Willow
has managed to walk back and forth to town without your help or
permission. She’s managed to run a farm, keep a house, and—”

“With the help of her mother who happens to
be dead at the moment—”

“I assume she plans to stay dead, Chad. So
what does that have to do with anything?”

Speaking slowly and carefully as though
talking to a child, Chad tried again. “But Willow had help all
those years. Actually, she probably didn’t help much herself until
about five or ten years ago.”

“You seriously underestimate the abilities
of children. Aggie’s kids have stripped wallpaper, cleared the
entire property of weeds and scrub brush, painted trim, sanded
woodwork, scraped tile, and I can’t remember what else. Willow has
been a significant help for a very long time.”

“Well—”

Luke interrupted again. “And before Willow
did any of it, her mother did it all alone; I suspect at right
about Willow’s age now...”

The statement hovered over the conversation
like a thundercloud. If Chad responded at all, it would explode.
Taking a deep breath, Chad let the cloud burst.

“That’s just the problem, Luke.
She—Kari—Willow’s mom—was so alone. Terrified. She gave birth in a
thunderstorm, all alone in that house, too scared to leave it,
terrified to stay. They froze when she didn’t get enough wood
chopped; she ate canned food until
I
got sick of it just
reading about it.”

“And you don’t want that for Willow.”

Chad sighed in relief. Finally, Luke
understood. “No. I don’t.”

Unaware that he’d opened himself up for the
kill, Chad waited for Luke to tell him it was ok to be worried but
that he didn’t need to invest himself in this friendship. The Lord
would take care of Willow without using his hands to do it. A
deceptive peace stole over him as he waited for the words that
would return his life to normal.

“My question to you then is, ‘Why do you
think you have a right to decide what you want
for
her if
you don’t want to invest
in
her?’”

“I really appreciate the ride home. I can’t
imagine walking all that way like this. Would you like to come
in?”

Lee’s laughter brought a faint bark from
Othello out at the gravesite and a series of yaps and whimpers from
the puppy in the barn. “If I hadn’t insisted on giving you a ride,
you wouldn’t have ripped it.”

Willow called to Othello assuring him all
was well and let the pup scamper from the barn. “It’s almost dark,
so I’m going to put up the chickens and let the pup run around
before I go in and change. Feel free to go on in if you
prefer.”

“Can I watch? I’ve never seen chickens up
close.”

“You’ve never seen chickens?”

Lee shook her head. “Not in real life. I’ve
seen them in movies and books, but the only other ones I’ve seen
were butchered and wrapped in plastic at the store.”

While Willow shooed the birds into their
coop, Lee watched from the other side of the fence. When Willow
returned with an egg in hand, she asked, “All those chickens and
only one egg?”

“I gather them in the morning, but one of
the gals in there is on her own schedule. I can’t complain, though.
They’re all double yolk and show up around seven o’clock like
clockwork.”

Willow cracked the egg into a bowl by the
back porch and waited for the puppy to eat his late night treat.
Lee stifled a gag at the sight of the puppy she’d just been
petting, inhaling the raw egg. What other gross things had the dog
eaten recently?

“Ok, girl, it’s time for bed.” Willow
pointed to the barn. “I’ll be right in. I just have to lock her in
again, or she’ll drive me crazy all night.”

While Willow dragged the reluctant puppy to
the barn, Lee hurried inside to wash her hands. Petting a dog had
never grossed her out more. Willow entered the kitchen and smiled
at the sight of Lee scrubbing her hands with a bar of soap. “Farm
animals are dirty. They don’t get brushed and washed as often as
pets.”

In an attempt to redirect the conversation,
Lee’s eyes scanned the room. “This is a really cool kitchen. It’s
so big! Is that an actual wood stove—as in to cook on?”

“Yes. It’s nice in winter.”

“I bet it’s horrible while you’re cooking in
summer though—so hot.” The words flew out of her mouth before she
could stop them.

Willow disappeared into a small room near
the sink. At one end of it—a pantry it seemed—was a circuit breaker
panel. To Lee’s astonishment, Willow flipped a breaker lever and
then carried out an oscillating fan, plugging it into an outlet in
the kitchen. In the living room, she uncovered another and plugged
it in as well. “We have fans for when it gets overwarm. I’ll be
right back. I really need to change shirts.”

Lee wandered around the living room, taking
in each detail of the carefully laid out room. It had a
minimalistic flavor to it and yet with a deliberate eye to beauty.
She knew little about Willow’s personal taste, but it was evident
that each thing in the room held meaning or a specific use.

The door to a room on her right stood wide
open. She glanced inside on her way past and froze. Magnetized by
the sheer volume of books in the room, Lee flipped on the light and
stepped inside. Her fingertips slid along the spines as she skimmed
the titles. From classics to children’s books and books on how to
do almost everything, the shelves held a wealth of information and
enjoyment.

Hearing Willow step in behind her, Lee said,
“Wow. I’ve never seen more books in one room in my life. I don’t
know if Bookends has as many as you do.”

“Oh, I’m glad you mentioned that place. Chad
recommended that I buy one of Miss—I mean Alexa Hartfield’s novels.
He thinks I’d like them. He also mentioned talking to her about my
clothes.”

This comment piqued Lee’s interest and
tickled her ire. “What about your clothes?”

Willow brought Lee a glass of ice water,
unaware that the broken chips of ice in her drink fascinated her
guest. “Well, I asked him about my dress on Sunday because I
noticed my clothes are kind of different than—well, take yours. Our
clothes are very different.”

“But they suit you.”

“That’s what Chad said. He said if I wasn’t
happy with what I have that I should talk to Miss Hartfield,
because she has a unique style. I think he was trying to make me
feel confident in my choices.”

“How very sensitively unlike him.”

Willow snapped off the light as they left
the room, lit the lamp beside the couch, and sank into the corner.
“What do you mean?”

“Chad’s a nice guy, but he can be a bit
arrogant. From the sounds of it, he’s also meddling in your life.
That kind of sensitivity doesn’t fit his persona.”

“You don’t like Chad very much, do you?”

A sigh escaped. “He’s young, but he’s ok. He
just hasn’t fit into the group very well, and it makes things
awkward sometimes.”

“He told me he’s shy and uncomfortable
around people he doesn’t know…” Willow began, remembering. “As for
meddling, I don’t know. He understands a lot about my mother’s
past, and as the officer who was on duty when I had to ask for help
when I found Mother dead—”

Lee threw up her hands in surrender. “Wow.
Say no more. I was wrong about him. I get it.”

“Now if he would just quit feeling obligated
to save me from—well, whatever he’s trying to save me from—life
would be perfect.”

Confusion washed over Lee as she listened.
Her assumption that Willow had come to Chad’s defense due to
Willow’s own interest in him fizzled as the younger woman spoke.
Just the tone of exasperation alone indicated that Willow was
certainly not emotionally attached to Fairbury’s newest officer.
The complicated twists and turns of Willow’s relationships
fascinated Lee in a warped sort of way. Uncertain of how to
respond, she returned the conversation to the topic of clothing.
“So were you looking for a new look or what?”

“Well, I think Chad was right. My clothes do
look like me. I like them, but I also liked some of what I saw in
Rockland. I do need a few new things, so I just wondered if I
should consider a change of style for those. Sounds silly when I
say it aloud, doesn’t it?”

Lee took a sip of her water, praying for the
right words. “I don’t think it sounds silly at all. Few people have
Alexa Hartfield’s ability to be comfortable while standing out in a
crowd. Even fewer people can do it and still be modest and humble.
Alexa can.” Her fingers fidgeted as she worked to phrase her words
carefully. “I just think that if you want something new, it should
reflect you as a person and not just be a reflection of those
around you, or you won’t be comfortable in it.”

“Then I’d definitely stand out—in all the
wrong ways. I knew you would understand. Chad didn’t.” Willow
pulled Lee upstairs eagerly, and after lighting another lamp, she
spread out her clothing. “See, I wear a lot of jeans and cut-offs.
But I try to make my tops be pretty and comfortable.”

“You have a lot of skirts too. Do you change
often?”

“Well, when the dirty work is done, sure.
Not as much in winter, but in summer, skirts are cooler in the
afternoons and evenings.”

Lee asked about fabrics, her needs, and her
usual clothing purchases. Willow answered by pulling a thick
catalog of fabric swatches from a room full of craft supplies. “You
make them, of course. I don’t know why I even asked.”