Past Forward Volume 1 (32 page)

One by one, Willow said goodnight to the
remaining guests, until only Chad, Bill, and Chuck remained. Chuck
immediately offered to drive Willow home, and since he was already
going her way, expected an easy agreement. Bill offered as well
saying, “I had hoped we could talk.”

Chad was the lone dissenter—anxious to go
home, kick off his shoes, and lose himself in a video game. There
was a gaping hole in his plan—her presents. Among the small
packages that littered the gift table, leaning up against the back
of it was one thing that wouldn’t fit in either of the other men’s
cars. A gift from the church, the bicycle was simply too large for
a Camry or Chuck’s little sports car.

The men had argued over style. Some wanted a
ten-speed with a light frame to give her extra speed. Others,
perhaps those who better understood what someone like Willow would
prefer, suggested a beach cruiser with baskets on front and back.
Chad had sided with the beach cruiser—and won.

The moment he mentioned the bike, she’d ask
him to take her home and if the weariness he saw in her eyes was
really there, she’d tell the others to go home as well. Another
perfect opportunity to pass the relational baton to Bill or Chuck
was about to slip through his fingers. “Do either of you have room
for her bicycle?”

As he spoke, he realized that there was
another solution. He could just take the bike home and bring it out
the next time he drove that way. However, before Chad could voice
his idea, Willow glanced at their cars, grabbed an armful of gifts,
and started toward his truck.

“Sorry, Chad, but you’ll have to…” The rest
of her words disappeared into the night air.

Chuck disappeared—his car’s engine revving
within the minute. Bill glanced at the almost empty table and back
at Chad. “Thanks for all your help. Oh, and I’d like to thank
Cheri. How should I contact her?”

“I’ll text you her phone number or
address—either one.” The disappointment on Bill’s face prompted
Chad to add, “I was going to suggest taking that bike home and
dropping it off later. She just—”

Arms folded over his chest, Bill shrugged.
“It’s Willow. What can you do?”

As Chad loaded the rest of the gifts in the
bike’s baskets and grabbed the handlebars, Bill called to him from
across the square. “Hey, Chad!”

“Yeah?”

“Get a new toothbrush. I forgot to do that
for you. Sorry.”

“Why? I’ve got a good one—used it just this
morning.”

To his astonishment, Bill gagged, bending
over as if to retch. After a few seconds of dry heaves, the man
stood, turned back to him, and said, “Just get a new one. Trust
me.”

He transferred the gifts from baskets to
truck, trying to understand what Bill could have meant. Once empty
of packages, Chad hoisted the bike into the back of the truck and
climbed into the cab. “Ready?”

“Mmm hmm.”

After a few more attempts to draw her out
about the party, Chad gave up and drove her home. They didn’t
bounce over the rutted drive that curved toward the house—his
grading had worked well. He’d have to do it again soon, but for
now, it was nice. In time, she might hire it out when she saw how
helpful it was to her guests. In time, he might just be that—an
occasional guest.
Bill should be here. Bill would take her home,
flirt a bit, show her that there’s more to life than chickens and
work, and take her off to the city. Why did I agree that a bike was
a good idea again?

They carried gifts inside, piling them on
the table. Still, Willow said little. They rolled the bike into the
summer kitchen and did the evening chores. “I wonder why Willie
isn’t screaming at me. It’s so late!”

“Luke came and milked her for us.”

“I should thank him.”

Chad pulled the netting over the chicken
yard. “I did. He said, ‘You’re welcome and happy birthday.’”

She carried her double-yolked egg into the
house and put it in a bowl on the counter. It appeared that the pup
wouldn’t get this one. As she sank into her usual chair, eyes
staring at the pile of gifts, he saw how overwhelming it was. Her
sigh hurt him. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s so much—too much. I’m almost a
stranger, and look at this!” She sighed again, dropping her head
onto her arms. “I didn’t say thank you.”

“You did,” he protested ineffectively.

“Not really. Saying thanks here and there
isn’t the same. Mother would be so ashamed— Moth—”

She choked back tears once more. Chad
thought she’d been stuffing down her grief again, but this was
further proof. “You really don’t have to hold it in, Willow. It’s
natural—”

Brushing aside her pain, Willow glanced at
the pile of gifts. “Ok, you said one of these was from you; which
one is yours?”

Feeling like he was contributing to the
delinquency of a mourner, Chad pulled a small flat envelope from
the middle of the pile. He’d wrapped it in aluminum foil without
decoration of a bow or even card. “This isn’t a real gift. Not yet
anyway. It’s a ‘if you want it, I’ll get it, but I wasn’t burdening
you with it until I knew you wanted it’ gift.”

She carefully unfolded the aluminum foil,
making a special effort not to tear it, folded it, and set it
aside. Somehow, he knew that it would eventually take up residence
in her freezer. The envelope announced “photos: do not bend.”

From inside the envelope, Willow pulled out
a picture of a pair of lambs. Her silence screamed at him until
Chad couldn’t take it anymore. “Well, that’s why I didn’t buy one.
I wasn’t sure it was a good idea. I’ll figure out something
else.”

“Which one is mine?” she whispered.

“They’re both available so take your
pick.”

Her head snapped up and she met his eyes.
“You mean these are the real sheep? I mean, these two are the
actual two sheep that are available?”

Chad explained that he’d gone to New
Cheltenham and taken pictures of the lambs. “They’re waiting for my
call, and then they’ll deliver her whenever you say.”

“Are both for sale?”

He was afraid of this. Something in her tone
told him she’d try to buy both since she’d always wanted a pair and
then he couldn’t spend the money. If he could have afforded both,
he’d have offered both just to escape this issue. “No. One is
already sold, but if you want to buy the other they can deliver
both of them.”

“But you said you hadn’t bought one
yet…”

“You know what I mean.” A sheepish
expression crossed her face. He couldn’t resist teasing her. “How
appropriate.”

“What?”

“You look sheepish.”

Willow’s laughter was genuine again. “I had
to try. It’s the best present I’ve ever received. Thank you. Can
you tell Bill to call them and pay for the other one? I already
fixed the fences, so they can come anytime. I’ll need more alfalfa
though. I didn’t plant enough for Wilhelmina and sheep this
winter…” A stream of rambling thoughts about where to put them, how
to find catalogs for spinning supplies and books on sheep ranching
flowed from her as she lost herself in a new world—one he suspected
Bill might never tear her from.

He stood. She’d accepted his gift. It was
time to go. She was probably anxious to call one of the guys
anyway. “I’ve got to get going. I’m glad you had a good time, and
I’m really glad you aren’t mad at me for using you to get you to
your own party.”

“It was pretty ingenious. I’ve read about
all kinds of surprise parties, but none of the stories used the
guest of honor to get the guest of honor there.”

“Willow, nothing about you is common. We
needed an uncommon approach.”

The clock chimed midnight. Willow wrote.
Genuine gratitude for several lovely pieces of fabric flowed from
her heart and onto a hand decorated notecard. Lee had been so
thoughtful. She knew exactly what she’d make from each piece, and
she had all winter to do it—if she could resist that long.

A pile of notes with names but no addresses
lay next to her. There was one to Alexa for the book of
Galactic
Fairytales
, one to the Allens for a CD of southern gospel
music, and one to First Church at large for the bicycle. “I’ll have
to learn to ride it,” she murmured as she added the note to Lee
onto the pile.

Her fingers traced the beautiful patterns on
the large, square pad of papers, compliments of the Varneys. She’d
never imagined something so perfectly designed for scrapbooks. Chad
always talked as if no one infused beauty into simple things like
photo pages in an album or envelopes to hold documents. Now she
understood what he meant. People bought the products to do it
rather than made them.
To save time, no doubt,
she thought
to herself, a smile forming on her lips. He must have told the
Varneys about their scrapbooks.
Mother—
Willow stuffed down
the thought. She couldn’t think about Mother right then.

Two gifts remained. She picked up the
nearest one to her—a tiny box with an even smaller card. She opened
it, recognizing the writing. It was from Bill.
For memories past
and future. Happy Birthday, Bill.

Willow’s fingers closed around the ivory
handle of her letter opener. She ran her finger along the blade,
remembering the day they found it in a box of miscellaneous things
in the attic—things left by the former owner. It seemed so silly to
have a tool simply for opening mail—until she received her first
paper cut. The antique letter opener had held a place of honor on
the bookshelf ever since.

She carefully sliced open the paper with the
tool and peeled the paper from the little white box. The small
piece of yellow paper looked like the center of the daisies Bill
had brought her. She smoothed it, stacking it on top of the pile of
wrapping paper she’d accumulated. Her fingers wriggled the lid off
the small gift box, revealing a jeweler’s box. Her fingers stroked
the velvet gently. She’d never seen one, but she recognized it from
descriptions she’d read.

“Wow. I see why people get excited about
little ring boxes. This is beautiful,” she whispered to herself,
prying open the lid.

Nestled against the white satin lining, lay
a locket. Marcasite combined with mother of pearl—a perfect choice
for her. “And I thought the box was lovely!” she exclaimed.

Once she wrote her note of thanks to Bill,
she pulled the final box to her. Wrapped in comic paper, a twine
bow, and no card, the box gave no indication of the giver. With as
much caution as she’d shown with the other gifts, she sliced the
tape from the box letting the papers fall aside. She’d read those
later. Mother sometimes had brought home the comics section of
newspapers, and she’d saved them over the years. They were treats
for the rare occasions when she was sick.

The outside of the box advertised frozen
waffles. She opened the flaps and laughed. From within, she pulled
a six-pack of Dr. Pepper and a Frisbee.

Taking up her last note card, Willow wrote
her salutation. “Mr. Charles Majors…”

Monday morning began badly and snowballed
into a nightmare. By ten-thirty, Willow turned off her phone. Bill
had called first at eight o’clock—the minute he entered his office.
Darla Varney was next at nine, followed by Chuck at ten sixteen on
the dot. If one more person called, she thought she’d go crazy.

Green beans screamed to be canned. She’d
foolishly given Jill the first fruits of the crop to give her time
between batches, but now she had to decide whether she would can
them at all. “What a way to spend a birthday,” she muttered,
enjoying her moment of self-pity. If anyone deserved a good pity
party, Willow was sure she did.

However, a winter without green beans seemed
intolerable. Peas weren’t exactly her favorite vegetable. She
should have thought of that before she canned them simply because
they always had. That hadn’t been very smart. Next year she’d skip
the peas—plant just enough for salads and that’s it—unless Jill
wanted them. She also needed those rows if she was going to have
enough carrots, onions, and turnips for winter. So much to
consider… She’d can. Maybe it would take her mind off the second
worst day of her life.

The clothes needed to go on the line first.
If she wanted crisp sheets for her bed tonight, they had to dry and
preferably, before they turned sour in the washer. Laundry first,
then canning.

How did mother ever manage to keep it all
straight? Had she known about the informal fraternal order of new
wives who thought the same thing after a few weeks or months of
homemaking, Willow might have felt a lot better. As it was, her
mantra for the morning became,
I can do this. I can do
this.

Twenty-four quarts of green beans later,
Willow cleaned her canning mess and felt a sense of satisfaction,
knowing her food for winter was over half secured. She glanced at
her watch and smiled. She had time to put her steak on the grill
before she had to milk Wilhelmina.