Past Forward Volume 1 (42 page)

A cheer went up from the crowd, drowning out
her final words. Chad raced to swing her around jubilantly. “You
did it! You beat the reigning champion.”

“Thanks to you.”

“What do you mean?”

Willow shook her head. “I’ll explain it
later. I won fairly. You can’t let your train of thought be
derailed by others around you.”

Mr. Shumacher called the group to attention.
“We have a winner. I’d like to present my book of insults to our
new champion in addition to the tickets for the RAC production of
As You Like It
. I’m sure you’ll love it!”

“Let’s get something to drink. You must be
parched.”

For nearly half an hour, they wandered the
booths, tasting the various delicacies and enjoying the street
acts. As she admired a necklace from a woman wearing dozens, a
voice called over the loudspeaker. “Come one! Come all!” the
announcer shouted from the gazebo. “Please stay behind the ropes or
move to another street.”

The announcer called Willow and Alexa to the
gazebo. “As the finalists of the Shakespeare bee, we decided to
give these two lovely ladies the honor of being the ‘fair’ maidens
of the evening!”

Alexa led Willow to the gazebo where they
each chose silks that matched their clothing. The announcer
continued. “In order to keep things interesting, our horsemen have
volunteered to sit out the first joust in order to allow Joe and
Chad to compete for the title of winner of the tournament.”

The two officers exchanged nervous glances,
but Willow’s squeal and Alexa’s mischievous grin prompted the men
to throw up their hands and cross the rope, making exaggerated bows
as they did. Time crawled. Snails have moved more quickly than the
men did as they donned armor, joking and laughing about how
ridiculous they felt. Then, they followed as the real jousters led
them away. The crowd waited impatiently for the return of their
entertainment.

“I hear hooves!”

Necks craned to see the horses. Around the
corners of Elm and Beech streets, two men rode onto Market Street
toward one another at moderate speeds. With only the silks tied
around their arms to identify them the crowd watched, expecting to
see Chad and Joe race gallantly toward each other with grace and
agility. They didn’t.

Joe, never having ridden a horse, barely
managed to stay seated. Alexa and Willow stifled guffaws as he slid
around in the saddle, nearly falling repeatedly. The “real” knight
jogged alongside him, pushing his hips back in place with each slip
and slide.

However, Chad, though perfectly comfortable
in the saddle, was clearly not comfortable holding a heavy lance
and riding with nearly forty pounds of metal strapped to him. While
he slipped much less often, his lance nearly dragged the ground
beside him.

The crowd laughed and jeered. Every second
that they grew closer, the men grew visibly more nervous. Joe tried
to hold his lance steady but failed miserably. Chad looked more
confident with every step, but when the official knights dashed out
of the way and left them to their own resources, the two men became
comic relief for the night.

At first impact, both men flew from their
saddles and landed on their backsides, grunting at impact. The
crowd hushed as the men stared at one another. Joe jumped up and
grabbed his lance backing away slowly. Chad caught the idea and
followed suit.

With twenty yards between them, the men
charged. Joe, in the last few feet, tilted his lance downward like
a pole for vaulting and flew through the air landing, once more, on
his backside. Unable to stop his momentum, Chad’s lance hit the
ground flinging him sideways. He rolled several feet and lay
still.

Willow took a step in his direction but
Alexa held her back whispering, “You’ll embarrass him.”

Both men stood. Chad removed his helmet. Joe
followed suit and then removed his leg armor as well. Minutes
later, each man retied the silks to their bare arms and stared at
each other as though to say, “Now what?”

Alexa hurried down the steps of the gazebo,
crossed the yard, and disappeared into the fortuneteller’s booth.
She exited moments later, carrying two chairs. “You boys can get
the table; I’m not carrying it in this dress!”

“Why for?” Chad quipped.

“Arm wrestle, what else?”

Applause erupted from the crowd. The table
arrived, and Joe started to sit but Alexa waved him back. “Who said
anything about you?” She beckoned Willow and motioned for her to
sit.

Chad protested. “That’s just not fair!”

“What, don’t think Willow can hack it,
Chad?” Joe taunted.

“No, I am afraid she’ll break Alexa’s
arm!”

“Alexa can handle herself.”

Willow took her place opposite Alexa and
stared interestedly at the table. “So what do we do?”

A roar of laughter followed her statement.
Alexa grabbed Willow’s hand, showed her how to keep her elbows
down, and then gently pushed Willow’s arm to the table. “Except
that you’ll resist and try to push mine over.”

“Oh no!”

“Worried?” Alexa queried, amused.

“Yes. For you. You have no upper body
strength. I think Chad might be right.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“Maybe you should be,” Willow muttered.

The wrestling match was over before it
started. The minute “Go!” left Joe’s lips, Alexa’s arm was
flattened against the table. Immediately, she looked at Alexa’s
face looking for pain, but Alexa just laughed.

“You warned me. I had no idea—you are
strong. Fight Chad!”

The crowd agreed. Chants of “Wil-low,
Wil-low” echoed around them. She shrugged and pushed her arm up on
the table ready for the challenge. Chad, on the other hand, held
back as if uncertain.

“Come on, Chad, it’s just fun. I didn’t hurt
Alexa…”

The slight taunt in her tone amused him. He
took Alexa’s vacated place and wrapped his fingers around hers
feeling the strength in them. Their eyes met and an understanding
passed between them.

“Go!”

Muscles strained. This was nothing like the
previous no-contest match. This was serious. They each fought for
every centimeter of leverage but eventually, Willow’s arm drooped
and at the touch of the table against her knuckle, she released her
death grip on Chad’s hand.

“I lose. I felt the table.”

Chad didn’t budge. “You could have beaten
me. I demand a rematch.”

“I’m tired I guess. I started off ok
but—”

The announcer demanded a clearance of the
area so the “real” tournament could take place. “Surely, you
joust!” Chad quipped, but no one other than Willow heard him.

Wayne at The Pettler handed Willow a daisy,
almost robotic in his movements, but her exclamation of delight
brought a smile to his face. “Here, take a few more. You understand
daisies.”

He thrust a dozen or so daisies into her
hands and smiled broadly. “A woman with Chad deserves something to
smile at—she certainly can’t smile at him!”

“Why, I do all the time, but thanks!”

Without another word, Willow crossed the
street, wove around several booths until she found the one she
wanted. She pulled a large beaded clip from a display rack and
passed it to the vendor. “I’d like this.”

The woman and Chad both watched delighted as
she snapped half the stems length from the flowers. She gathered
her hair into a loose ponytail and twisted into a knot at the back
of her hair. With the clip, she secured the daisies in the valley
of her twist. “There.”

Chad smiled his approval. “It suits
you.”

“It’ll hold them until I get home
anyway.”

The roar of the crowd told them the joust
was over. Music filled the streets, and she grabbed his hand.
“Let’s go. There’s only an hour left. I want to dance!”

Chad entered his apartment and unbuttoned
his shirt. He tossed it in a pile in the corner of the room,
untying the green silk scarf from his arm as soon as the shirt left
his grasp. The scarf, he dropped to the couch and strolled toward
the kitchen for a bottle of orange juice but stopped midway

He retraced his steps and fingered the
length of silk. After surveying his living area, looking for some
place to tie or hang it, Chad nodded, satisfied. Neighbors shouted
their disapproval as he pounded a nail into the wall. Regardless of
how he tied the scarf to it, he had to admit that it looked
terrible.

Moonlight streamed in through the window. He
glanced at the pole holding his curtains. Feeling like a decorating
genius, he draped the scarf around the pole and stood back to
survey the results. “Now
that
looks good.”

September 1996-

I went to Rockland today. Alone of course.
Willow stayed home with Bumpkin. I told her not to start a fire,
not to climb up in the loft, and not to use knives. I forgot to
tell her not to go fishing. I arrived home to a bucket full of fish
in the cellar. Her little pixie face grinned at me and said, “I
couldn’t clean them—you said…” Oh boy. What have I done?

She found an algebra book I had in the
library. I didn’t even know I had one. She read the lessons and
then asked me how to add, subtract, and multiply fractions so she
could try the problems. She’s ten. I think she’ll be beyond my
mathematic capabilities in the next couple of years.

I think we’ll embellish all of our files and
journals this winter. I ordered paints and sprays to protect the
work. Colored pencils. She needs more creativity. I should buy her
a doll to dress. I’ll ask Mr. Burke for suggestions.

While in Rockland, I walked by the house on
Wimpole Street. It looks the same as ever. I can’t do it again. The
urge to go visit was almost irresistible. I almost convinced myself
that I could do it without mentioning Willow. I don’t trust
myself.

The good news is, however, that my accounts
are growing nicely. I have more than made up for the money spent to
get set up, and by the time I’m sixty, we could be looking at eight
figures. She can do anything. Go anywhere. Be anyone she wants to
be.

January 1997-

Willow is a designer at heart. The clothing
she created for her Christmas doll is incredible. I mentioned how
ice skaters use flesh colored knit to give the impression of skin.
Not a smart move. She asked me to call and order some immediately.
She practically pushed me out the door. Now her doll has clothes
without that nasty orangish brown body fabric showing at the neck
and upper arms. It’s amazing.

Her relationship with the Lord inspires me.
When my faith grows weak, I observe her. She doesn’t look for
loopholes. She accepts. When I hear “no” from the Lord, I fight it.
I take it personally. When she hears no, Willow accepts it as
readily as she accepts a straightforward no from me. Oh, for faith
like hers!

We’re nearly done with our projects. It’s
almost February. Soon we’ll plant tomatoes and create winterizing
houses for the lettuce beds. I am craving a nice big salad.

I wonder what the living room chaise would
look like if we reupholstered it. That red is quite garish. Perhaps
a lovely green suede would be better. I’ll ask Willow.

The bus pulled into the Rockland station,
and Willow felt like a seasoned traveler as she snapped her
mother’s journal closed and slipped it into her purse. Within
minutes, she stood waiting for the train that would take her into
the heart of the city. As she waited, her eyes scanned the station,
observing everything around her.

Humanity looked, smelled, and acted
different in the city. Travelers crowded around their station
markers, hoping for a seat on trains that would deposit them
anywhere else but there. However, the homeless shuffled between
areas, trying to avoid security personnel who would send them above
ground and into the heat.

At the Jefferson Station, Bill waited for
her as she stepped onto the platform. His eyes lit up the moment
she stepped into view. That he was glad to see her, she didn’t
doubt—not at all. He dropped an arm around her shoulder and led her
toward the escalators. “Let’s get a cab. Are you excited?”