Past Forward Volume 1 (45 page)

Weakly, Willow whispered, “Almost. Didn’t.
Bring. Phone. Sorry.”

“But you did, and you’re fine. You’re going
to be just fine. What happened?”

“Scythe.” Her voice sounded weak and
shaky.

At the cruiser, Chad gently laid her in the
back seat. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to grab a towel.”

“No, just—” She swallowed hard. “Just
go.”

Dr. Weisenberg met Chad in the parking lot
with a gurney and an IV bag. “You were right. She’s lost a lot of
blood.”

Two nurses wheeled Willow through the urgent
care doors and into an examining room while Dr. Weisenberg swabbed
her hand and prepared a vein. Chad stood to one side, trying not to
panic at the sight of the blood flowing again. Willow groaned,
moaning something quietly to the doctor.

“She’d like you to get her purse and bring
in the scythe. She doesn’t want it lying in the field all
night.”

“What!”

A pointed look from the doctor was enough;
Chad left.

Her purse. He must find her purse. Where
would Willow keep something like a purse? Chad roamed her house
looking for it, finding nothing.

Scythe. Bring the scythe inside.
She
probably thinks it’ll rust out there. I should leave it there and
pray it does. Those Finley women!
he growled to himself. He
strode through the barn and to the field where he’d found her.

Chad’s heart stopped cold as he saw a pool
of blood on the scythe blade and the ground nearby. No wonder she’d
been so pale. His initial supposition of a severed artery seemed
less of an overreaction. His phone rang. He listened, his brow
furrowed in concern before he leaned his hands on his knees,
praying after disconnecting the call. Surgery. Helicopters. He
glanced at the field of alfalfa and realized that she’d never get
the hay cut.

Bill heard Mari’s cry of dismay in the other
room. Before he could stand and see what was wrong, she rushed into
the room. “Willow Finley is being airlifted here. That police
officer asked you to be there when she arrives, but that’s all he
knows—Rockland Memorial.”

Without a word, Bill flipped calmly through
his calendar, pointed out what appointments to reschedule and fired
off three or four emails before he stood. “Once that’s done, you
can leave for the day. I won’t be in tomorrow. Thanks, Mari.”

He fidgeted nervously as he wove his car
through traffic to the hospital. His hands alternately gripped the
steering wheel and then picked at it until he finally reached the
parking garage across the street. After receiving directions from
receptionist at the welcome desk, he grabbed the first elevator
going up to the surgery floor.

The waiting room was scattered with nervous
people—well, waiting. They waited for news. They waited for
success. They waited. Then, when it seemed impossible to wait
another moment, they waited some more. Bill, nervous and unsettled
joined the ranks—waiting.

Chad found Bill an hour and a half later.
“Hey, is she out yet?”

“No. The nurse at the station out there put
it in the chart to come find me, um, us so—anyway, what
happened?”

“She was cutting hay.” Even to his own ears,
Chad sounded resigned—defeated.

“Ok so she got her foot caught in the mower,
she ran over her foot, she stuck her hand in the tiller or
whatever—what?”

Hanging his head and wringing his hands
together, Chad tried again. “She was using a sickle or a scythe or
one of those old things.”

“Like the grim reaper?”

With a shrug, Chad nodded. “Somehow she
sliced up her calf pretty bad. Dr. Weisenberg said she hit the
timorous artery and nerves or something.”

“Timorous?”

“Something like that. Tibial maybe.”

They sat in silence for several minutes
until Bill asked another question. “If she was using a scythe,
how’d she cut her calf? Did she fall?”

Chad hadn’t thought of how she’d cut
herself, he’d been a little preoccupied with getting her help. How
had she cut herself? “Maybe you swing it around in circles? Maybe
it was coming from behind and she stepped back into it to steady
herself?”

Chad stood trying to move in order to
recreate the accident and nearly backed into a woman wearing
scrubs. “I’m sorry—”

“Are you Bill Franklin?”

Bill stood and offered his hand. “I’m Bill;
do you have information about Willow Finley?”

“Are you next of kin?”

The words tore at Chad’s heart. In his line
of work, that was usually indicative of the worst news possible.
Bill’s voice pierced his consciousness. “No. Willow essentially has
no family.”

“She’s out of surgery. It went well,” the
woman added quickly as if their need for reassurance was visible.
“We have her in recovery, and once she’s awake, we’ll move her to a
room. She should make a full recovery, but it’s going to take a
little physical therapy.”

“When can we see her?” Never had Chad been
so grateful for his uniform. The doctor seemed to respond well to
it.

“I’ll have someone come get you as soon as
she’s settled in a room.”

The two men watched as the doctor
disappeared through the doors. The tension that had hovered over
them dissolved as the door closed behind her. Chad looked at Bill.
“I’ll wait—”

“You can go—”

They spoke simultaneously. Chad swallowed
hard. He didn’t want to admit it any more than it seemed Bill did,
but he wanted to see her immediately—see that she was ok. Seconds
passed before Bill tried again. “What about her animals?”

“I took care of them, but I’ll have to be
back in the morning.”

Bill nodded at his uniform. “Were you on
duty?”

“Just got off when she called. She sounded
so scared.” The irrelevance of Chad’s statement to the question
unnerved him. He was more shaken than he had realized.

Bill glanced at his watch and then sighed.
“You’re probably hungry. I’ll go get you something to eat and go
home for a bit. Around eleven, I’ll come back and swap out with you
so you can get some rest before her rooster starts crowing or
whatever signals time for more work out there.”

“Thanks. I’d love to stay all night, but I
won’t be safe to drive home if I do.”

“That’s what I thought. What do you want to
eat?”

“I’ll just go down and grab something in the
cafeteria while we’re waiting for them to get through with her. If
you could stay until—”

“Done. Get you some food.”

Chad reached the door and pulled it open. He
turned and saw Bill’s face contorted with concern and uncertainty.
As he walked down the hall toward the elevators, Chad prayed.

Lord, does he know You well enough to get
through this? It might be worth it all if this draws him closer to
You.
He punched the first floor button on the elevator and
waited for the doors to close as he added his last thought.
Maybe.

Chad wandered sleeplessly through Willow’s
house. Strange sounds echoed through the rooms, making him nervous.
He rolled his eyes once he realized the odd sounds were his own
footsteps. Saige whimpered for Willow at the back door; his heart
whimpered for her as he fumbled for lights that didn’t work.

Would she be able to climb the stairs? What
about the garden? Should he let Jill come pick whatever she wanted
so it didn’t go to waste? What about the fruit she had so looked
forward to? Could she keep up with this place while injured? Would
the setbacks hurt her this winter? What about the money? Did she
have enough to make it without a full harvest of whatever they
usually had?

He entered Kari’s bedroom absentmindedly.
The moonlight sent a shaft of light across the room and illuminated
the wall between the doors. He reached up and grabbed one of the
journals on the shelf. He’d read. Surely, it would make him sleepy,
especially if he used a candle in Willow’s room.

Awkwardness settled in his gut as he crawled
beneath her covers.
It’s just a bed, Tesdall. Get a grip.
Disgusted with himself, Chad rearranged her pillows until he could
read comfortably by the light of the candle. A faint scent of
lavender wafted over him occasionally, but he was too tired to
locate the source. In minutes, he was lost in a world that was as
foreign to him as it was real to Willow.

April 1999-

The garden is growing well. Willow planted
the entire thing by herself. That illness I had this winter took
more out of me than I expected, but I’m fine now. I send her
fishing a little more often than usual. Maybe it’ll appease her
desire for sheep a little longer.

Chad smiled to himself as he read. Willow
wasn’t fickle. Her interest hadn’t wavered, and her tenacity was,
if possible, even stronger now.

Willow’s understanding of money is merely
theoretical. I realized this the other day when she asked how
people could afford to buy food. Somehow, in her mind, the height
of luxury is to purchase food and when she realized that most of
this country does just that, she was appalled.

The funny thing is that she brooded over it
for several days and then announced, as though confessing a great
sin, “I am glad we can’t afford to buy food. We’d be positively
bored if we didn’t have our work!”

I tried to explain that we have lots of
money in the accounts and about the investments. I told her Steve’s
father paid me off and that we had more money than we could ever
use, but it is meaningless to her. Maybe I should give her small
bits of cash and have her spend it, but I doubt it would help. She
simply has no interest in commerce.

I leave her at home all the time now. I used
to bring her with me to Fairbury if I had to go—never Rockland of
course. Now I don’t even take her to Fairbury. The last time we
were there, a pimple-faced boy whistled at her. She didn’t notice,
of course, but she will. I need to make sure I don’t pull away from
her as she gets older. She’s always been so touchy—so affectionate.
If I am not careful and meet that need, she’ll pull away from me,
looking for someone or something to fill it. I am afraid if I’m not
diligent that she’ll marry the first man who comes along.