Past Forward Volume 1 (7 page)

Chad rounded the barn, followed the line of
trees to the open field that ran alongside the driveway until he
reached the oak. Willow stood almost knee high in a hole, shoveling
dirt out between pauses to wipe away her tears. The sight of a
slight woman like Willow carving out a place in the earth to rest
her mother’s body twisted his heart. Guilt washed over him as he
remembered his internal complaining regarding visits. He didn’t
want a friend. Well, that wasn’t true. He loved people and did want
friends. He just didn’t want
this
friend. He didn’t want to
be her confidant or her crying post.

She didn’t want to be left alone to dig
her own mother’s grave, but she’s doing it. How pathetic can you
be, Tesdall?
he growled to himself as he reached the side of
the grave.

“Willow?”

The answer came in the form of a pile of
dirt on his polished shoes and a streak across the hemline of his
uniform. He tried again, and when he received the same answer, Chad
jumped down into the hole and wrapped his hands around the handle
of the shovel. “Willow. Let go.”

At the sight of Willow’s face, he pulled the
shovel from her hands and wrapped his arms around her. “Come on…
let’s go cry it out inside. It’s hot out here.”

“I have to get this done…”

Without another word, Chad pulled her from
the hole and led her back to the house. In the kitchen, he handed
her a glass of water and pointed to the stairs. “Go take a shower.
I’ll make you something to eat.”

“I forgot to defrost anything, so a
salad—”

“Go. I’ll take care of lunch.”

After a look in the cupboards, the cellar
icebox, and the summer kitchen, Chad whipped out his cell phone and
raced to his truck. By the time he arrived with two sandwiches and
pasta salads in hand, Willow lay curled on her bed with obvious
traces of tears on her face.

“I brought food. Do you want it up here
or…”

She glanced at him horrified and then
smiled. “Lunch in bed and I’m not even sick!”

They ate an impromptu picnic on her bed, she
sitting against the headboard, he cross-legged on the floor leaning
against her closet. Halfway through her sandwich, Willow commented,
“I saw you got your truck fixed.”

“Fixed?” he murmured with a mouthful of
pasta salad.

“You drove it forward instead of backward
today. Was it hard to fix?”

Chad choked on his salad as he laughed.
Between chortles, he coughed and sputtered trying to expel the
noodle from his windpipe. Willow’s confused expression helped him
regain a little composure. “The truck wasn’t broken, Willow, I just
backed up the driveway instead of turning around. It went forward
again once I put it in gear at the highway.”

“Oh, how interesting. I’ll have to read
about how vehicles work. I always meant to, but I just never got
around to it. I guess I could have asked Mother. She drove a car
before she moved here.”

A glance at his watch told Chad it was time
to go. “Gotta go to work. I’ll call the guys at the hardware store
and have them send out a backhoe to finish digging for you.”

At the door, Willow laid a hand on Chad’s
arm. “Thank you. I really didn’t want to do it, and I wasn’t
looking forward to spending most of my Sunday digging. As it is,
I’ll be sore as a stubbed toe in the morning.”

Her phone rang ten minutes later. “The phone
says it is Chad. Is that right?”

A familiar chuckle told her she was correct
before his voice came over the phone. “Hello, Willow. You have a
very unique way of answering the phone.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing wrong with it, it’s just unique.
Most people say ‘hello’ first. Anyway, I wondered if you’d like to
come to church tomorrow. I could pick you up at nine
forty-five…”

Several seconds passed before she said,
“Thanks, but I don’t think so. Maybe next week.”

The road crunched beneath her feet the next
morning as Willow turned off the highway onto the road into
Fairbury. The sidewalk muffled her stride, and at the convenience
store, she changed into her best sandals, brushed her hair, and set
off again for the church. Yet another first awaited her.

Inside, chattering people filled the
auditorium. She smiled and nodded to those she passed, exchanged
“good mornings,” and pushed forward, hoping to sit near the front.
However, the front pews were full. The left side of the church also
seemed full (if Bibles and purses were any indication), but on the
right, near the far right of center, there seemed to be a large
area of empty places, causing Willow to wonder if they were
reserved for a group—a choir perhaps.

A woman wearing a lovely hat and a dress her
mother would have loved whispered, “Excuse me. I’m Alexa. Would you
like to sit with me?”

The song leader took the podium several
minutes later. Pastor Allen sat off to the side, his eyes roaming
the room. He gave Willow a welcoming smile. As the opening song
began, and he saw the horrified look on Willow’s face, he burst
into laughter. Just as he regained control, the congregation split
between those who were confused and those who’d either seen or
guessed the cause. Alexa stepped from the row and slipped forward a
few rows, smiling encouragingly at Willow as she did.

Now the entire congregation erupted in
titters until Troy, the song leader gave up and signaled for the
pianist to cease. Pastor Allen took the podium and apologized. “I
am so terribly sorry. I can’t—Alexa, I—” He swallowed hard. “… and
our guest! Please forgive me!”

After the morning singing concluded and the
sermon began, Willow crept forward and sat next to the young woman
again. The sermon was shorter than she expected, but interesting.
At the end of the final song, she turned to her seatmate and
smiled. “I apologize. I think I embarrassed you.”

Laughing, Alexa shook her head with mock
ruefulness. “Not at all! As you’ve noticed, there is usually a wide
berth around me.”

“You have amazing volume. I’ve never heard
anything like it.”

A few people nearby chuckled as they
overheard her enthusiastic compliment. Alexa’s laughter increased.
“I’ve tried to learn to sing more quietly, but I can’t. It’s either
not sing at all or sing and terrify animals and small
children.”

Chad met them at the edge of the pew.
“You’re here! I thought you said—”

“I changed my mind.”

It didn’t take long for him to introduce her
to half of the church. Pastor Allen offered his condolences and
promised to arrive early the next day. Several people assured her
that they’d bring food the following week, but Willow shook her
head at each one. “Thanks, but I don’t have room for more
food.”

With just under two hours until he began his
shift, Chad finally ushered her out the door and toward the deli,
saying, “I’m going to feed you and then drive you home, and I’ve
got just over an hour to get it done.”

Willow wandered to her favorite spot beside
the stream that ran across the back of their property. The chickens
were fed and locked in their house, the cow’s trough full to the
brim and would last her until morning, and Wilhelmina munched
contentedly on her fresh supply of alfalfa as Willow reached the
small pool and set up her fishing rod.

Every minute that passed soothed her spirit.
The week had been a constant influx of new and often uncomfortable
or painful experiences. Sunday afternoon and evening fishing and
praying—something familiar, and something she’d always done alone.
She didn’t expect her mother to turn the corner at any moment, she
didn’t have to remember what her mother did and make up the slack,
and she did not have to compensate mentally for the unaccustomed
silence around her. Sunday afternoons were always silent—always
alone.

Fish rarely bit before dusk, but
occasionally, if the weather was unusually cool or rainy, she’d
have a surprise grilled fish dinner. Willow spread a
quilt under her favorite silver maple and made
herself comfortable near the
base of the
tree.
For three hours, Willow napped, prayed, fished, and
escaped from the new life thrust upon her. During those hours,
life was normal, peaceful; her loss blissfully disappeared
into the haze of the afternoon. Fish nibbled at her flies and swam
away safely until she’d almost given up the idea of grilled fish
for dinner, but eventually she caught one.

She put her fish on ice in her mini ice
chest, and unwound a rope from one of the tree branches. Holding
onto a stick tied about six feet from the bottom of the rope, she
flung herself and the rope over the pool and swung back and forth
until she grew tired. As the momentum slowed, she dropped into the
water, reveling in the cool depths.

As she rounded the corner of the barn,
the shawl of grief slowly settled back around her shoulders.
Willow lifted her hands to the sky, her ice chest dangling from one
hand and blanket dropping from under her arm. “Lord, it’s just You
and me now. Will You remind me that You’re still here when I’m
silly enough to feel like I’m all alone?”

“…
from dust our God…
created man… He is our God… the great I Am…” The small group around
the grave sang the words from the printed program Pastor Allen
provided.

The service was mercifully short. In less
than ten minutes, the little clustered assembly sang the song, read
in unison the scripture printed for them, and listened as the
minister prayed for comfort. Willow stood slightly apart from the
group leaning on Darla Varney’s arm. Chad stood as close as he
could without invading their space and looked miserable.

The Finley family clustered on the other
side of the hole left by the backhoe. Half a dozen men and almost a
dozen women had come, but Willow hardly saw them. She’d awakened
that morning nauseated with grief. For the first time in a week,
the reality of her situation struck her in full force. She was
completely alone. Her mother, friend, confidant—that woman was
gone. Her life, as she’d known it, also gone.

In her living room, after the service
concluded, she sat on the chaise and nursed a headache until she
couldn’t stand it any longer. Though her family milled around the
house, asking questions and being friendly enough for such an
awkward occasion, Willow stood and moved weakly toward the stairs.
Just as Chad noticed her intention and moved to help her escape,
she turned to the room of low-chattering guests. “Thank you all for
coming. It seems appropriate that people my mother loved and people
she would have loved if she’d known them were here to say goodbye.
I don’t feel well, so I’m going to bed. Good afternoon.”

Chad noticed Bill Franklin’s face droop.
Whether he truly felt badly for Willow, wanted to discuss something
financial with her, or if it was even more personal than that, Chad
couldn’t tell but something about it was worth watching in the
future. The rest of the group just looked stunned.

Murmurs rippled around the room, followed by
a few snide comments. Once Chad was certain that Willow was
upstairs and out of earshot, he stepped onto the first stair. “I’d
like to speak to Willow’s family later if it is convenient. Could
we meet for dinner somewhere?”

The Finleys all made immediate demurring
sounds. “What about at three-thirty in the park in Fairbury?
Please. I need to say a few things that are very important.”

Reluctant nods gave him the confidence to
excuse himself and follow Willow upstairs. He found her lying on
her bed, a bucket beside her, and with one arm thrown over her
eyes. She winced at the sound of the door shutting.

“I don’t feel well. Please leave me alone.”
Anyone who didn’t understand Willow would assume that she was
angry.

“Willow, have you eaten today? Drank
anything? Does the light bother you?”