Chapter 8- Part 2

Out for nap- be back soon!

~Willow

Chapter 8- Part 1

Out for nap- be back soon!

~Willow

 

 

 

 

Chapter 8~

“So Chad’s bringing her?  Is there some kind of something going on there or what?”  Shannon Dougherty stood waiting with the rest of the movie group waiting for the box office to open.

“Not that I know of,” Martinez loved being the center of attention.  “He just said-” Carlos Martinez jumped and stuffed his hand in his pocket retrieving a buzzing cell phone.  “I hate that vibrate thing.”

Seconds later, he snapped it shut and turned back to Shannon.  “I guess not.  He thinks she’d find Beau Geste a little too sad right now.  He’s taking her to that Alcott one tomorrow.”

“Alcott?”

Eden Pohl pointed to the poster near their group.  “Yeah.  She’s the lady who wrote Little Women.  They made a move out of one of her other books, Eight Cousins.  It’s about some kid whose parents died and her uncle has to raise her.  That’ll be cheerful.”

***

“I feel sick.”

Chad stared in horror at Willow before he realized that she wasn’t discussing the quality of the movie.  Willow’s eyes were closed and her hand clapped over her mouth as though the gesture would make any difference.  He stared at the remainder of the popcorn in their bucket and tossed it on the floor at their feet.

“Here, use this.”

As though permission was all that’d held her back, Willow lost her refreshments.  The half-empty theater gave them some privacy but not enough for them to be able to sit still and wait for another wave of nausea.  She wiped at her mouth with a napkin and then tossed it in the bucket.

“I’ve got to get rid of this or everyone else will get sick.  Should I get another bucket?”

“Can we leave?  I’m afraid it’ll happen again.  I don’t know what is wrong with me but I don’t want to get everyone sick.”

Chad nodded and navigated his way down the row of seats to the aisle.  He saw Willow stand, take a step, and then collapse into the seat he’d just vacated.  He took a step toward her, saw the bucket, and realized he probably needed a fresh one.  Immediately.

Just outside the theater door, a trashcan tempted him but he resisted.  He disposed of the contents of the bucket in the men’s room and raced for the concession counter begging for another bucket.  “My friend is ill and-”

“You’ll have to buy an extra-large popcorn if you want a bucket.”

“I just need the bucket in case she gets sick!  Do you want it all over your floor?”

The pimply faced teenager shook his head solemnly.  “Nope, we wouldn’t want that but I have to charge the full price of an extra large popcorn or I can’t give you the bucket.”

“What about a large drink cup?”

“Nope,” the reply came before he’d finished speaking.  “I have to charge for those too.”

“I should let it just splatter your floor and see how your customers like it!”

“Well, I don’t have to clean it up but I don’t think it’d be very nice to do that to the girls.  They’d probably be pretty grossed out.”

Tired of arguing and praying that he wasn’t too late, Chad shoved another six dollars across the counter and waited impatiently as the kid punched buttons, smoothed bills, faced them all the same direction, and finally closed the drawer.  As he began to wash his hands, Chad lost his patience.  Again.

“I don’t need clean hands, I need the bucket!”

“I can’t handle popcorn after I touch money.  The health department is very particular about that.”

Chad reached ineffectively across the counter for the bucket in the boy’s hand.  “I don’t want the popcorn.  I just need the bucket.”

“Oh, I have to give you the popcorn; you paid for it!”

“But I don’t want it!”

Patiently, as though speaking to a very young child, the teenager explained cinematic protocol.  “It works like this.  You pay for the popcorn, I give it to you.  You didn’t buy a bucket, you bought a bucket of popcorn.  If I don’t give you what you bought, then I get in trouble with the boss.  You could pitch a fit and get me fired for not giving you what you paid for so I gotta give you the popcorn!”

“Fine!  Then give me the popcorn!”

Chad new what was coming the minute the metal popcorn scoop hit the golden kernels.  “Do you want butter?”

“No.”

“Ya sure?  It’s free.”

“Will I get it faster?”

“Well-”

Exasperated, Chad exclaimed, “Yes, give me butter, napkins, oh and I need a bottle of water.”

“That’ll be two bucks and the napkins are at the end of the counter.”

Chad glanced at his wallet as the steaming bucket of buttered popcorn slid across the counter.  He had several twenties, a five, and a single one.  His mouth opened to protest the usurious pricing in theatrical establishments but heard himself say, “Keep the change.”

He grabbed the waiting bottle of water, the bucket of popcorn, and resisting the temptation to pour it all over the service counter, dumped it in the trashcan on his way back into the theater.  Seconds after he sat next to Willow and passed her the bucket, he felt a tap on his shoulder.  “Here’s your change.  We’re not allowed to take tips.  Thanks though.”  The kid glanced at Willow.  “Hope you feel better.”

A glance at Willow and his mind was back on the crisis at hand.  “Feeling sick again?”

She nodded.  “The room is spinning- I feel so…”  Her eyes closed automatically.

“Don’t close your eyes.  Focus on the seat ahead of you.  Closing your eyes doesn’t help.  Focusing will.”

Willow concentrated on the seat until the wave of nausea passed.  “It worked.  I feel better,” she whispered back almost audibly to the entire theater.

Wordlessly, Chad took the bucket from her and passed the bottle of water.  “Do you still want to try to go?”

“I don’t think I can stand.  I’d rather wait until it’s over if I won’t get sick again.”

Chad showed her how to predict which scenes would send her stomach reeling.  Willow enjoyed most of the rest of the movie with relatively little discomfort once she understood how the swift panning of the camera caused her motion sickness.  As for Chad, he’d never seen anything like it.  If she were this ill in a fluff chick flick, she’d never make it through an action film.

The lights blinked and then glowed as the credits rolled.  Willow stood and collapsed back into her seat.  “I don’t know what is wrong with my legs and ears.”

“Ears?”

Willow shook her head like a puppy doused with water.  “Yes they’re buzzing and ringing and my head feels mushy.”

“Maybe now lay back and rest your head on the back of the seat and close your eyes?”

Ten minutes later, she sat up gingerly.  “I feel better.  Let’s try to get out of here before those girls get any angrier at us.”

She stood and holding onto the backs of the seats, shuffled down the row to the aisle.  Behind them, the girls made snide comments about their slowness and the mess of popcorn at their feet.  Chad tried to keep his cool but when the quips turned crude, he lost his patience.

“You had a choice between vomit and popcorn.  I chose popcorn.  Next time I’ll let her toss her cookies over the floor for you to clean up.”

At the front doors, Chad left Willow leaning against the glass wall and hurried back to find the girls.  “Hey, I’m sorry.  I had no right to snap at you like that.”

One attendant passed him without a word but the other said, “That’s really cool.  We trash talked you and your girlfriend and you apologize to us for putting us in our place.  I’m sorry and I hope she feels better.  Flu?”

“Motion sickness.”

“In Eight Cousins?”  The incredulous look on the girl’s face was priceless.

“First time at the movies.”

“What!” 

***

They walked along Elm Street to Main and back to the square to Chad’s parked truck.  Each step in the balmy night air seemed to strengthen Willow until finally she laughed and said, “I can’t believe I got sick in the movies!”

“Well, it is a first for me too,” Chad began, and then told her about his popcorn bucket retrieval adventure.

They sat on his truck tailgate sipping coke and watching the teens cruise by on their way home from Rockland or the theater.  Chad pointed out how they’d make a pass one direction, double back, and then head home.  “They’re not allowed to actually ‘cruise’ the streets but they’ll make a double pass.”

“Why can’t they cruise?”

“The chief and his cronies at the city council think it encourages disreputable behavior.”

Willow stared at him confused.  “Driving up and down the street at slower than normal speeds talking to your friends in cars passing you is disreputable?  They’d rather the kids go find some place to break in and party perhaps?  At least on the street you know where they are and what they’re doing!”

“We need you to be their advocate with the Chief.  I don’t know what the appeal of cruising is but I loved it when I was a kid and my dad did it when he was a kid and there is just something about making that loop with a car full of your friends.”

She pointed at a Beetle convertible that crawled past and then made a loop.  “Didn’t that one go past a while ago?”

“He probably took the girlfriend home.  He’s probably heading home himself but he’ll make a double pass because he can.”

“Do they get tickets if the police come around?”

Chad’s head nodded.  “Yep.”

“What for?”

“Endangering other drivers and if the car sits in one spot idling for more than five minutes, loitering.”

Indignant, Willow jumped from the tailgate and tossed her empty cup in a nearby garbage can.  “I think that’s ridiculous.  I’ve never heard anything so absolutely inane.  Mother always said that if you treat a kid like he’s going to get into trouble, he usually will.” 

Chad’s eyebrows rose in question as he opened her car door.  She slid into her seat talking as she buckled the seatbelt.  “Well, Mother said that people had a ‘boys will be boys’ attitude and it fed the actions that prompted the statement in the first place.  I remember her being very incensed at something someone did when she was in town once and she talked about it all the way home.”

“What happened?”

“A couple of little boys chased a little girl and pulled up her dress and laughed at her tears.  The child ran home crying and the father told her mother, ‘boys will be boys, no harm done.’”

“I’d thrash any boy of mine for that kind of-”

Willow interrupted excitedly.  “That’s what Mother was talking about.  She said that if that father had expected his sons to protect little girls and treat them like beloved little sisters rather than objects to ridicule, the chances of that happening were much slimmer.”

The truck started and Chad backed into the square and joined the slow procession of cars.  He made the obligatory loop and backtracked once before he started toward the highway.  “I think your mom was right.  Kids are still sinners.  They’re going to flub up regardless of expectations or good training but if you expect them to do wrong, they usually will.  If you expect them to do right, they often will.  I’d rather have children who often did right than children who usually did wrong.”

The night sky was pitch-black as they drove toward the Finley farm.  The new moon allowed the stars to shine brighter than ever s they sped along the highway.  “Two firsts for me tonight.  Well, three actually.”

“Three?”

“I went to a movie and I went cruising.”

“That’s two,” Chad protested.

“I got motion sick.”

“Will you try another movie some time?”  Chad’s curiosity got the better of him and as the words left his mouth, he realized it sounded like another invitation.  Just as he started inwardly to curse his lack of discretion, she answered absently.

“Oh, movie.  Yes, I’ll be going back.  Probably next week.  Didn’t you say that you can see them in the afternoon?”

“The matinee, yes.  They’re cheaper then too.”

“I’ll go next Wednesday when I meet Mr. Franklin and Ms. Freeman, mother’s lawyer.  It’ll be a nice diversion after all that stuff.”

At her door, Chad looked out across the pasture in the direction of the grave.  “Does Othello still sleep out there?”

“Every night the moment it gets dark he barks a few times and then trots off over there.  He’s back at daybreak waiting to go with me to milk Wilhelmina.

“Think he’d handle another dog?”

She eyed him curiously.  “Probably a younger dog, why?”

“I’d feel better if you had a dog around here.  We don’t know if that dog’ll come back if someone was prowling-”

“I’ve got the gun.”  Willow’s voice was flat and matter-of-fact.

“And a dog’s bark would probably scare off anyone before they got close enough for you to shoot.”

“I’ll think about it Chad.  Thank you for the movie; I had a great time.  Goodnight.”

Without another word, in her characteristic blunt manner, she slipped inside the door, shut, and locked it behind her.  He stepped lively down the steps and climbed back into his truck.  “Lord, having her as a friend might not be so bad.  I thought she would be more clingy or something but she’s not, thank heaven.  Maybe this won’t be too bad.”

***

Willow undressed and pulled on her camisole and bed shorts.  As she tidied her room, brushed, and braided her hair, she prayed.  “Lord, Chad’s a nice friend.  I enjoy having him around sometimes but he’s kind of clingy.  Please give him something to do somewhere else a little more often.  I’m starting to feel a little smothered.”  She pulled the covers over her and turned down her oil lamp.  “At least he didn’t invite himself along to my next movie.  Although, if he hadn’t invited himself to this one, I might have been in trouble so that was good.”

The cicadas’ song drifted through the window over the sound of the fan.  Willow lay in bed thinking.  Her mother had spoken once of hating to feel like someone’s “project.”  Suddenly, she realized what her mother meant by that statement.  However, knowing that someone out there cared enough to make her a project felt better than extreme loneliness that came in moments when she realized that without a few near strangers, she was truly alone.  Shame filled her heart as the Lord’s stillness impressed upon her with His presence.  “Ok, not quite alone…”

 

Chapter 6- Part 2

Out for nap- be back soon!

~Willow

Chapter 7

Nervousness washed over her as Chief Varney exited the vehicle.  She saw the cruiser from the flowerbed and ran to assure Chad she was fine.  He’d been so kind, so concerned; she didn’t want to impose on him any more than necessary but it wasn’t Chad. 

The Chief’s face looked grave.  Had some other terrible thing happened?  Was someone else dead?  But whom?  Maybe her grandparents or an aunt or uncle.  She still hadn’t had a chance to write them and thank them for their attendance. What if her procrastination had cost her that chance? 

“Miss-” Her expression stopped him. “Um, Willow, can we talk for a minute?  I have the M.E.’s report.”

It took her a moment to remember what M.E. stood for.  Medical Examiner.  They knew how mother died.  Willow swallowed hard and beckoned him to come inside the house. 

In the kitchen, she pulled a piece of ice from the icebox, chipped pieces into a glass, and filled it with water.  She handed it to Chief Varney, her hands shaking as she did.  Did she want to know what happened?  He looked so grave.  What if it was hereditary?  That’s why they’d done the autopsy in the first place, wasn’t it?

“You know how she died then.”  It wasn’t a question.

Varney was out of his element.  She was so naïve, so ignorant of so many things and yet she wasn’t unintelligent.  Would she understand?  Could he explain it-

“Can you just tell me please?  All of this waiting is making me nervous.”

For the next twenty minutes, they discussed the aneurysm that killed Kari Finley in her sleep.  Chief Varney was surprised by her knowledge and understanding of the blood bubble that exploded at the base of her mother’s brain.  Willow, on the other hand, fought the pain of the memory of her mother’s terrible headache that last night.  They’d both assumed it was a migraine. 

“I should have known- I could have walked to town for an ambulance.  We could have had a cell phone like Chad bought me. They are private.  Why-” She briefly choked back her sobs.  “I’m sorry- I- I-”

She fled the room.  Chief Varney listened to her feet pounding up the stairs and a door slamming behind her.  For the first time since he’d met her, Willow Finley acted like a normal and grieving young woman.

Outside her house, Chief Varney glanced up at the window from which came the heart wrenching sound of Willow’s grief.  Something had to be done.  She was so very alone.  No one should have to walk this valley alone.

He remembered Chad.  The boy had forged a friendship of sorts with Willow.  His lips twisted into a wry smile.  Ironic- it was ironic how the kid who couldn’t handle her when she reported the death was probably the only one who could help her deal with it. 

He reached for his phone.  “Hey Tesdall.  I’m out here at the Finley place.  I gave her the M.E.’s report and she’s taking it kind of hard.  Blaming herself.  You’d better get out here.”

“Me!  Why me?”  Chad’s voice was almost a whine.

“That’s an order son.”

***

“Life isn’t fair.  Life isn’t fair.  Life isn’t…”  The words replayed themselves through his mind like a scratched vinyl record on Uncle Zeke’s turntable.  They continued to taunt him as he turned down her driveway and parked at the corner of her house. 

His usual place.  He shouldn’t have a usual place. His truck had worn a path in the grass around the edge of the yard.  He started to curse the Chief and stopped himself.  The last thing he needed was more trouble with the Lord.

As he stepped from the cruiser, Chad heard Willow’s cries falling from her window.  “Why not me Lord?  Why!”

He took a deep breath.  Why not indeed!  His gut wrenched.  How callous could he be?  He wouldn’t want Cheri alone with no one and false guilt.  He’d want someone- anyone, to be there for her

“You know Lord, I’m pretty sure I’ve avoided the ‘here I am Lord, send me’ prayer but apparently You chose me anyway.  Remind me to cultivate gratitude sometime.  Right now I’m just praying for the grace to get through this.  Again.”

Inside, Chad called to her as he climbed the stairs.  “Willow?  I’m coming up.  The Chief-” He paused.  It wouldn’t be a good idea to tell her he was only here because the Chief ordered him.

“He mentioned you were hurting.”  At the top of the stairs, he saw her face as it peeked out her door.

“Go away.”

“I can’t.”  He didn’t dare say why.

“Why not?”

“She would ask,” he grumbled to himself.  “We’re all concerned about you.  Let’s go for a walk.  Talk to me.” 

“Yes, please talk to me so I don’t have a chance to blow this,” he silently pleaded.

The door shut.  He stared at it wondering what to do next.  Should he wait downstairs?  Take a drive, check the Mighty Aphrodite for early drunks, and then come back?  Had she eaten today?  Should he make her something to eat?  What was it about Willow that had him constantly fussing over her to eat anyway?

She reappeared mid-thought.  Without a word to him, she crossed the hall and disappeared into the bathroom.  Water splashed in the sink giving him encouragement that she’d be down soon.  He practically fled to the porch but remembering the Chief’s words, he retraced his steps into the house and strode into the kitchen for a glass of water.

She found him there minutes later, her face freshly washed, eyelashes still wet, but whether from washing or crying he’d never know.  “Drink.”

“You’re bossy.”

“You need some bossy right now.  Drink.”

She smiled.  It had worked.  You never knew with women.  What was meant for an innocent joke became an insult of mammoth proportions to some people of the feminine persuasion.

They walked along the trees to the oak where her mother’s grave was still covered with wilted and dried flowers.  “It hasn’t been a week.”

He was confused.  It’d been longer- Realization dawned.  It hadn’t been a full week since the burial.  He had a hard time calling the short service a funeral.  “I know.  I’m so sorry.”

“You’re kind to come out here like this.  It was my understanding that men didn’t handle tears very well.  Mother used to say that men were allergic to them.”

“Everyone needs time alone to grieve Willow but no one should have to do all of their grieving alone.  Do I like tears?  No.  But I dislike the cause of them even more.”

A glance at her face surprised him.  She’d been crying all the while.  Tears streamed down her face and left trails on her t-shirt.  Somehow, the tears hadn’t reached her vocal chords yet.  Torn between the natural inclination to comfort and a deep desire to run, Chad stood there, hands stuffed in his pocket, looking as nearly miserable as she felt.

Her hand brushed aside tears impatiently.  Then came a sniffle.  Irritably, she glared at him.  “Don’t be nice to me.  I can’t take it.”

“I can’t just be mean so you won’t cry.”

They sat at the foot of her mother’s grave, Willow weeping.  Her arms rested on her knees drawn up to her chest.  Her hair fanned around her shrouding her from his sight.  The tears flowed freely punctuated by occasional sobs.  Chad, unable to help but even less able to leave, awkwardly patted her back occasionally and murmured worthless attempts at comfort.

***

“Someone has a serious case of the grumps,” Judith Crane commented knowingly.

Joe glanced up from a report as Chad slammed his ticket book on the counter.  “Something wrong Chad?”

“…just a glorified babysitter.  Can’t wait to get to Rockland and do real police work,” Chad muttered under his breath.

Joe’s eyes met the Chief’s as Varney peeked around his office door to see what the fuss was.  “Tesdall, you get that Finley girl taken care of?”

“Yes, the babysitter did his job.  He didn’t tuck her in and give her a sucker for being good but hey, he’s learning.  They didn’t teach him-”

“That’ll do son.”  Chief Varney ran a relaxed station but he didn’t tolerate disrespect.

“Sorry,” he muttered as he hung the cruiser keys on the keyboard and clocked out for the day.

As Chad tore from the parking lot, the remaining officers and the Chief stared at one another shocked.  Chad was such an even-tempered guy.  They’d never seen him like this.  Joe and Judith exchanged glances as the Chief disappeared into his office, chuckling.  Unfortunately, neither of them heard the Chief murmur, “The boy’s fighting something.  Oh won’t Darla love this.”

Chapter 6~

“…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 song was sung, the scripture read, and the prayer offered.  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 understandably miserable. 

The Finley family stood on the other side of the hole left by the backhoe.  There were half a dozen men and almost a dozen women standing there but Willow hardly saw them.  She’d awakened that morning feeling 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, was gone.

In her living room, 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 realized 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 even something more personal, 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.  Snide comments followed quickly.  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’s tones would assume that she was angry at best.

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

“No, no, and yes.”

Without another word, Chad pulled the shades down in the room noting that they did little to darken it.  He spent the next few minutes draping towels over the windows to make the room completely dark.  He then slipped from the room, carefully closing the door behind him, and hurried down to the kitchen.

Odd looks from the departing guests caused him to murmur apologetically, “Migraine.  She needs food and water.  Anyone here have ibuprofen?”

Several exclamations of sympathy and “I do” followed immediately.  Chad grabbed a glass of water and a couple of tortilla wraps and hurried back upstairs.  Seconds later, he dashed back down for the proffered pain reliever.

In her room, he found it nearly impossible to see.  “Do you have a night light?”

“There’s a candle on the night stand and matches in the drawer.”

“I think that’d hurt your eyes-”

“Then move it to the dresser!”  Her irritation, while understandable, was also a bit comical.

Chad stifled a chuckle and moved the candle.  “Ok, just eat a few bites and drink some water.”

“I’ll throw it up.”

“Better to throw something up than have dry heaves.  Eat.”

Even in the dark, her glare pierced him.  However, rather than being intimidated or annoyed, Chad sat on the edge of the bed and laid a damp cloth he’d retrieved from her bathroom on her forehead.  He said nothing.  He sat next to her until she fell asleep still clutching her bucket.

As he jogged down her stairs, he glanced at his watch.  He had ten minutes left and it drove him crazy.  “Why am I doing this?” he groaned as he drove toward town.  “This is not my responsibility!“

***

“And who is Willow to you?”  The man gave a half-smile as though to soften his words.

 Chad nodded understandingly.  “I understand your concern and confusion.  I’m nothing to her frankly.  A week ago, a young woman walked into the police station and asked what to do when someone dies.”

A collective gasp erupted from the group.  “Are you serious?”  The question came from a teenager who evidently didn’t want to be there. 

“D- um,” he fumbled realizing that ‘dead’ wasn’t exactly an appropriate word.  “Completely. 

“Let me tell you what we’ve learned about Willow and her mother.  Kari moved here when she was pregnant with Willow.  She considered moving into an Amish community-”

“Amish!”  The man spoke again.  Chad now had no doubts left that this was Willow’s grandfather.

“Yes, after her attack sh-”

“Attack!”

The realization that Kari’s disappearance was a complete mystery to her family grieved Chad.  “Yes.  The father of her attacker paid her off.  She chose to accept the money and disappear rather than appear in court.”

He went on to describe their life, Kari’s dream, and finally her death.  The gasps of surprise came in almost rhythmic waves.  Finally, people quit listening and started questioning.  Chad answered everything he knew and understood until he’d answered every question he possibly could.

“Ok, honestly, I think this is all I can help you with.  I asked you here because I saw how bothered everyone was by Willow’s manner and I wanted to ensure that you all understood that it wasn’t a lack of appreciation or intended discourtesy.  She is accustomed to saying what comes to mind because that’s how they lived. 

“Will she start living a more normal life now that her mom’s fear isn’t running the show?”

He shrugged.  “I don’t know.  I just truly do not know.”

***

At two A.M., Chad drove by the Finley’s coming back from a transfer to the Marshfield Jail and saw lights on all over the house.  He drove a quarter mile before he whipped around and dialed Judith at the office.  “Something’s wrong there.  If it’s a police matter, I’ll call back.  Otherwise, if you don’t hear from me in ten minutes, mark me officially off duty.  I’ll drop off the cruiser as soon as I can.”

The bleating of Wilhelmina greeted him as he exited the vehicle.  Willow’s silhouette in the front room moved rhythmically causing him to wonder why she was ignoring the pained cries of her goat.  His knock brought no response of any kind.  Willow continued whatever she was doing without a pause.

Joe knocked on the door again as he opened it.  “Willow?  Are you ok?”

A breeze blew in behind him fluttering her sleeve against her arm.  Willow looked up, startled to see him.  “Oh Chad, you scared me!”  She pulled something from her ears.

  ”I saw the lights and considering the time, I thought I’d stop in.  Wilhelmina is out there pitching a fit.”

Her shoulders drooped and she stood resolutely.  “Oh I forgot about her.  I slept until squealing tires on the road woke me up.  I wasn’t ready to get up so I put in plugs and went back to sleep.  I guess I forgot to take them out.”

“You look beat.  Go get yourself something to eat and I’ll take care of Wilhelmina.”

“She’s going to get mastitis if I keep up this kind of irresponsibility.”

“Just get yourself some kind of dinner.  I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Willow followed him through to the kitchen and handed him a stainless steel milk pail.  “Have you ever milked a goat?”

“Cows on my uncle’s farm every summer.  I figure it can’t be all that different.”

Chad tipped his hat at her and hurried out to the goat.  He found the animal hungry, thirsty, and with very swollen teats.  As he milked, the goat voiced her misery and disapproval between every bite of alfalfa from her trough.  By the time he’d finished, she curled up in the corner of her pen and fell asleep almost immediately.

Inside the barn, he hurried to the kitchen, strained the milk, scrubbed the pail, and poured boiling water over it.  The milk he bottled and then refrigerated. 

Willow had returned to her spot on the sofa.  Her knitting tossed aside, she stared out into space as though in a trance.  “Willow.”

Her face snapped in his direction.  “Huh?”

“Your goat. She either has or is coming down with mastitis.  You’ve got to pull yourself together or find someone to take her.  You’ll feel terrible if you let her get sick.”

“I know-”

Chad’s voice grew stern.  He hunkered down on his heels in front of her and forced her to meet his eyes.  “No.  Don’t say what you think I want to hear.  I know you’re hurting.  I know it’s hard to concentrate and I know you have more work than you can handle but you also have responsibilities.  Let the garden die.  Buy food at the store.  Sell the goat, give her to a 4H kid, I don’t care but you can’t check out indefinitely.  Feed the animals and yourself.  Make sure you both have comfortable beds and plenty of water.  Forget the rest if you want to but do that much or I’m going to call Mrs. Varney and have her come give you what for.”

Fire filled Willow’s eyes for a moment and then extinguished as though dashed with water.  “You’re right.  I just don’t want to do anything.”

“Sometimes we have to do what we don’t want to do, Willow.  Do it.  I’ll call you if it’ll help.”  Even as he said it, Chad’s mental feet kicked in a cranial tantrum of epic proportions.  He didn’t want to call and remind her.  He wanted out of this scenario.  For good.  Every time Chad thought he had a chance at disappearing, he always tied himself a little closer to the Finley Farm.

He closed the door behind him and started for the steps.  The farm was silent.  The chickens, Wilhelmina, and the cow slept.  He heard a bullfrog croak and the cicadas sang in the trees but something was missing.  He opened the door, peeked around the corner, and asked, “Where is Othello?”

“I haven’t seen him but I didn’t’ leave the house all day…”

“I’ll take a look around.  If I don’t find him, I’ll let you know so you can look in the morning.  G’night again.”

Though he called for several minutes, Othello never barked, whimpered, or came running.  Eventually Chad gave up and climbed into his cruiser.  He was beat and ready for bed.  He beeped his horn once as he whirled the vehicle around, and sped down the driveway toward the highway.

Near the corner of the east pasture, he stopped.  Something near the grave moved in the beam of his headlights.  The sight of that dog lying on the fresh mound of dirt caused a lump in is throat. Chad swallowed hard and punched Willow’s quick dial number not allowing himself to think about the irritation of having her on quick dial in the first place.

“Willow, I found him.  He’s out with your mother.  If he isn’t home in the morning, he’ll need food and water.  You have to make an effort.’

Her voice sounded stronger.  “I’ll be fine.  I just gave myself a lecture on what Mother would say about irresponsibility towards our animals.  Thank you.  Good bye Chad.”

The line went dead.  As he turned onto Main Street and pulled into the police station, Chad mulled the significance of goodbye vs. goodnight and the irritation that came as he realized that goodbye was much too final for him at this point.  “I don’t need the complications.  Why do I do this to myself?”

Silence greeted him as he hooked his keys on the safe key rack and slammed the door shut.

Chapter 5~

Early Saturday morning, Willow was weeding the garden when the phone in her pocket rang sending Othello into a barking fit.  A kind minister asked for clarification on the service he was to perform on Monday and by the time she turned the phone off, Willow was unnerved.  She’d forgotten that she needed to dig a hole for the coffin and even that she needed to decide, where she’d bury her mother in the first place.

She replaced the trowel and a hoe and retrieved the pickaxe and shovel.  Suddenly, she knew where she’d bury her mother.  Behind the barn, through the trees, and off to the right of the firing range, her mother’s favorite oak stood tall, proud, but alone.  Willow would bury her mother there.

She wore her gardening hat, work gloves, and a loose billowy long sleeved white shirt over jeans and kept her hair stuffed under her hat.  It was almost nine as she began digging.  Her jug of water sat untouched for the first hour but her thirst eventually overruled her and she drank.

The queasy feeling was familiar.  Her mother had taught her not to drink a lot of water all at once after working hard and being overheated and now she worked feeling hot, tired, and sick to her stomach.  It was a welcome relief in some ways. 

By eleven, she sobbed as she dug.  Her work was slower, her muscles tired, and her back ached almost as much as her heart.   She tears poured down her cheeks making strange paths in her dusty face.  Every minute was torture.  Even so, it was also cathartic.  With each shovel full of dirt that she tossed from the rapidly growing hole, she felt that somehow she could finally measure her loss in tangible terms.  Every cubic inch of dirt represented dozens of memories that she now, like Mary in Bethlehem, treasured in her heart.

Chad zipped along the road to the farm and saw something off to the right of the driveway.  A second glance told him it had to be Willow but he couldn’t tell from that distance what she was doing.  He bounced over the ruts in the driveway and realized that many more trips would soon batter his truck.  He needed to drag the road several times and smooth it. 

Willow drank as she watched his truck racing down her lane and recapped her jug.  She’d forgotten he was coming and realized he might expect lunch.  He could forget it.  She didn’t know how long it took to dig such a large hole but she wasn’t about to be digging on Monday morning.

Chad rounded the barn, followed the line of trees to the open field that ran alongside the driveway until he reached the oak where 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 for her mother’s body to rest was heart wrenching.  Guilt washed over him as he remembered his internal complaining regarding this visit.  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, 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.  Half way through her sandwich, Willow commented, “I see 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.  “Work calls.  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…”  The invitation was raw and blunt but he decided it was better nothing.

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.  She’d seen it catty-cornered from the town square and had no difficulty finding it.

Inside, the auditorium was filled with chattering people.  She smiled and nodded to those she passed, exchanged “good mornings” and pushed forward hoping to sit near the front.  However, unlike many churches, 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 someone.

“Excuse me; I’ve never seen you here before.  I’m Alexa Hartfield.  Would you like to sit with me?”

The song leader took the podium several minutes later.  Pastor Allen sat off to the side and, as the opening song began, burst into laughter.  Though he obviously tried to stifle his amusement, the look on Willow’s face as Alexa began singing, was horrified and surprised.  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- Miss Hartfield I-” He swallowed hard.  “… and our guest!  Please forgive me!”

Once the sermon began, after the morning singing was concluded, Willow crept forward and sat next to Alexa Hartfield again.  At the end of the final song, she turned to her seatmate and smile.  “I do apologize.  I think I may have 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 to 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.”

Within the half hour, he introduced Willow to half of the church. Pastor Allen offered his condolences and promised to arrive early the next day.   Chad only had two hours before his shift, but he insisted on taking Willow to lunch and driving her home. (how pathetic can you write?)

***

Willow wandered to her favorite spot beside the stream that ran across one corner of their property.  The chickens were fed and locked in their house, the cow’s trough, full to the brim, 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.  Late Sunday afternoon and evening fishing and praying was one thing 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. 

Generally, fish didn’t bite until dusk but occasionally, like today, 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 tree and made herself comfortable near the base of the tree.

For three hours, Willow napped, prayed, fished, and escaped from the new world she’d unwillingly entered.  During those hours, life was normal, blissful, and 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; she flung herself and the rope over the pool and swung back and forth until she grew tired.  Finally, 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?”

Chapter 5- Part 1

Out for nap- be back soon!

~Willow

Chapter 4- Part 2

Out for nap- be back soon!

~Willow

Chapter 4~

Bill finally caught up to Willow as she ambled up her driveway.  “Hop in, I’ll drive you the rest of the way.”  As they drove up the long road Bill told of the arrangements, his visit with her lawyer, and the best pastrami on rye he’d ever had.

“Maybe I should have gone to the deli.  The line was almost out the door so I went to a restaurant.  Marcello’s.  It was very good and I had a very nice waiter.”

“Did you and your mother eat there often?”

“No… I’ve never been to a restaurant before- well, not that I can remember anyway.”

Bill Franklin had always assumed something tragic had occurred to make Kari Finley such a recluse.  Her correspondence with him was predictable and their yearly business meetings cordially professional.  He’d met Kari when Willow was around twelve years old.  The tall gangly girl had grown into a lovely woman over the past ten years.  She wasn’t pretty in the modern sense of the word and certainly not beautiful, but she was definitely lovely. 

Kari herself had always been beautiful.  He’d nursed a slight infatuation in their first few meetings but after the year had passed into their second year, he’d found, to his relief, that he was over his silliness.  Kari then became a trusted client and a silent friend.

At her living room table, Bill showed Willow the cost of the funeral, the mortuary expenses, and made suggestions for contributions to the minister for his time.  He showed her the addition he’d made to her letters with the time and date of the funeral added- Monday at 1:30 p.m., and asked if he’d done what she wanted.

“Of course!  It’s perfect.  And the courthouse approved the permit?”

“Well, not yet but they said that since you’re out of city limits, they can approve a permit as long as you own more than ten acres and bury her at least three hundred yards from your creek.”

“Oh good.  That is such a relief!”

Financial papers spread across the table in rapid succession.  He showed her the balance of her investments, her bank balance, and her upcoming bills.  Willow took careful notes on everything as Bill explained the source of her income and the projected outgo.  “As you can see, your mother spent little of the annuity she set up to live on.  Living here- growing your own food and everything- that kept costs so low.”

At this point, he pulled out the family records and pointed to the notarized affidavit of birth.  “This, however, is going to be a problem.  Your name is on these accounts but only because they’re so old.  For you to access them you’ll need either a social security number or identification.  You don’t have either and you can’t get either one without a state certified birth certificate.  I called your mother’s attorney and she said she’d file immediately for a family court hearing to establish the fact of your birth.”

“How long will that take?”

Bill looked at her sympathetically.  “I don’t know.  Hopefully, soon.  Meanwhile, your lawyer says I’ve been named executor of the will so I can handle any financial needs until you get identification and a social security number.”

She leaned back in her chair and watched him for a few minutes as he made notes and gathered necessary information.  “You know, when I was fifteen, I developed an enormous crush on you.  I was positively smitten for at least a month.  I think I drove Mother crazy.”

“I think I remember that visit.  It was both comical and embarrassing at the same time.  I didn’t see you much after that visit until the past two years.”

“I kept myself busy the next year and after that there was just so much to do that I didn’t realize for a couple of years that I’d hardly seen you when you came so I rearranged my schedule so I wouldn’t be rude.”

They laughed and talked companionably for some time before Ben finally stood.  “I’ll call you as soon as I have a court date and I’ll be here on Monday of course.  If you need anything just call.  Mari knows to patch you through immediately.  Here’s my personal cell number in case you need me after hours.”

She walked him to his car, waved for a moment, and then returned to the house.  The clock showed the time as three-thirty.  She pulled the chicken she’d left cool in the cellar icebox and took it to the barn.  In the “summer room” as her mother had called it, she chopped and diced until she had a healthy amount of vegetables and her chicken scraps in a pot and simmering on the stove.  She turned the burner as low as it could go and closed the window most of the way so that the breeze wouldn’t blow out the flame. 

After swift clean up, she hurried inside to change.  The cow seemed to sense a change and lowed mournfully as though asking for her friend Kari.  “She’s not coming back old girl.  She won’t be here when you become dinner either.  Lazy woman.”

***

Chad tossed his cell phone down on the seat and punched his foot more solidly on the gas as his truck tore down the highway.  He’d been calling since noon.  When Willow answered and then disconnected he’d been mildly amused.  After all, she was still growing accustomed to using the thing.  However, when future rings went unanswered, he grew irritated.  A call to the Mortuary revealed that she’d arrived with a William Franklin and left without him, apparently just before he’d called.

“Six hours.  It’s been about six hours.  Anything could happen especially all alone and grieving…” he muttered to himself as he tore into her driveway.  He ignored the fishtailing of his truck bed and bounced along the ruts at forty miles per hour.

Othello didn’t meet him.  That seemed strange but Chad assumed the animal was out chasing rabbits or squirrels.  He knocked on the front door and got no answer.  Around the back, he pounded on the back door but received nothing but silence as a reply.  Throwing courtesy out the door, he entered the house and hurried in and out of every room.  There was no sign of her.

He almost ran to the barn and found chicken soup simmering on the stove.  It smelled wonderful.  Without realizing he’d done it, he gave it a stir and put the lid back on the pot before he hurried up into the loft and then out the doors again. 

He opened his mouth to start calling her name when a gunshot rang out from behind the barn.  Chad froze.  Torn for a moment between retrieving his own weapon from his truck and rushing to her aid, he opted for the latter and hurried to the corner of the barn.  His training kicked into high gear.  He peeked around the barn and saw nothing.

Another shot rang out, this time closer.  It sounded like a twenty-two rifle.  He’d spent most of his teen years target shooting with a twenty-two.  The sound was as familiar as a two-cylinder motorcycle and the howl of their basset hound when his aunt sang.

Debating whether to call out, he crept toward a line of trees.  Another shot fired.  Chad threw caution to the wind and raced through the trees.  Willow whirled at the sound of his footprints throwing the barrel of the gun in the air instinctively.

“What are you doing?  You scared me!  I could have shot you.”

Chad, ignoring her questions, began a tirade of epic proportions.  “Me?  Excuse me?  I’ve been calling you all day!  First, you answer and hang up on me, and then nothing.  I imagined you out here lonely, grieving, and then heard gunshots and assumed-”

He stopped short.  Willow’s hands covered her face as her shoulders shook.  He gently pulled the gun from the crook of her arm, the end of the barrel being too close to her head for his comfort, and leaned it against a tree.

Suddenly he realized that her ’sobs’ sounded suspiciously like giggles.  “Are you laughing at me?”

Willow pulled her hands from her face momentarily, and nodded.  “Mmm hmm.”  A fresh wave of laughter engulfed her.  “You sounded like Mother when she thought I’d drowned in the creek.”

“What did she do after she read you the riot act?”

“Well she scolded me at first- is that what you mean by riot act?”  He cocked an eyebrow at her.  “Well after that, she gave me a sound spanking.  I remember sitting right back in the creek to cool my backside.”

Chad smirked trying to hide a smile.  Willow’s expression was priceless.  “That’s exactly the expression on Mother’s face.  Exactly.”

“So what are you doing out here?”

She pointed at the gun.  “Mother was the markswoman.  She kept in practice for self-defense.  I had to shoot enough that I could at least hit a dog if I had to.  Mother insisted.  Now that she’s gone, there isn’t someone else to rely on if I need protection.”

The hollow tone in her voice belied the matter-of-fact attitude.  Chad took the gun and started to empty the chamber but Willow stopped him.  “No.  We leave it loaded.  It’ll stand behind my bed now like it used to stand behind Mother’s.”

“You shouldn’t leave it loaded-”

She jerked the gun from him, grabbed the box of ammunition, and marched into the trees.  “A gun does no good as protection if you have to stop and find the ammunition and then load it.  By that point, an intruder could have killed you unless you’re good at clobbering them with it.”

“But-”

She whirled unexpectedly in mid stride causing Chad to bump into her nearly knocking her down.  As he grabbed her arms to steady her, Willow stepped back exasperated.  “Who is going to get hurt in this house?  Who?  How is that gun going to harm me if I am not behind it?  I’m the only one in there.  Even if you visit or Mr. Franklin or Mr. and Mrs. Varney, are they going to go upstairs, behind my bed, and play with my loaded gun?”

Forced to concede that she had a point, Chad sighed.  “Ok, but do me a favor. If a child ever comes here, promise me you’ll hide it in a locked room and remove the ammo until they leave.”

“Promise.  Now, are you hungry?”

***

“I can’t believe your mother took pictures.  She took lots of pictures, of both of you.  It’s amazing.”

Curious, Willow glanced at Chad’s bewildered face.  “Why is that so amazing?”

“Well, you live here, in a house without electricity, grow your own food, live like Laura Ingalls in a lot of ways, but your mom takes pictures.  How did she get them developed?”

Willow pulled a small picnic basket from the shelf next to the scrapbooks.  Inside was a camera, several rolls of unused film, and a stack of prepaid envelopes to a mega photo-development house.  “We just pop the film in one of these with a check and put it out at the mail box.  About two weeks later it comes back with more film and mailers.”

“My mom does scrap booking but this looks different.  It’s like your mom did everything herself.  The papers and stuff-”

Smoothing the page where a corner had tried to come up, Willow nodded.  “We did.  When there were pictures to do, we took turns deciding how to decorate the pages and what to draw.  We’d spend hours designing the papers and embellishments.  We got ideas from fabrics and book covers and things.”

“Why not just buy them and save all that time?”

With a shrug that showed she’d never thought of it, Willow said, “What would we do with the time we saved?”

Chad’s mouth opened to answer and then shut.  He’d never heard that question.  It seemed that everyone was looking for ways to save time but no one had ever questioned the validity of doing so.  “Well, isn’t there anything you always wish you had more time to do?”

“Fish.  I love to fish.  But I’d grow fat and lazy if I got to fish all I wanted.”

This announcement surprised him more than anything she’d said yet.  “You fish?”

“Love it.  I go every chance I get.  Othello hates it though because I chain him on fish days.  He scares away the fish.”

A thought occurred to him.  “Do you tie your own flies?”

Eagerly, she jumped up and rushed upstairs.  Minutes later, she lumbered back down them carrying a tackle box and a board with a tie vise mounted to it.  “I love tying flies.  I do it in winter when I can’t fish.  It keeps me from going crazy.”

One look at her flies and Chad wanted to hurry home for a rod.  “We’ll fish,” he said as though the question was settled.

They glanced over the ties and debated the merits and demerits of each before Willow picked up the things to carry them back upstairs.  Chad took it from her.  “I’ll carry it.  Show me the way.”

Shrugging, she climbed the steep stairs and opened the first door on the left.  “This is our craft room.  The board goes there.”  Willow indicated and empty space on a beautifully crafted bookshelf.

“That is one gorgeous bookshelf.  Where did you find that!”

“Mother made it a couple of years ago.  We’d been working with the first thing she ever made but it was amateurish and falling apart so Mother made a new one.”

He ran his fingers over the wood admiringly.  “Can you make things like this?”

“Not on your life.  I am lousy with a saw.  I can’t cut a 1″ yardstick much less a board.”  She paused with a wicked gleam in her eye.  “But Mother can’t fish well and I can so I think we’re even.”

Hardly noticing her joke, Chad read the titles of dozens of books.  “You have a book on how to do almost everything in here.  Candle making, soap making, knitting, sewing, spinning?  You have a book on how to spin?”

Her sigh was almost comical.  “I’ve always wanted to spin but Mother would never agree to sheep.  She said they were dumb animals and she wasn’t going to be bothered with them.”

“You’ll have to get a couple and try it.”  He paused at the expression on her face.  As though he could read her mind, he continued, “I didn’t mean to imply that there was anything wrong with your mother.  You’d just said that she told you that you should live your life how you like it and I thought-”

Her smile, though weak, relieved him.  “You’re right.  She did say that and I know she meant it.  She didn’t want to have to deal with sheep and the mess that comes with them but she didn’t mind if I did.  I think at some point I would have received a pair of lambs for a birthday or Christmas or Easter.”

A wide array of art supplies, fabric, and similar materials were stacked on shelves, in baskets, and something about the style of the baskets made Chad wonder if the Finley women hadn’t made them too.  “Is there anything you two don’t do?”

“Pottery.  It was too expensive to ship clay.  We considered going to black and white film so we could do our own photo developing but we love color too much.”

While upstairs, Willow showed Chad her room, her mother’s room, and a large room organized as a storage pantry.  “We keep our overflow canning and things in here.  Those bins with the locks are where we store Christmas and birthday presents.  That closet holds out of season clothes and…”

She explained their organization system as they returned downstairs.  Chad hardly listened.  Instead, he mentally calculated everything she’d described.  The women had hand painted their bathroom wall to look like wallpaper and every picture on the wall was one they’d drawn, stitched, painted, or photographed.  The quilts on the beds, the sheets, everything was stitched by one or the other of them if not both.  Even the large area rug in the oddly shaped living room was hand hooked.  The thought of all of their work was a little overwhelming.

“You’re a little like the Amish aren’t you?”

Smiling, Willow led him to a room to the right of the stairwell.  An unbelievable number of books occupied wall-to-wall shelves and shelves in the center of the room as well.  Just inside the door, she pointed to a shelf with at least a dozen books on the Amish lifestyle.

“Mother actually considered joining the Amish.  The first thing she did after she deposited ‘the bribe,’ as she called it, was to go to the library and research Amish theology.”

“I take it she wasn’t impressed?”

“Actually, she was for the most part.  The problem was, with each district being independent of the others, and because people often use the same theological terms for different things, Mother was afraid she’d make a poor choice and not know she’d done it until it was too late.  The last thing she wanted to do was start over her starting over.”

“What brought her here?”  Chad asked the question as he looked over the hundreds of books. 

“The day she gave up on the idea of the Amish, she went for a drive.  There was a for sale sign out at the road so she drove in and looked around.  It’d been the home of an elderly couple who moved into one of those retirement places.”

While Chad commented about the excellent condition of the house, Willow glowed.  “She did most of the work herself.  The house had to be completely renovated so it had new plumbing and wiring and all that stuff.  So Mother came in and made everything pretty.  She wanted new windows in the past few years but she didn’t want to have to undo all the trim work she did.”

Every window and doorway in the house had beautiful trim around it.  He’d noticed ivy vines, fleur de lis, and around the kitchen, grapes on the vine.  “Where did she find them?  It must have cost her a fortune.”

“Oak from Fairbury Hardware.  It was more expensive than the pine stuff but it holds up better.”

Shaking his head, Chad traced the ivy vines along the doorway into what he assumed was meant to be a dining room.  “No, these.  Where did she find these?  Hand carved molding and trim work isn’t cheap.”

She laughed.  “Fairbury Hardware.  She bought the plain oak pieces and hand carved them.  Her first ones are up in the attic.”

Closer examination showed flaws that might have otherwise been overlooked.  Chad traced the outline of the design and gave a low whistle.  “This took a lot of time.  I can’t believe she did this!”

“Winter evenings.  She started when I was around eight or nine.  She whittled a few things for my stocking that year and then wanted to do something more intricate so she came up with this idea.”

“I don’t know how you both had time to do so much and yet still worked so hard.”

Willow, tired and starting to come out of the fog she’d lived in for the past three days, collapsed onto the chaise near the door, and sighed.  “I think that’s the secret.  We worked hard enough to keep us busy- the Amish influence I guess, but we used modern conveniences and things to leave us enough time to fill with relaxing and hobbies.”

Weariness seemed to engulf her.  Chad noticed a change in her demeanor and decided it was time to leave.  “Hey.  I was planning to challenge you to a rematch on those checkers but I have to be at work tomorrow and after chasing you down, I’m beat.  Mind if I come out Saturday or something and beat you before work?”

“What time is work?”

“Shift starts at two,” he answered lazily.

Just as Chad shut the door of his truck and inserted the key in the ignition, he saw Willow fly out of the house, across the yard, and to his window.  He rolled it down, surprised to see her upset so quickly.  She must have been holding back as long as she could.

“Chad, do you think I’ve been secretly disrespecting of my mother all these years?”

His brain tried to follow the question but he felt at a loss to understand what Willow meant.  “Huh?”  His eloquent response earned him a mental kick from himself.

“I keep doing things that Mother didn’t like or wouldn’t have done.  Inviting you and the Varney’s to visit, writing Grandmother and Grandfather- even the rest of the family…”  Her voice trailed as she thought of the repercussions of her actions but then continued.  “And of course, I moved her commentaries, I ate in her spot at the living room table when she never would do that and I’m thinking about getting sheep.  Have I been in some kind of secret rebellion all these years?”

Chad patted her forearm and shook his head.  “I think you’re trying to exert control wherever you can so you don’t have to face everything at once.  If you tried to keep everything exactly the same, you’d find yourself constantly reminded of your loss.  Making changes that you said yourself your mom said might happen, is just a way of keeping yourself sane.”

A strange look clouded her eyes and she sighed.  “Is insanity such a bad thing?  Sometimes it sounds like a blissful escape.”

Without another word, Willow returned to the house.  Chad watched, concerned, hanging one arm over the steering wheel, and resting his chin on his wrist.  A light flickered in the living room and then went out again.  Undecided, he paused with his hand on the door handle.  Something about her demeanor bothered him. 

A light flickered in an upstairs room.  Chad mentally climbed her stairs, turned in the hallway, and deduced that she was in the bathroom.  For a moment, he turned cold and pulled on the door handle.  As he pushed open the door, the light went out.  Seconds later, it glowed in Willow’s bedroom.  The silhouette of Willow unzipping her dress was enough for him.  Chad slammed the door shut, started the engine, and backed all the way down the driveway. 

Willow heard the door slam and glanced out her window.  Chad’s vehicle zipping down the driveway in reverse confused her.  “It looks like his truck is broken.  It won’t even go forward!” she mused as she grabbed her favorite pajamas and slid under the covers.

Chapter 3- Part 2

Out for nap- be back soon!

~Willow

Chapter 3

The sun streamed into her east window the next morning.  Willow woke, dressed in her customary jeans and blouse, and froze before her mother’s bedroom.  The memory of the previous day covered her like a smothering blanket on a summer day. 

“Oh Lord, I don’t think I am prepared for this,” she murmured as she hurried to do her usual morning tasks and her mother’s as well.

By ten-thirty, she’d fed the animals, eaten breakfast, and set the house to right.  She now sat at the kitchen table wearing her favorite dress and pouring over her mother’s ‘manuals’.  Several hand-decorated journals lay in piles around her as she studied them.

Kari Finley’s journals were ordered first by subject, then year.  Titles of things like ‘Gardening’ and ‘Repairs’ were written in beautiful calligraphy and then embellished with beautiful patterns of flowers, curls, and one with hand pressed flowers.  Inside they were carefully ordered with a table of contents and the date of the original journal entry and volume on each separate entry.  The detail would have been remarkable to a casual observer but to Willow, it was simply her mother’s way.

She made notes as she read.  Columns on the paper showed her plans as compared with her mother’s notes and the plans she’d made for the coming weeks.  As a child, she’d been annoyed by how carefully her mother planned their work.  Impromptu fishing trips were difficult when mother had plans for canning, planting, or chicken butchering.

Willow pushed the notes and journals from her and rubbed her temples.  The clock struck noon reminding her that she needed food and water.  She carried her bread to the barn and made a chicken salad sandwich with huge leafy leaves of lettuce peeking from the edges and a sliced tomato on the side.  Othello tried to convince her that he needed the food but she ignored the suggestion and took the plate inside.

At the kitchen table, she paused.  Mother had always insisted that they eat at the kitchen table.  Willow thought it’d be nice occasionally to eat at the little table by the window in the living room where they played cards and games but her mother always laughed as though it was a joke rather than a serious suggestion and meals continued as ever.

Without a second thought, she moved into the living room and put her plate in her accustomed place.  An empty mosaic vase, one she’d made as a young girl in fact, stood empty on a nearby shelf.  Determined to enjoy the afternoon as much as possible, Willow grabbed the vase, retrieved a pair of scissors, and went out to the flower garden where she snipped a wide variety of flowers and arranged them clumsily in the vase. 

As she carried the vase back to the small table, she noticed a different view than she’d ever seen as she stood behind her mother’s old chair and placed the vase on the table.  Feeling somewhat rebellious, she transferred her plate to “mother’s” side of the table and sat in the chair.  Instantly, the feeling was gone.  Instead, an overwhelming sense of her mother’s presence filled her. 

Willow saw the world from her mother’s vantage point.  She could imagine herself as a little girl, both long pigtails flopping on the table as she wrote in her own journals and her hands flipping them aside impatiently.  She saw the little girl she once was chasing the dog, throwing sticks down the long driveway, and hiding from him as he retrieved them.  Willow was a teenager before she understood how the dog always found her no matter where she managed to hide.

Three bites into her sandwich, a strange sound echoed from the kitchen.  She rushed from the table until she realized that it must be the cell phone.  By the time she’d found the phone, located the instructions, and flipped it open to follow them, the ringing stopped.  She sighed in frustration and stared interestedly at an unfamiliar number.  It wasn’t the one for her phone or the one Chad had given her.  Experimenting, she dialed the number and pushed the ’send’ button. 

No one was on the other end of the phone.  It just made an unusual ringing sound so Willow started to turn it off.  Just then, she heard a voice.  “Hello?”

Eagerly, Willow spoke clearly and precisely into the mouthpiece hoping, she’d be understood.  “Yes, this number was on my cell phone.  My name is Willow Finley.”

“Oh yes, Miss Finley.  This is James over at the Fairbury Mortuary.  I was wondering whether you could come in this afternoon to discuss arrangements?”

“Oh no that won’t work.  I can’t come in today.  I have a lot of work left to do but I can try to get ahead this afternoon and come in tomorrow morning.  What time would you like me to be there?”

Taken aback at her refusal to consider coming that day, James Jorgensen suggested she arrive at ten o’clock to go over the arrangements.  “Please bring a list of anyone you would like for us to contact and the name of your preferred minister.”

After she clicked the phone shut and assured herself it was off, Willow realized that she didn’t have a ‘preferred minister’ and that she should find the list of family her mother had left in the packet in the firebox.  She hurried to finish her meal and clean up her studying so she could begin correspondence.  As she stacked the journals and started upstairs with them, she paused.  “Keeping them in her old room doesn’t make sense.  I need them down here,” Willow muttered to herself.

She glanced around the room to find an optimal place for the collection but the room was carefully arranged with a perfect ‘home’ for every item in the room.  The living room, however, had a shelf of commentaries that she’d always despised.  Mother loved to read them in the evenings sometimes and had a habit of reading aloud a tidbit that interested her and then continuing for several pages before she realized she was still reading aloud.  Meanwhile Willow, grinding her teeth in frustration, sat waiting for her mother to return to her silent reading so she could continue with another exciting mystery.

Those commentaries soon sat on her mother’s bookshelf in her bedroom and her mother’s journals took their place.  As much as it made sense, she felt a momentary twinge of remorse as she saw another change she’d made in such a short time.  It seemed as though she was an invader rearranging her own home.

***

Thursday morning found her walking along the highway again.  This time, she tucked her hair neatly under a scarf and carried a tote bag.  Inside the bag were her nicest sandals but she wore her athletic work shoes ‘tennis shoes’ her mother called them but the boxes always said ‘athletic shoes’ when they arrived.

She stopped at the familiar convenience store and entered the bathroom feeling a little strange.  This time she was the woman conducting business in town.  Today, she changed her shoes, removed her scarf, and brushed out her long wavy hair.  With a quick rinse to her face, arms, and hands, she left the restroom looking slightly original but not the backward and out of date woman of earlier that week.

Inside the convenience store, she purchased a bottle of water.  Her mother always said it was only polite to purchase something after using their ‘facilities’ so she bought water instead of carrying her own.  The cashier smiled at her and wished her a nice day.

“Thank you.  I don’t think it will be though.  Can you tell me where to find the Mortuary?  I need to speak to James Jorgensen at the Fairbury Mortuary but I’m not sure how to find it.”

Stumbling over herself in apology, the young woman, approximately Willow’s age, directed her to Main Street and to East Elm.  “It’s at the end of the block on the right.  Right in front of the cemetery.  I’m- I’m sorry for your loss.”

Willow thanked her and walked the eight blocks to the mortuary taking notice of the town as though she’d never seen it before.  She’d been to the dentist twice.  His office was directly behind ‘the Fox’ as mother called it.  The Clinic wasn’t far from there.  She’d had a tetanus booster there two years ago when she’d stepped on a nail in the barnyard.  It hadn’t been rusty but with a puncture wound, they had decided to walk to town and get the shot anyway.

She’d never visited the market or stores.  Her mother had purchased fruit anytime she was in town but Willow had always been content to stay outside and watch the people coming and going.  But other than a glance in the windows, she’d never been what people call ’shopping’ in her life and for the first time, the idea appealed to her.

A glance at her watch was enough to hurry her along to the Mortuary.  Just outside the gates of the mortuary, the phone in her tote bag rang.  She dug for it, eventually finding it in one of her shoes and wondering how it had worked itself in there so quickly.  “Yes?  This is Willow Finley.  Who is it?”

William Franklin’s voice sent her into a apologetic tizzy.  “Oh Mr. Franklin, I am so sorry!  The mortuary called yesterday and wanted me to come right away and I couldn’t so I said I’d come this morning at ten o’clock.  I forgot you were coming too.”

“No worries,” he said in his soothing voice over the phone.  “I’m turning into Fairbury right now.  I was going on to your house so you wouldn’t have to walk but if you’re already in town, I’ll meet you outside the door.”

She protested and suggested she go inside and wait so as not to be late for her appointment but Bill Franklin insisted that she wait for him.  “I’ve not dealt with Fairbury Mortuary but even the most reputable companies are there to sell you as much as they can convince you that you need.  Ok, I’ll talk to you in a minute.  I’m turning onto Elm.”

Without a moment of hesitation, Bill Franklin wrapped his arms around Willow and hugged her briefly.  “I’m very sorry.  I had a high respect for your mother.  Kari was a good woman.  She gave me a chance when I was just barely out of college and I’ve always appreciated it.”

Willow gave him a watery smile and nodded.  “Mother always said you reminded her of her little brother.  I think she thought of you as a replacement for Uncle Kirk.”

Inside, the sounds of bubbling brooks and twittering birds surrounded them.  Willow glanced around the room confused until Bill whispered, “It’s a recording.  They do it to soothe people.”

Before she could respond, James Jorgensen, built like a linebacker and with a grin too broad and happy to fit a stereotypical mortician, hurried to greet them.  “Welcome.  I am so sorry for your loss!  Please come right in and we’ll get everything settled for you.”

Bill waited until Willow was seated and then turned to James.  “Can you give us a moment please?  I’m here to help Miss Finley with the arrangements and I truly don’t know what she has in mind.”

“Well I’ll be happy to show you some options-”

“Shall we step outside instead?”

James waved him back in his seat and hurried out the door closing it behind him.  Bill sat next to Willow in a semi-facing chair and spoke candidly.  “Have you ever been to a funeral Willow?”

“No.” 

Since she didn’t seem inclined to elaborate, Bill tried again.  “Did your mother ever discuss them?  Did she ever state a preference or an opinion on them?”

Willow shook her head and then stopped and nodded.  “I do remember her talking about her grandmother’s funeral when she was eight and how her parents hadn’t been able to stop a huge expensive affair that Great Grandmother Finley would have hated.  I think- I got the impression that Mother agreed that a lavish funeral was distasteful.”

Now they were getting somewhere.  “Do you have an opinion on cremation vs. burial?”

“I don’t know.  I think I’m more familiar with burial.  Cremation seems disconnected or something.”  She pulled another of the decorated manila envelopes from her tote bag.  “I think I’d rather you look this over instead of Mr. Jorgensen.  He seems nice but you’re a friend-” Willow stumbled over her words.  “-or as near to one as I have.”

Bill Franklin took the packet and squeezed her hand as he did.  “I’m a friend Willow.  I’m glad you trust me with this.”

He pulled a few hand written letters from the packet.  There were addressed envelopes in it and letters for each.  They all said very similar things.  Kari had died, the funeral wasn’t decided as of yet, but if they wanted to come they could call the funeral home for information etc.  However, the letter to Kari’s parents was different.  He read it interestedly.

“Dear Grandmother and Grandfather Finley,

I write today to tell you that Mother has died.  I know that she would want me to tell you as soon as possible in case you wished to say goodbye in person.  There will be a funeral but I do not know yet when or where.  Please contact the Fairbury Mortuary for further information.  I believe James Jorgensen is the man in charge.

I know that Mother’s disappearance and continued absence from your life must have hurt you a great deal.  I am sorry for that and I know it hurt Mother as well.  However, I do hope that we can begin a regular correspondence.  I would like to know that I do have some family- that I am not completely alone in the world.  That must sound incredibly selfish but it is true.  I am feeling rather small and lost right now.  Sometimes I think I’ll wake up and realize that this isn’t a terrible dream- that this is reality.  Then I am afraid.

Most sincerely,

Your granddaughter,

Willow Anne Finley

 

William Franklin had never read anything so heart wrenching.  “Oh Willow-” His words were cut short when he saw the address on the envelope.  “Rockland?  Your grandparents live in Rockland?”

“I believe that most of my family does.  There is an address for Chicago but the rest are in Rockland or one of the other towns around the loop.”

Unable to fathom Kari’s reasoning, Bill couldn’t help but ask, “Why?  Why did she keep herself shut away?”

“Do you know the circumstances of my birth?”  Willow’s matter-of-fact tone didn’t prepare him for her response to his negative reply.  “She was raped and the father of the man who attacked her paid her to stay out of their lives and not to go to the police.  Mother accepted those terms by her definition and knowing the pressure she’d be under by family and friends, she just disappeared.”

Bill couldn’t answer.  Before he found any words with which to reply, a gentle knock sounded on the door and James opened it cautiously.  “Are we ready?  I have another family coming in at eleven-thirty and-”

“We’re ready.  We need to plan for a burial preferably on Saturday or Monday.  Whichever the local minister can accommodate will do.”

James stood again.  “Let’s go take a look at your coffin options then.”

Bill placed his hand gently but firmly on Willow’s arm keeping her in her seat.  “That won’t be necessary.  She has decided on the most basic coffin you carry.”

James pulled a brochure out of his desk drawer, pushed it across the table, and began explaining the options as well as the advantages and disadvantages to each but Bill stopped him.  “I see.  We’ll have to go to Rockland then.  I know that much less elaborate coffins are available there and Miss Finley does not want an extravagant set up.”

Blustering a bit, James pulled out another brochure.  “I don’t like to show this to people.  We only keep one of each in stock in the back for charity cases and such.  Most people are insulted if I offer them something so shabby…”

Very decisively, Willow pointed to the third coffin shown in the brochure.  “Mother would have approved of that one.  I’d like that.”

A million details followed, each more exasperating than the last until finally Willow stood.  “I am done here.  I want that casket, a plot in the cemetery if we cannot get a permit to bury her on our property, and a nice minister to perform the- the whatever it’s called- funeral.”  She took a deep breath and continued.  “I want a prayer, Mother’s favorite scripture read, and we’ll sing Our God is Alive.” 

Smiling through unshed tears, Willow nodded at Bill Franklin.  “I’ll see you back at my house.  I trust you for the rest of the decisions but as far as a ceremony or whatever, that’s all I want.  It’s all mother would have wanted.  I’ll pick her some of our flowers and cover the coffin with them or maybe she can hold them.  Whichever.  Please try to get a permit for burial at the farm.”

With that, she rushed from the building but neither man followed.  They stared at one another for a moment before James Jorgensen said, “Wow.  She’s going to crash hard when it hits her but right now, wow.”

Bill glanced at the closed door and nodded.  “Wow.”

***

Willow passed a small deli just around the corner from the mortuary.  She’d never eaten in a restaurant- for that matter; she’d never eaten away from home except for their occasional picnics at the lake.  Suddenly, she felt a keen desire to try restaurant food.

A line to the door of the deli dissuaded her from entering.  She asked a woman going into the deli if there was a good restaurant in town and was directed to Marcello’s Fine Cuisine.  Once inside, she knew she’d been sent to exactly the kind of restaurant mentioned in her favorite novels.

Stunned at the prices of the food, she quickly opened her tote and retrieved her mother’s wallet.  She hadn’t counted the money from the teapot; she’d just taken a handful and left another handful for another time.  Seeing a hundred dollar bill, she breathed a sigh of relief and slipped the wallet back into her purse.  As she did, her phone rang sending shrill sounds reverberating around the quiet room. 

“Oh I am sorry!” she exclaimed as she struggled to find a way to turn it off.  In exasperation, she flipped the phone open and then shut it again disconnecting the call.

A waiter hurried to her table and asked if she’d mind setting the phone to vibrate but she just wanted to turn it off.  He showed her how to turn the phone completely off and then turn it back on again when she was out of the building.  “But it’s not necessary miss, we just ask that people put it on vibrate so as not to disturb our other diners.”

“Well, it would be rude for me to talk while eating anyway so I’ll just turn it off.”  As she spoke, she noticed several people mumbling into their phones, many with a lunch partner waiting for them to complete their call.  “What is so important to discuss that you can’t wait until after you eat?” she mused aloud.

“That’s the question of the age miss.  Can I get you something to drink?”

And so began the meal with the most interesting customer the waiter Brendan had ever had.  She asked about everything and finally settled on lemonade.  At first, she’d chosen hard lemonade thinking it was extra sour.  When she couldn’t produce identification to prove her age, a question she’d found incredibly amusing, Brendan said, “Sorry miss, we can’t serve alcoholic drinks to anyone who looks under thirty-five without identification.”

“Alcoholic!  I just want nice sour lemonade!  I don’t drink alcohol.”

Every lunch special sounded better than the last until she finally said, “Choose something for me.  Anything.  I just don’t want anything with tuna.  Tuna is for winter.”

Unable to find a suitable response for such a strange statement, Brendan suggested the chicken marsala and breathed a sigh of relief when she agreed.  As she waited for her meal, she picked at her salad and watched the activity at the restaurant with great interest.  Business people discussed things in hushed serious tones and occasionally glanced at paperwork with concentrated expressions on their faces.  Couples ate slowly occasionally touching a hand or even a face.  Inside jokes made ordinary things seem delightful and the scenes were very interesting to Willow.  One couple, obviously married for many years, ate in a rhythm almost synchronized.  Each movement was anticipated by the other and countered with their own.  Unspoken requests were filled and all without looking at one another.  Finally, both glanced up at each other at exactly the same time and their faces lit up with a special understanding that seemed particularly precious to her.  She’d never seen that kind of relationship in action.  It was all so interesting and exciting.

She walked up Main Street to the convenience store and entered the restroom.  As she changed her shoes, she thought over the lunch, the menu, the ridiculous amount of money she’d spent for a single meal and then her heart sank.

“I forgot a tip!  I knew there was something else.  In books- and Mother mentioned it too I know- they always leave a tip for the waiter!”

She hastily put her sandals back on her feet and hurried back to the restaurant.  Outside, on the side of the building with another waiter, Brendan sipped at a bottle of soda and puffed on a cigarette.  The other waiter nudged Brendan as she hurried toward them.

“Oh I’m so glad I found you.  I forgot to leave a tip.  You were such a good waiter too.  I’m very sorry.”  She blushed, mortified at both her inexperience and her forgetfulness.  “I can’t remember what is expected- I’ve never left a tip before, can you help me?”

The other waiter grinned and quipped, “Well for great service, you usually leave the equivalent to half of the bill; otherwise twenty-five percent is all it’s worth.”

Brendan punched his friend and shook his head.  “Don’t listen to him.  Fifteen percent is customary.  Twenty at night with good service.  But honestly-”

She thrust a few bills at him and smiled.  “Thank you.  You made my first meal at a restaurant a wonderful experience.  Other waiters might not have been so kind.”  She gave the man next to Brendan a knowing look and walked away.

“Thanks!”  Brendan called after her but Willow didn’t turn around.  He counted a twenty-five percent tip and realized as he did that she knew how much she was giving him.  “Wow.”

Chapter 2~

1983

Battered and wretched, Kari half-crawled through the back door, across the kitchen, and pulling herself up in the doorway, stumbled into her bedroom.  Still trembling with fear and somewhat stunned, she slammed the old windows shut and yanked the curtains closed.  The outdated and heavy drapes blocked the moonlight plunging the room into blissful darkness.

Within a minute or two, her eyes drooped and mercifully blocked the pounding that steadily beat its way into her consciousness.  She lay curled in a fetal position on her bed until the morning light glowed around the outside of the drapes giving the room a freakish glow.  Her eyes felt grainy and dry as she opened them and glanced around the room.

Images from the night before flashed behind her eyes as she stared at the weird glowing curtains.  She winced and then whimpered.  Terror welled up inside her before she could prevent it.  Kari Finley wasn’t accustomed to fear.

Suddenly, she jumped from the bed and raced to the bathroom.  She turned on the water as hot as she could stand and climbed into the tub allowing the nearly scalding water to burn off the memories.  Cuts stung in places she’d never imagined.  The desire to cry was almost overwhelming but instinctively she stuffed it down.  Kari Finley did not cry.  Well, not anymore.  It was time to ‘put away childish things.’

An hour later, she sat against the corner of her couch, knees drawn up to her chest, hair dripping down her back and soaking her shirt- deep in prayer.  She’d missed her class.  The clock struck eleven.  Kari needed to hustle or she’d miss the next one too.  Suddenly, it didn’t seem to matter anymore, which she knew was ridiculous.  She grabbed a brush, her books, and her keys.  If she didn’t get back on the proverbial horse, she’d regret it.

***

Kari froze.  Students pouring from the classroom bumped her until she was shoved out of the path of the crowd.  A short thickset man stood facing her as the hallway emptied.  “Miss Finley, I’m from the-”

“I know who you represent,” she growled.  “I swear if I’m threatened, I’ll-”

“My boss wants to talk to you.  He says he’ll meet you anywhere you like.”  Before she could reply, the man continued.  “I’m sorry.  I know why Mr. Steve wants to talk to you and, well, I think you should talk to him.  He can’t make it go away but he can make it more bearable.  He sent Steve Jr. away-.”

“As long as he’s singing soprano…”

The man’s laughter rang through the halls as he joined the throng moving outside.  Kari glanced at the business card in her hand.  Maybe calling this number would help her decide about going to the police.

 

***

 

She stared at the check in her hand, uncertain of what to do.  The bank doors swung open and closed as people went about their financial business.  If she cashed the check, she’d give up all right to testify against Steven Bradford.  No one would trust her testimony with proof of a million dollar bribe.  Then again, could she testify?  Could she put herself through that?  All evidence was gone.  Her bruises were turning green already.

Kari glanced at the numbers on the check.  She didn’t know people actually gave checks for that sum.  It was a cashier’s check no less.  “Paper trail,” she muttered.  “No wiring to Swiss or other off-shore bank accounts- they want proof that I took it.”

Abruptly, the overwhelming sense of panic returned.  She wanted out of the city, out of school; frankly, she wanted out of life. Without another moment of hesitation, she grabbed her purse and climbed from the car.  She’d sell it.  Eventually.

Chapter 2- Part 2

Out for nap- be back soon!

~Willow

Chapter 2- Part 1

Out for nap- be back soon!

~Willow

Chapter 1

1983

Battered and wretched, Kari half-crawled through the back door, across the kitchen, and pulling herself up in the doorway, stumbled into her bedroom.  Still trembling with fear and somewhat stunned, she slammed the old windows shut and yanked the curtains closed.  The outdated and heavy drapes blocked the moonlight plunging the room into blissful darkness.

Within a minute or two, her eyes drooped and mercifully blocked the pounding that steadily beat its way into her consciousness.  She lay curled in a fetal position on her bed until the morning light glowed around the outside of the drapes giving the room a freakish glow.  Her eyes felt grainy and dry as she opened them and glanced around the room.

Images from the night before flashed behind her eyes as she stared at the weird glowing curtains.  She winced and then whimpered.  Terror welled up inside her before she could prevent it.  Kari Finley wasn’t accustomed to fear.

Suddenly, she jumped from the bed and raced to the bathroom.  She turned on the water as hot as she could stand and climbed into the tub allowing the nearly scalding water to burn off the memories.  Cuts stung in places she’d never imagined.  The desire to cry was almost overwhelming but instinctively she stuffed it down.  Kari Finley did not cry.  Well, not anymore.  It was time to ‘put away childish things.’

An hour later, she sat against the corner of her couch, knees drawn up to her chest, hair dripping down her back and soaking her shirt- deep in prayer.  She’d missed her class.  The clock struck eleven.  Kari needed to hustle or she’d miss the next one too.  Suddenly, it didn’t seem to matter anymore, which she knew was ridiculous.  She grabbed a brush, her books, and her keys.  If she didn’t get back on the proverbial horse, she’d regret it.

***

Kari froze.  Students pouring from the classroom bumped her until she was shoved out of the path of the crowd.  A short thickset man stood facing her as the hallway emptied.  “Miss Finley, I’m from the-”

“I know who you represent,” she growled.  “I swear if I’m threatened, I’ll-”

“My boss wants to talk to you.  He says he’ll meet you anywhere you like.”  Before she could reply, the man continued.  “I’m sorry.  I know why Mr. Steve wants to talk to you and, well, I think you should talk to him.  He can’t make it go away but he can make it more bearable.  He sent Steve Jr. away-.”

“As long as he’s singing soprano…”

The man’s laughter rang through the halls as he joined the throng moving outside.  Kari glanced at the business card in her hand.  Maybe calling this number would help her decide about going to the police.

 

***

 

She stared at the check in her hand, uncertain of what to do.  The bank doors swung open and closed as people went about their financial business.  If she cashed the check, she’d give up all right to testify against Steven Bradford.  No one would trust her testimony with proof of a million dollar bribe.  Then again, could she testify?  Could she put herself through that?  All evidence was gone.  Her bruises were turning green already.

Kari glanced at the numbers on the check.  She didn’t know people actually gave checks for that sum.  It was a cashier’s check no less.  “Paper trail,” she muttered.  “No wiring to Swiss or other off-shore bank accounts- they want proof that I took it.”

Abruptly, the overwhelming sense of panic returned.  She wanted out of the city, out of school; frankly, she wanted out of life. Without another moment of hesitation, she grabbed her purse and climbed from the car.  She’d sell it.  Eventually.