The Rockland skyline grew larger with each passing mile. Willow felt quite intimidated and nervous as she watched buildings grow from bumps on the ground to towers in the air. By the time the bus reached the Metro Travel Hub just inside the city limits, she seriously considered returning immediately to Fairbury.

She held her phone ready to dial as they pulled into the bus terminals. She watched as the Amtrak trains whizzed into the station across the way and as an airplane took off in the distance. The sheer volume of traveling was enough to overwhelm her without the people, buildings, and of course, the taxis.

Most of the bus passengers in the station thronged to a set of escalators and Willow was swept along with them. A street musician sang a morbid melody at the corner with his guitar case open. Few people stopped to listen and fewer dropped spare change in the case.

Just as she reached the escalators, she jerked back bumping into a woman. “Oh I am so sorry! It’s moving!”

“What do you think? Watch where you’re going!”

Stunned at the rude words and cold stare, Willow jumped back and watched as person after person stepped onto the moving stairs and disappeared into the cavern below. While she assumed that she should follow, fear welled up inside her. What was down there? Was it safe? Would she hurt herself on the steps that appeared from seemingly out of nowhere?

The musician watched with a curious eye. Suddenly his tune changed and Willow noticed the upbeat jingle almost immediately.

“…the step and you will see

Little miss just please trust me

The escalator is lots of fun

And keeps us all on the run.”

A laugh escaped before she could stop herself. The rhyme was truly pitiful. The musician shrugged and said, “I just play ‘em girl, I don’t write ‘em. Go ahead. You’ll be fine. Fine. Ok. Safe.”

He made motions that meant nothing to her. For a moment, Willow didn’t understand why he talked as if she couldn’t understand the words and then laughed again. “I speak English.”

“Oh. Thought you were one of them tourists from places that don’t have escalators.”

Before she could answer, Bill came jogging up from the crowd and took her suitcase from her. “Willow! I’ve been looking everywhere!” He glanced at her briefly. “Nice dress. It’s perfect.”

Without realizing he’d interrupted a conversation, Bill led her away from the escalators. Willow glanced over her shoulder apologetically and waved mouthing a ‘thank you’ as she did. Suddenly, she broke away from Bill and returned to the man with the guitar case. She dug through her tote bag, found her wallet, and pulled several bills from it avoiding twenties, fifties, and the three hundred dollar bills she’d brought with her. With a smile of gratitude, she dropped the money in the case and returned to Bill.

“He was so nice to me. I had to do something.”

“If you drop money like that to every panhandler in Rockland, you’ll be broke in no time. This is a dangerous city- especially for women as naïve as you. Just be careful.”

“Well, I can’t give money to everyone but I could to him and I’m glad I did.”

Bill hailed a taxi and dumped her suitcase in the trunk. Confused, Willow asked why he hadn’t driven his car. “I just assumed-”

“I never bring it down here. Crime is terrible around here and my car is one of the most stolen makes.”

With a shudder, Willow queried, “How can you stand it?”

“Stand what?”

“Living here- like this. Where you can’t even drive the car you own because it might be stolen or vandalized or whatever else you’re afraid of.”

They talked through the short ride into the heart of the city and along Massinger Avenue to the Rockland Metro Center and then the Towers. As the Taxi dropped them off near the entrance, Willow stepped from the cab and froze. Bill grabbed her suitcase and gestured for her to follow but she stood immobile, her feet firmly rooted to the cement beneath her feet.

“Come on Willow-” Fear slowly crept over her features until Bill, realizing that she was overwhelmed, handed the suitcase to the bellhop, and sent it inside ahead of him.

“It’s so big. Look how tall they are! How can you breathe?”

Her shallow rapid breathing bothered him. “Take a deep breath.” The attempt was weak at best. “Deeper. Slowly in, now out. Repeat. Come on, slowly. A little deeper now. You can do it.”

Willow’s breathing slowed and leveled to a more normal pace. Each second that passed showed another building, another string of vehicles in the parade beneath them as though playing the children’s game, London Bridge waiting for the moment when they ‘all fell down.’

“How-”

“Come on Willow, let’s go inside. You’ll feel better I think.”

Inside, the décor took her mind off the panic of moments before. The beauty of the furnishings, the elegance of the fixtures, and the detail in the interior architecture belied the tall shapeless tower’s exterior. As she admired the frescoed ceilings, a new sense of claustrophobia engulfed her sending her eyes across the registration desk in fresh panic.

“How old is this building?”

The desk clerk smiled and ignored the interruption to her check-in process. “The tower was built almost ten years ago. The RMC and Convention Annex is about fifteen years old. We took over the parking garage and they built a larger one across the street.”

“Is it safe?”

Bill’s eyes flew to Willow’s face. What he saw both concerned and shamed him. He was so accustomed to Kari and Willow’s strengths that it hadn’t occurred to him that Willow might be fearful of the unfamiliar. He thanked the desk clerk for her help, took the room card key, Willow’s suitcase, and led her toward the stairs. A glance at the room number stopped him.

“We have to take the elevator. You’re on the eleventh floor.”

“Oh, I’ve always wanted to ride in an elevator!”

Relieved that she’d be fine for the moment anyway, Bill led her to the elevator and punched the appropriate button. Willow glanced around here interestedly as the silver box shot upward into the hotel. As the doors opened, she followed her escort through the hallway to a corner room at the end of the hall.

Bill apologized as he opened the door for her. “I didn’t think about how unfamiliar all of this would be. It just never occurred to me that you might be overwhelmed or feel claustrophobic with the buildings. I was concerned about court, dealing with the traffic and such, but not this. I’m so sorry.”

“Is it safe? I keep thinking of the weight of several more stories above me and wonder why they don’t come crashing down on top of us.”

In an attempt to reassure her, Bill said the worst thing possible. “Well if it hasn’t fallen down in ten years-”

“But that is my point! Every year brings decay. Things get weaker! When will it all come crumbling down?”

“There are buildings in this city that are over fifty years old. They’re still standing strong. There are stone castles several stories high that are centuries old. There is a whole science to structural engineering. You’re safe.”

Willow took a deep steadying breath and glanced around the room. “It’s a beautiful room so large for just a place to stay over night!”

“Come over here. Look at the city from up here. Maybe it’ll take away that closed-in feeling.”

She shook her head vehemently. “I think it’d be too much.”

“What if I hold your shoulders?” Bill felt strongly about facing one’s fears.

She stepped beside him and followed him side-by-side to the large window overlooking Rockland Boulevard. Bill stood behind her, hands on shoulders, and waited for her to step close enough to see the city. “Wow, even from up here the buildings are so tall and close. You get more sky but there are still a lot of really tall buildings.”

She took another step and reached out to push aside the sheer coverings of the windows. Long heavy drapes hung at the sides ready to close her off from a view of the skyline at the flick of a wrist. “You still there?”

Bill gave her the slightest nudge and she touched the window lock. She leaned nervously against it to get a closer view. The street looked like a paint swipe on a canvas rather than the four-lane boulevard that it was.

“Wow. That’s amazing. It almost makes you dizzy but in a neat way.”

She turned comfortably away from the window as though she’d grown up in a penthouse and wandered around the room examining furniture, testing the bed, and peeking into the bathroom. One look at her reflection in the mirror and Willow hurried to retrieve a brush from her tote bag. She turned to the room mirror and brushed messy tendrils into a sleek mane.

“There. So now what?”

Bill glanced at his watch. “We might be a bit early but we can be let off a few blocks away and walk.”

Willow expected to whiz through the city streets at a breakneck speed but instead the taxi crawled along behind dozens of other taxies at what seemed like millions of cars. It took twenty minutes to travel just over a mile. In the old town district, buildings were constructed of brick and brownstone some in neoclassical architecture. The Oaks stood strong and beautiful as a perfect example of an historic Greek Revival home built in the late eighteen hundreds by Rockland’s unofficial founder for his youngest daughter as a wedding present.

One of the finest restaurants in Rockland, The Oaks was elegantly decorated in ivory and white. The occasional gold accent whether the trim on a plate or the rim of the crystal, added that extra touch of opulence without crossing the line to gaudy. A string quartet played softly in one corner while the diners enjoyed a quiet leisurely meal.

Willow was entranced. As she took her seat, she sniffed the creamy roses in the vase on their table, ran one finger lightly down the vase, and caressed the butter-soft napkin as she unfolded it and slipped it into her lap. She requested water to drink and complimented the waitress on her pink boutonniere.

Bill sighed in relief. While he hadn’t expected gauche behavior, he had wondered how much general etiquette Kari had passed onto her daughter. Their lifestyle and with their avoidance of society added to the plain way the women had of speaking their minds left Bill concerned that he’d have to play Henry Higgins with his unwilling Miss Doolittle.

Behind her menu, Willow read each entrée carefully, unaware of Bill’s internal turmoil. The beef entrees did little to tempt her. She ate good cuts of beef frequently and was looking for a new experience. “Should I choose seafood or poultry? I’ve never had duck but I hear it’s oily.”

“It is. It’s terrible actually. I love their prime rib.”

“I eat beef so often; I wanted to try something I haven’t ever had.”

Bill set his menu aside and smiled across the table. “What is one thing you’ve always wanted to try- don’t look at the menu, but never could.”

“Shrimp and lamb.”

After a moment’s thought, he tried again. “How hungry are you?”

“Famished.”

“Order the roasted lamb with rosemary and whatever else they do to it here. I think you’ll love it.”

Without a second glance at the menu, Willow laid it aside as well and smiled across the table. “Thank you. You’re having prime rib? I don’t see it on the menu?”

“They only serve it on Saturday nights. I’m having the veal. It’s incredibly good.”

Their candles flickered, the roses sent occasional wafts of their heady perfume across the table, and the music seemed to dance in their subconscious. Bill, recovering his manners and feeling foolish for leaving Willow to flounder for conversation when he’d been concerned for her social backwardness darted his eyes over Willow’s dress. “That dress is lovely. I won’t ask if you made it. That would be a ridiculous question. I will ask, however, where you found such beautiful fabric when I know you and your mother only shopped by mail.”

“Mother ordered six yards of voile for decorating her room last year. They sent sixteen. There was some mix up about the order box not being printed right so mother fixed it and they mistook her box correction for a one.”

“Well, those roses are just amazing. I remember that fabric incident. Your mother called me from Fairbury about it. She wasn’t sure how to pay for it without sending more fabric.”

“Right. Somehow the person who accepted the order and processed payment understood what we ordered but the cutter didn’t.”

Each flower was placed so perfectly that Bill couldn’t see a single petal chopped off in a seam. “I’m just amazed at the cost of the fabric. It wasn’t very expensive but that is some finely stitched design on there.”

“Oh, I did the embroidery once the dress was made.”

“You hand stitched all of that pattern on your dress? Why? Why not just buy embroidered fabric?”

Willow had learned quickly from Chad that doing for yourself what you can pay others to do instead was almost a universal virtue in this new world she’d entered. “Because we had ten yards of the fabric and I wanted a pattern to my dress so I made it. What would we do with ten yards of voile unless I stitched it into a dress?”

Bill sensed that he’d touched on a sore spot. “Well I think you did an incredible job. I was impressed with your cutting skills- not a single petal cut off and all- but doing all that handwork…”

Her eyes sparkled with glee as she realized that Bill was trying to save face. The effect, enhanced by candlelight and the flush of excitement on her cheeks left her looking unusually attractive. “I never realized how lovely you are Willow.”

“Thank you. Tell me that after I’ve been milking Wilhelmina and I might actually believe it’s something other than candlelight and roses, but thank you.”

Their miniscule salads arrived before he could respond. Once finished the waiter suggested wine for their main course which Bill immediately ordered. The waiter glanced at Willow and smiled. “I’ll need to see your ID please before I can serve you.”

“I don’t have ID. It’s why I came to Rockland. We’re going tomorrow to get everything taken care of so I can get proper ID for these things. I’ll just drink water unless you want to see my journals- no, they’re at the hotel-”

“She won’t be drinking wine this evening unless you have a non-alcoholic that you can recommend.” Bill’s rushed voice and interruption ensured that the waiter was even more suspicious than when Willow was “explaining.”

Willow turned back to Bill and shrugged. “Did I say something wrong?”

“He thinks we’re buying you a fake ID.”

“Why would we do that?”

Amused, Bill explained that people often purchased counterfeit identification in order to purchase alcohol or frequent nightclubs before they were legally old enough. “Of course, people use it for serious crimes as well as things like that. Identity theft is a terrible problem right now.”

“I am beginning to understand, in ways I never could before, why Mother was so adamant about staying away from people- especially ones in the city.”

***

Willow stood in JC Penney’s overwhelmed by the sheer volume of available clothing. Everything she touched was either lovely or repulsive. She held skirts that were hardly long enough to hide the most basic of undergarments and blouses that plunged lower than her custom sewn brassieres. On the other hand, perfectly lovely skirts in every size and color fought with complimentary or contrasting tops to do little more than thoroughly confuse Willow.

While Willow adjusted to yet another facet of culture shock, Bill sought help. A saleswoman replacing clothes taken to the dressing room listened patiently and fascinated as Bill explained the situation and begged for discreet help. “I’ve got it. I’ll take care of it. Why don’t you go look for some socks or a package of undershirts. She’s probably feeling self-conscious.”

Bill wandered away nervously and watched from afar as “Jill” hurried with a stack full of clothes to the rack where Willow listlessly shoved aside skirt after skirt. The hangers scraped along the metal racks almost enjoying the horrible sound.

“May I help you?”

Willow glanced around but when she saw Bill had gone somewhere else, she smiled at the young woman. “Oh no, let me help you.”

Before Jill knew what happened, Willow took half the pile of clothes from her arms and looked around for some place to put them. “Oh miss I-” Jill’s forehead furrowed. The guy hadn’t been joking. “I was just putting these things away. It’s my job. Here, let me-”

“Just show me where they go and when we’re done putting everything away; you can help me find an outfit for tomorrow if you would.”

As they put away the clothing, Jill and Willow got well enough acquainted that Jill had a reasonably good idea of what Willow needed to be presentable at the courthouse but without making her look like she was a fraud. A dowdy outfit might look as though making a play for sympathy while arriving overdressed could leave the impression that she was just another girl from Rockland trying to hide from her creditors.

“I think I have it. You need a beige wrap skirt- twill. You want fabrics that you could have ordered if you wanted a beige skirt. Then you want a basic white cotton shirt. Wear your hair in a low bun and slip on shoes with nylons.”

Willow listened skeptically to the outfit Jill described but once she tried them on in the dressing room, Willow had to admit that the look was perfect. It looked like something she’d like, make, and wear but it was also contemporary enough not to make her look like a charity case.

They found Bill fingering ties and glancing at his watch. “I was giving you five more minutes and then-”

“I’ve got everything I need right here. I left my tote bag in the car though. Would you hold these things while I go get Mother’s wallet?”

Bill shook his head and hurried to the nearest checkout corner talking all the while. “No. You never wander outside alone after dark in this city. Got that?”

“But you can’t pay for my clothes!”

Bill thanked Jill and paid for the purchases before turning to Willow and leading her to the Mall food court. “You can either pay me back or I can deduct it from the disbursement account. Either way.”

The buildings around the Towers were less frightening at night. Willow stood in the same place she stood earlier that afternoon and rather than terror, awe swept over here as she saw the midnight blue sky dappled liberally with lights from the nearby buildings. “It’s friendlier at night, isn’t it?”

Oppressive humidity and temperatures still above eighty degrees urged Bill inside taking Willow along with him. “It’s pretty but man it’s stifling out here.”

“I think it’s hotter in the city.”

Bill agreed. “Miles of asphalt, thousands upon thousands of cars, and of course being in this valley doesn’t help. You’re up by the lake and have your own stream so I doubt it gets quite this hot where you are.”

At the elevator, Bill sent her up alone. “It’s getting late and I need to get my car. I’ll pick you up out front at eight. I’ll order breakfast to arrive at seven if you tell me what you want.”

“Whatever you recommend is fine. Thank you for taking me to dinner.”

Without another word, she slipped into the elevator and punched the button for the eleventh floor. As she did, she noticed that there was no button numbered thirteen. “Wow, they really do avoid a thirteenth floor!” she murmured, awed.

Her door, on the other hand, was a different matter. No matter how often she slipped her card into the door slot, it didn’t work. She reached into her tote bag for her cell phone and started to punch Bill’s number. Willow paused and then punched Chad’s instead. If she called Bill, he’d come back upstairs and he obviously wanted to go home.

“Hi Chad, I have a problem. Can you help me?”

Chad’s voice held a trace of alarm as the word problem entered his consciousness. He glanced at the clock on his phone. Ten-thirty. “Sure, what’s up?” Chad prayed his voice didn’t betray that he’d been asleep.

“Well this place doesn’t have keys. It has a little plastic card like thing- it looks like the kind of card you used to buy my ticket-”

“A card key, right.”

“Well I’ve tried everything and it won’t open the door.”

Willow listened as Chad explained how to find the arrow pointing down, find the front of the card, and let it sit in the slot long enough for the light to change. Seconds later, she stood inside her door relieved. “Oh thank you. I didn’t want to call Bill back but-”

“No problem.”

“How is everything? Did you find the pail ok? Did you get the chickens inside? We have an owl that’ll-”

They’re all sleeping soundly, the goat is empty and full at the same time, and Othello is holding his nightly vigil out by the oak tree.”

Willow suddenly felt very homesick. “I can’t hear the cicadas here. I can only hear cars and horns and sirens. I want to come home.”

“You’ll be here tomorrow night. Just get through the court hearing and then get on the bus.”

“I need a purse. My tote bag isn’t appropriate to carry around here. I look funny. The other women all have purses. Where can I buy one?”

Chad smiled to himself. Just when he almost forgot Willow was a woman, she’d surprise him with the most feminine comment. “After court tomorrow, get a cab and have it take you to the mall closest to your hotel. You should find a Sears or JC Penney’s or Macy’s or something.”

“Oh, I was at J Penney’s tonight. I bought clothes for tomorrow- or, rather, Bill bought them for me.” Something about that sentence irritated Chad. “I have to make sure he gives me a copy of the accounts before I leave. I have no idea where they are and I spent almost a hundred dollars tonight!”

“I thought you said he bought them?”

“Well, he paid for them because he wouldn’t let me go out to the car to get Mother’s wallet.”

A few more minutes passed as Willow described her drive into Rockland, the smothering feeling of the press of huge buildings around her, and the elegance of the restaurant. She described her room and the view from her window until another wave of homesickness struck. “Are you near a window?”

“Mmm hmm,” Chad replied sleepily. One-thirty was closing in on him rapidly.

“Will you put your cell phone out the window so I can hear the cicadas?”

Chapter 9- Part 4

August 6, 2008 in Partial Chapter | Tags: Christian fiction, serial story | 2 comments

Out for nap- be back soon!

~Willow

Chapter 9- Part 3

August 6, 2008 in Partial Chapter | Tags: Christian fiction, serial story | 1 comment

Out for nap- be back soon!

~Willow

Chapter 9- Part 2

August 4, 2008 in Partial Chapter | Tags: Christian fiction, serial story | 3 comments

Out for nap- be back soon!

~Willow

Chapter 9~

August 3, 2008 in Chapter | Tags: Christian fiction, serial story | 1 comment

Tuesday night, Willow entered her mother’s bedroom and stood in the doorway. She’d put off this moment as long as possible but the time had come. She needed her mother’s private journals.

The longer time passed, the harder it had become to enter the room. She glanced at the bowl by the bed and grimaced. The peonies were withered and dry. The bedspread still lay folded on the bed waiting for her to shake it into place. The breeze fluttered the curtains in the windows and the sun sent the dust dancing in a shaft of light across the floor.

A high shelf between the closet and bedroom door boasted a row of twenty-one journals and a hand-painted hatbox that worked as a bookend. Willow stared at the shelf. She’d never been allowed to touch her mother’s private journals. “You’ll know when it’s ok, Willow. You’ll know. Until then, leave them alone,” her mother had always said when she asked what her mother wrote in them.

She reached for 1986. Thumbing through the months, she found July. The sight of her mother’s cramped writing wrung her heart- squeezing it until it felt as no blood was left. Different paragraphs jumped out at her causing her to realize she wanted to read them from the beginning. This was a side of her mother she’d never known.

***

I’m contracting again. My brilliant plan to walk into Fairbury in labor wasn’t so brilliant. It’s pouring rain out there. Rain in July. Just my luck. Ouch. That one hurt. Do I try to stay here? Should I try walking and just accept a ride and pray I’m not killed? I don’t know-

Well, that was gross. Why did it never occur to me that my water breaking would be like wetting my pants? I’m gathering things between contractions. I just hope something doesn’t go wrong. We could die here. Maybe a phone wasn’t a bad idea after all.

I’m scared.”

Tears splashed onto the page and Willow brushed them off hurriedly. She’d never known her mother to fear anything except strangers in cars. She’d been alone, frightened, and had no way to call for help.

“If she’d only had a cell phone,” Willow muttered to herself. The next entry caught her eye and she continued reading, fascinated.

“Willow is perfect. I knew it was a girl. I just knew it. I’ve prayed about names for six months and Willow is my agreement with the Lord. I just hope He accepts the agreement. I’ll raise her to be like the man in Psalm 1. I will raise her not to accept the counsel of the wicked, to stay out of the path of sinners, and to keep free of mockers. I will teach her to delight in the Law of the Lord and make it her delight. She will, if love, instruction, and prayer can make it happen, be like a tree planted by our stream bearing fruit for His glory.

And God will allow her physique to fit her name. She will not be a short squatty “Willow.”

Labor was horrible. I will never have another child. I won’t marry and I won’t ever allow myself to be vulnerable to a man again. Childbirth is truly the curse that God promised.

I’m still bleeding. It’s been a week. I thought it’d stop by now. Anytime I try to do anything, it gets worse so I’ve been sitting a lot. I hold Willow and tell her all my plans for us.

I was afraid I’d resent her. I gave myself permission to call social services if I couldn’t handle it but she’s the only thing that feels right about this whole ordeal. She’s so tiny and helpless. We’re going to be good friends. Like mom and I were. I miss my mom. I need my mom.”

Tears flowed freely now. Willow brushed them aside like intermittent windshield wipers. Once her vision blurred, she blinked them back and read some more. The morning passed as she read of those first years of Willow’s life.

“Her little footprints are so adorable. I put them in here but I doubt they’ll be good for anything. I don’t know how to get a birth certificate. I don’t even know if I want her to have one. She’s safe if she isn’t traceable. But what if something happens to me?

She has a birthmark. It’s on her right shoulder at the back. Maybe that’ll be identification enough later in life. Surely, we’ll see a doctor sometime. That’ll be proof of her existence.”

November’s entries were fascinating. Willow read of learning to survive and thrive in a life that she’d always known. The most basic survival skills were new and difficult for her mother. Things she took for granted, her mother had to learn the hard way.

“I have to start chopping wood in the mornings while Willow naps. I keep running out of wood at night. I’ll have to light the furnace if it gets any colder. I need to get ahead. I’ve started a journal of living for ideas of when to do what. Wood chopping needs to start in September at the latest. It was cold by the middle of October. Froze twice.

I need a cow. I don’t know what to do. I can’t use all the milk I’d get from one but Willow seems to need more than I can produce. I keep eating oatmeal and taking the herbs recommended in my book but it isn’t working. She’s not getting enough. Maybe the book I ordered on natural living will come today. Maybe it’ll have another idea. Maybe I should order canned milk. Maybe I should give up. I don’t think I can do this. Maybe.”

The pages turned slowly under Willow’s fingertips. Her mother’s research was painstakingly slow and methodical. The hunt for a lactating goat in the middle of winter nearly failed but by January, Willow played in her walker as her mother built an outdoor pen for Cleopatra- the first goat on the Finley Farm.

“The bottles arrived today and today I milked Cleo for the first time. The pen is almost finished but Cleo doesn’t seem to mind the barn too much. Willow didn’t care for the milk but she was hungry enough to drink some. I think I’ll stop offering her the breast. It’s clear she’s not getting enough from me and if she rejects a bottle in favor of inferior food-

I got behind on wood chopping while building the pen. There is a balance to all of this work. I think I need to be careful just how much of it I plan for myself. Until Willow is old enough to help, I have to make sure I don’t leave us floundering like this.

I hope I’m doing the right thing. I miss mom. I miss breakfasts with dad. I want to share Willow’s latest tooth and her giggles but I can’t. I have to protect her. I don’t trust Steve’s father.

Do they worry about me? Have they looked for me? Will some detective show up on my doorstep and tell them where I am? Maybe I should change my name. Or would that be even more obvious? I should ask Mr. Barnes. I’m so glad I found him.

Willow remembered the kind Mr. Barnes who brought her interesting books and toys when he visited. She had an entire shelf of things he’d brought her stored in the attic. He’d been the closest thing to a grandfather Willow had ever known. She’d cried when Nolan Barnes showed up at their door on one September day and told them his father had died unexpectedly in the night.

She read faster. It was only 1987. She needed to find anything that referenced her existence before her trip to town the next day. Slips of paper marked places where she could reference other journals.

By milking time, she’d waded through the nineties and was working in the new millennium. These she remembered vividly. The fingerprints in her mother’s journals had always seemed like a growth chart that made no sense. Now she understood. This year, her birthday would arrive and she’d be fingerprinted to prove she was the baby of long ago.

***

“So Ms. Freeman-”

“Renee is fine.” Renee Freeman glanced over the journals Willow had spread before her. “Kari did a good job documenting.”

Bill Franklin nodded absently. “So this is good?”

“I think with this information, the affidavit, her medical and dental records, and possibly a DNA test submitted to the judge, we’ll have a declaration without too much trouble.” Renee’s voice sounded confident.”

“How long will it take?” Willow’s voice sounded insecure for the first time since she’d opened her mother’s private thoughts to scrutiny.

“We’re on the docket for Friday morning in Rockland. You should be there by eight-thirty.”

Willow turned to her lawyer, stunned. “The city? I have to go- I’ve never been-”

“Never?” Renee Freeman knew of the reclusive tendencies of the Finley women but this was beyond her comprehension.

Bill spoke up for Willow. “Kari came into the city very rarely but she never brought Willow. She arranged for everything to be at her property whenever possible and always until Willow was old enough to be left alone for a day.

“Do I have to go? Mother was terrified of the city.”

“You have to be there. You’re petitioning the court. If you aren’t there, they won’t hear the case.”

“And when it’s over I’ll get my birth certificate?”

Renee explained that the judge might require the DNA testing results before he authorized the birth certificate. “You’ll to submit DNA to Dr. Weisenburg’s office today.”

“How will I get to-”

Bill’s hand rested gently on her arm. “We can go over that after we’re done here.”

“I think I am done here.” I’ll go get the test after I hear if I need one. I still have time to eat before the movies open so I’m going to go now.”

Willow shook Renee Freeman’s hand and nodded at Bill. “See you later.”

“I’ll find you at the theater. We have to discuss your trip to Rockland.”

“I’m going to see the movie about the space ships and things. It looked interesting.”

Without another word, Willow left the office and walked toward the diner at the corner of Elm and Main Streets. While Bill and Renee wrapped up their business, Willow sat at the bar on a shiny retro-chrome barstool and ordered a patty melt, chocolate shake, and fries feeling all the while like a character in a novel. The sights, scents, and sounds of the diner flooded her senses making what had almost been fantasy a new reality.

Bill stood outside the theater, two tickets in hand, waiting for her as she sauntered down the street to the front doors of the Fox Theater. “I got us tickets. Want popcorn?”

Willow giggled unexpectedly and nodded. “Just in case.”

Uncertain what she meant by those words, Bill ordered a large popcorn. Willow nudged him. “Extra-large.”

“Hey, you’re back. Feeling better?” The concessions attendant looked surprised to see her.

“Yes, now I know how to handle motion sickness. And,” she pointed the bucket in his hand, “I’m prepared just in case.”

As they settled into their seats, Bill said, “Motion sickness?”

“I went to see Eight Cousins on Saturday night. It was nice but I got sick so-”

The lights dimmed, the previews started, and Willow stopped mid-sentence. Bill leaned close and whispered, “You got sick from Eight Cousins?”

Willow’s crushing reply was in the form of a hand full of popcorn- in Bill’s mouth. Bill chuckled as he chewed and gazed bored at the selection of coming attractions. Though barely the middle of June, Halloween horror flicks leaped from the screen startling Willow who accidentally sent a shower of popcorn flying over the row of teenagers in the row behind them. Protests drowned out her quick apology until Bill turned around and scowled back at the crowd.

“It was an accident. She said she’s sorry. Chill.”

The next picture featured several displaced super heroes who called themselves The Mighty Mayhem. The screen erupted with battle scenes between the untrained and frightened heroes and their macabre foes sending Willow cringing into her hands. A titter rose from the group behind them but Willow heard nothing but the screams of terror as a hero fell from the Eiffel Tower in Paris and then a merciful ‘Coming July 4^th‘ stamped across the screen before he hit bottom. An audible sigh of relief escaped as a Christmas story of a kidnapped Santa and a confused North Pole blipped just quickly enough to give them a taste of previews to come.

“Well that one looked interesting and less than terrifying anyway,” whispered Willow as the introductory credits began to roll. “Am I going to regret this movie choice?”

Bill shook his head. “There are a couple of battle scenes and some intimidating Warlords but it’s mostly lighthearted- nothing like those previews.”

Ominous music hovered in the background as the screen filled with people wearing cloaks and making speeches. Suddenly, the screen panned to a family watching a debate on their home monitor. The boy jumped, wings flying about him as he whirled excitedly in the air. To Willow, he looked like every illustration of an angel she’d ever seen. Entranced, she watched as the room full of people voted to escape their tyrannical planet and settle on a hidden planet mistakenly thought to be a moon several galaxies away. Delegates were chosen to visit Earth and learn how to live a more primitive and simple lifestyle.

She cried as the Warlords chased their space homes that flew away from the planet their ancestors had claimed as home for millennia. Bill gave up any pretense of watching the movie and watched Willow. He’d never seen anything like her absolute fixation and emotional involvement in the scenes flying before her at cinematic lightening speeds.

Cultural misunderstandings by the delegates made the audience laugh and Willow frown, confused. Bill grew expertly familiar with her profile and from the slight furrow of her brow and tensing of her jaw, he quickly learned to predict accurately whether she would smile, frown, laugh, or cry. During the two and a half hour movie, he learned more about Willow Finley than he’d ever learned about her mother in their ten-year relationship. Near the end, he realized that she’d relate to the movie in many ways as the months passed and she entered normal life.

Unaware of Bill’s fascination, Willow sat entranced by the story emerging from the scenes before her. Through the triumphs and tribulations of the exiles, she embraced their vision and immersed herself in their lives. Sometime between the first delighted catch of her breath and the final word spoken, Bill began plans for integrating himself into the life of Willow Finley.

As the credits scrolled across the screen after the final scene, Willow turned beaming to Bill. “It’s so much more enjoyable when you can actually follow the story. That was wonderful!”

“Man lady, you gotta get out more!” quipped one of the boys behind them as he sauntered down the aisle to the doors.

***

“Is there anyone who can take care of the animals for you?”

“Well, no. It was just mom and me and now-”

Bill tried again patiently, “What about that police officer? Does he know how to feed chickens and milk a goat? Is there anyone at that church?”

Willow’s head shook automatically but she said contradictorily, “Well Chad knows how to…”

“Great! Let’s call. What’s his number?”

Somewhat disconcerted at Willow’s immediate recollection of Chad’s number, Bill punched the buttons on his phone and waited for Chad to answer. He explained the situation and immediately secured Chad’s agreement to house and animal sit Thursday night through Saturday morning. Satisfied with his arrangements, Bill turned to Willow and grinned.

“You’re all set.”

“Why until Saturday? Isn’t the- the- whatever it’s called- Isn’t it in the morning? Why won’t I be home in time for evening milking?”

“Well, we can’t know what’ll happen with DNA testing or if there’ll be an afternoon session. I’ve booked a room at the Rockland Towers for Thursday and Friday nights. I thought I’d drive you back on Saturday after a trip to the zoo or something.”

They argued for several minutes before Willow slammed a plate of salad and cold chicken in front of Bill and said in carefully measured tones, “I’ll bring clothes for two days but I don’t promise to stay both days. Enjoy your dinner. I’ll see you tomorrow evening. Goodnight.”

Without another word, Willow disappeared through the doorway and Bill heard footsteps on the stairs and then returning. He watched amused as she grabbed her salad plate and disappeared once more. After eating his meal, he found a blank piece of paper in a notebook of sorts, tore it out, and left a note.

***

Willow,

I apologize for my presumption. I think I just assumed that you’d want to see a little of the city. Since things could go late, I made plans. I shouldn’t have been so presumptuous. I should have asked. Please forgive me. The last thing I want to do is make things uncomfortable between us.

Thank you for a lovely afternoon. I enjoyed the movie immensely and as I saw it last week and barely gave it a five, you must have been the difference. I have reservations at The Oaks for dinner tomorrow after you arrive. If you’d care to go, please arrive in something suitable for a fine restaurant. Otherwise, we can go get Chinese or something else if you’re hungry.

Again, I’m sorry. I’m very sorry.”

Willow read the words carefully as she ate her breakfast on Thursday morning. Between bites of scrambled omelet and muffins, she planned her work for the day and realized if she didn’t make soap, she’d have to throw away some of the goat’s milk in the fridge. Suddenly, soap was a huge priority.

***

Chad watched fascinated as Willow wiped beads of perspiration from her forehead and stirred the soap mixture carefully. He’d asked about the harshness of lye sending Willow into a titter of giggles. As she worked, Willow explained the saponification process and assured him that the lye during the soap making process converted into glycerin and was perfectly safe for use on all skin types.

She pulled her wooden spoon from the pot watching the liquid slowly creep down the spoon and then drip into the pan like honey onto toast. “It’s ready.” Can you bring those molds over here?”

In what seemed like no time, Willow poured soap into molds, cleaned out the pans, and cleared the workspace. Sweat trickled down her temples and left streaks on her cheeks that looked deceptively like tears. While he dried the pots and the utensils, Chad asked when she’d cut bars and how long it’d be before the soap was safe to use.

Once the clean up was over and the molds safely stored in the pantry, Willow took Chad on a tour of her work handing him a list of what she did in the morning and then in the evening. Othello trotted beside them, as though aware that something was amiss. “Look at him! He’s getting so clingy.”

“Animals don’t handle loss as detachedly as we assume.” Chad hoped his voice didn’t betray his concerns. She’d been so lost the week before and now she acted as though everything was back to normal in her life.

“Ok, so you have to check the henhouse. We had to kill the rooster so it’s important to get the eggs. I let the chickens out when I feed them in the morning and then…”

All around the little farmyard Willow chattered about how and what to feed the pig, where to store the milk pail and reminded him half a dozen times to scald the pail when he was done scrubbing it. “Othello gets extra eggs, left over meat, and if you get desperate, there are packages of frozen organ meats in the freezer marked with his name on them.”

“No dog food?”

Her laughter rang out merrily. “Where would we get dog food?”

“Where do you get chicken feed?”

“The feed store in Brant’s Corners delivers it to the barn every three months.”

“They’d have brought dog food too-”

Willow shrugged. “Then what would we do with our leftovers and organ meats?”

After the grand tour, they stood at the pasture gate and watched as the cow munched on grass and occasionally stared wide-eyed at the onlookers. “She’s a big one.”

Nodding, Willow smiled. “She’s a Limousin. She’s longer than a dairy cow. Mother said something about them having an extra rib but I think she was joking. I need to look that up someday.”

“Do you always buy these?”

“No. We’ve had a few Belgian Blues but we think these have better meat.”

The pastures were huge. As she pointed out each section of their land, he noticed a trough in each one. “Which one will you use for your sheep?”

“All of them. I’ll rotate the sheep behind the cow.”

“When are sheep available? I mean, it’s not like puppies or anything is it? Aren’t sheep born in spring?”

Laughing at his curiosity, Willow glanced at her watch and slowly returned to the house. “Well, lambing happens in fall or spring I think but most spring lambs won’t be weaned until June some time if they’re born in April.”

“So are you going to get one?”

She reached for the screen door, turned, and glanced back down at him. Her hair whipped around her face in the summer breeze giving her a languid air that belied her industry and strength. “Why are you so fixated on the lambs?”

“You want to spin. I think you should have lambs for spinning.”

“Um, I think I’d have some pretty sick lambs on my hands,” she chuckled as she crossed the kitchen and hurried up the stairs. “I’ll be right back. I need to take a quick shower and get ready for the bus.”

Assuming he was in for an hour of primping, Chad checked his watch nervously. Three-thirty. The bus left daily at four-thirty P.M. prompt. If she didn’t get a move on, he’d be stuck driving her in.

“Maybe I should call and see if anyone is available to drive her,” he muttered to himself.

The water stopped above him. Was she taking a bath? He tried to focus on anything but his watch. The strange counter and cupboard on one side of the large eat-in kitchen caught his eye. He’d stood there that first day as she frantically tried to find enough drink ware for tea. The lone teacup sat alone on the middle shelf of a narrow section in the center. It had once held a mate.

With a deep sigh he turned and leaned against the counter, his thumbs hooked into his jean pockets. She was all alone and all he could think of was getting away from her. Again. How selfish.

“That’s a pretty mournful sounding sigh.”

Chad jumped. “I thought you were taking a bath!”

Willow continued to French braid a small string of dripping hair from one side of her head to the other in a semi-crown. “I don’t bathe. I shower. I hate baths.”

“That was the fastest shower I’ve ever-” here he stumbled. Seen didn’t work. He didn’t see the shower and didn’t want to imply he had. Heard sounded weird. “Anyway, that was fast.”

To his dismay and premature embarrassment, she began to untie the thick terry robe. He hurried to the sink and grabbed a glass filling it quickly with water. Willow’s voice followed him. “Are you all right?”

His peripheral vision caught sight of a white garbed Willow entering the mudroom and returning again. “Fine, he choked. Just fine.”

“Think this dress will work for dinner at a nice restaurant?”

“Know where he’s taking you?” Chad’s voice sounded deceptively disinterested. He turned and glanced over the sleeveless white full-skirted dress. “Looks fine to me.”

“I can’t remember the name. A tree or flower or something I think. He said dress up though. This is the nicest thing I own.”

“The Oaks?” Chad’s voice conveyed surprise or dismay. Willow wasn’t certain which. If pressed, Chad probably couldn’t have either.

“That’s it. I-”

“For someone who remembered a ten digit number the first time she read it, you are lousy with details.”

“I’m lousy with things I hear and some things that aren’t number related. I’m fine if I read it or it’s about numbers.”

Grabbing a kitchen towel, she squeezed her hair repeatedly and combed in between squeezes. “It’ll have to dry on the way. We have to leave soon. I’ll go get my shoes. Can you put my suitcase in your truck? It’s by the front door.”

Chad glanced at his watch as she disappeared through the doorway. It wasn’t even four o’clock yet. Somehow, she’d translated a shorter travel time in the car vs. walking but it still left them leaving much too early.

He met her at the bottom of the stairs, one hand on her suitcase. A simple glance at her shoes and he shook his head. “Have anything white?”

Willow glanced at her slightly scuffed but clean tan Birkenstocks and shrugged. “I have these and my winter Doc Martens boots. Oh, and I have tennis shoes and regular work boots.”

With a quick glance at his watch, Chad groaned. “We have thirty-five minutes or so to get you in town, find some kind of sandals, and onto a bus.”

“What’s wrong with these shoes?”

“They’re fine for every day wear but not for that restaurant and not for court. You need something else. Even dressy flip-flops will work. We’ll try the market first. They’re faster than the shoe store.”

“I have flip flops that I made into slippers. Let me get them!”

Before Chad could assure her that there was no way slippers would work, Willow raced up the stairs and returned with the most amazing “slippers” he’d ever seen. “Where did you- how did you?”

“I didn’t like those plastic things but I hate the feel of hard wood under my feet so I wear these in the kitchen and upstairs. These are my upstairs pair.”

“Those are perfect. Wear those.”

“I’ll get them all dirty!”

As patiently as he could, Chad led her from the house, locked the door behind him, and urged her into his truck. “You have shoes and we won’t have to race. Make yourself some more or I’ll buy you some more. I don’t care but let’s go.”

They zipped down her driveway, bouncing over the ruts, and rattling their teeth, and glided onto the highway. By the time they reached town, Chad realized his mistake. He whipped into the Police station parking lot. Quickly, he jogged around to open the door for Willow but found her pulling her suitcase from the back of the truck, her dress leaning against the dusty truck bed.

“Wait! You’ll get your dress dirty!”

Too late. The front of her dress was streaked with dust. Undaunted, Willow began beating on it and brushing the filth from it as though thistledown from a dandelion. “I didn’t think of that! Does the bus come here?”

“No it parks behind the Fox Theater but there’s a Street Fair tonight. I forgot about it. They have one every year on Flag Day weekends.”

“I didn’t realize anyone celebrated that holiday. Mother always said it was just a way to point out significant things on a calendar.”

Chuckling, Chad took her suitcase from her and gestured toward the street. “Most places don’t but Fairbury’s founder, Thaddeus Fairbury, was born on June fourteenth so we have a street fair with a founder’s day theme every year. Anything to bring in the tourists.”

“So the bus coming in should be full?”

He answered affirmatively and then continued up the street in silence. Her observations never ceased to amaze him. Willow Finley was the most irritatingly unique and interesting person he’d ever met and he still didn’t know if it was a good or bad thing.”

As they strolled down the street, he kept an eye on his watch but tried to let her enjoy the sights. She’d never seen a Fairbury street fair. Considering Willow was a lifelong resident of Fairbury- so to speak- that fact was amazing. She fingered handcrafted jewelry and beautiful woodwork. As familiar as Chad was becoming with her facial expressions, he felt fairly confident in knowing when something impressed, amused, or disappointed her.

Wayne Farrell at the Pettler handed her a daisy and smiled at her truly delighted expression. “Have a happy day miss.”

“Wasn’t that kind of him? I feel like I should pay for it but-”

“Did you see the huge barrel of daisies?” Chad understood Wayne’s gratified expression. Willow’s enjoyment and appreciation for everything helped him see the town with fresh eyes. As a relatively new resident himself, he found the experience startling.

“Mmm hmm.” Already, Willow was wrapped up in her flower and the sight of a fruit stand.

“He gives one to everyone who passes by. It’s his thing. I even heard once that he gives twins two.”

“I’ve never really cared for daisies but I love this. It’s bright and fresh. The ones we grew were orange and ugly. These might be my new favorite flower.”

Around the corner from the fox, a small ticket vending machine stood waiting for her to insert her credit or debit card to purchase her ticket. “I don’t have one of these cards. I just have cash.”

“I’ve never used the bus but you can probably pay the driver.”

They sat on the bench, Willow growing more nervous every second. “Where is everyone? What time is it? What if he won’t take my money and I can’ go?”

Without a word, Chad stood and went to the vending machine and purchased a ticket for her. Though he knew he couldn’t relieve all her concerns, this was something he could fix. “Here. You’re at least safe until you get there.”

Willow glanced at the ticket price and pulled her mother’s wallet from the tote bag she carried. As she reached in to retrieve the fare, Chad’s hand clamped over hers. “Not now. Who knows how much money you’ll need when you’re there. You can pay me later if you like. Keep your cash for an emergency. And tell Franklin to get your ticket home.” He glanced up and saw the twenty passenger shuttle-like bus pull slowly into the parking lot. “Call me when you find Franklin ok?”

Willow nodded feeling oddly like she should hug him or something. She picked up her suitcase and waited for the bus full of passengers to exit. After the last passenger stepped off the bus, she moved to climb aboard.

“Call me when you’re on your way back so I know what time to pick you up,” Chad called as an afterthought.

“I’ll do that! Thank you! I left a note for you on the table in the living room.”

She handed the driver her ticket and slipped into the first seat on Chad’s side of the bus. From the window she waved and as he turned and disappeared around the corner, she sighed.

“Missing him already?”

Willow’s eyes flew to the bus driver as he slid from his seat to check the bus. Her mouth opened to say no and clamped shut again. Confusion swirled through her eyes for a moment and then she replied, “Yes.”

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