Past Forward Volume 1 (22 page)

He stepped inside Kari Finley’s room and
glanced around. He’d never allowed himself to linger but now he
did. Peonies filled a fishbowl on the dresser. Chad glanced at the
floor and realized Willow had beaten Kari’s floor covers as well.
He hunkered on his heels and ran his hand across the hand hooked
rug and smiled to himself. They were modern pioneers, these Finley
women. They bought nothing they could make themselves and made an
art of living.

The faucet squeaked as Willow turned off the
water in the shower. What seemed like seconds later, she emerged
squeezing her hair with a towel, a comb in hand. As she started
downstairs, Chad called to her.

“I’m in here. I hope you don’t mind. You’ve
been cleaning.”

“Was it really that bad? I haven’t done
anything for almost three weeks.”

Shaking his head, Chad pointed to the rug
and the fresh flowers. “I just noticed the rugs and things.” His
eyes found the shelf between the doors and spied the journals
displayed there. “Are all of those your mother’s?”

“Well, all of Mother’s aren’t there, but
yes, she filled all of those. Mother was a prolific journalist.”
She led him to the kitchen and poured each of them a glass of cold
mint water from the icebox, collapsing in the rocking chair next to
the stove. “You’re wearing your uniform. Do you have to be at work
soon?”

“No. Lunch break. I swapped with Joe today
so he could do something with Alexa’s brother. Anyway, I stopped by
the market and talked to Jill MacIntyre.”

“Who is Jill?” Willow drained her glass and
stared at it as if she couldn’t believe it was gone.

“She runs the weekend farmer’s market. She
said you are welcome to bring your produce and have your own stall
there, or, if you prefer, she’ll come see what you have to offer
and buy outright what she thinks she can sell.”

Willow stood and poured a second glass of
water before settling back down in her chair. “I don’t have time to
run a produce stand, even one day a week, and I certainly don’t
have any way to get it there.” She hesitated for a moment,
thinking. “No, I just don’t have time. I think I’d prefer to sell
directly. Do you have her phone number?”

Chad shook his head. “Actually, I didn’t
think to get it. I was so excited that she was interested that I
drove right out here.” He carried his glass to the sink saying, “I
need to get back and grab something for lunch, my break is half
over. I just wanted to tell you.”

“You could have called.” She eyed the phone
on the kitchen table meaningfully.

“Well, I was close anyway. I chased a car
halfway here before highway patrol took it over for me, so I
thought I’d just come tell you.”

“Thanks. I’ll figure something out.” She
pushed herself out of the chair, chugging the last of the water in
her glass. “Come on, let’s make you a sandwich.”

Ten minutes later, Chad drove away with the
biggest ham, lettuce, tomato, and onion sandwich he’d ever seen.
Thick slices of homemade sourdough bread held slabs of ham nearly
as thick and half a tomato that dribbled down his chin as he
bounced down her driveway and onto the highway. An ice-cold thermos
of goat’s milk sat next to him on the seat, but Chad ignored it
until he found himself desperate to wash down his food.

Lord, I want to be able to say, ‘Here I
am, send me,’ but I can’t. And even if I did, what would be the
point? You already have. I’m stuck in this merry-go-round of
Willow’s life.
He took another swig of milk, still surprised
that it wasn’t nearly as bad as he’d expected.
And why didn’t
You have them buy dairy cows instead of goats? Can you imagine the
ice cream they could make? Uncle Zeke’s ice cream… mmm…

As the sun began to set, the temperature in
Willow’s house dropped by small degrees. Cranking the ice cream
freezer was hot, tiring work, but she sat in Mother’s rocker,
humming along with Chad’s CD and singing the choruses as she
learned them. When one arm grew tired, she rotated the freezer,
cranking with the other, until the ice cream froze and firmed.

Her cell phone rang as she scooped
cherry-almond-vanilla ice cream into her bowl. A frustrated sigh
escaped and she flicked the phone across the counter at the
interruption of her treat. She continued scooping and put away the
ice cream before settling in the chair again with her phone and
bowl. Taking a steadying breath, she slid open the phone and
punched his number. “Hello. Chad?”

“Hey, thought I missed you.”

“Just busy. What can I do for you?”

“I wondered if now was a good time to bring
Jill over. She’s eager to check out your produce before tomorrow’s
market.”

“That’s fine. Smmwee mmphoo then.” She
swallowed the bite. “Sorry, mouthful. See you then.”

Each bite of ice cream brought back
memories—ones she couldn’t afford to indulge with guests coming.
Another steadying breath—and then another—helped as she carried her
empty bowl to the sink. She washed and dried it, grabbing
another—the only other—from the shelf. New pain gripped her heart
as she scooped huge helpings into both bowls and set them into the
icebox.

Othello greeted two trucks with a bark and a
nip to the puppy’s leg, warning the little thing away from Chad’s
tires. He climbed from his truck and knelt to scratch the puppy’s
ears. “Good boy, Othello. This little thing’ll get herself killed
if she’s not careful.”

“This is a nice place! I always thought it
was abandoned—the weeds out by the road…”

“Yeah. Apparently, that was deliberate. Come
on in. I’ll show you around.” Chad led Jill into the house through
the front door. He suspected that she would appreciate Willow’s
earthy lifestyle and wanted to point out the woodwork, area rugs,
and hand painted “wallpaper.”

Hands in his pockets, Chad smiled as Willow
entered the living room. “Hey, this is Jill.” He glanced at the
woman beside him. “Jill, this is Willow Finley.”

“It’s nice to meet you. I made ice cream.
Come into the kitchen.”

From the icebox, Willow produced bowls with
spoons already in them, chilled. Jill took the proffered bowl
eagerly and dug her spoon into it. Chad tried to signal a warning,
but the slight shake of his head was lost as Jill’s eyes widened in
surprise. “Oh this is so good!”

With a nudge at Chad, Willow gestured at his
bowl. “Eat. It’ll melt.” To Jill she said, “I’ll go get some
buckets from the barn in case you want to take some of the produce
with you. Come on out when you’re done.” Her eyes slid over to Chad
who still stared nervously at his bowl of ice cream. “Just follow
Chad. He knows the way.”

They watched Willow disappear out the back
door and call to the puppy as she sauntered to the barn. Chad took
another tentative bite of his ice cream but the second was as good
as the first. “I can’t believe how good this is; I thought it would
be awful.”

“Why?” Jill’s face showed her confusion and
surprise.

“It’s made from goat’s milk. I thought you
needed more milk fat—and well, the milk doesn’t taste the same as
regular cow’s milk.”

Taking another bite of her ice cream, Jill
glanced around the kitchen. “This place is incredible isn’t it? I
heard they never had guests until Ms. Finley died.”

“Outside of an occasional delivery and an
annual tax visit, that’s about right..”

“Wow.”

A huge grin spread across Chad’s face.
“That’s one word that everyone eventually says about Willow or her
mother. ‘Wow.’”

Jill rinsed their bowls and set them in the
sink. “Ok, take me to this garden.”

As they rounded the chicken yard and the
full size of the garden came into view, Jill gave a low whistle.
“You weren’t kidding. They grow
all
their food, don’t
they?”

“All but grains. They even have a root
cellar—actually use it.”

With a bucket in each hand, Willow met them
at the end of a row of tomatoes. Jill took one look at them and
grinned. She pulled a pocketknife from her pocket and with Willow’s
permission sliced open the tomato. The meat was firm, red, and
juicy—perfect. “I’ll take them—all that you have to spare. What
else is there?”

Chad watched, satisfied, as Willow and Jill
discussed peas, tomatoes, radishes, and lettuce. Melon vines caught
Jill’s attention, but there weren’t enough melons to keep her
supplied this summer. As he expected, Willow assured her there
would be plenty the next year if she wanted them.

Jill sent him to her truck for crates and
the process—one he realized might become a weekly one—commenced.
The women picked and loaded crates, while Chad, muscles screaming
after several trips, carried them to Jill’s truck. Between trips,
he listened as Jill asked Willow her secret for sweet lettuce and
how much more she could plant for the next year. He dumped the
crate of carrots in the bed of the truck, wiping his forehead with
the back of his arm. Would she do it? Would she add to her
workload? Now that she had more on her shoulders than ever, would
she really add unnecessary work to it?

Carrying buckets of peas and green beans,
Jill and Willow met him at the truck as he loaded the last crate of
tomatoes. Jill counted the produce and filled out a check while
Willow assured Chad that there was more than enough food left for
her. “I’m the carnivore—Mother practically lived on vegetables in
summer—always grew more than we needed because she was sure she ate
more than she did.”

As Jill’s truck bounced over the rutted
lane, Willow stared at the check, amazed. “Look! It’s just a little
extra produce and look!” Excited, she grabbed Chad’s sleeve. “Come
on, I have more ice cream. Let’s celebrate! I can plant more next
year. It’ll be so much fun! Oh! I should have asked about the
fruit!”

Chad followed Willow into the kitchen and
watched as she washed both bowls and spoons before scooping more
ice cream into them. In the living room, he sank into the
overstuffed chair, propping his feet on the ottoman, while Willow
stretched out on the chaise. For some time, the only sounds in the
room were the clinks of spoons against their bowls.

Suddenly, Chad set his feet on the floor and
bent forward, his arms leaning against his knees. “Wait. Did you
say fruit?”

“Sure. On the other side of the tree break,
behind the barn we have an orchard.” She paused, thinking for a
moment. “You know, next spring I might add a few more trees
too.”

“What kind of fruit?” Chad glanced at his
bowl with only half of a cherry left on the spoon.

“Cherries, peaches, pears, apples. Oh, and
we have berries. Blueberries, raspberries, elderberries, and
blackberries. Mother made elderberry wine sometimes. And,” she
continued as though stating the obvious, “strawberries of
course.”

“Strawberries? Where?”

Willow pointed to the west front corner of
the house. “About a hundred yards that way. Mother found a perfect
mound over there that gets afternoon shade but lots of sun during
the morning and very early afternoon, so she planted the
strawberries out there. We’ve always had more than we needed, but
the birds like them.”

“Isn’t strawberry season over?”

“We’ve had a steady stream of strawberries
to eat, but next week I think I’ll have to start freezing them. The
green beans too.”

A glance at his watch told Chad he needed to
hurry home for a pre-work nap. “I have to go. I go on at
two-dark-thirty, as my mom would say. This was really good,
thanks.”

Willow took the bowl from him and thanked
him for bringing Jill out to meet her. “I’m going to enjoy
this.”

“Hey, have a good time tomorrow. Don’t worry
about anything here. I’ll get the chickens in and feed the other
animals. Wilhelmina likes me now.”

She waved until Chad’s lights flashed across
the porch and then let the screen door slap gently behind her as
she took the bowls back to the kitchen for the third time in one
night. While she washed them, she prayed. “Lord, please bless him.
He’s a good man. He can be irritating, but he’s a good man, and I’m
blessed that he’s my friend.”