Past Forward- A Serial Novel: Episode 15 (6 page)

With a sigh, he pulled on his shoes, sans socks, and dragged himself back down the stairs.
In this mist, she
’
d get sick if she fell asleep out there.
He then laughed at the thought.
If anyone wouldn
’
t get sick, it was Willow.
She never got sick.
She
’
d once told him she only remembered being ill a few times in her life.

As he stepped out the front door, he stopped.
There, sleeping comfortably in the swing with her mother
’
s journal on her chest, lay Willow.
A quilt covered her
,
but to Chad, she looked cold.
Al
hough he hated to wake her, the idea of her sleeping on the narrow swing, rolling off, or getting chilled was too much for him.

He shook her gently.
“Willow,
lass
,
wake up
.”

“
He
’
s good to me
,
Mother,
”
she murmured in her sleep.
“
You would like him
.”

The hollow tones in her voice told him the ache of Kari
’
s loss was still rooted in Willow
’
s heart.
She must fight the pain constantly and, he realized miserably, probably for his sake.
“
Lass, come on.
Let
’
s get you inside
.”

“
I want to stay out here, Mother.
I feel closer to Jesus in the night
.”
She mumbled the words in a whisper,
making it nearly impossible for Chad to hear them.

Not knowing what else to do, Chad went inside, grabbed her wool afghan from the chaise, and draped it over her.
He brushed her cheek with his thumb
,
staring down at her before he picked up the hand
-
tied
“
journal
”
and carried it upstairs.
There was something lacking in these copied journals.
He needed to see if the Chief thought
the originals were
safe at home again or not.

Upstairs, he tossed and turned.
How had he grown accustomed to having her close after only four nights?
Finally, in desperation, he lit the
lamp and read
.

January, 2001

I
’
m broken.
I knew this day would come.
I knew eventually she
’
d resent me or worse.
Today when I planned a trip to Rockland to discuss her majority with Bill, she asked to go.
I refused.
Why am I so unreasonable
—
why do I let my fears overcome me?
Why can she not see that I wouldn
’
t do this unless I thought it was best?

She attacked me.
I want to say I have no idea where this venomous side came from, but I know it would be dishonest.
She got it from me
,
and if it can be passed along genetically, I assume from Steve.
The things she said
—
I can
’
t repeat them.
My heart was broken.
I take that back.
My heart
is
broken.

How long will it take her to forgive me?
How long will it take me to forgive her?
Is this it?
Is this the beginning of the end of this idyllic life I tried so hard to create?
Can we ever get past this?

I can
’
t stand it.
She won
’
t look at me.
I can
’
t speak to her.
We work together in silence and avoid that togetherness as much as possible.
Did I blow it?
Should I have reconsidered the adoption scenario?

No!
It was the right thing to do.
Oh great.
There
’
s a car coming up the drive.
I need to go run off a salesman, missionary, or some other obnoxious trespasser.

Well, I didn
’
t get back to this for a few days, and I
’
m glad.
Willow apologized
,
as did I.
I told her that
the
next time I go to town, she
’
s welcome to come, just not this time.
I wanted her to make the decision to go because she
’
d thought it out clearly, not because I made forbidden fruit acceptable.
She seems fine with it.

Willow just came in and apologized again.
She seems broken over her ugliness.
It was truly horrible.
The things she accused me of doing were vile.
I think she
’
s been rehashing the conversation in her mind and realizes how it cut my heart.

Her repentance is beautiful.
I know I
’
m a mother and that I am probably unreasonably biased toward my child
,
but when I think of the people I knew when I was her age
—
when I think of
me
at her age, I see justification and anger when confronted with my sin.
If not confronted, I was ambivalent.
I didn
’
t care.
I brushed it aside and ignored the searing it did on my heart.

Not Willow.
My girl doesn
’
t do that.
She sins
—
she
’
s human, but she repents,
whole-heartedly
.
There is no justification.
There is only acknowledgement, contrition, and confession.
It may take her a while to see it, but once she does, it
’
s over.

I love her.
I try to imagine her in the so-called
“
real world
,”
and I cringe.
It
’
ll destroy her.
It
’
ll ruin the woman that God has molded out of His clay.
She
’
d be seared
—
hardened.
Her conscience
—
how could it remain so tender when constantly beaten by the ugliness of this world?

Men would be drawn to her
,
and yet they
’
d mock her.
She
’
d trust them and then be crushed by their insensitive ugliness.
Even a kind man like Bill wouldn
’
t understand her.

Bill.
I wonder about him.
Why hasn
’
t he married?
What horrible things do I not know about him?
When Willow had that crush on him
,
I worried.
Now I worry about what happens over the next few years.
She
’
s growing into a woman.
It won
’
t be long before he won
’
t see her as a child.
Will he take her away from me?
He
’
s not blind, he
’
s not stupid
;
what will I do?

Oh how ridiculous.
I
’
m borrowing trouble and being fearful.
He
’
s watched her grow up.
If anything, he
’
d see her as a little sister to fix up with some kid at church
—which
would be even worse.
I need to make sure that home is the most wonderful place to be so that she doesn
’
t develop the desire for anything else.