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?”
