Willow, unaware of the turmoil she’d left churning in Bill, stepped off the bus in Fairbury smiling all the while.  Home.  She’d always wondered why so many songs and poems were written about home.  Now she knew.  All she could think of was Othello, Wilhelmina, her porch, the lamp by the chaise in the living room, and her mother’s journals.

She walked along Elm to Market Street and to the convenience store.  In their restrooms, she switched her shoes to athletic shoes and pulled her hair into a comfortable ponytail.  Inside the store, she purchased a bottle of water and a tube of Chapstick and waved cheerily as she left.

Othello raced to meet her halfway down the driveway.  Willow’s arms wrapped around the collie and held on tight.  She glanced at the porch to see if her mother was watching for her return but the sight of Chad’s truck hit her in the gut.  Her mother would never stand on the porch, hand over her eyes, and wait for Willow to arrive with flowers, fish, or rabbit again.

As she neared the house, faint strains of music reached her ears.  Willow recognized the plaintive strains of country music as she rounded the corner to the back porch.  Her mother had despised country music but Willow loved the stories, the heart, and the down-to-earth themes of the songs.  Once inside the back door, she paused and listened to the beautiful harmony of a western ballad sung by a man and woman accompanied by a simple acoustic guitar.

Chad strode into the kitchen, empty plate in hand and stopped frozen at the sight of her.  “How- I thought you were coming home tomorrow.”

“I’m sure that’s what Bill arranged but I wanted to come home.”

“How did you get here?”  As he spoke it, Chad realized it was a stupid question.  He knew exactly how she’d gotten there and the realization sent sparks of irritation into his eyes.

“I walked of course.”

“Of course.”

He put his plate in the sink and rinsed the crumbs down the drain.  Everything about him, his posture, his short jerky movements, and of course the flash of anger in his eyes told her he was upset with her but Willow didn’t know why.  Without a word to her, Chad grabbed the handle of her suitcase and disappeared through the doorway.

Minutes later, he reappeared with a duffel bag slung over one shoulder and found her sitting in a chair at the kitchen table, head cupped in her hands, listening to his Argosy Junction CD.  “What a hauntingly beautiful song!  Who are they?  Where do I order a CD?”

“I got mine from their concert in New Cheltenham but you can probably get it from their website or Amazon.”

“Is there a catalog I can write for?  Oh, listen!”

Chad couldn’t listen.  Her eyes filled with tears as the young man in the song sang of someone waiting at home for him.  The sight of her crumbling extinguished the fire of irritation and left him feeling like a heel.  He dropped his bag at his feet and pulled the other chair around straddling it with his arms draped across the back.

“Rough time in Rockland?”

Wordlessly, she shook her head and reached for a napkin from a basket to one side of the table.  Chad, mindful of how inconsequential his observation, smiled as he realized it was cloth and then mentally shook his head as he realized he didn’t have to ask why they made cloth napkins and added to their workload washing them.  Willow would counter his question with, “What would we do with paper napkins when we were done?  At least cloth can be washed.”

“Mother wasn’t waiting for me when I got home.”

Willow’s voice broke through his reverie.  “What?”

“She wasn’t here.  It was the worst feeling of my life.  Mother always waited on the porch for me.”

Chad’s voice was mellow and soothing.  He nodded sympathetically and said, “And I’m sure the song doesn’t help.”

“But it does.  Someone somewhere wrote a song about something that was so special to me all my life.  I just never knew it.  This will probably become my favorite song.”

Before Chad could reply, his cell phone rang at the kitchen windowsill.  He snatched the phone and answered it slipping out the back door away from the music.  Trying to be considerate, Willow punched the power button on the CD player, gathered the dishes in the sink in the dishpan, and carried them to the barn kitchen.

Chad found her there singing fragments of the chorus of the song as she rinsed the dishes he’d dirtied that day.  “…light shining bright… tonight… somebody’s waiting for me.”

“Did you call Bill when you got in?”

Willow didn’t turn around but she shook her head.  “No.  Should I have?”

“He might sleep better knowing you got home safely.  Want me to call him?”

She turned and smiled sheepishly through her tears.  “That would be nice.”  Her voice cracked.  “I should myself but-” Willow, unable to finish, raced from the barn and into the house.

Chad scrolled through his phone looking for Bill’s number, selecting it when Franklin flashed on the screen.  “Hey Bill?  Chad Tesdall here.  I just wanted you to know Willow made it home a little while ago.”

Bill’s flat voice told Chad something more had happened in Rockland than Willow either knew or was willing to share.  Just as Bill started to ring off, he paused.  “Wait, did you say just got home?  It’s almost seven!”

“She walked home.”

“Why weren’t you there to pick her up!  I hate that she walks along that road.  She had a suitcase!”  Bill’s outraged voice irritated Chad.

“Well, because the memo I got, from you I might add, was that you were bringing her home tomorrow afternoon.  Had anyone bothered to tell me the plans changed, I would have been there.”

“Why didn’t she call for a ride?  I don’t und-”

“Because it’s not what the Finley women do.  They do for themselves.  It never occurred to her to call for a ride.  If she wants to do something, she walks.  Period.  It is who Willow Finley is.”  Why he bothered to explain, Chad didn’t know.

“That I am beginning to discover.”  Chad started to disconnect the call but one more question from Bill stopped him.  “Hey Tesdall?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you mind calling me when you leave Willow’s place?”

The sight of Willow setting up the Chinese Checkers on the kitchen table brought an involuntary smile to his face.  “It could be pretty late…”

A trace of irritation entered Bill’s voice as he replied, “I don’t care how late it is, I’d appreciate it.”

“Will do.  Anything I should tell her?”

“No,” Bill sighed.  “I’ll just get it over with all at once.  Say Tesdall?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t ever make plans for Willow.  I keep forgetting how backward they are in some ways.”

Confused, Chad stared at the phone before he queried, “What do you mean?”

“Don’t make plans to do stuff with her.  She may show up, she may not.”

“Bill, did you make plans with Willow or for her?  I’ve found her very conscientious about anything she plans.”

Bill stammered and sputtered for a minute.  “Well she was coming here so I-”

“Let me ask you this.  If you made the same plans for another one of your clients without asking their input, how would they react?  Willow may be inexperienced in the world and a tad naïve at times but she’s not a child.  She’s accustomed to making her own decisions.”

Silence hung in the air subtracting minutes from Chad’s cell plan mercilessly.  Finally, Bill’s voice, humbled and quiet said, “Ouch.”

***

Filled with a sense that all was right with the world, and not a little satisfaction of three games won, Willow lay on her chaise reading her mother’s journal when the phone rang.  An onlooker would have found the scene amusing.  For one thing, Willow didn’t jump up to answer it immediately.  Instead, she finished her page, marked it with a bookmark, and strolled leisurely into the room.

When the phone stopped ringing, she almost returned to her book without retrieving it and opening it.  However, she realized that perhaps Chad remembered something important she needed to know about the animals or some other part of the farm and decided to try to remember how to check the messages and see if the caller had left one.  Bill’s name and number flashed at her as she opened the phone telling her she had one missed call.

Bill’s voice sounded upset as he said he hoped she was fine and that he could talk to her soon.  Without a second thought, she punched the button to dial his number and returned to her chaise.  “Hello, you called?”  Willow remembered that people said hello first and felt quite proud of her newly acquired telephone skills.

“Willow?”

Her laughter soothed his spirit.  “Have you called many people in the past few minutes?”

“I owe you an apology.”  Unsure how to reply, Willow kept silent until Bill thought he’d go crazy.  “Willow?”

“Yes?”

“I thought maybe you’d been disconnected.”  Bill wasn’t sure what to do with Willow’s silence.

“No, I wasn’t sure what to say so I thought I’d wait to see what you were apologizing for before I answered.”

“I was presumptuous and rude.  I was so excited to show you my city that I didn’t even ask.”

“Well that’s understandable,” Willow began.

“But it was still wrong of me.  I wouldn’t have had such expectations of anyone else.  I would never have done that to your mother.”

The mention of her mother made Willow curious.  “If you wouldn’t have done that to Mother, then why-”

“I kept my relationship with your mother strictly professional.  With all of my faults, I know how to treat a client.”

Understanding dawned.  “And you were trying to be my friend as well as my financial advisor.”

“Yes.  Can we try again?  Can I come get you for the day tomorrow or next Saturday and we go see some of the things I think you’d enjoy?”

“Just the day?”  Visiting Rockland and seeing museums and zoos and parks sounded fun and exciting knowing she’d sleep in her own bed in her own home.

“Especially at first.  The day may come when you want to stay over and spend more time here but you’re not that far away.  I can pick you up and have you back in the city before ten.”

She grew more excited as she thought about the possibilities.  “Could I be home before six?  Six is really the latest I should milk Willie.”

Bill strongly desired to suggest that Chad could milk for her in the evening but he knew it would push Willow out of her comfort zone.  “That’s totally doable.”

“Great!  This weekend won’t work- I have a lot to do in the garden tomorrow but maybe next week…”

“Of course,” Bill replied relieved.  “What would you like to do most?  As I mentioned, there is the zoo but it might be hot- maybe save that for fall?  It’s beautiful in the fall.”

They discussed their options from bowling to roller-skating, to ice-skating and the museums.  Eventually, they decided on the Pennsylvania Avenue Museum.  Built as a miniature version of the White House, it boasted replica furniture and clothing as well as actual pieces of the life of every President who ever lived in the White House.

“Mother described it in great detail when I was little.  If they haven’t changed much, I think I will know every room by heart before I ever see it.”

Bill said goodnight and almost goodbye when an impulse overtook him.  “Willow?”

“Still here.”

“Have you ever had sushi?”

***

Unaware of the hours ticking by, Willow read until the dawn streaked across the sky and into her living room.  Each year grew more familiar than the last.  Their first cow, the dog that Mother had to shoot when a rabid raccoon bit him: they all flooded into her memory bringing her deeper into the past.  A reference to her education in the year Willow was four intrigued her.

August-

I can see that Willow is an intelligent child.  She picks up on everything much more quickly than I anticipate.  I’ll need to keep ahead of her if I want to keep her curiosity piqued and challenge her.  I tried to convince myself to send her to school but I won’t do it.  I’ll educate her but I’m going to do it differently than the schools.  I ordered a book by John Holt on teaching children.  We’ll see.

December-

She’s reading!  Everything.  Those bright eyes fly over a page faster than her mouth can keep up!  If I wasn’t her mother, I’d call her a protégé but I know I am extravagantly biased. I started by pointing out letters on everything.  Simple things like, “That’s a W.  It makes a wwww sound like at the front of your name.  Wwwwillow.”  By the end of a couple of weeks, she could tell me most of the letters and the sounds they made.  I took note and filled in the gaps.  By the end of September, she was combining letter sounds but I didn’t realize it.  I thought at just four, she wasn’t ready for “real reading.”  How silly of me.  I taught her things like a silent e and l and about combined vowels and now, she reads everything.  I caught her reading my book on how to raise and butcher chickens.

It is hard not to try to turn it into a regular school activity.  I want to make her practice writing the letters and assign books rather than letting her read everything willy-nilly but I’m determined to make learning a natural part of a life lived.  Now, how to add math facts as a normal part of live.  That is the question.  Oh, good note.  Put the Tales from Shakespeare book on a shelf near her books.”

April-

I finally learned how to teach her math.  It is a bit ambiguous but she’s learning and doesn’t realize it yet.  I started with the calendar.  I just made a point of looking at the day every day several times a day.  Pretty soon she knew the days of the week and the numbers through thirty-one.  Then I taught counting by sevens by just saying it over and over.  “It’s the thirteeth… add seven days and next Tuesday will be the twentieth.  That’s a good day to do xyz.”  She heard and learned.  I’d ask her to bring me two carrots in one hand and three in the other and when she got to me, I’d ask how many she had all together.

She mastered the addition and subtraction facts easily so she’s learning her multiplication tables- but she doesn’t know it.  Right now, she’s climbing stairs two at a time counting by twos.  I have her sort beans by threes.  Oh, and I’m teaching her the fives and how to tell time with the clock.  As it is, she knows that five times twelve is sixty- the number of minutes in an hour.  She knows that five times five is twenty-five minutes after the hour.  She’s getting it.  And without pages of rote writing for nothing.

But that is the trouble.  She can’t print.  Then again, she isn’t five yet so I think it’s ok.

***

When the bright shaft of sunlight broke in through the living room windows, Willow closed the journals and hurried up the stairs to her bedroom.  She counted as she took the steps two at a time.  “Two, four, six, eight- Oh mother, you were so smart!”