Friday morning, Willow was up at dawn.  Starting in the upstairs bathroom, she scrubbed the upstairs from top to bottom.  She changed sheets, dusted furniture, washed windows, carried the rugs outside for a beating later that morning, and mopped the floors.  Every piece of wood was oiled and rubbed dry and fresh flowers decorated her room, her mother’s room, and the bathroom.

Before she started downstairs, Willow surveyed her work with satisfaction.  She had always been in charge of upstairs clean up on Fridays and it felt good to return to a familiar rhythm.  As she jogged down the stairs, the sense of familiarity ended.  No music played, no windows shone, and nothing downstairs showed recent attention by her mother.

For the first time in several days, Willow collapsed on the chaise and sobbed.  Her natural inclination to choke back her tears welled up but finally she allowed herself full vent of her grief.  Though she felt less alone as time passed and her new friendships grew, the finality of the closest and most dear relationship of her life overwhelmed her.

A bark at the back door reminded her that Wilhelmina was probably ready for relief.  A glance at the clock showed it was just after eight o’clock.  “I’m going to start breakfast first Othello, go wait for me boy.”

The oatmeal canister was near empty sending Willow into the pantry for a refill.  As she bent to scoop several large scoopfuls of oats into her canister, Willow saw the last jar of canned cherries and suddenly developed a craving for cherry vanilla ice cream.  She carried the jar with her into the kitchen humming as she poured boiling water over her oats.

While her breakfast cooked, Willow trotted to the barn with Othello at her heels.  The puppy jumped and yapped happily as she opened the barn door and sauntered into the kitchen for the milking pail.  A pan of water simmered on the stove leaving Willow free to milk the goat and care for the other animals.

After breakfast, Willow tackled the beating of the rugs.  Willow fought to hang the first rug over a metal pole without allowing any portion to touch ground.  The rugs were heavy, bulky, and it required every ounce of Willow’s upper body strength to set them up for their monthly beating.

Realizing she’d left her beater inside, Willow raced to the pantry and returned with a battered old broom.  For housecleaning, Willow and her mother had always worn as few clothes as possible.  It was hot sweaty work and mostly indoors or in the shade.  Willow’s cut off jeans and cropped halter top covered little but kept her cooler than anything else could have as she pummeled the dirt from the rugs.

The first two rugs cleaned with relative ease.  The dirt fell consistently as the broom whacked until eventually the clouds of dust and dirt were unnoticeable.  She swept them thoroughly on both sides of the rug and then carefully rolled them up allowing the last foot or two to drop onto her shoulders.

She dropped the large rug from her room twice, re-beat it twice, and rolled it up again, twice, before she managed to get it and keep it on her back.  It slid off again on her way up the stairs but she managed to drag it into her room and unroll it at the side of her bed where it had lain since she hooked it ten years before.  Looking at it now, Willow realized it was growing faded and worn.

“It’s probably time to make another one.  I- oh Mother, how did you schedule our projects like this?  I need to read more.  I know I don’t have time now but maybe at night-”

Her mother’s voice echoed through her thoughts and brought a smile to her face.  “Every day needs its Sabbath.” She’d heard those words every time she tried to fill her evenings with anything that could be construed as work.  Evenings were for anything but needs- a time to relax and rejuvenate before the next day’s work.

The final rug slipped easily over the bar.  It belonged at the foot of her bed and was not nearly as tattered.  The workmanship was better and the pattern more suited to Willow’s current tastes.  The folk-art sampler of her early years was pretty but having designed her own floral and stylized pattern last winter, she knew what she wanted to replace the old rug.

***

Chad rounded the corner of the house and saw Willow beating a rug with an old broom.  She brushed the surface with the bristles and then began rolling it off the bar from which it hung.  He tried to reach her before the weight of the rug hit her shoulders but was too late.

“Hey, I’ll help you with that.”

Willow, face, arms, and legs streaked with dirt and sweat, glanced at him gratefully.  “Thanks.  I’ve only had to do this alone once and it’s not easy.”

“I’d love to ask why you don’t use a vacuum cleaner but I have a feeling you’d tell me you wouldn’t know what to do with the time you’d save or something like that.”

“Mother thought vacuums were nasty things.  She said that you could see how inefficient they are just by lifting an area rug after you vacuumed.”

“I don’t understand.”

Willow shrugged.  “Well, I’ve never seen it of course, but Mother said that under a freshly vacuumed rug there’d be a huge layer of dirt on top of wood flooring and that it destroyed the finish of the floor and the back of the rug.

“Well,” she continued with half a smile.  “That and the little part about not having the electricity on for it.”

As she rolled out the rug at the foot of her bed she pointed to the other one.  “I’m going to make another one like this for there.  That rug is getting worn and faded.”

She stepped into the bathroom to wash her hands and, not unlike Eve in the Garden of Eden, suddenly felt very underdressed in her denim and broadcloth ‘fig leaves.’  She smiled miserably as she slipped back into her bedroom and grabbed the first dress she could reach in her closet.  “I need to change.  Covered with dirt and everything.  Why don’t you go get you a drink or something?”

Without waiting for an answer, Willow disappeared into the bathroom and seconds later sounds of the shower drifted into the hallway.  Chad smiled to himself and glanced around the room.  It smelled wonderful.  Clean.  The flowers on her nightstand sent a gentle whiff of lilac and roses across the room with every puff of wind through the window.

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 these rugs had been beaten 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.”

Once downstairs in the kitchen, Willow poured each of them a glass of cold mint water from the icebox and then collapsed 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 and talked to Jill MacIntyre.  She runs the weekend Farmer’s Market and she said you could bring any produce you want to sell and have a space or, if you prefer, she’ll come see what you have to offer and buy it outright.”

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.  I just don’t have time.  I think I’d prefer to sell it outright.  Do you have her phone number?”

Chad shook his head.  “Actually, I didn’t think to get it.  I was so excited about it that I drove right out here.  I need to get back and grab something for lunch, my break is half over but I chased a car half way here before highway patrol took it over for me so I thought I’d just come tell you.”

“Thanks.  I’ll figure something out.  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?”

***

After dinner, Willow cranked the ice cream freezer.  She rocked in the rocking chair, hummed along with Chad’s Argosy Junction CD, and sang the choruses as she learned them.  Each arm took a turn at the crank until the ice cream froze and firmed.

Her cell phone rang as she scooped out a bowl full of cherry-almond-vanilla ice cream into her bowl.  “Hello.  Chad?”

Minutes later she finished her ice cream, washed and dried her bowl, and scooped huge helpings of ice cream into both bowls.  Just as she finished, Othello barked a greeting and a yelp told her that Othello nipped the pup to keep it away from the truck.  She grabbed her spoons and set them on the table wiping her hands on her apron as she finished.

Chad led Jill into the house via the front door.  He knew Jill would appreciate Willow’s earthy lifestyle and wanted to point out the woodwork, area rugs, and hand painted “wallpaper.”  Willow greeted them eagerly and insisted they join her in the kitchen for ice cream.

Jill took the bowl eagerly and dug her spoon into it immediately.  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.  I’ll go get some buckets from the barn in case you want to take some of it with you.  Come on out when you’re done.”  She smiled at Jill.  “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’d be awful.”

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

“They only have goat’s milk.  I thought it’d be strong tasting.”

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.”

“Well, their financial advisor came every year and they did have deliveries from time to time.”

“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.  They 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 knew she’d found a gold mine.  She pulled a pocketknife from her pocket and with Willow’s permission sliced open the tomato.  As expected, the meat was firm, red, and juicy.

“I’ll take them- all that you have to spare.  What else is there?”

Chad watched in satisfaction as Willow and Jill discussed peas, tomatoes, radishes, and lettuce.  Melon vines caught Jill’s attention.  There weren’t enough melons to keep her supplied this summer, but Willow assured her there would be plenty the next year if she wanted them.  By the time Jill left, her pick up was loaded with fresh produce and Willow held a check for more money than she’d imagined possible for “just a little extra produce.”

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 carefully washed both bowls and spoons before scooping more ice cream into each.  In the living room, Chad 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 leaned 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 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 we don’t keep the birds out so most of them get used eventually.”

“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 canning 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.  This was really good, thanks.”

Willow took the bowl from him and thanked him for bringing Jill out.  “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’s probably waiting for you to go so I can come sweet talk her some more.”

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.  As 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.”