Thursday morning, after the daily tasks of milking, watering, and egg gathering, Willow washed her breakfast dish and stared at the journal before her.  “Oh mother, why didn’t you make me learn how to use that thing more efficiently.  I’ll be cutting hay all weekend.”
Dressed in milky white jeans with occasional grease stains that no amount of washing had removed a white t-shirt several sizes too small and a blousy white over shirt, she quickly braided her hair into a tight French braid and donned her wide brimmed sisal hat.  Thick heavy leather gloves and hard-toed boots completed her somewhat unusual ensemble.  She was ready to work.
In the barn, she flung open the back doors and wheeled out the garden cart.  She raked the alfalfa into a fresh stall and swept it out carefully.  With painstaking care, she hosed down the north corner of the barn swept the water from the area, and turned a large fan on in order to dry it quickly.
The tool wall loomed as she neared.  The scythe hung where it always had but looked twice as large as ever.  Willow hated hay cutting.  Her mother was the master mower- she was the transport.  They were a well-oiled machine that was now missing a part.  A huge part.  The engine was gone.
With a deep sigh, she loaded the scythe onto the cart and wheeled it to the alfalfa field.  It was small by most standards but large enough to feed the goat, which was the point.  She picked up the scythe testing its weight when she remembered the phone still sitting on the charging dock in the summer kitchen.
“Dratted man.  I don’t have time to be remembering things like phones and such.”
She paused mid-stride and thought.  Did she want to go back?  The chances of anyone calling were slim.  The phone rarely rang, why get it?  The mental sight of Chad’s cruiser barreling down her driveway because he couldn’t reach her irritated Willow.  Before that phone. she’d been her own person.  She went where she wanted to go, did what she wanted or needed to do, and answered to no one but her mother.
Grabbing the handles to the garden cart, Willow wheeled it into the middle of the first third of the field.  Chad’s face filled her mind once more.  She saw the anger, frustration, and concern in his face when he found her shooting.  She remembered rides home, help carrying heavy rugs, and sighed.  The sight of the scythe cinched it.  He’d flip if he saw her awkward movements and that’d be another disagreement.
The phone slipped into her pocket easily and she was back in the field in no time.  “How silly to get so worked up about a few hundred yards of walking.  It’ll ease a friend’s mind.  You’re selfish Willow Finley.”
Near noon, Willow wheeled her second cart of hay into the barn and dumped it in the clean and dry corner.  By now, she and her mother would have had several carts unloaded.  She turned the fan away from the hay and flicked it on full blast, cooling her instantly.  “Now that feels good.”
She carried her sandwich from the fridge to the back porch steps and fed bites to Saige as she ate.  “It’s a good name for you girl.  I like it.  I’ll have to get you a friend.  I think you need a playmate and I don’t have the time to be that for you.  I’ll ask Chad.”
***
Sweat poured down her back soaking both shirts.  The field wasn’t even a quarter finished.  The unwieldy scythe cut awkwardly through the alfalfa as though duller than a butter knife.  Willow remembered her mother’s graceful rhythmic movements and paused.  Unable to control the weight of the scythe in full motion it ripped through her pants and cut deeply into her leg.
A wave of nausea washed over her as she saw the blood flow from the wound.  Dizziness followed and then a vague sense of falling wafted through her consciousness.  She stared at the wound.  Even through the pants, she could see it was deep.  What to do?  She knew that she knew what to do.  It was there.  Somewhere in the outer fringes of her consciousness, she saw it.
Her shirt.  She must take off her shirt and press it to the wound.  Seconds passed and the shirt soaked through.  Now what?  The phone!  Her eyes grew wide as she punched Chad’s number and realized that she’d almost left it behind in anger.
“Chad.  I’m hurt.  Please come.  I need a doctor.”
“What happened-” Even as he spoke, he realized she’d disconnected.  No wait, she hadn’t.  “Willow?  Willow!”
No response.  He stood between his truck and the cruiser he’d just turned in and wavered.  With a siren-, Chad raced into the police station and grabbed the key back from the rack.  “Call the clinic and tell them there’s an emergency coming in.  Willow’s hurt.”
In minutes, with siren blaring and lights flashing, Chad raced into Willow’s house calling her name.  He clattered down the cellar steps, and up to the attic.  He burst through the back door and into the yard frantically calling but hearing nothing.  The chicken yard was empty of all but chickens.  The sheep and cow’s fields showed nothing but the animals intended.  The barn was empty but a fan, fresh alfalfa, and a trail of broken hay led from the backside of the barn toward the tree break.
He found her minutes later.  Willow’s white face and soaked clothes told him she’d lost a considerable amount of blood.  Pocketing her phone and thanking the Lord for the prompting to buy it, Chad gingerly lifted Willow onto the garden cart.  “I’ve got you.  We’ll get you help just hang on.”
Willow’s voice was weak.  “Almost-didn’t-bring-phone.  Sorry.”
“But you did and you’re fine and you’re going to be just fine.  What happened?”
“Scythe.”  Her voice was weak and shaky.
At the cruiser, Chad gently laid her in the back seat.  “I’ll be right back.  I’m going to grab a towel.”
“No, just-” She swallowed hard.  “Just go.”
***
Dr. Weisenberg met Chad in the parking lot with a wheelchair and an IV bag.  “You were right.  She’s lost a lot of blood.”
His nurse wheeled Willow into the urgent care doors, into an examining room as Dr. Weisenberg swabbed her hand and prepared a vein.
Chad watched nervously for several minutes.  Willow said something quietly to the doctor.  “She’d like you to get her purse and bring in the scythe.  She doesn’t want it lying in the field all night.”
“What!”
A pointed look from the doctor was enough.  Chad left siren blaring through town.  Dr. Weisenberg examined the wound carefully and then called for immediate transport to Rockland.  “Willow, you need to be seen by a surgeon.  There is some serious damage in there that I’ll let her explain.  The helicopter is here I think- yep there they come.”
“Thank you doctor,” she began weakly.  “Please-”
“No time for tea and cookies.  We’ll talk later.”
“No-” she tried again.  “Chad- he needs to milk Willie.”
***
Her purse.  He must find her purse.  Where would Willow keep something like a purse?  Chad roamed her house looking for her purse and finding nothing.
Scythe.  Bring the scythe inside.  “She probably thinks it’ll rust out there.  I should leave it there and pray it does.  Those Finley women!” he growled to himself.  He strode through the barn and to the field where he’d found her.
His heart stopped cold as he saw a pool of blood on the scythe blade and the ground nearby.  No wonder she’d been so pale.  She must have severed an artery.
His phone rang.  He listened, his brow furrowed in concern.  The phone snapped shut and he leaned his hands on his knees, praying.  Surgery.  Helicopters.  He glanced at the field of alfalfa and realized that she’d never get the hay cut.
***
Bill heard Mari’s cry of dismay in the other room.  Seconds later, before he could stand, she rushed into the room.  “Willow Finley is being airlifted here.  That police officer asked you to be there when she arrives but that’s all he knows.”
To her surprise, Bill flipped calmly through his calendar, pointed out what appointments to reschedule and fired off three or four emails before he stood.  “Once that’s done, you can leave for the day.  I won’t be in tomorrow.  Thanks Mari.”
He fidgeted nervously as he wove his car through traffic to the hospital.  His hands alternately gripped the steering wheel and then picked at it until he finally reached the parking garage across the street from the hospital.  After receiving directions from receptionist at the welcome desk, he grabbed the first elevator going up to the surgery floor.
The waiting room was scattered with nervous people, well, waiting.  They waited for news.  They waited for success.  They waited.  Then, when it seemed impossible to wait another moment, they waited some more.  Bill, nervous and unsettled joined the ranks and waited.
***
Chad found Bill an hour and a half later.   “Hey, is she out yet?”
“No.  The nurse at the station out there put it in the chart to come find me, um, us so- Anyway, what happened?”
“She was cutting hay.”  The tone in Chad’s voice seemed resigned, even defeated.
“Ok so she got her foot caught in the mower, she ran over her foot, she stuck her hand in the tiller or whatever- what?”
Hanging his head and wringing his hands together, Chad tried again.  “She was using a sickle or a scythe or one of those old things.”
“Like the grim reaper?”
With a shrug, Chad nodded.  “Somehow she sliced up her calf pretty bad.  Dr. Weisenberg said she hit the timorous artery and nerves or something.”
“Timorous?”
“Something like that.”
They sat in silence for several minutes until Bill thought of something.  “If she was using a scythe, how’d she cut her calf?  Did she fall?”
Chad hadn’t thought of how she’d cut herself, he’d been a little preoccupied with getting her help but Bill was right.  How had she cut herself?  “Maybe you swing it around in circles?  Maybe it was coming from behind and she stepped back into it to steady herself?”
Chad stood trying to move in order to recreate the accident and nearly backed into a woman wearing scrubs.  “I’m sorry-”
“Are you Bill Franklin?”
Bill stood and offered his hand.  “I’m Bill; do you have information about Willow Finley?”
“Are you next of kin?”
The words tore at Chad’s heart.  In his line of work, that was usually indicative of the worst news possible.  Bill’s voice pierced his consciousness.
“No.  Willow essentially has no family.”
“Well she’s out of surgery.  We have her in recovery and once she’s awake, we’ll move her to a room.  She should make a full recovery but it’s going to take a little physical therapy.”
“When can we see her?”  Chad’s uniform seemed to put the doctor at ease.
“I’ll have someone come get you as soon as she’s settled in a room.”
“You can go-”
“I’ll wait-”
They spoke simultaneously.  Both men wanted to see her immediately but neither was ready to admit it.  Finally, Bill tried again.
“What about her animals?”
“I took care of them but I’ll have to be back in the morning.”
Bill considered the situation and observed Chad’s exhaustion.  “Were you on duty?”
“Just got off when she called.  She sounded so scared.”
The irrelevance of Chad’s statement to the question was very telling.  Bill considered the options and took a deep breath.  “You’re probably hungry.  I’ll go get you something to eat and then go home until around eleven.  I’ll swap out with you at that time so you can get some rest before her rooster starts crowing or whatever.”
“Thanks.  I’d love to stay all night but I won’t be safe to drive home if I do.”
“That’s what I thought.  What do you want to eat?”
“I’ll just go down and grab something in the cafeteria while we’re waiting for them to get through with her.  If you could stay until-”
“Done.  Get you some food.”
Chad reached the door and pulled it open.  He turned and saw Bill’s face contorted with concern and uncertainty.  As he walked down the hall toward the elevators, Chad prayed.
“I don’t think he knows You as well as he needs to, to get through this Lord.  If You use this to draw him to you, at least it’d be worth it.”
He punched the first floor button on the elevator and waited for the doors to close as he finished.  “I think.”