Dana's Valley (11 page)

The end of the school year this time would mean saying good-bye to many of our classmates. The importance of being able to see so many of our best friends every Sunday at church, no matter where we lived, could not be overstated. But Marcy was dismal during most of our times together throughout the last weeks of classes.

She drove out with us as often as she could to visit “our land,” as she had dubbed it. She stood with me as we watched the first trees being uprooted and cast aside. We paced off imaginary walls together on the grassy knoll and tried to imagine where each bedroom would be between the flags that had been stuck into the ground.

But Marcy missed the whole exciting ground breaking while her family was on vacation. By the time she got back, the basement had been poured and the first level had been framed over it. The rows of two-by-fours alluded to where the walls would be, though it was surprisingly difficult to make it seem right in our minds. The skeleton looked even smaller than the house we had now.

“They already put in the stairs to the basement. Can we go down?”

“Sure,” I answered as if I personally were the home~owner. “Just be careful. There's all sorts of nails and things.”

“Wow. It echoes down here.” We walked a few steps farther, and Marcy squealed. “Wow,” she said again, “I love a basement with big walkout glass doors. What room is this?”

“This is going to be the family room. There was supposed to be one on the main floor beside the kitchen, but Mom and Dad changed that to make a bedroom, a bathroom, and a little sitting room for Grandma. See, this is where the fireplace will go, and this is where we're going to build a bathroom. But we're not going to do that for a while. And, eventually, Brett gets a bedroom over here. For a while, he's still got to be with Corey.”

“Bet he's not excited about that.”

“I don't think he minds. I think he's tired of being in our basement. He'd like something besides cement walls around him for a while.”

Marcy nodded. “Yeah. I would too.”

We stepped out the glass door and walked far enough away to get a good view of the back of the house. Then we turned to look out over the cornfield, which was just beginning to show a hint of green. It was a wonderful thing to be moving to the country, where all around were signs of life and serenity. I was sure Marcy was feeling the same things. We breathed it all in deeply, and I felt contentment seep through me.

“I'm trying to talk my parents into moving to that new neighborhood you said they were going to build up here. Where is it?” Marcy asked.

“Over there, past that house and down toward the river just a little.” We were both old enough to know that it was an irrational dream, but we allowed ourselves to embrace the notion just the same.

“Hmm. I think I'd like it here too. Can you ride your bike farther?”

“Mom says we can go on the neighborhood streets, but we have to stay off the main road.” Then my emotions flopped back to the grim reality. “I don't know why we'd want to go, though. We don't know anybody.”

“You will.” Marcy tossed an arm over my shoulder and marched me back around to the front of the house. “It's a great house. And I expect to be invited to sleep over all the time.”

I smiled. “Oh, you will. I told Mom we'd better just make another room for you.” If only that could have been a serious offer. If only Marcy could have just come along with us.

Summer was passing slowly. We registered at the new school and began to pack for our upcoming move. The building of our new house had progressed quickly at first. It had taken shape almost overnight, and then everything slowed to a crawl. By outward appearances, it was nearly done. But on the inside, improvements seemed minuscule, as I saw it. The builders fussed with the plumbing and wiring and such things much longer than I thought necessary. But they finally got around to finishing walls, and the rooms began to make sense. That was the most exciting part of all. Where there had only been a jungle of two-by-fours, there were now rooms and closets and hallways. I found the whole process both frustrating and fascinating.

There were plenty of trees in our new wooded front yard, but Corey's window was at the back of the house overlooking the hillside. One night he brought his little bag of colored yarn to Dad, reminding him of his need for a tree he could watch. Remaining true to his word, Dad took us all to the nursery to pick out one tree each. There was plenty of room in the big backyard to plant them. Brett went for a blue spruce, Corey picked a mountain ash so there'd be berries for his birds, and Dana, who loved things big and sweeping, selected a weeping willow, though it would be many years until it fulfilled its potential. I had a hard time making up my mind, but I finally chose a sugar maple. I looked forward to the day when I'd look out my window and see its array of fall colors.

The next task was to get them planted. We paced back and forth over the yard, lining up new bedroom windows to be sure that we'd each see our own trees. It was fun—but it was a lot of work. I think Dad was especially tired by the time the task was done. He had done almost all the digging. But now we all felt like the new house was really ours. We had planted trees and staked claim.

The day finally came when it was time to move in. Our little house had sold quickly, and the new owners were anxious to take possession. The country house wasn't quite finished yet. There were still moldings to add and a few cupboards in the kitchen and bathroom that had to be hung because the wrong ones arrived the first time and they'd had to be reordered. Most of the painting had been completed. All except the laundry room and Dad's office. But once the flooring had been put in, the whole place had finally begun to feel livable. It would be home.

Mom left a big sheet of thick gray paper by the front door. The builders had used it to protect the new vinyl and carpets from their dirty boots. Now Mom would keep it there until Corey got used to taking his shoes off on the front mat. Our yard was still solid mud whenever it rained, with several planks thrown down for a makeshift sidewalk.

We had tried to think of the best ceremony for moving day. Brett wanted to shoot off some fireworks that were left over from the Fourth of July. Dad thought that might be a little too much commotion.

Dana suggested we could each write out our thoughts and read them to one another before we went inside. But since none of the rest of us spent time journaling the way Dana did, we weren't convinced it would be a good experience. Dana's notebooks were already filled with thoughts describing her feelings about the last few months. She'd let me read a few pages here and there. And I enjoyed it. But not enough to start writing in a journal of my own—and it was the last thing I wanted to do in the excitement of moving day.

In the end, our family and the friends who had come to help gathered around Dad as he said a prayer of dedication for the house while the moving van waited behind us in the driveway. Then he picked up Mom, much to her surprise, and carried her across the threshold. We'd all been in and out so many times already, it seemed rather strange. But I secretly liked the fact that Dad did it. He didn't normally do things like that—unexpected things. Things that surprised even Mom. I got the feeling she liked it too.

Once those formalities were behind us, there was a frenzy of activity. Furniture was carried in first, followed by more boxes than I had ever imagined. Most of them seemed to be labeled Kitchen, but my job was to watch for those that needed to go upstairs to bedrooms and lug them up if I could. Dad and the other men were unloading boxes onto the front porch; then Brett and two of his friends were bringing them inside and placing them into their assigned rooms. Dana was helping Mom unpack in the kitchen, and Corey was flying everywhere underfoot. I thought I'd better give him a job before someone inadvertently trampled him.

“Hey, Corey, how about putting your books on your shelves? Mommy would be so proud to see you're helping.”

“Okay.” I had a feeling he would start with a flourish but lose interest quickly. I turned out to be right.

By the end of the day, we were all exhausted. One of Mom's friends stopped by with a casserole, for which Mom just couldn't seem to say thank-you enough, and then we collapsed around our kitchen table. We were half starved—but almost too tired to eat.

Only Grandma seemed to be able to carry the conversation. She'd stayed with a friend until late in the afternoon. Upon arriving, she exclaimed over and over again about her rooms.

Right in the middle of the bustle of the day, Uncle Patrick had arrived to deliver some of the furnishings from her house. The pieces she'd decided to keep had been placed in storage when her home was put up for sale, and the rest had been auctioned off. Now she was delighted to see that the remaining furniture had been brought in and set up in her suite.

“Oh, David, the armoire fits so nicely between the windows, and—Brett, how about another serving of casserole?” She didn't skip a beat as she scooped out more noodles, chicken, and sauce onto Brett's plate. “And my spread and chair coordinate so well with the color of the walls. I have to admit, Angela, that I wasn't sure when you suggested I use that paint. I had always kept my bedroom yellow with that bedspread, but it certainly looks good against that shade of green. What did you call it again?”

“Moss,” Mom sighed. We were all excited for Grandma, but we were just too tired to express it right then.

“Moss. I'll have to remember that when I write to my friends.”

Corey had taken a third helping of oatmeal, and no one seemed to notice. It was the first day of our new school, and attentions were diverted elsewhere. Dana had been late coming to breakfast, and even now she was complaining of aches and pains. Mom tried to question her, wondering if she might be coming down with another flu, but there seemed to be no symptoms other than the aches. We'd already nursed her through an episode of flu since we had moved into the new house, and now I was a little perturbed. Surely she wasn't doing this just to get out of school on the very first day. But in my heart I knew this wasn't in Dana's nature.

“How'd you sleep?” Dad inquired.

Everyone was so preoccupied with Dana that no one was paying any attention elsewhere. I decided since no one else had noticed the dribbles of oatmeal running across the table from the pot to Corey's bowl, I'd better step in. “Corey, I think you've had plenty.”

He looked at me crosswise. “I'm big today. So I can eat more.”

“Dana, I just can't figure it out,” Mom was saying. “You don't have a fever. Maybe it's just a growth spurt that's making your back and arms ache. Though it seems like I've heard more often about leg aches with growing pains. What do you think, Dave? Should she just stay home?”

By this time Dad was standing behind Dana and feeling along her spine. “When you say it aches, honey, what do you mean? Does it hurt in one place like a bruise, or does it feel more like you've strained a muscle or something?”

Corey began pouring his third serving of milk into his bowl, splashing freely.

“I don't know, Daddy. It just sort of aches. It's almost like the pain moves around. I can't explain it. Maybe I should just take some Tylenol. It'll probably go away once I get to school.”

“Dave, I don't like it,” Mom murmured. “It's too strange a thing to just let it go. I think I'll call Dr. Miller. I'd feel better if we got it checked out. Though I'm not sure what more he can tell us.”

Dad nodded, and Mom headed for the phone in the office, where she could hear better.

“I know just how you feel, Dana.” Grandma, who was now frequently joining us at the breakfast table, patted Dana's hand. “I get those aches and pains too. Lucky for you, you'll
outgrow
yours.”

When Corey had dumped three large spoonfuls of brown sugar into his bowl, I couldn't keep silent any longer. “Doesn't anybody else see this?” Once I had their attention, I motioned at the mess around Corey's dish and its heaping contents.