Dana's Valley (8 page)

I guess we all expected Grandma to stay with us for a while and then decide to go back to her own big house again. But it didn't turn out that way. She talked about it from time to time, making statements like “I should really be going home and letting you get on with your lives.” Or, “I just hate to think of being all alone again.” Or, “Brett, you must be getting anxious for your grandma to let you have your own room back.” Each time she said something like that, either Mom or Dad would assure her she was welcome to stay in our home for as long as she liked. But I think we all were feeling a little bit crowded, in more ways than one.

The first clear indication that she was reluctant to car-ry on with her own life was when she told Uncle Patrick over the phone to go ahead and sell the motor home. I don't think any of us expected her to drive it. Still, I saw Brett look up with a funny expression. There went the fishing trip for sure. Maybe he'd been hoping that he and Dad would be able to take it.

Grandma did go back to her house once. She made it clear that she planned to be gone for just a short while. She stayed away for only three days, and then Dad got a call that she was at the bus station and he could come pick her up.

She had more suitcases this time. And she did bring Uncle Eric's picture. She had some other pictures too. Her favorite one of her and Grandpa, and some of the whole family. I think it was the pictures that made me realize she intended to stay for quite a while. Maybe forever.

If Mom and Dad were concerned about it, they certainly never let it show. Mom must have gotten tired at times of Grandma's chatter, but she smiled and added a few words of her own now and then. I had the feeling, though, that the necessary drives to take us places or the daily trip to pick up Corey after morning kindergarten were now welcome excursions for Mom. She'd sort of take a big breath as she crawled behind the wheel. It probably felt good to leave the house for even a short time.

Yet I was taken totally by surprise when Dad's voice took on the “family conference” tone one morning as we were gathered around the breakfast table. Grandma usually slept late and fixed her own toast or muffin to go with the leftover coffee in the pot. So it was just our family who sat around the table enjoying Mom's blueberry pancakes.

“Your mother and I have done a good deal of talking—and praying—and we think that it might be the right time to think of a bigger house,” Dad said, looking around the table.

That sure got our attention in a hurry. I saw Brett jerk his head up as though in disbelief and Dana's eyes grow large. Corey was busy poking a fork into the yolk of his egg to make it “bleed,” so he wasn't paying much atten~tion. The yolk didn't run very well. Mom was too concerned about making sure it was thoroughly cooked. Corey didn't like blueberry pancakes, though I never could figure out the reason. And it was the only time that I remember Mom allowing any of us special privileges with the meal offerings. She seemed too baffled by it to insist that he eat his pancakes.

“What kind of a bigger house?” Brett spoke first.

“Just a … a medium-big house,” Dad went on. “Nothing fancy—just more room. We've even thought of something with a mother-in-law suite.”

“What's a mother-in-law suite?” I could feel myself frown as I asked the question. I knew enough about family relationships to know that Dad's mother-in-law was Grandma Tyler, but I hadn't heard anything about Grandma Tyler needing a place to stay.

My Tyler grandparents were missionaries. Except through letters and cards, and now even more frequent e-mails, I felt I hardly knew them. Mom had pictures of us kids taken with them when they had been back in America on one of their home assignments. But being medical missionaries and desperately needed at the clinic in Bolivia, they didn't come home as often as some missionaries—nor stay as long. But Dad was answering my question, even as my mind whirled with more questions.

“That's just two or three rooms—sort of like an apartment—attached to a home. If we had something like that, Grandma Walsh could be with us … yet have some space of her own.”

“She's not your mother-in-law,” I heard Brett say, expressing my very thought.

“Well … it doesn't have to be for the wife's mother. Not for any mother, in fact. But it often is—that's why the name.”

“Isn't Grandma Walsh going back home?” Corey asked directly. There. The question we all wondered about was on the table. Corey had been listening after all.

Dad just shook his head. “I'm not sure,” he answered honestly. “She still seems sort of lonely. We want her to know she can stay with us for as long as she wishes. But we don't want all of you crowded in together either. It isn't fair that you have to give up your rooms.”

Mom hadn't been saying much, but I noticed she nodded every now and then as though to second everything Dad was saying.

Actually, it sounded rather exciting. Already my mind was beginning to think of a new room for Dana and me to share. One with bigger closets and room for another chest of drawers so we wouldn't have to be arguing over who had what space all the time. I could even envision a window seat like I'd seen in a magazine. I wondered if Mom would let us have one. They were great places to curl up with a book. You could even tuck your book under a cushion if you didn't feel like putting it back on the shelf when you were done.

“Can I have my own room?” Brett was asking. “Or do I still have to share with—?” He stopped before he'd actually uttered Corey's name, but even Corey got the point.

His head came up. “Uh-uh,” he said, shaking his head emphatically, waving a bite of egg in the air. “I don't want to sleep alone. I get scared.”

“You've gotta learn to sleep alone sometime,” Brett argued. “Won't be long until I go off to college. Then what?”

“I'll go too,” said Corey without a moment's hesitation. Brett snorted.

On the other side of the table, Dana seemed to be deep in thought. “Where?” she asked, as if she hadn't even heard anyone else's comments.

Dad understood her question. “We don't know yet. We need to look around.”

Until that moment I hadn't thought about the
where.
I had just assumed that the new house would be right where we were—or at least somewhere very close. Surely Dad wouldn't move us away from our community. Our friends.

“You mean we might have to move somewhere else?” My voice squeaked at the incredible notion.

“Most likely.”

I think all of us just sat and stared. Dad had always said that what we had was just fine. That good homes were not fashioned out of wood and bricks—but love and respect. Now he was prepared to move?
Away?

“I don't think I want to move,” said Dana, shaking her head and echoing my feelings exactly.

“I do,” piped up Corey.

“How do you know? You've never moved. You don't even know what it's like.” I was a little short with him. I didn't want anyone reinforcing Dad's idea until we'd at least had some time to think about it.

“I know,” said Corey, pushing a piece of toast into the egg yolk without too much success. “But after I move—then I
will
know.”

I guess, somehow, that made sense. Anyway, there was little point in arguing with Corey. I turned my attention back to Dad, who was speaking again. “Mom and I have been doing a lot of praying and talking. It seems that now would be a good time to make a move. As you kids enter the teen years, you could use more space—each have your own room. And it seems …”

But he lost me right there. Was he thinking Dana and I would not be sharing a room anymore? We'd always shared a room. I couldn't imagine sleeping alone. It wasn't that I was scared—like Corey. It was just that I liked Dana's company. She must have felt the same way because before I could even speak, she asked, “Would we
have
to have separate rooms?”

She had interrupted Dad. Usually we were gently reminded that we were not to do that, but this time Dad stopped midsentence and looked at Dana. “You don't want to have your own room?” He sounded a little surprised.

“Not really,” she answered, sounding less firm. Maybe she was wondering if that made her odd.

I spoke up quickly. “Me neither.”

Dad just shrugged and looked over at Mom. She shrugged back—but she also smiled. “You won't be required to have your own rooms if that's the way you feel about it,” she said. She looked rather pleased—as she sometimes did when we remembered our proper manners in public or were thoughtful about another person or something.

“Me too,” said Corey, stuffing in more toast. “I'll sleep with them too.”

I couldn't help but smile at his simple solution.

Dana was shaking her head. “Then why move?” The question seemed to be directed at Corey, but I don't think he was getting the message. Dana continued, “We would be just as squashed in the new room if we had to have three beds in it.”

“Then we'll put in a big bed and we can all sleep together,” said Corey around a bite of toast.

Dana rolled her eyes. “No, Corey. You need to be in a boy's room. Not with us girls.”

“But Brett don't want to share.”

“Doesn't,”
corrected Mom, but she gave him a little pat on the arm. I couldn't help feeling a little bit sorry for poor Corey.

Dad stirred. “We don't have any more time to discuss this right now. You need to get at your morning chores. It's something we'll all pray about and think about, and we'll talk about it again later. We might even take a few drives to look around. See what area looks good. What we can find. We want to be sure to have access to good schools.”

Good schools. The very words frightened me. I liked my school. There was no way I wanted to move to another. I'd lose Marcy—and my other classmates. I was ready to shake my head and vow that I for one was staying put. But I bit my lip and said nothing. Dad was already standing up, and I knew he expected us to get right to those chores he had spoken of.

It wasn't until later that I started to sort it out. It was really Grandma Walsh's fault. If it wasn't for her, we'd be just fine. We'd had enough room in the past to all fit.

But I couldn't stay angry with Grandma. I'd seen her sad face over the months since Grandpa had died. I couldn't blame her for not wanting to be alone. I wouldn't want that either.

Suddenly I felt angry with Grandpa Walsh for dying. I'd always thought of him as old—but he really wasn't, not as grown-ups count age. I'd overheard several people say, “What a shame. At his age.” Or, “He was so young to go so quickly.” I hadn't really paid attention to them till now. I'd also heard remarks like “He worked too hard. Just wouldn't slow down.” “It's a lesson for us. You just have to take care of your heart.” “Exercise more.” “Watch that cholesterol.” Things like that. So if Grandpa had been doing wrong things—and not doing right things—it really
was
his fault. He should have taken better care of himself. Then Grandma would be in her own house—not looking so sad and hanging out in Brett and Corey's bedroom. Things could have stayed the same. We wouldn't have to be thinking about a move at all.

But I also felt increasingly guilty about being mad at Grandpa. I loved Grandpa, and it was such a mixed-up feeling to love and be angry all at the same time. One minute I chided myself and tears came to my eyes. I still missed him. Then an ugly feeling would go all through me, turning that love to thoughts like “He shouldn't have …” Or, “He should have …” and I'd be mad again. It was confusing—and painful—all at the same time.

But I didn't talk to anyone about it. In fact, I would have been very ashamed if anyone had suspected how I felt. I tried to hide it—and mostly I could. But once in a while something almost slipped out, and then I would say or do something to try to quickly cover it up. I'd never tried to deceive that way before and it was hard. Almost as if I was living a lie. I knew I couldn't hide my true thoughts and feelings from God. He knew my very soul. My deepest emotions. Mom and Dad had always taught us that. It was scary. Sometimes I found myself fearing that God might strike me down dead—or something. Once I even caught myself quickly looking down at my hands to see if I'd been smitten with leprosy. I'd heard in Sunday school class that leprosy was how He punished people in the old days—like in the Old Testament. I was relieved to see that my hands still looked okay, but I didn't really know what leprosy looked like anyway. White … I think. Something about white.

I didn't even dare to pray about it, because that would be admitting there was a problem. To myself. And to God. If He hadn't caught on yet, I sure didn't want to be the one to draw His attention to it.

I didn't talk to Dana about it either. I was used to sharing everything with Dana. But she had been somehow different lately. She didn't seem to talk about much of anything. And she didn't laugh as much as she used to either. Did growing up make so much difference? She often just lay on her bed. Sometimes reading. Sometimes just staring at the ceiling, with the book abandoned on the bed beside her. I couldn't understand it. She'd never been as excited about activity as I. But at least she'd been doing something. Now she didn't really seem to care that much about pursuing fun.

Then another thought struck me. Maybe that was Grandpa's fault too. Maybe Dana didn't want to move either. Maybe she was struggling along, trying to hide angry thoughts as well. Maybe I should talk to her.

But I couldn't. I didn't dare. What if I were all wrong? Then Dana would give me one of her disapproving looks—probably far more disdainful than any that she'd sent me recently. And, worse than that, she'd
know.

Even Mom and Dad were looking disappointed as we filed back into our home after another long afternoon of searching for a place to build the new house. It was a cold and dreary February day, and our moods suited the weather well. The few lots scattered here and there in the established neighborhoods near our current house had been rejected as unsuitable for several years. It seemed that, if we were to build at all, we would be forced to extend our search to a much larger radius.