Dana's Valley (3 page)

The school day had included the usual flurry of hallway action while students scrambled to classes, calling frantic short-term good-byes to friends whom they would meet again within hours over lunchroom tables. Then the comparative calm of the classroom, students bent over assignments or listening to their teacher. And finally, after what seemed a long and tedious day, we grabbed jackets and backpacks to rush out into the crisp early spring air where all our pent-up energy could be released.

Since it was Wednesday, we knew we would need to hurry home and complete homework assignments before church club activities began. But even so, Dana and I rather dallied as we walked home from the bus stop together, chatting about the nonevents of the day. Then our talk switched to the evening's activities and our steps picked up some. Club night was always exciting.

Well, at least it had been. Brett, in his first year of senior-high youth group, had a renewed enthusiasm for Wednesday night church ever since the school year had begun. A new youth pastor seemed to be able to invent fun things to do, and he managed to attach some type of significance to them so they passed for sanctioned youth activities. Brett often returned home talking about scavenger hunts or music videos, making Dana and me long for the day when we would be a part of all of the teenage fun. It was difficult not to gripe about the fact that we were still dutifully memorizing Bible verses for modest prizes and playing the now-familiar games. We would have quite willingly admitted that we enjoyed our club activities had it not been for Brett's boasting. But how could we claim to be having fun with a Bible drill when he was talking about finding the mystery man in a game of Clue at the mall?

In no time we'd done our assignments, eaten supper, and scrambled into the family van for the drive to church. When Daddy pulled up to the curb in front, we tumbled out and scattered—Brett to the youth room to see what adventure awaited him that evening, Corey and Mom to the basement, where they would share the preschool experience together, and Dana and I to our individual classes. Daddy was left to search for a parking spot on his own.

“Hey, Erin, how many sections did you finish in your book this week?” Marcy had spotted me walking down the long hall to our classroom. She seemed to think it was her duty to keep track of everyone's progress.

“Three.” I slowed my step to match Marcy's.

“I did two. And a half—almost. But Jenna beat you again. She did five. I don't think Jenna does anything else. How could she and still finish five sections of her book in one week?”

I didn't really care, so I didn't bother to respond. Instead, I tried to divert Marcy's attention. “Are you com~ing swimming this weekend? My dad said we could go. Dana hasn't decided if she wants to yet, but I'm going for sure.”

“What's the matter with Dana? She loves to swim.”

“I think it's homework or something. She's got extra reading to do because her regular teacher is back, and Mrs. Ryan wants them to catch up on what the substitute teacher didn't make them do.”

“That's not fair,” Marcy asserted.

“I guess. But Dana's going to catch up anyway. She likes Mrs. Ryan.”

“Has your mom decided what you're doing for Dana's birthday yet? I hope you have a sleepover again. Your mom throws the best sleepovers. I'm invited, right?”

“I don't know. I don't have any idea
what
she's planning. We have two family birthdays right close together, remember? And we had a big celebration when Brett turned thirteen. Mom might wait for Dana to turn thirteen before she puts on another big party.”

Marcy nodded. “But a sleepover, that doesn't really cost anything.”

“I suppose.” Marcy never really understood how our system of checks and balances worked. I'm not sure I fully understood it either, though I'd asked Daddy to explain it to me once. At any rate, I wasn't going to count on a big party for Dana this year, and it annoyed me a little to hear Marcy expect it. It was a familiar frustration to me to hear about the plans at all, since I had a summer birthday and usually had trouble scheduling a time when my friends were all available and could do something special.

By then our class had started, and games were about to begin. Marcy and I dropped our backpacks in a corner and hurried to the crowd of kids, trying to position ourselves in the lineup in such a way that we'd be placed on the same team.

Once club time was over, there were always a few more minutes to talk before our parents gathered us back together. Marcy and I slipped into a private corner to chat some more about our swim outing. Then I noticed Daddy out of the corner of my eye. “Gotta go. See ya, Marcy.”

Marcy cast one glance toward my dad and didn't argue. “See ya,” she responded, her tone matter-of-fact. It was well-known that Daddy didn't care to be kept waiting by loitering offspring. But as I walked toward him, he continued talking with three men who had just come out of the board meeting room with him. I probably could have allowed myself a few more minutes.

Daddy had been on the church board for as long as I could remember. I couldn't recall ever hearing him complain about the fact. I guess he naturally liked to manage things—projects and money and people. I'd heard our pastor say it was his “gift.” I wasn't too sure about what that meant, but even I noticed that he was quite good at taking charge, which was how Mom described it. All I knew was that whenever there was a hint of disagreement about some issue in the church, my dad was usually called upon to help settle it. He was good at finding some way to fix things up again, whether at home or at church. Probably at work too. I didn't know much about it except that he was an accountant and had his own company.

I stood nearby to wait for him, trying to look patient and yet letting him know I was ready to head for home. Club was over, and I knew it was getting close to our bedtime. Not that I worried too much about that, but if we got home early enough, Dana and I could still catch the very end of the TV show we currently liked.

Corey came scampering up, pushing a paper into my hands and insisting that I see what he had done. There were scribbles across the page in several colors, but it didn't seem to me he had really tried to draw anything in particular.

“Tell me about your picture.” Mom had taught us not to ask, “What is it?” because it might hurt Corey's feelings.

“I drawed it on the table, but Miss Laura didn't like it that way so she gived me a paper to draw on.”

“Corey, you're not supposed to draw on the table. You know that.”

“I didn't mean to. My crayon was in a hurry.”

His eyes were so big and his expression so earnest that I couldn't scold him any further. I was sure his teacher must have felt the same. “Next time, wait for the paper before you start to draw,” I said. Corey just nodded, his eyes intensely green.

“I will.” He nodded again, then quickly hurried on. “See, Sissy. See. I drawed our house. There's my room, and there's Brett. He's doing his homework.” And sure enough—with Corey's help I managed to pick out the scattered parts of a crude stickman. He was even wearing a baseball cap. “And there's your room, but I didn't draw you and Dana 'cause your door is shut. And Momma is sewing and Daddy is at work.”

“Why didn't you draw
you
in the picture?”

He paused for a moment to ponder. Suddenly his eyes lit up, and he lifted his face with a smile. “I am in the closet playing hide 'n' seek with Brett.”

“Of course you are.” I just grinned and tousled his red-blond curls. He grinned right back at me. “Let's go see Daddy,” I said as I watched the group of men disband and go their separate ways. At first I reached for Corey's hand. Then I changed my mind and scooped him up, struggling to carry him over to Daddy. He was getting much too big for me to tote around. We both knew it, but I still liked to try. He always wrapped his arms firmly around my neck and sort of hugged while we walked. It made me feel rather grown-up and protective. He was, after all, my little brother.

When Saturday rolled around and it was time for swimming, Dana was still unenthused. I knew she'd already finished her reading assignment. The truth was, she had spent Thursday and Friday after school lounging in the bedroom with her books.

When I tried to talk her into going, she said she had to work on the first stage of a school report. But she just lay on her bed and stared up at the ceiling. This was so unlike Dana. It caught Mom's attention at once.

“Aren't you feeling well, honey?” I myself could almost feel the quick brush of Mom's cool hand across Dana's forehead.

“I think I'm all right. I just don't feel like doing anything.”

“Well, maybe you're beginning to come down with something. I think you're right. You'd better stay home today. Swimming isn't what you need right now. You can always go next time.”

“Okay.”

I was disappointed that Dana would be absent, but Marcy was already waiting at the door, so I hurried down to meet her. I certainly had energy to burn.

With Sunday came Sunday school and church. Our family had been invited to an evening potluck meal with Marcy's family, but Dana was still dragging around. It was decided that Brett would stay home with her, since there were no boys in Marcy's family anyway. He cheerfully agreed—he would command sole possession of the TV remote control, a rare privilege in our home, even though he often complained that there was nearly nothing that we were allowed to watch.

Marcy's parents, Rick and Deb Ward, were avid gamers, and we always looked forward to an evening at their house. Mom, too, had grown up playing games often, and she was always ready to gather for a time of fun and fellowship. At least, that was how she described it.

Mom toted the Crockpot filled with our favorite chili recipe on the short walk to Marcy's house, and Daddy followed with the big Tupperware container filled with tossed salad. Both Marcy and I were disappointed that Dana hadn't come along, but we quickly fell into our usual chatter and started a craft project that Marcy had purchased the night before at the mall. Soon we were knotting special string to make bracelets, chokers, and key chains. Then the Wards challenged our family to a Dutch Blitz session—which we won as usual. All too soon it was time to leave.

When we got home Dana had tucked herself into bed and was sleeping peacefully. And Corey was ready to collapse himself. Daddy toted him up the stairs, and everybody was soon asleep.

Dana was back to her old self in the morning. I was awfully glad but sorry for all she'd missed. Here she had been sick all weekend and didn't even get to skip a day of school. I was really happy she was up and around again. It had seemed odd not to have her there wherever I went.

Corey didn't mean to spill the beans about the birthday plans. It had happened when he'd wandered into our bedroom just after supper one night when Dana was browsing through a department store catalog.

“Whatcha doin'?” he wanted to know.

“She's dreaming. Dana hopes Grandma and Grandpa will send enough birthday money so she can get a new spread for her bed—even if we wouldn't match anymore.” There had never been a birthday gift even close to being that lavish. But Dana had refused to listen to my opinion on the matter.

Corey hopped up beside Dana and peered at the book. He glanced over the pages with her, then shrugged. “I like the blue ones best.”

“Which blue ones?” Dana flipped another page.

“The ones Mommy put in the garage. She gots the paint out there too.”

“What do you mean, Corey?” Dana turned toward him intently. I knew she was hardly able to suppress the hope that what he was saying might be true. “Did Mommy
hide
them in the garage? When did you see them? Did she buy two?”

“I forgot. I am
not
supposed to tell.”

I could hardly keep from laughing at the play of expressions across his face. He had important information, but he had been instructed to keep it secret.

Dana was about to ply Corey with more questions, but I interfered. “It's all right, Corey. Dana isn't going to ask you anything more—and that way you won't tell any secrets. Okay?”

“Okay.” One affectionate hand moved out to pat Dana's knee. “Okay, Sissy?”

Dana cast a crosswise look up at me, but she nodded in agreement to Corey.

“How 'bout we play hide 'n' seek? I'm the counter, and you guys are hiders,” Corey explained.

“No. Dana and I have homework to do. And we've got to finish, so you'd better scoot.”

Corey frowned. “Okay.” He looked back over his shoulder as he padded out the door. “Anyway, I didn't tell. 'Least, not everything.”

“That's right. You didn't.” I closed the door quietly behind him and then spun around to grin at Dana.

She didn't give me a chance to speak. “What did you do
that
for? I wanted to know whether there are any comforters out there or not. Since when are you above a little snooping?” “You don't get it. If Corey understood that he'd already spoiled the secret, he'd go straight to Mom. This way, he thinks he's still keeping the secret. Now we can look in the garage and find the presents ourselves. It's perfect. Mom won't suspect a thing.”