by Janette Oke
It was exhilarating to watch Brett. His face shone even though he tried not to let his excitement show. And on the way home, Mom suggested that we “hit the drive-through for ice cream cones.” We all caught the pun and howled our response.
Dad said with a grin, “Don’t bother to hit it. Just pull up at the window.” That brought a rowdy whoop from the backseat where Corey and I were riding.
Mom patted Brett’s shoulder, and Dana just smiled and looked content. I suppose each of us was anticipating the additional possibilities we’d experience with another driver in the family.
When we celebrated Dana’s thirteenth birthday in grand style, it had an underlying feeling of a “farewell party.” All Dana’s school pals were invited, and most of them managed to gather in our backyard for hot dogs and games. I wandered through the crowd of familiar kids and wondered if we’d ever fit in so well in the new school. Mom and I had spent much time together preparing for the party. I tried not to let my feelings spoil the day, but I’m not sure I succeeded very well. Looking at these friends and realizing that I would rarely see them anymore, I had a hard time getting myself up to celebrating anything. This was besides the fact that Dana was now a teenager and I was still just a preteen.
And, further, Dana had become increasingly distant. She seldom wanted to ride bikes or do anything with me. In fact, outside of school and church, Dana rarely went anyplace anymore. We were all a little baffled, but we had hopes she’d pull out of it shortly. Mom maintained that it was all part of growing up. I sure hoped I wouldn’t become gloomy and introspective when it was my turn.
Shortly after the party, Dana fell ill. We assumed it was a simple cold with a mild fever, and that it might even explain her recent sullenness. Then she developed a strange rash on her face. So Mom took her into the doc~tor twice, and Dana was given antibiotics. It must have worked because the rash went away, though she still dragged around. And, try as I might, I couldn’t talk her into joining me when I explored our emerging new house. She routinely waited in the car reading a book while Mom and Dad talked to the builders and Corey trotted along behind me.
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 takin
g 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.”
Chapter Seven
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.
“It’s just sugar, dear.” Grandma smiled at Corey. “It won’t hurt him.”
I wanted to argue with her but instead turned back to Dana as she spoke.
“I’ll be okay, Daddy. But I’d like to go lie down. If I can just rest for a while, then I think I’ll be okay. Maybe I could go to school after lunch.”
That was as much as I could take. I had piano to practice, and I was glad for a chance to get away from the chaos around the table. Corey could eat all the oatmeal and sugar he wanted. I was just glad to wash my hands of it.
I would even have to admit that I banged on the piano slightly harder than was necessary, just so I wouldn’t have to hear the jumble of conversation in the kitchen. Before I was quite finished, Mom popped her head into the living room and informed me that Dana wouldn’t be going to school. Perhaps if Dana felt better by noon, she could be dropped off for the last part of the school day. Mom also asked that I watch out for Corey and make sure he got to his new classroom. He’d need help finding his way.
Mom had planned to take Corey herself but was now waiting for a call back from Dr. Miller hoping he could see Dana during the morning. I told her I would go with him and then cross the street to my own school. Dana had managed to spoil Corey’s first day of first grade, and my own nervousness was now magnified by her absence. I left the piano bench to gather my backpack and trudged upstairs to see that Corey had his school supplies together. Just as we were tying his shoes, Mom appeared at the doorway to his room, camera in hand.
“I want to take a picture of your first day of grade school, honey. And, Erin, I need a picture of your first day of junior high. Junior high! You’re growing up so fast I can hardly believe it. Stay just like you are, you two. I’d like a picture of you helping Corey, Erin. Smile.”
I smiled dutifully and followed behind Corey while Mom escorted him to the front door to take the traditional first-day photos. Dad
and Brett followed too.
After the camera clicked a few times in various poses with various family members, Mom and Dad each gave Corey a big hug and kiss and sent the three of us kids on our way down the long driveway. I looked back at Mom. She seemed kind of small—deflated. I don’t think she’d been looking forward to this day when all of us were in school all day. Corey’s kindergarten really didn’t count, since he was home by noon. And I could tell that she was beginning to truly worry about Dana.
The bus didn’t come up our lane. It was going to be a long way to walk on snowy winter days, but for now it was pretty. I looked up through the morning light that filtered through the leafy canopy above.
“I’m big today,” Corey reminded me. “I’m going to school all day.”
“That’s right, squirt,” Brett answered him. “And pretty soon, you’ll understand what a mixed blessing that is.” He grinned across at me, and we walked on in silence.
Boarding the school bus was a difficult thing to do. Even at our old school, I never quite got past a little anxiety that there wouldn’t be a seat available for Marcy and me to sit together. It never mattered to Marcy, because if there wasn’t she’d just ask somebody if they could switch so that we’d have room. I wished with all my heart that Marcy was with me now, especially when I didn’t have even Dana with me.
Brett climbed up the steps first and turned, his eyes sizing up the situation on the bus. The smallest kids were seated near the driver and the bigger kids had claimed the back. All eyes were watching to see what we’d do next. Brett worked his way casually down the aisle and chose a seat with the big kids.
As for me, I was much more comfortable sitting forward with Corey, so I pushed him into an empty seat near the front and slid in beside him. No sooner had we taken the seat than the little girl in front of us started a string of questions.
