Katy's Debate (Katy Lambright Series, The)

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Dad held out his hands. “The biggest one, of course.”

  Katy giggled and handed Dad the larger of the two packages. With a big grin, he peeled back the green and red striped paper and popped loose the tape. Katy clasped her hands beneath her chin, eager for his reaction. She’d purchased something completely impractical, and she hoped he would like it.

  Dad pried off the top of the box then sat staring at the contents with a dumbfounded look on his face. “Well, I’ll be.”

  Katy smiled. “Do you like it?”

  Dad carefully lifted out the gift and held it at arm’s length. “Well, sure I do, Katy-girl, but…what is it?”

  Katy couldn’t help laughing. “It’s a seat cover for the truck!”

  “A what?”

  She took it from him and unfolded it, revealing a heavy, ribbed seat cover of black rubber. Although the store carried several colors and patterns, including purple polka dots and yellow and green animal print, she’d chosen black because it would meet the approval of the deacons. “You put this over your seat in the truck. It’s cushioned so it’ll be comfortable, and it’ll protect you from the seat being either too hot or too cold.”

  “Well, I’ll be,” Dad repeated. He squished the thick rubber and chuckled. “I sure wouldn’t have thought of buying something like that for myself. It’s a dandy gift, Katy. Thank you.”

  She beamed at him. “You’re welcome.”

  He set the cover aside, gave it a pat, then reached under the tree to pull out a box about the size of a cereal box. “Here you go.”

  Katy almost dropped it when she took it. It weighed more than she expected. She placed it on her lap and carefully removed the paper, trying to keep from tearing it. She chuckled when the box proved to be a corn flakes box. Dad didn’t waste things. He’d secured the top flaps with at least a dozen strips of tape, and it took some doing to work all the tape loose. Finally, she got it open. She tipped the box, and three books spilled across the floor. She gasped. “Dad!”

  His eyes sparkled. “So you like them?”

  “Oh, I do!” Katy scooped up the first of two diaries. The cover showed a smattering of bright flowers, similar to her backpack. A flap held the book closed, and a little lock secured the flap in place. The second one had a lock too, but the cover was solid blue with thin green stripes. The third book was a fat thesaurus. Mr. Gorsky had a row of them on the bookshelf in the English room, but Katy had never imagined owning one herself.

  She giggled with delight, partly over the wonderful presents, but partly because Dad had never bought her anything so personal. She reached out and hugged his neck. “Oh, this is so much better than a new iron! Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Dad patted her back. “Figured anybody who liked to write as much as you do should have a special place to record your writings.” He chuckled again. “And that thesaurus should give you some fancy words to record.”

  Katy made a neat stack of the books with the thesaurus on the bottom and the flowered diary on top. She fingered the little lock on the flowered diary, and her heart pattered in her chest. Now that she could lock her words away from any other eyes, she’d never have to tear up another page of writing. She could write and write without worry. “These are the best presents ever.”

  Dad grinned. “Good. Now, is there another one for me?”

  Katy burst out laughing. The only time Dad acted like a kid was at Christmas. She loved it. If only Christmas could last forever. She handed him the second package and watched him open it. Even though it wasn’t very personal—a pair of sturdy work gloves and a new scarf—he thanked her enthusiastically. Practical gifts made sense there on the farm.

  Dad gave her a second gift, which turned out to be three ballpoint pens in fun colors: green, purple, and red. “Oh, Dad, thanks! I love them.” She shook her head in wonder. What had gotten into Dad this year?

  “And one more…” Dad slid the package with the Christmas stickers out from the under the tree and placed it in Katy’s lap.

  Katy examined the handwriting on the brown paper. Neatly printed, almost block letters. She frowned. She’d seen Bryce’s masculine, messy scrawl on lots of flow charts in debate. This writing didn’t resemble his at all. So it probably wasn’t from Bryce. She fought a wave of disappointment and looked at Dad. “Who’s it from?”

  Dad propped his hands behind him and leaned back. “Open it and find out.”

  Katy took as much care removing the simple brown paper as she had the pretty paper from her other gifts. Under the brown paper, she discovered a plain white box. No tape held it closed, so it took no effort to remove the top. Inside, layers of white tissue paper hid the present from view. Katy pushed the tissue paper aside. She stared at the gift for several startled seconds, then her gaze bounced up to meet Dad’s. A silly grin creased his face. Katy’s stomach clenched. The present wasn’t a surprise to him.

  “Well, take it out and hold it up. I want to see what it will look like on you,” he said.

  But Katy didn’t reach for it. The dress, sewn from the purple fabric she’d seen in the mall, begged to be picked up, shaken out, and admired. But she couldn’t do it. Why had Mrs. Graber made this?

  “Katy?” Dad sounded puzzled.

  She looked at him.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She doesn’t have the right to sew for me. She’s not my mother. She’s not anyone to me! The ugly thoughts stayed inside her head.

  Dad tugged the box onto the floor between them and pulled the dress from the box. A second dress—a familiar one from Katy’s closet—lay folded in the bottom of the box. Dad said, “Rosemary wanted it to be a surprise, so she borrowed one of your dresses instead of asking you for your size. She had to sew fast to get it done in time to mail it to you.” Dad’s soft voice held a note of confusion. “I thought you liked this purple material.”

  Katy stared with longing at the dress. She loved the purple material. The dress was beautiful—the most beautiful dress she’d ever had, just as she’d known it would be when she spotted the fabric. But how could she wear it, knowing Mrs. Graber had made it for her? How could she accept it after her mean thoughts about the woman buying her fabric? She’d feel like a hypocrite, wearing that dress…Tears threatened.

  “I—I do like the purple material. It’s just…” She swallowed, trying hard not to cry.

  “It’s just what?” Dad stood up and held the dress by its shoulders. The lovely purple-on-purple squares winked in the pale light from the lamp in the corner.

  “It’s just…I feel bad.”

  Dad’s forehead crunched. “Why?”

  “B-because…” Katy swallowed again. She didn’t dare tell Dad the real reason. “I didn’t get anything for her. It—it’s not fair to accept a present when I haven’t given one.”

  Dad shook his head. “Well, I don’t think she did it to get something from you, Katy.”

  Oh, yes she did. She did it to win me over. She did it to get my approval. A huge lump filled Katy’s throat, preventing her from voicing the thoughts. It was just as well. Dad would only defend Mrs. Graber again, which would make things even worse.

  Dad put the dress back in the box, but he didn’t fold it. It lay in an accordion-shaped heap. A dress that pretty shouldn’t be wadded up. Katy’s finger itched to fold it neatly. But she still didn’t touch it.

  Dad said, “If it really bothers you, maybe you could make something for her and mail it. Or give it to her when she comes back in January. It won’t matter to her that it’s after Christmas.”

  Katy pushed to her feet and dove into Dad’s arms. With her face against his chest, she said, “I’ll think about it.”

  “Good.” Dad patted Katy’s back. “She helped me pick out your presents this year. She’ll be happy to know how much you liked the diaries.”

  Katy pulled back. “Y-you mean, Mrs. Graber picked those out? It wasn’t you?”

  Dad laughed. “Well, I paid for them.”

  Kat
y didn’t smile.

  Dad’s laughter faded away. “I asked her what she thought you’d like.” He shrugged. “I’m not very good at picking out presents, Katy, and I figured she’d know better since she’s a…”

  He dropped the final word, leaving Katy wondering if he planned to say woman or mother. It didn’t matter. The joy of receiving the presents disappeared now that she knew Dad hadn’t chosen them.

  “Why don’t you plan on wearing your new dress to dinner at Grampa and Gramma’s tomorrow?”

  Dad sounded so hopeful, Katy couldn’t refuse. “Sure, Dad.”

  “Good.” Dad gave her a quick hug. “Now up to bed. The cows will expect us in the barn at five thirty, just like always. But then we can have a quiet, relaxing morning before we go to Gramma’s for lunch.”

  “Sure, Dad,” Katy repeated.

  Dad gave her a puzzled look. “Are you okay?”

  Once again Katy lied. “I’m fine. It’s just been a big day between the church program and opening gifts. I guess I’m a little tired.” And very, very disappointed.

  “Well then, bed for sure. I’ll take care of the mess down here…” He stooped over and began wadding up the discarded wrapping paper.

  “Good-night, Dad.” Katy turned and headed for the stairs.

  “Katy, aren’t you going to take your presents up with you?”

  She hurried on and pretended she hadn’t heard him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Katy awakened to the clang of her alarm clock at five on Christmas morning. She slapped the alarm clock into silence and then flopped back onto her pillows. She really wanted to go back to sleep; she’d tossed and turned all night, and her body screamed for rest. But the cows—and Dad—would be waiting for her, so she had to get up.

  With a sigh, she tossed aside her covers, tugged on her robe, and headed for the bathroom. When she opened her bedroom door, her toe banged into something in the hallway. Hissing through her teeth, she rubbed her toe and glared at the object blocking the walkway. Her presents. Dad must have put them there when he came up for bed.

  Katy bent over and picked up the box Mrs. Graber had used to mail the dress. Dad had put the thesaurus, diaries, and pens on top of it. She plopped the stack on the bed. The books slid sideways to land on the mattress, and the purple dress came into plain view. Katy released a little huff of irritation. The weight of the books had wrinkled the attached modesty cape of the dress. Why had Dad been so careless? Now she’d have to iron the dress before she could wear it.

  Well, a little voice in her head chided, if you’d just carried your presents up yourself, you could have hung the dress in the closet. Don’t blame it on Dad.

  She told the voice to shut up. Sighing, she retrieved a hanger from the closet. There would be plenty of time to iron since Dad had said they’d spend a relaxing, quiet morning. She started to sling the dress onto the hanger, but then she stopped and slowly examined the dress from top to bottom. Mrs. Graber had done a nice job. All of the seams were neat, the neckline smooth and round. She’d even tacked down the facing with tiny stitches. Katy usually just ironed the facing down because it was so hard to tack it without wrinkling the fabric. The dress was flawless. How had Mrs. Graber managed to do such a perfect job in so little time?

  Releasing another huff of aggravation, Katy stomped to the closet, whacked the hanger onto the rod, and slapped the door closed. Then she put on an old dress, twisted her hair into a braid, and brushed her teeth before going downstairs. Looking through the kitchen window, Katy spotted the light on in the barn. Dad was already out there. She threw her coat over her shoulders and ran across the yard to join him.

  Dad waved when she entered the milking room. But they worked without talking, the clank and hum of the machines and the clop of hooves on the concrete floor filling the room with noise. By 7:15, the cows were all in the enclosed corral, mooing for breakfast. Dad fed them while Katy hosed down the milking room walls and floor with a powerful jet stream of water. The mist settled on her hair and clothes, and by the time she finished, she was shivering.

  When she joined Dad in the yard, he tugged off his coat and put it around her. “You’re all wet, Katy. You’ll catch a cold. C’mon, let’s hurry.” They trotted to the house, and Dad sent her through the door first. “Go on up and take a hot bath—warm up.”

  “But what about breakfast?” A bath sounded good, but Dad always liked his breakfast early.

  “Breakfast can wait. Go on now.”

  Katy didn’t offer a second argument. Most of the time she bathed quickly so she could get to her chores. Being able to laze in the tub was a rare treat. She added a capful of bubble bath beneath the stream of water. Frothy bubbles burst to life, and she breathed in the scented steam. She filled the tub then climbed through the froth. The bubbles popped and crackled like a bowl of cereal, and she giggled. She slid down until the steaming water lapped gently against her chin.

  Closing her eyes, she sighed in contentment. “Ah, Dad just gave me a wonderful gift,” she whispered to the empty room. Then she remembered what he’d said last night—that Mrs. Graber had given him the ideas for her gifts—and a snide thought filled her mind: Had his precious Rosemary told him he needed to let his daughter relax more?

  Once the thought occurred to her, she couldn’t even enjoy a leisurely soak. So she quickly washed her hair, dried off, and dressed. Then, with her wet hair trailing down her back, she opened the bathroom door. The tantalizing scent of frying bacon greeted her nose. Frowning, Katy hurried down the stairs and into the kitchen. “Dad, what are you doing?”

  Dad stood by the stove with a metal spatula in his hand. He looked absolutely ridiculous with one of her aprons tied around his waist. If her stomach hadn’t been tied in knots, she would have laughed.

  Dad grinned at her. “Bath done? Good timing. The bacon’s almost done, and then I’ll fry some eggs. The toast is already on the table if you want to munch on a piece while I finish over here.”

  Katy shook her head. What was going on? Dad never cooked. He didn’t like to cook. After Katy’s mother left their sect, Gramma Ruthie had come out twice a day to fix their breakfast and supper. She and Dad ate sandwiches or canned soup for lunch so Dad didn’t have to cook. As soon as Katy was old enough, she took over the cooking. She couldn’t remember the last time Dad had fixed something besides a bowl of cereal or a bologna sandwich.

  She put her hands on her hips. “Why are you doing this?”

  Dad shrugged and pushed the bacon around in the skillet. The grease popped and spattered the stove top. “Consider it a Christmas present.”

  “But you’ve never—”

  “Get me some paper towels, Katy, would you? I need to drain this bacon.”

  Katy obediently carried a roll of paper towels to the stove. Dad pulled off several sheets and laid them on the corner of the stove, away from the burner. She watched him transfer the crisp strips from the pan to the stack of paper towels. Confusion clouded her brain. Dad’s odd behavior—sending her to take a long bath, cooking breakfast—made her uneasy. Something was up.

  “Why don’t you let me fry the eggs?” Katy reached for the spatula, but Dad shook his head.

  “Nope. Go sit down. I can do it. You want yours over easy, right?”

  Katy nodded. A few minutes later, Dad carried two plates of bacon and eggs to the table. Her eggs were welldone instead of over easy, but she didn’t say anything. Midway through breakfast, Dad leaned back in his chair and sent a serious look across the table.

  “Katy-girl?”

  Katy’s scalp tingled.

  “I plan to make an announcement at Grampa and Gramma’s today when the whole family is there. But I want you to hear it first.”

  The tingle increased. She scratched her head. “What is it?”

  Dad’s lips twitched into a soft smile. The kind of smile Katy had never seen before on his face. Her heart began thudding so hard she wondered if it moved the cape on her dress. He took a deep breath
and said, “I asked Rosemary to become my wife. She said yes. So we’ll be getting married the last weekend in February.”

  For several seconds Katy sat so still she even forgot to breathe. So that’s why Dad fixed me breakfast. To soften me up. She set her jaw in a firm line. Well, it isn’t going to work!

  Dad went on. “I know this is sudden, but I want you to know that Rosemary is a good woman. She’s been a widow for almost as long as I’ve been a widower. She has children of her own, and I know she’ll be a good mother for you. So—“

  Katy sucked in a giant breath, pushed her chair back, and jumped up. “But you don’t have to do it!” I’m ahead right now—I have four points to your three. You can’t win!

  Dad clacked his mouth shut and stared at her.

  “It’s okay, Dad. I know I got into trouble, and I know I worried you. But I’ve been working really hard at showing you I can stay out of trouble. I don’t need a mother.” Katy’s voice rose as words spilled out faster and faster. “You don’t have to marry her for me. You don’t have to get married at all!”

  Dad stood too. He reached across the table and grabbed Katy’s shoulder. “I’m not marrying her for you. I’m marrying her because…” His hand fell away and drifted slowly to the table. “I’m lonely. I want a wife.”

  Tears filled Katy’s eyes. Dad’s image swam. “How can you be lonely? You have me…” Her chest ached so badly it hurt to breathe.

  “Katy, Katy…” Dad sighed. “Sit down, please.”

  But Katy shook her head.

  “All right, then. Stand. But listen to me.” Dad pressed both palms to the table and leaned on them. The pose made him looked tired and defeated. “I’m your father and I love you, but loving a child isn’t the same as loving a wife.”

  Katy whisked the tears from her eyes. “I already know that!” She’d never snapped at Dad before. She drew back, expecting him to scold. But he just went on calmly.

  “Rosemary is a good, godly woman, and I’m happy that she’s willing to leave her home and move here to be my wife. I want you to be happy with me.”

  Katy shook her head wildly. Her damp, loose hair flew across her shoulders and slapped her cheeks. “I can’t be.”