Dana's Valley

by Janette Oke

  I would’ve liked to stick out my tongue at Brett, but he had his back to me. Anyway, there was a good chance I would be reprimanded for that too, and both parents were already frowning at me. Instead, I scowled in Brett’s direction and turned back to face Mom. “I only did it once since you told me to stop—yesterday was the only time—and that was because I wanted to know how the chapter ended before school. It was only a couple pages, anyway. Marcy always asks me how far I got, and I never get as much time to read as she does. I hate it when she’s always ahead.”

  Daddy didn’t seem impressed. “Well, Erin, don’t let it happen again—no matter how far ahead Marcy gets. We’re paying for those lessons, and we want you to be serious about practicing. If I see you doing it again, there will be consequences. And I’ll be checking up on you. Understand?”

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  I dragged myself to the piano stool and managed to make my fingers stumble through the scales and simple songs. My hands always felt stiff and resisting, much better suited to holding a basketball or swinging a bat. Dana, though having taken piano only one year longer than I, could already play complicated pieces that truly sounded like music. I wasn’t convinced I would ever be able to achieve that kind of skill. But if Daddy said to practice, I would practice. I adored my father. I hated to disappoint him, even if at times I did feel his discipline was a bit rigid and he hadn’t taken quite enough time to let me properly explain my point of view about a situation.

  Once all of the morning routine was complete, the walk to the corner to catch the school bus was almost pleasant. Brett always dashed on ahead. I guess by the time we were sent out the door, Brett had finally gotten his motor running—or something—for he was able to sprint down the street, his gangly long legs making fast work of the concrete sidewalk. If he got to the bus stop a little early, he had time to shoot a few baskets in Sanders’ driveway while he waited.

  Dana and I followed more slowly. We always joined up with Marcy and her sister Carli two doors down from our house. We’d been walking to catch the bus together ever since we’d moved to our cozy little house on Maple Street back when I was in first grade.

  Everyone said our community was a jumping-off spot for families on the way up. “Starter Homes” was how the real estate companies had described the area, so there seemed to be ample reason for families to move in and then to move on, to a fancier, upscale suburb. I was glad my own family had chosen to settle. I liked the way the town kind of tucked itself in between the hills. It was small enough to feel cozy and friendly, but large enough so we could go to a movie once in a while and out to McDonald’s afterward. I liked our neighborhood. Our friends. Our church. Even our school, though I didn’t often admit that fact publicly. I saw no reason to move on—anywhere—and felt relieved when Daddy seemed quick to agree. He would quote the Bible verse about how it was better to eat a bowl of vegetables where there was peace than a fatted calf with strife. According to his way of thinking, it was more important to work on building a happy home than a particularly prosperous or impressive-looking one. I knew from overhearing a few conversations that he’d had opportunities to relocate for a bet~ter job, but he’d chosen to stay put, even though neighbors, coming and going, often boasted about the advances and promotions they were receiving.

  As I grew older, on more than one occasion I had been struck by how difficult Daddy’s approach to life seemed to be for our grandpa Walsh to understand. I enjoyed eavesdropping on adults’ conversations and tried to gather as much information as I could. It seemed to me that Grandpa, who owned a business or two of his own, placed a great deal of value on “getting ahead.” That explained why he often pressed Daddy to be more like him, like a Walsh—independent, self-motivated, and successful. Every time they would visit, Grandpa Walsh seemed to have some new business opportunity for Daddy. But Daddy would just smile and say “no, thank you” in a variety of ways until Grandpa finally had to give up again.

  Over the years I had managed to piece together bits of the Walsh family history. They had come from Ireland many years ago, poor and needy, yet with a great deal of independence and family pride. Grandpa Walsh always stressed that fact when he talked of the family roots, as though independence and pride were two very important characteristics. He never let the story stop there but always went on to tell how, since then, most Walshes had owned their own businesses and through hard work and smart planning had managed to attain success.

  Daddy’s older brother, my uncle Patrick, had opened his own law office and was very successful, by our grandfather’s standard. He lived in Chicago with Auntie Lynn and their three boys. But we didn’t see them much.

  There had been another brother too. Uncle Eric had died on a military training exercise. Since Grandpa Walsh had not wanted him to join the military in the first place, this had been particularly difficult for the family. I felt I could understand how much Grandma still missed their son, and I shared with her a special affection for the picture of Uncle Eric that she kept on a little shelf beside her kitchen sink. A variety of individual and family pictures was scattered through the house, but this was the only one in which Uncle Eric was proudly poised in full uniform. For some reason, as I studied his face, I became convinced that he was thinking about Grandma at just the time the picture was taken. I’m not sure why I was so certain, but I was, just the same. I tried to ask Grandma about it one time, and I think she was pretty sure too.

  Though I could never quite understand why, that picture also brought some discord to the family. Grandpa seemed to hate it. I had seen him scowl at it over Grandma’s shoulder when he thought no one else was around. And I had heard him mutter under his breath in a conversation with a neighbor, “Not even in combat, but by a stupid error on someone’s part.” That was the only time I had heard Grandpa speak of it. But it was not the only time I’d seen anger flare in his eyes at the mention of the loss of his middle son.

  Apparently, though, as much as he resented the reminder of Uncle Eric in uniform, he had not demanded that Grandma remove the picture. Or if he had, she had not complied. For each time we visited their home, I stole back to the kitchen to see if Uncle Eric was still there, and every time he was right where he belonged on the little shelf. Uncle Eric—still young. Still looking proud.

  For my part, I thought Uncle Eric very handsome and wished with all my heart I could have known him. When I was younger, I even secretly dreamed that the man I would someday marry would look just like him. Maybe he would wear a sharp-looking uniform and have his hair clipped just so. He might even have a dimple like Uncle Eric’s. His dimple hardly showed in the uniformed picture because of the formal pose, yet his green eyes had not been able to hide their twinkle in a mischievous little-boy fashion.

  I liked the fact that Uncle Eric’s eyes were like Daddy’s. I often wished it had been me, instead of Dana, who had taken after his side of the family. Dana had been blessed with the musical talent, the thick russet hair, and the beautiful hazely green eyes from the Walsh side. Instead, I had gotten the plain, straight blond hair from Mother’s family. And dark eyes. Dark eyes were not as … as alive and riveting as Daddy’s greenish ones. Though I admit I was always a little bit pleased when folks pointed out that I was going to be tall like my mother. Tall and willowy. That was what I had heard Daddy say. He made it sound as though being tall and willowy was something to be desired. The thought always made me stand just a little bit straighter.

  Dana was on the short side for her age. A little skinny too, I guess. Though Mom always called it petite. I had already passed her in height. Green eyes aside, I took some consolation in that fact.

  Chapter Two

  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 seem
ed 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 s
tared 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.