Free Dana's Valley by Janette Oke Page A

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.”
    â€œThen 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.”
    â€œBut Brett don’t want to share.”
    â€œDoesn’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