Free Dana's Valley by Janette Oke Page B

Testament. I was relieved to see that my hands still looked okay, but I didn’t really know what leprosy looked like anyway. White … I think. Something about white.
    I didn’t even dare to pray about it, because that would be admitting there was a problem. To myself. And to God. If He hadn’t caught on yet, I sure didn’t want to be the one to draw His attention to it.
    I didn’t talk to Dana about it either. I was used to sharing everything with Dana. But she had been somehow different lately. She didn’t seem to talk about much of anything. And she didn’t laugh as much as she used to either. Did growing up make so much difference? She often just lay on her bed. Sometimes reading. Sometimes just staring at the ceiling, with the book abandoned on the bed beside her. I couldn’t understand it. She’d never been as excited about activity as I. But at least she’d been doing something. Now she didn’t really seem to care that much about pursuing fun.
    Then another thought struck me. Maybe that was Grandpa’s fault too. Maybe Dana didn’t want to move either. Maybe she was struggling along, trying to hide angry thoughts as well. Maybe I should talk to her.
    But I couldn’t. I didn’t dare. What if I were all wrong? Then Dana would give me one of her disapproving looks—probably far more disdainful than any that she’d sent me recently. And, worse than that, she’d know.

Chapter Six
    Even Mom and Dad were looking disappointed as we filed back into our home after another long afternoon of searching for a place to build the new house. It was a cold and dreary February day, and our moods suited the weather well. The few lots scattered here and there in the established neighborhoods near our current house had been rejected as unsuitable for several years. It seemed that, if we were to build at all, we would be forced to extend our search to a much larger radius.
    Actually, the choice of a floor plan was going much better. Mom and Dad had narrowed their original ideas down to three layouts. And, from then on, the final selection would be based upon the lot.
    Brett was enthusiastically favoring the one with a walkout basement. But Dana preferred the Cape Cod that more closely resembled our current home. I tried not to get involved in too many of the discussions about the house. But I sure was looking over the properties carefully. And I was watching the people too. I still hadn’t seen any of the kids from my school around the lots where we’d been looking.
    Corey was the only one who still had the energy to talk about the house. He followed Dad into the living room, chattering away. “Daddy, when we get the right place, can I have my own tree? ’Cause I’d like to be able to look outta my window and see the birds building nests in it. Then I could even leave some string and stuff around it so the birdies could get ’em in their beaks and fly way up to where they’re building. My teacher says that birdies will use stuff like that if you leave it by their tree.”
    Dad dropped into his easy chair and pulled Corey onto his lap. “It would be nice of you to take care of the birds. And I’m sure they would use your string. I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you gather the kinds of string you want to use, and we’ll cut it up and put it in a plastic bag. Then you’ll be ready in the spring to put it out by a tree somewhere. I can’t promise you that you’ll have one by your window. But I’m sure we can find a nice tree nearby.”
    â€œThat’s a good idea! I’ll go get my special scissors and ask Mommy for some of her strings. The ones with the bright colors. Mommy!” He had already bounced back off Dad’s lap and trotted away.
    I approached Dad quietly. His head was leaning back against the chair, and his eyes had closed. I wasn’t sure whether to speak to him or not, but the