Katy's Homecoming (10 page)

She reread the poem. She’d want to make some changes before she recorded it in her journal at home, but it held the confusion she’d intended to convey. As she gazed at the neatly written lines, anger began to billow in her chest. It was
wrong
for Bryce to treat her one way when no one was around and another way when people were looking.

A little voice in her head chided,
But you’re allowing him to treat you both ways. You gratefully accept whatever crumbs he throws at you, and you don’t protest when he ignores you. So you’re at fault too.
Even though she didn’t want to admit it, she knew the inner voice was right. Bryce would go right on paying attention to her in private and ignoring her in public unless she found the backbone to stand up for herself.

She drew in a deep breath, imagining the oxygen infusing her with courage.
I have to talk to him.
But how could she talk to him when he avoided her like she had body odor each time other people were around? And people were
always
around! She let out a huff of aggravation, tapping her pen on the notebook. If her family had a telephone, she could call him at home, but she wouldn’t dare call him from the grocery store in Schellberg where anybody could hear her and repeat what she said. So what could she do?
Tap, tap, tap
went the pen, fast and furious.

“Miss?”

Katy looked up. The substitute teacher was frowning at her. “Please use your pen for something other than a drumstick. Perhaps as a writing instrument?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Katy said. And an idea struck.

Clamping her fingers around the pen, she flipped to a clean page. Either Bryce liked her or he didn’t — he
couldn’t have it both ways. He’d better decide which way it would be. She pressed the pen’s tip to the paper and began to write.

Dear Bryce,…

I wonder if Bryce found my note.
The thought wandered through Katy’s mind as she climbed into bed Friday night. She’d slipped it between the vent slats in his locker. Hopefully, he’d checked his locker before he went home. Her heart pounded as she thought about him finding the folded note, opening it, maybe reading it where others would peer over his shoulder.
I hope he waited until he was alone to read it!

She pulled the covers to her chin and let out a huge breath.
Thank goodness there are two days of no school!
At least she had a couple of days before she had to face Bryce again. Then she scowled into the dark room. When had she ever been glad she didn’t have school? She loved school. She loved learning. But the past several days of dealing with some of the girls’ spiteful comments and snooty looks, as well as Bryce’s odd friendly-one-minute, unfriendly-the-next-behavior, had made her yearn for time away.

And she still hadn’t decided what to tell Dad about being the attendant and going to the dance.

Scrambling out from under the covers, she snapped on the lamp beside her bed then scampered on bare feet across the wood floor to her desk. She yanked out her journal and a pencil then dove back into bed where she could stay warm. Folding a piece of paper in half, she formed two columns. She labeled them
Why I Should Go
and
Why I Shouldn’t Go.
She chewed the pencil eraser, thinking. Finally she began to write, bouncing back and forth between the columns as reasons occurred to her.

When she finished, column one,
Why I Should Go,
held four statements:

With four reasons under each, they appeared evenly balanced. Katy groaned, pulling the covers over her head for a moment. But which side had reasons that carried
more importance? She lowered the quilt and examined the lists. The reasons under
Why I Should Go
were all selfish — Katy-focused. With the exception of the comment about Bryce’s behavior, the reasons under
Why I Shouldn’t Go
all honored someone else — the church fellowship, her dad, and her forensics coach and team.

She placed the notebook on the table beside her bed, flopped against her pillows, and stared at the ceiling.
It means I shouldn’t go, doesn’t it, God?
But would it really hurt, just this once, to do what she wanted to do rather than what others would have her do? She rolled to her side and looked at the list again. The first reason under the
Why I Should Go
column seemed to leap from the page.

Dad said she could decide, so whatever she chose, he wouldn’t hold it against her. But her classmates wouldn’t be so forgiving. If she made Michael Evans stand up there all alone, she’d never be able to live it down. She
had
to go. Didn’t she? She snapped off the lamp, burrowed under her covers, and closed her eyes. She didn’t want to think anymore.

Katy stayed home Saturday rather than working for her aunt at the fabric store. With Dad and Mrs. Graber’s wedding only five days away, Dad wanted Katy to give their house some special cleaning. Katy had wanted to go into town so she could tell Aunt Rebecca to send the organdy fabric back to the factory. If Cora or Trisha loaned her a dress, Katy wouldn’t need to sew one for herself. She hoped she would remember to talk to her aunt at worship on Sunday.

During breakfast, Dad said,“With Rosemary moving in, we need to make room for her. So I’d like you to clean out all the closets upstairs and down, including the one in my bedroom. Then organize the dresser in my room so there are some empty drawers for her use. Then z—” A funny look crept over his face. “About your sewing room.”

Katy jammed her fork into the mound of scrambled eggs on her plate but didn’t lift a bite. Since she was a little girl, she’d called the third bedroom upstairs her sewing room even though there was more than just her mother’s sewing machine in there. It had become something of a combined sewing room, study, and playroom. She loved having that extra space. “What about it?”

“Rosemary would like to turn the room into a guest room so if her children come to visit, they have a place to stay.”

Katy swallowed. “They couldn’t stay in town if they came, maybe with Grampa and Gramma?”

Dad’s brows pulled down. “Now, Katy, that wouldn’t be fair to your grandparents. They aren’t running a hotel. We’d be taking advantage of them.”

Mrs. Graber’s been staying with Grampa and Gramma for several months. No one has seemed to think she was taking advantage.
She held the argument inside. “But what am I supposed to do with my stuff?”

“I suggest you sort through everything and decide what you really need and what you don’t. The things you need can go in your bedroom, and the other things you can box up to give away. I brought several boxes from the grocery store when I was in last week—the boxes are in my room. Just help yourself.” Dad picked up a piece of toast and took
a bite. “I’m sure there are items that aren’t really necessary. Having the extra room has turned you into something of a packrat.” He smiled at her, indicating he wasn’t finding fault.

Katy still felt insulted. Everything in that room held significance for her, and she didn’t want to give any of it away. “If I want to keep everything, can I store the boxes in the attic?”

Dad shook his head. “Sorry, Katy, there won’t be room. Rosemary has several pieces she wants to bring when she moves in, so some of our things will go in the attic.”

A sick feeling crept through Katy’s stomach. She’d suspected Mrs. Graber might make changes, but knowing it would happen was harder than imagining it. “Like what?”

“Well, like the china cupboard and dishes. And the dining room table and chairs.”

Those are things my mom used!
Katy’s throat felt too tight to force out words.

Dad went on,“They’re going to the attic because I don’t want to give them away. At least, not yet. You might want them when you marry and move into your own house. If you decide you’d rather not have them then —”

“I want them.” Her voice sounded squeaky, but at least she could talk. “And I’ll want to take a lot of the things I have in the sewing room too. So can’t I put them in the attic?” Tears stung, and she sniffed hard to prevent them from escaping. “I’ll push the boxes clear under the eaves so they won’t be in the way. Please?”

Dad sat quietly for a few seconds, but finally he nodded. “All right, if you can push them out of the way, then I’ll let you keep what you want to.” He sighed. “I suppose
you’re having to make enough adjustments without giving away your belongings.”

Katy knew she should appreciate his consideration, but at the moment she was still a little mad at him. She’d try to be grateful later. “Sounds like I’ve got a lot to do today, so I better get started.” She began clearing the table, even though Dad was still munching a piece of toast.

Dad leaned back, so she wouldn’t bump him when she took his plate. “Rosemary will be out sometime this afternoon to finish your dress for the wedding. She said it just needs to be hemmed, so that shouldn’t take very long. Maybe she’ll have time to help you in the guest room.”

It’s my sewing room, not a guest room.
“I can clear it out by myself.” She didn’t want Mrs. Graber going through her things, even if the woman was going to be her stepmother.

“It’s a big task. Don’t be afraid to ask for help if you need it,” Dad said. “I’ll be out in the barn, but if you need me, just holler.” He popped the last bite of toast into his mouth and pushed away from the table. He caught Katy’s shoulders with one arm and gave her an awkward hug. “I know things are changing, Katy-girl, but it will all be fine. You’ll see.”

It will all be fine.
Dad’s words echoed through Katy’s mind as she worked. Clearing Dad’s closet and dresser proved simple — Dad had never put things in the places left vacant when Katy’s mom decided to leave, so all Katy had to do was organize his clothing. Mrs. Graber would have plenty of room to hang her dresses and put clothes in the dresser.

The sewing room proved more challenging. She wasted precious minutes examining items and conjuring memories
of when she’d received them, who’d given them to her, or an especially enjoyable use of them. The small trunk where she’d placed items her mother left behind proved the most distracting. Katy had no idea how long she sat idle, fingering the embroidered handkerchiefs, the yellowed head covering with its trailing black ribbons, and a dried flower bouquet, which her mother had carried when she married Dad.

As Katy touched the things her mother had once held, a lump filled her throat, and she slammed the top of the trunk before the lump turned into tears. Katy decided she couldn’t
think,
she’d just have to
pack,
and the cleanup went much faster. By noon she had boxed everything that was unnecessary with the contents labeled neatly on the box tops. Even though cold wind whistled through cracks around the windows, Katy was sweaty from exertion. She needed a break.

But I have to fix lunch for Dad and me. So much for a break.
But in a few more days, Mrs. Graber would be Mrs. Lambright. Dad’s wife. And Mrs. Lambright would fix Dad’s lunch. Katy couldn’t decide whether she was relieved or resentful about someone else taking over her long-held duties. Nothing seemed simple these days.

As she clumped down the stairs, a good smell reached her nose. She paused for a moment and sniffed, savoring the mixed aromas of meat, vegetables, and bread. Her nose made an identification: beef stew and biscuits. Had Dad been cooking? She skipped down the stairs and hurried into the kitchen. Mrs. Graber stood at the stove, stirring a big pot. Steam billowed around the stove, scenting the air. Katy watched her lift the spoon, blow on its contents, then
take a hesitant sip. She smiled, nodded in satisfaction, and placed the lid on the pot. When she turned and spotted Katy, she jumped.

“Oh my, Kathleen! I didn’t hear you come in. You nearly scared me out of a year’s growth.”

Katy swallowed a chuckle. The saying always sounded funny coming from an adult, since adults didn’t grow any more. At least not in height. She coughed to cover another bubble of laughter she didn’t want to have to explain. “I’m sorry. You surprised me too. I didn’t know you were here.”

“I came out early. Your dad told me he intended to have you clean out the spare bedroom today, and I knew it would be a big task. I thought you might appreciate someone else fixing lunch.” Her face puckered in sympathy. “Are you as worn out as you look?”

Katy hadn’t peeked in a mirror, so she had no idea how she looked, but she felt worn out. “I am tired,” she admitted.