“Oh, right.” She picked up a gray Carhartt T-shirt, folded it, and set it next to him. “Did Mom dump all these drawers out?”
He frowned with eyes downward, reminding her of a petulant child, but he remained silent.
“Do you need help putting it back together?” she asked gently.
“Together?” He looked up with bewildered eyes.
“Your clothes. Did Mom tell you to put them away?”
“Where?”
“In the drawers.” She felt a wave of pity. What would it feel like to be so confused? And to imagine you were being treated like a child? What a dilemma. But how were they supposed to treat him when he acted like a child? When he threw these juvenile tantrums? She picked up another T-shirt and, folding it, placed it on the other one. While talking gently to her father, she continued gathering and folding clothes until he was sitting amid several tidy stacks.
“Should we put them back in the drawers now?”
He nodded just barely but remained seated. So she picked up a drawer and, after several tries, found its corresponding hole in the old dresser. She continued to make small talk as she tried to reinsert the other empty drawers. It was a little puzzling. No wonder he felt confused. “Now we can put your clothes back,” she said cheerfully, wishing he would help. When he didn’t budge, she just continued putting it all away until the bedroom was back in order. “There,” she told him. “All done.”
“All done,” he echoed, nodding as if he’d done it himself. Then reaching for his cane, he slowly struggled to stand. “Tired.”
“Did that wear you out?” She used a slightly teasing tone. But he didn’t pick up sarcasm anymore.
“Yes. Need my chair.”
“I’m sure you do.” She took his other arm and guided him out of the bedroom and back to his recliner, where he collapsed and groaned as loudly as if he’d just plowed the back forty with a pair of old mules. “There you go, Dad. Just have a rest.” She pulled the lever to lift his feet up. Sometimes he remembered how it worked but not today, it seemed. “Want the TV on?”
“Uh-huh. My movie,” he mumbled. So she turned onTrue Gritand waited to see if he was satisfied with the familiar characters, if they were familiar. Sometimes she wondered. With him occupied and looking as if he was about to go to sleep, she slipped over to the side window and gazed out to where the new house would be set up later today. Hopefully without too much fuss from Dad. But like Mom kept warning her, anything and everything could go wrong when Dad was involved. Best not to get her hopes up.
23
Jewel
Although it was exciting when the new house arrived, it was also disappointing. Besides looking weird in all its newness, combined with those ghastly paint colors, the house was just generally unattractive, bordering on ugly. Especially compared to the charming old farmhouse and barn. It looked just plain out of place, and despite Jewel’s eye for art, she had no confidence it could get much better. What had she been thinking?
Besides that, she was growing increasingly worried her parents would hate this new strangely bright building so prominently positioned on their farm. It just looked all wrong, and if Jewel could magically make it disappear right away, she would! It was only an eyesore, and it was embarrassing.
Fortunately, Cooper had gone to town with Anna and Marta, so Jewel was spared an adolescent opinion, at least for the day. But she could just imagine Cooper’s sarcastic assessment on her mom’s rash purchase. But then again, maybe not. Cooper had totally surprised her yesterday when she arranged to bring Mom’s chickens back home from the Oroscos’. She’d promised everyone she would take complete responsibility for the six pretty hens. She would feed and water, gather eggs, and clean the coop. And the way Mom’s eyes had lit up to see her familiar old hens pecking around the chicken yard . . . well, you’d think she’d won the lottery.
With Dad napping when the guys delivered and set up the house, Jewel had remained like a watchdog on the front porch, cringing the whole time at the thought of Dad waking in time to witness the spectacle. She couldn’t imagine the fit he might throw. It was all she could do to keep herself from running out there, waving her hands like a wild woman, and demanding they take that ugly yellow house back. Somehow she had controlled herself.
Now with the movers gone, and all quiet, she walked around the exterior with a bucket of paint in hand, just surveying the awful mess she’d created. The ground all around resembled a war zone with dirt trenches and upturned soil. To Jewel’s relief, Mom had simply shrugged when she saw it, wearing an expression that suggested she had bigger concerns to fret over. Or else she was just being polite. Then eventually, when Dad did wake up, he didn’t even look out the window. He hadn’t noticed the big, ugly yellow box yet.
She knew it was silly to start slapping on paint this late in the day, but she hoped it might bolster her spirits and hopefully encourage her parents ... Maybe they’d all catch a vision for this place. She’d had a vision, hadn’t she? She wasn’t sure now.
“What’re you doing?” Dad grumbled from behind her.
She jumped, then turned with a stiff smile. “Hi, Dad. I, uh, I’m painting the new house.”
“Who lives there?” he demanded with a befuddled frown.
“No one lives there. Not yet.” She set down her brush. “Want to see inside?”
“Uh-huh.” He hobbled toward her, pausing to stab a big lump of dirt with his cane and nearly toppling over.
“Careful there.” She took his arm. “It’s still a work in progress.”
“Progress?”
“Not done yet.” She kept him balanced as he struggled on the overturned crate she’d set in place earlier as a temporary step. “A deck will be here. And a big front porch with an awning. Aaron Hanford will send his crew back later this week. We’ll put some comfy chairs out here. See the great view you get? Good for sunsets.”
