by Terrie Todd
“Hey!” Henry pretended he was going to throw the ice back at Cornelia, but then flung it out his open window instead. “The driver’s off-limits.”
“Well, I gotta admit, that was kind of fun.”
“C’mon, you must do something for fun besides ice-chip wars.”
Cornelia grew quiet. What did she do? She had so little time for anything but work. “Summer or winter?”
“Both.”
“Well . . . in the summer, I go fishing with Jimmy sometimes.”
“Really? Nearby?”
“Just down by the creek.”
“Catch anything?”
“Oh, sure, all the time. I make Jimmy clean them, though.”
“Meany.”
“Hey, that’s what little brothers are for. Besides, I do the cooking. And he doesn’t mind.”
Henry grinned. “Maybe you can show me your fishing hole sometime. So what do you do for fun in the winter? Skate?”
“No. Never owned a pair of my own. Winter evenings we listen to the radio. Fibber McGee and Molly is pretty funny. Jimmy likes The Lone Ranger and Daddy likes the Grand Ole Opry. Mother used to like listening to Guy Lombardo.”
“Do you miss your mom a lot?”
Cornelia nodded. Was she ready to talk about her mother’s passing with someone she’d just met?
“I like to read, too. I’ve read everything in our school library at least twice and everything on Aunt Miriam’s shelves at least once. And . . .” She paused to gather her courage. “I write.”
“Really? What do you write?”
“Oh, just stuff. In a diary. It helps. You know, with missing my mom and stuff.”
Unsure why, Cornelia found herself telling Henry things she hadn’t talked about with anyone else.
“It’s been a lonely time,” she admitted. “My best girlfriend from school days got married and moved away. Now I’m the oldest of the single girls at church. It’s hard to know where I fit in. All the girls a few years older are settling into married life and having babies.”
“Is that what you’d like to do?”
“Someday, I guess. I always thought I’d like to be a teacher, but I suppose that won’t happen.” Cornelia shrugged as though this didn’t matter. They drove the last few miles in comfortable silence.
“It’s nice to have someone my age to talk to,” she said as they pulled back into her own yard.
“It was your dad’s idea.” Henry set the brake, then grinned at Cornelia. “Smart man.”
They spent the rest of the evening cranking out delicious ice cream and eating it together, while their parents told more stories from their youth. When they finally said good-bye, Henry looked Cornelia in the eye and told her he’d be “seeing her around.” Cornelia smiled back.
I’ll have a lot to write in my diary tonight, she thought as she closed the door behind him.
CHAPTER 5
June 1939
Cornelia hung the last of her father’s socks on the line and walked around the corner of the house, where she barely missed getting clobbered in the face with a large stick. Her brother was swinging it like a baseball bat.
“Whoa, Jim! Be careful.” She swung her laundry basket at him, but he swerved out of the way.
“Sorry, Sis. Can I, Dad?” Jimmy begged.
“I don’t see why not,” Daddy said. “As long as it doesn’t interfere with your chores and you don’t hit anybody.” He lifted his ax high over his head and split a piece of firewood with one blow.
“Can he what?” Cornelia asked.
“Never mind.” Jimmy tossed a rock into the air and hit it with his stick. “It ain’t for girls.”
“Enough, Jim,” Daddy said. “If you want to join in and be a team player, you’ll need a more mature attitude than that.” He turned to Cornelia. “That young Henry Roberts is recruiting players for baseball.”
Cornelia looked at her brother’s makeshift equipment. “Baseball ain’t for boys who ain’t got a ball or a bat.”
“I figure if I get good with this rock and stick, then playing with the real thing will be a cinch.” Jimmy ignored Cornelia’s dig and puffed out his chest. “Henry’s got a bat, a ball, and a glove. And we can use the school’s, too. That’s where we’re going to play.”
The next evening Cornelia, Jimmy, and their father walked the two miles to Jimmy’s school. Henry and Walter Johnson were already choosing teams, and Jimmy eagerly made his presence known.
“I pick Jim,” Henry said, as soon as he saw him. Jim strutted over to Henry’s side, smiling like he’d just been handed a solid-gold trophy.
“We’re never gonna be able to live with him now,” Daddy said as he and Cornelia settled themselves on a blanket to watch the game. A handful of other spectators already dotted the schoolyard.
“Hi, Corrie.” Cornelia looked up to see two former school chums, Angela Pendeski and Jean Little. The two were inseparable.
“Come to watch the game?” Angela asked, flopping on the blanket beside Cornelia.
“Or just the boys?” Jean whispered as she plopped down between them.
“Just my little brother.” Cornelia sighed, glancing at her father.
“That’s not what I heard.” When Angela and Jean began giggling, Cornelia’s father stood with a grunt and crossed to the fence where half a dozen other fathers sat or leaned on the top rail. Cornelia watched him walk away, then turned back to her friends.
“Word has it Henry’s sweet on you, Corrie,” Jean said.
“I wouldn’t know.” Cornelia could feel the heat in her cheeks.
“Wouldn’t know or wouldn’t say?” Angela tugged on Cornelia’s hair as she and Jean burst into another fit of giggles.
By now the boys had finished forming their teams and Jimmy swaggered up to bat first. Jordy Jorgenson threw out the opening pitch, wide and high. Mr. Munson, who operated the gas station in town, was serving as umpire. He declared the pitch a ball, and Jordy threw out another. This time Jimmy swung, but missed.
“Stee-rike!” Mr. Munson sang out, like he’d been waiting for years to make such a proclamation.
On the next pitch, Jimmy managed to hit the ball and make it safely to first. One by one, batters followed suit until all three bases were loaded. Next, Henry was up to bat. He approached home plate and took a couple of practice swings.
“C’mon, Henry, hit ’em all home!” one of the other players called out. Henry glanced at the girls on the blanket long enough to catch Cornelia’s eye. She gave him a shy smile, and he turned his focus back to the pitcher.
As though he’d been born to play ball, Henry hit the first pitch far into the outfield: a home run with bases loaded. Cheers went up as Henry circled the bases and ran home, and Cornelia saw Henry ruffle Jimmy’s hair before sending him up to bat again.
As the game continued, the girls eventually lost interest and became absorbed in their own conversation. Angela and Jean caught Cornelia up on school news: who was staying or quitting, whether they’d have a new teacher in the fall, and which girls liked which boys. The girls almost missed it entirely when a foul ball came their way. At the last second, Cornelia stuck out one hand and caught the ball before it hit the ground. Without rising, she casually threw the ball back to the pitcher.
“Now how on earth do I call that one?” Mr. Munson spat on the ground and everybody laughed. The game resumed and the girls went back to their conversation.
After the game, Henry wandered over to Cornelia. “Walk you home?” he said. Cornelia nodded. With his bat slung across one shoulder and his glove hanging off the bat, Henry tossed the ball into the air with his free hand and caught it again as they headed down the gravel road. Jim quickly caught up and hopped in circles around Henry and Cornelia like an eager puppy in danger of wagging its tail clear off.
“Great game, He
nry. Wow, you really know how to hit ’em!”
“You didn’t do so bad yourself, slugger,” Henry said. “Wouldn’t surprise me a bit if you’re the one hitting the homer next game.”
“Jim!” Cornelia heard her father calling from about twenty feet behind them. “Give me a hand with this, would ya?” Charles Simpson fumbled with the blanket they’d brought along.
“Aw, Dad!”
“Jim.”
“Okay.” Jimmy scampered back to his father and together they folded the blanket. Cornelia could hear her father’s soft voice, but couldn’t make out what he said. For the rest of the walk, though, Jimmy and Daddy stayed several feet behind. She knew it had to be killing Jimmy.
“Thanks for your kindness to Jimmy,” Cornelia said, smiling at Henry.
“He’s a great kid. I wish he had the opportunities I had at his age.”
“He does just fine.” Corrie felt the need to defend her brother’s supposed lack of opportunities.
“Oh, I know. In lots of ways, he has a lot I never did. So I guess it evens out,” Henry said.
“Like what?”
“A beautiful sister, for one.”
Cornelia felt the heat rising in her cheeks again and looked at her shoes. “And how exactly would that be an advantage?”
“If I had a pretty sister—or even an ugly one—maybe I wouldn’t feel so shy around girls.” Henry tossed his ball up and caught it again.
“You? Shy?”
Henry nodded. “Yep.”
“Well, you hide it well.”
“Some girls are easier to talk to than others. That was a nice catch tonight, by the way. No glove or anything.” Henry’s gentle smile made Cornelia feel warm everywhere.
“Why, thank you.”
“Pretty decent throwing arm, too. You sure you don’t play baseball?”
Cornelia laughed. “Probably comes from kneading bread.”
“Well, you should consider it. Playing, I mean.” Henry tossed the ball to Cornelia and she caught it. He ran ahead a few paces and walked backward so she could throw the ball back. They continued on this way, playing catch and making small talk, until they reached the Simpson farm. At his father’s prompting, Jimmy ran on ahead, and Henry tossed him the ball as he passed.
When Cornelia, Henry, and Charles reached the front porch, Jimmy had glasses of cold water waiting. The four of them sat on the old chairs enjoying the cool June night, discussing the baseball game as the sun began its slow descent.
“C’mon, Jim,” Daddy announced when their glasses were empty. “It’s been a long day.” He rose and headed for the door.
Jimmy tried to hand the baseball back to Henry, but instead of taking it, Henry handed Jimmy the bat. “Keep them till next week,” he said. “But I’ll expect you to be the most improved player by then.”
Jimmy grinned. “Thanks, Henry. I’ll practice.”
“You best be headin’ on home, too, young man. Got a long walk ahead of ya.” Charles nodded in Henry’s direction and then let the screen door slap behind him as he walked inside.
“Yes, sir,” Henry called after him. He turned to Cornelia. “Thanks for coming to the game.”
Cornelia looked up. “You’re welcome. But I have a confession. I’m not really fond of baseball.”
“I know. But hey, we all have our faults.”
Cornelia swatted Henry’s arm.
“That’s why I appreciate you coming so much,” he said. “And even if you’re not . . . well . . . it’s still a lot more fun when you’re there.”
Crickets chirped in the nearby grass. Henry took Cornelia’s two hands into his own, and they stood facing each other quietly. She wished more than anything that the moment could last.
“Good night, Corrie,” Henry said simply. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Good night.”
Cornelia went inside, but stayed at the screen door, watching as Shep followed Henry off the porch and down the driveway. When Henry turned around for one last wave, she called the dog back and he obeyed, flopping into his usual spot on the porch.
“I don’t blame you, boy,” she whispered. “I want to be with him, too.”
That night, Cornelia’s diary entry was short but to the point:
If I never meet another boy for the rest of my life, I will be perfectly happy with this one.
CHAPTER 6
July 1939
The rising sun awakened Cornelia and brought a smile to her face as she realized what day it was—Sunday! For the past four weeks, ever since Henry Roberts’s initial visit to her family’s farm, he had attended her church with his cousins. Each week he sought Cornelia out after the service, and they chatted until one of them needed to leave—usually Henry, since Cornelia’s father was in charge of closing up the church and her family always hung around “till the last dog was hung,” as her aunt Miriam put it. They usually went to Miriam’s for Sunday dinner. Her father’s spinster sister was not afraid to say what she thought.
For the first time since childhood, Cornelia had begun to look forward to going to church. She sat gladly through the boring sermon and read along with the Scriptures she no longer believed. With the rest of the congregation, she sang what she deemed unsingable hymns to a cranky old pump organ pumped by an even crankier Mrs. Borthistle. She made sure to sit where she could see Henry, at least in her peripheral vision, and each week without fail, he approached her after the service as they all stood around socializing outside. They both knew people watched with interest, and they didn’t care.
Throwing back the covers, Cornelia began the careful process of preparing to look her finest, putting on the outfit she had meticulously ironed the day before: a navy blue and white patterned dress with a wide white collar, large white buttons down the front, and a white belt that cinched neatly at her waist. Not that she owned many clothes from which to choose. She alternated between the same two “church” dresses each Sunday, pairing each one with the same hat, gloves, and bag. Still. That’s no reason not to look my prettiest, she told herself.
“Justification. It’s just as if I’d never sinned.” Pastor Johnson paused to let the words sink in. “That’s what Jesus did for us when he died on the cross. He took the punishment so we can be justified and have eternal life.”
Cornelia had been hearing this teaching since toddlerhood. She’d embraced it back then. When she was young and naïve, she easily accepted a good God who loved her. At the time, life was secure and the word depression, though she heard it daily from the adults around her, held little meaning. Sure, her family had lived through tough times. So had everyone. Cornelia could remember only one time that she’d gone to bed hungry because the family ran out of food. For some of her friends from school, hunger was a regular occurrence, and she felt blessed in comparison. When your world is small, you don’t want much. Her parents filled their home with laughter, and she knew she was loved. That was enough.
But that all changed when her mother took sick. Cornelia was only eleven at the time. Old enough to understand what her mother told her: that the only thing that would save her was a lot of prayer. Young enough to feel engulfed by confusion when she prayed nonstop for months and her mother died anyway.
Jesus’s words in Mark 11:24 had been burned into her heart: “Therefore I say unto you, ‘What things soever ye desire, when ye pray, believe that ye receive them, and ye shall have them.’” Cornelia had come to the only reasonable conclusion: If that was the kind of lying God she served, she would stop serving him.
No one knew about the change within her, of course, except for her diary. She continued to attend church and family prayers like always. She memorized the required Scriptures and answered questions in Sunday school. She smiled and sang and brought casseroles to church potluck suppers. After all, she was the lady of the house now. But on the inside, she held firm. A God w
ho robs you of your mother on your twelfth birthday is not a good God. End of discussion. She had reached her conclusion before the funeral began and sat through it without a tear. In the following months, her mother’s sisters, Nonie and Margaret, commended her for her courage and marveled at what they took to be her maturity.
“You’re doing so well, Corrie,” Aunt Nonie had said with a tear in her eye. “What a strong girl you are. We’re all so proud of you, and we know your mother would be, too.”
The words made Cornelia feel like a fraud at first, but as time went by and she continued her charade, the act became second nature.
Pastor Johnson wrapped up his message and introduced the closing hymn. Cornelia stood and smoothed out her dress as the pump organ started cranking out the melody of “More Secure Is No One Ever.” Together they sang:
Neither life nor death can ever from the Lord His children sever;
For His love and deep compassion comforts them in tribulation.
Cornelia loved this part of the service because her precious moments with Henry were only minutes away, and she smiled in anticipation like a little girl on Christmas morning. She felt herself beaming, and Pastor Johnson smiled back as he led the congregation. He’s probably impressed with my spiritual devotion, Cornelia mused, and kept smiling right back.
After the pastor’s benediction, the music started up one last time for the doxology and the dragging out of the last “Aaaaah-men” while ladies gathered their purses from the pews and men dropped the hymnbooks back into their slots for next time. Thoughts had already turned to dinner or to conversations anticipated with fellow parishioners. Someone needed a neighbor’s advice on how to treat a sick pig, while another person needed a recipe for dumpling stew. And someone needed to spend a few cherished minutes with the man of her dreams.
Cornelia shook Pastor Johnson’s hand on the way out of the church without really hearing his comments to her. She spotted Angela Pendeski and Jean Little already standing together in the sunshine, and she approached them, feeling confident that Henry would soon approach her.