The Silver Suitcase

by Terrie Todd

  “Hello, girls,” she called out, glancing back over her shoulder to see whether Henry had exited the building yet.

  Angela smiled. “Hi, Corrie. Did you hear the latest? Becky’s engaged.”

  Cornelia had not heard, but she wasn’t surprised. Becky Tarr had been going out with Robert Mitchner for nearly a year. For the next several minutes, she feigned great interest in what the other girls said about how, when, and where the proposal had happened, who heard about it first, when the wedding would take place, and who would be in the wedding party.

  Wondering what was taking Henry so long, Cornelia turned just in time to see him getting into his cousins’ car. Within seconds, the vehicle filled with the other members of the household and they drove away.

  Cornelia could not believe her eyes. How could he leave without even saying hello? Was it something she’d said? She tried to remember the details of their conversation from the previous Sunday. Had she been too aloof? Did he not realize how much she liked him? Was it the way she looked? If only I had something new to wear! she thought for one shallow moment. Feeling despondent, she took a seat on the platform surrounding the water pump and waited. Maybe they’d had some kind of emergency and had to rush away, she consoled herself.

  Eventually the little congregation finished dispersing and her father closed up the church. Cornelia climbed into the pickup truck between her father and her brother, and they rode in silence the six miles north to Aunt Miriam’s for their regular Sunday dinner. Cornelia blinked back tears. How could she wait another week to see Henry? Especially when summer was already so short, and she didn’t know how much longer he might stay.

  Maybe that was it. Maybe he knew he must leave soon and didn’t want to get more deeply involved with her. Maybe he had a girl waiting back in the city.

  Quit torturing yourself, she thought as they rounded the last corner to Aunt Miriam’s neat farmyard with its white picket fence lined with red geraniums. There was sure to be a perfectly reasonable explanation.

  Cornelia helped her aunt with lunch preparations and listened to her diatribes. Miriam had been a schoolteacher for twenty-five years at the same one-room school she had attended as a girl with her brothers. Cornelia and Jim were glad she hadn’t been the teacher at their school. Aunt Miriam treated them generously, but she was also free with her opinions and had one about everything.

  “Stand up straight, Jimmy,” Miriam launched into her lecture on good posture as they took their seats. “And no slouching at the table.”

  Their meal of roast chicken, potatoes, and carrots passed while Miriam delivered her usual litany of comments about the economy, politics, and “young people these days.” After they finished eating, the adults took their coffee onto the porch while Cornelia and Jim washed the dishes, as was their custom.

  Once the dishpan had been hung back on its hook, Jim went to the living room to listen to his aunt’s gramophone while Cornelia poured a cup of coffee for herself and headed out to the porch to join the adults. Perhaps she could hurry her father along and they could head back home, where Cornelia would pour her heart out in her diary. She stopped short, however, when she reached the screen door and overheard her aunt’s words.

  “You did the right thing, Charles.” Aunt Miriam spoke from an old wooden rocking chair, where she sat holding a dainty teacup with both hands. “I’m sure Henry is a fine young man as city boys go, but he’ll never last on the farm, and you can’t have him breaking her heart. Or worse yet, carting Corrie off to Winnipeg when you need her here.”

  “Well, now,” Cornelia’s father argued from where he half-stood, half-sat on the railing. He stared into his coffee cup. “I hear what you’re saying, but I don’t know. Sooner or later, she’ll find herself a husband and I’ll lose her anyway.”

  “Not necessarily. I didn’t find one and I’ve done just fine. Besides, there are plenty of local boys.” Miriam plunked her cup down on a side table for emphasis. “If she settles down here, she’ll live nearby and it will be far better for everyone. Trust me.”

  “I do trust you, Miriam. That’s why I took your advice and talked to the boy. You should have seen his face.” From his perch on the railing, Daddy gazed out over the neighboring fields. “Oh, don’t get me wrong. It’s not like I outright forbade him to talk to her. I just suggested since he wouldn’t be around much longer, perhaps it wasn’t in Corrie’s best interest for him to continue pursuing her.” Daddy turned around again. “You’d have thought the sky fell in. I think he really cares about her.”

  “He’ll get over it—” But Miriam’s words were cut short by the sharp slap of the screen door.

  Her heart racing and her face hot, Cornelia marched right past them without a word, straight to the truck.

  “Corrie, what on earth—?!” her father called after her, but it was too late.

  “Cornelia, what’s the meaning of this?” Miriam croaked. “You come back here right now!”

  “You are not my mother!” Cornelia hurled the words over her shoulder and then jumped into the truck, started it, and drove off. She headed down the road toward the Roberts family farm, not knowing for sure what she’d say when she arrived. She had only driven the truck a few times, but she didn’t care. She drove well enough to get there in one piece, and she was clear about her mission.

  How dare they plan my life? Her thoughts raced as the truck bumped down the gravel road. Just when she finally found a little happiness in her dismal existence, her father and his miserable sister had had the nerve to take it away, without even asking her opinion!

  The five-mile drive was not nearly long enough to give Cornelia time to cool off. She was still driving much too fast when she pulled into the Robertses’ farmyard. As she pulled up, chickens scattered in a flurry of feathers and squawks. Cornelia began to wonder how she would maintain her dignity.

  Henry, his cousins, and an assortment of neighbors were playing a ball game on the lawn, a game that Henry had no doubt organized himself. Every eye turned toward the Ford truck. Cornelia thought she saw one of the Morgan twins among the ballplayers. The Morgan twins were the biggest gossips in the whole community, and that was saying a lot. Perhaps it was their presence that caused Cornelia to stop and catch her breath before getting out of the truck. No point turning this into the ultimate humiliation if she could help it.

  She held her head high and walked with deliberation toward Henry.

  “Henry, would you like to go for a drive with me?” Her tone told him and everyone within earshot that Henry had better go with her if he knew what was good for him.

  “Uh—” Henry looked around. “Sure.”

  Ignoring the snickers, Cornelia turned on her heel, marched back to the truck, and climbed back into the driver’s seat. She waited for Henry, still clutching his catcher’s mitt, to climb in beside her before starting the truck. A half mile down the road, she took a right turn, which she knew would lead them to the edge of a creek bank, away from prying eyes and ears. She and Jim fished there regularly and she knew the place well. When she reached the end of the road, she stopped the truck and set the brake. From there they could look out over the creek. Cornelia was relieved to see that no one was fishing here today.

  Neither of them had spoken a word.

  “You’re quite the Sunday driver.” Henry stared straight ahead, a wry grin on his face.

  “I want to know what my father said to you.” Cornelia continued to stare out the windshield, her hands still gripping the steering wheel lest Henry see them trembling.

  “Oh. That.” Henry sighed. “Your father suggested to me that since I don’t plan to stick around beyond the end of the summer, it might be better for you if . . . you and I . . . didn’t get . . . you know, too interested in each other.”

  Cornelia blinked twice. “And do you agree with his suggestion?”

  “I’m not sure what to think, Corrie.�
� Henry shrugged. “I thought maybe you asked your dad to talk to me.”

  “Asked him? Why would I . . . ?” It suddenly dawned on Cornelia that Henry had no idea how she felt about him.

  “I did not ask him. And I don’t agree with him. Unless . . . unless you have a girl waiting back home.”

  “No! Nothing like that. Here’s the thing, Corrie. I don’t want to go back to the city. I love it here. I think I’m catching on quickly to the work, and my family here needs me. Uncle Ben’s health is getting worse. Plus . . . I like you. A lot. I planned to ask my family if I could stay on even after harvest, but after your father spoke to me . . . well, now I don’t know what to do. If you’re not interested in me, it’s just as well if I go back home.”

  Cornelia’s heart raced. Henry might actually stay? She knew she shouldn’t get her hopes up, but she knew what she had to do.

  “Henry? Would you please come to our house for dinner next Sunday?” The proposal breached everything sacred: her family’s Sunday dinners with Aunt Miriam, the general practice of company visits including an entire household, the fact that she—and not her father—had extended the invitation. Cornelia didn’t care. She had a point to make, and Aunt Miriam was going to get that point.

  Henry smiled. “Yes, I believe I would love to come. And now, since we’re here, would you care to take a walk down by the creek?”

  For the next hour, they sat by the edge of the creek, tossing in pebbles, watching tiny frogs, and listening to birds. They talked about their favorite books, which countries they would most like to visit if they could travel, how to feed calves whose mothers died, and which vegetables would be ready for picking that week. Neither mentioned Cornelia’s father or aunt again.

  “My cousin told me you were only twelve when you lost your mother.” Henry pushed a strand of loose hair away from Cornelia’s face. “That must have been really hard.”

  Cornelia nodded. When she looked up into Henry’s eyes, she saw warmth and compassion. For once, no one was telling her how brave or how responsible she was; he was merely acknowledging her pain. It felt good—as good as his calloused hand around her soft one.

  When the sky began to cloud over, Henry slipped an arm around Cornelia and pulled her closer to him. She thought her heart skipped three beats when he pressed his face closer to her hair.

  “Mmm,” he murmured directly into her ear. “You smell so good.” He lightly kissed her temple, then her cheek. Cornelia’s heart raced even faster, and she wanted to stay this way forever.

  When she turned her face toward him, Henry’s lips brushed hers lightly. Their eyes met, and she returned the kiss, pressing harder and breathing in the warmth of him until she thought she’d pass right out.

  When a massive wet drop landed on her nose, Cornelia opened her eyes wide. Rain! And not just a light sprinkle. Laughing, Henry jumped up and took Cornelia’s hand. They climbed back into the truck.

  “Sometimes the good Lord sends the rain to keep us out of trouble,” Henry said, laughing.

  Cornelia could feel her cheeks turn red as she started the engine and switched on the windshield wipers. The rain and the wipers created too much noise for them to engage in further conversation, but they rode in comfortable silence back to Henry’s now-deserted farmyard. Cornelia dropped him off and headed back to Aunt Miriam’s to face her family.

  Her hands shook. No one had ever witnessed her behave so impulsively before, and she had no idea how to behave now. You can do this, Corrie, she told herself. She took a deep breath and walked to the house, where she found her father, aunt, and brother seated around the kitchen table, worried frowns on their faces. They looked up in unison and Cornelia was shocked by the sight of Aunt Miriam’s red-rimmed eyes.

  “Corrie—” her father began, his voice registering relief.

  Cornelia cut him off. “I apologize for my abrupt departure and for taking the truck without your permission,” she said, keeping her head held high. “Now it’s time for us to go home. Thank you for dinner, Aunt Miriam. Please do not expect us next Sunday. We will have a guest of our own. See you in two weeks.”

  Just like before, she turned on her heel and headed back to the truck, but this time she climbed in the passenger side and took her usual spot in the middle of the seat. After her father and Jim got in, they drove all the way home in silence, though Cornelia felt certain she detected a satisfied smirk on her brother’s face.

  CHAPTER 7

  October 1939

  A soft breeze played with strands of Cornelia’s bobbed hair as she sat next to Henry on the blanket. The spot along the creek had become their favorite, but now fall hung in the air with a nip that told them frost would come soon. With harvest under way, the two had not seen nearly enough of each other to suit them.

  “Thank God for Sunday.” Henry smiled at her.

  “Yes. Thank God.”

  They lay gazing at the clear sky, an occasional leaf breaking free from its birthplace and falling across the blue canvas in a lazy twirl. Cornelia was thankful, though not to God. She was thankful for her time with Henry on Sundays, for the break from work, and for the good harvest. She was also increasingly thankful to be living in Canada.

  During the harvest, her father discontinued his regular weekday naps and ritual of listening to the radio, but Cornelia listened enough to know that Herr Hitler made the news daily. Ever since his invasion of Poland on September 1, things had been happening quickly in Europe. Two days after the invasion, Britain and France had declared war on Germany. On September 9, it had been announced that several Canadians, including children, were on board an unarmed ocean liner, the SS Athenia, which had been sunk by German U-boats. On the tenth, Canada had declared war on Germany.

  Prime Minister William Lyon Mackenzie King had assured Canadians that the country’s war efforts would be voluntary, and thousands of men began flooding the recruiting offices to enlist, including many of Henry’s friends. Cornelia feared that Henry was considering doing the same. To her, it seemed the war was happening a million miles away, and enlisting struck her as a ridiculous thing to consider, even for a minute. Surely things would settle down soon and Europe would resolve its own problems. Meanwhile, she and Henry could enjoy each other’s company in peace.

  “I’ve got a little present for ya.” Henry reached into his knapsack.

  “You do?” Cornelia’s eyes brightened. “What is it?”

  Henry pulled out a book and, grinning, placed it in her hands. Cornelia looked down to see a green hymnbook. What an odd gift, she thought. I guess I’ve fooled Henry, too, if he really thinks I’d appreciate this.

  “Thank you, but . . . you obviously haven’t heard me sing.” She looked up for some explanation.

  “Not up close, no. But I’ve watched you sing. You smile. I brought this hymnbook with me from home. I usually read the words of one hymn a day along with my Bible reading. I don’t know . . . I find them inspiring and encouraging. I thought you might, too.”

  Cornelia thumbed through parts of the book, glancing at words both familiar and new, written years before by men and women of faith. Inside the front cover, Henry had written: “To Corrie, with love from Henry. Sing one a day for me.”

  “It’s good some people can find hope and strength like this, I guess.” She closed the book.

  “Don’t you?”

  Cornelia hesitated. “What would you think if I said no?” She played with the blanket’s frayed edge.

  Henry shrugged. “I guess I’d think . . . you’ll come around eventually.”

  They let the matter drop. Henry gazed across the creek, where a field of wheat ready for harvest waved at them as though it hadn’t a care in the world. “Hard to believe there’s a war going on, isn’t it?”

  “There’s almost always a war going on somewhere, isn’t there?” Cornelia shrugged.

  “Not for Canada.”
r />   Cornelia looked at him. “You’re not thinking of enlisting, are you?”

  When Henry didn’t reply, she had her answer. Tears immediately began to form, and she blinked hard to maintain her composure.

  How could I be so stupid, she thought. How could I let myself grow close to somebody when I knew one way or the other, he’d be taken away from me?

  “Henry, please don’t do this. I need you here. Your aunt and uncle need you. I’ll just die if anything happens to you—”

  But Henry was already kissing her, pulling her tightly to his side. She kissed him back but then pulled away.

  “I’m serious, Henry. Why would you abandon your uncle and aunt?”

  “Abandon them? Is that what you think?”

  “What do you call it?”

  Henry stood. “If a bear jumped out of that bush right now intending to attack you, and I stepped in and fought it off, would you think I abandoned you?”

  She considered his argument, understanding the theory but rejecting the story. “The bear would kill you first and then come after me. So what good would that do? Besides, we don’t have bears around here.”

  “The bears will eventually move in if there’s no threat to them here.”

  Cornelia dragged her fingers through her hair in frustration. “Henry, you’ve got your whole life ahead of you! Why would you risk it like this?”

  “Maybe this is just something I have to do.”

  She could tell Henry’s mind was made up, but she wasn’t ready to give up that easily. “You think this is some game, some big adventure you’re missing out on?”

  “Of course not. What do you think I am, a little kid? I’ve thought about this.”

  “Don’t you know anybody who fought in the last war—‘the war to end all wars’? Ask one of them to tell you how effective it was.”