by Terrie Todd
After the lunch dishes had been cleared, Ken took James and Katie-Lynn outside with a kite they had been trying to get into the air. Benita grabbed the opportunity to settle back into her spot on the back porch, where she could keep an eye on the kite-flying attempts and dig deeper into the contents of the silver suitcase. She had finished reading through 1936 the evening before, and now she pulled out the diary marked 1937. Gram would have been fifteen.
Dear Diary,
The only thing anyone talks about is the depression. I don’t understand it, I wish it would go away. We used to buy new clothes, or at least fabric to make new clothes, every year. Not anymore. I’ve mended my stockings so many times, they’re more mend than stocking. I think my feet grew because my shoes sure do pinch. We eat porridge every morning and for supper it’s eggs and potatoes, potatoes and eggs. Daddy says we should be thankful and people in the city aren’t nearly as fortunate. They must stand in long soup lines waiting for a handout. I’d hate that. So I guess I’m a little grateful. I’m trying.
I miss school. Sometimes I help Jimmy with his grade six homework just because I’m afraid I’ll forget everything, maybe even how to read or write. Daddy doesn’t subscribe to any newspapers anymore. Too expensive. I did spend an afternoon at Betsy Miller’s house this week. We braided each other’s hair. Betsy says she’s going to marry William, and I believe her. You should see the two of them making googly eyes at each other.
I wonder what it would be like to have someone look at me like that. Sometimes, when my chores are done, I go sit under the oak tree in the middle of the yard. I imagine a young man beside me, telling me I’m beautiful and he can’t live without me. He brings me flowers and candy and tells me he’s never known anyone as fascinating as me. He’s really tall and he has thick dark hair and a really big smile. He’s kind to little children and animals and he only has eyes for me. He wants to take me away from this and set me up in a fine house. Nothing too posh, not with servants or anything. Just a nice place with a nice yard and we would have some children and he would love me and I would love him back. And in the evenings we would sit and listen to the radio together—to music, not to the stupid news about depression and more depression.
Benita remembered having the same longings at fifteen. I guess some things are timeless, she mused.
She looked out at Katie-Lynn and James, fighting over who got to hold the kite string. Did they have any idea how much they were loved? Ken had helped them get the kite up in the air, and now he was relaxing in a lawn chair. They seemed like such an ordinary family, enjoying life on a Sunday afternoon. No one driving by would guess they had struggled with unemployment for months, now suffered mounting debts, or were grieving the loss of three people who were significant to them.
Or that their lives would look very different in less than twenty-four hours.
CHAPTER 22
December 1939
Finally out of accusations, Cornelia sat quietly with Aziel, studying his face and wondering whether he was aware of the Sunday school picture behind the attic mirror. Every now and then he would say something, and when he did, it went straight to her heart. Sometimes it pained her to hear, like when he assured her Henry really had died in that train wreck. But most of the time, his words soothed her. It reminded her of childhood, when she had come in crying with a skinned knee. How good it felt when her mother washed it off, pulled her onto her lap, carefully applied ointment to the knee, and gently rocked her to sleep. Although the cleansing stung, it was wonderful to feel so loved and cherished.
“You are going to accomplish great things, Corrie,” Aziel said. “But it will not be easy. I know you have already endured sorrow upon sorrow in your young life. There is still more to come. But don’t be afraid. Jesus will be there with you, and he knows all about sorrow. It’s one of his nicknames.”
“How can I go on without Henry?”
“It won’t be easy, Corrie. Life rarely is. But God will never leave you, I promise. And he will send people along who will support you and help you.”
“But, what about—” Cornelia couldn’t look Aziel in the eye.
“I know.”
“—what I did. With Henry.”
“I know. Confession sets you free. So does forgiveness.” They sat quietly for a few more minutes, then Aziel closed his eyes. “Listen. Do you hear those sparrows chirping?”
Cornelia closed her eyes in order to focus in and hear the little birds more clearly. “Yes.”
“From now on, whenever you hear that sound, or see a sparrow, I want you to remember that you are forgiven and you are not alone. You are never forgotten, Corrie. Never.”
Cornelia gazed at him and knew in her heart she had always believed. Although she had been angry with God so long, the foundation her parents had laid in her young life held firm. She believed in a creator, and she believed in Jesus. She had found it difficult to accept that he loved her. But now, looking into this messenger’s face, there was no denying that fact. Though she couldn’t explain it, she knew she had never experienced this kind of love before.
“But I’ve hated him.” Her voice was barely a whisper.
“I know. I know about the tack in the picture, too.” Aziel tapped his left eye. He grinned as Cornelia cringed, trying to hide her face. “It wasn’t a good likeness, anyway. Do you remember the promise you made that day?”
She gently shook her head.
“You said one day you would tell the world the truth about Jesus. And you will, Corrie. You will.”
Cornelia said nothing, trying to comprehend how on earth she could even begin to tell the world anything.
Aziel snapped a twig between his fingers. “Do you still hate him?”
I am known. The thought felt incredible to Cornelia, as though she had finally awakened out of an eighteen-year-long dream and everything was at last crystal clear.
“No.” She swallowed. “How can I? It would be . . . unthinkable.”
Aziel smiled. “He loves you too, Corrie. And he likes you. He likes the way you dance in your room when you think about Henry. He likes how you punch down your bread dough in time to the song in your head. He likes how honestly you write in your diary. He loves how you respect your dad and treat Jimmy kindly—most of the time. And he loves your determination. He loves how you don’t pretend to like cars just to please the boys. And did you know he shares your taste in books? He’s so proud of you for all the things you’ve learned to do without your mother. He is very proud of his girl.”
Aziel reached into a jacket pocket and pulled out a chocolate bar. He took his time unwrapping it, then snapped the bar exactly in half and offered one piece to Cornelia.
“Jersey Milk,” she said softly. “Mother used to buy us these.”
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d tasted chocolate.
“It’s her favorite,” Aziel said. “Each time she tasted one, she liked to think it might be made from the milk of one of her own cows.”
Cornelia looked at him, wide-eyed. “And are they?”
Aziel chuckled. “No.”
They sat quietly, savoring the chocolate. Cornelia lay with her head in Aziel’s lap, and it felt perfectly natural to do so. She knew she was loved, and for this moment, that was all that mattered.
She closed her eyes and listened to the song of the sparrows, the trickle of the water in the creek, and the sweet humming from Aziel’s lips. When the humming stopped, she opened her eyes.
He was gone.
A neatly folded Jersey Milk wrapper lay on the blanket near her feet.
Cornelia bolted back inside the house, hoping that her family hadn’t sent out a search party. Her father would be so worried. She knew it must be getting late, although the sun still shone in the sky. She could hear the voices of Henry’s parents and her father coming from the living room, and glanced at the kitchen clock. T
hat can’t be right, she thought. She crossed to the living room doorway, and one look at the mantel clock made her knees almost buckle.
“Was the walk helpful, Corrie?” Daddy asked.
A mere ten minutes had passed since she’d left the house.
CHAPTER 23
April 2006
On Monday morning, Benita rose at five and headed out the door before six. Leaving Ken to get the kids up and off to school, she went to the store and took stock. The place had been closed for nearly a week. Outdated milk and spoiling produce required disposal, shelves needed restocking, and signage needed changing. First things first, she told herself, grabbing a large garbage bag and tossing in a loaf of stale bread.
By the time Ken arrived at nine, Benita thought the place looked pretty good. “You can unlock the door and turn the ‘Open’ sign around,” she instructed. “We’re in business!”
The morning flew by, with some customers coming in to shop and some to express their condolences and their loyalty. A new shipment of dairy and eggs arrived. Delivery orders needed to be taken by phone and packed into boxes. Between customers, Benita tried to teach Ken how to run the cash register and debit machine.
“I’m not an idiot, you know,” he said. “I’ve used these before. You don’t have to be so condescending.”
“Fine. I figured you need to learn as much as you can, as fast as you can. I can’t be here all the time.” Benita shrugged.
“I know that. Have you been upstairs yet?”
“No. I was only up there once, when they were alive.”
“Well, Stacey and Rod said they got it all emptied and cleaned out, ready for us to move into. I mean, if things work out that way.”
“Yeah. I’m still in no hurry to go up there. Seems a little . . . I don’t know . . .”
“Creepy?”
“Well, no. Invasive, I guess.”
“You just need some time. There’s no need to go up today. Plenty to do down here.”
“That’s for sure.” Benita picked up a box cutter and opened a carton of creamed corn. She started stacking the cans on a shelf.
“I brought some lunch. Are you hungry?” Ken asked when the church bells up the street struck twelve.
“You’re kidding.”
He looked up from the counter he was wiping. “What?”
“We’re surrounded by food and you brought a lunch?”
“Why, what do you usually do? Don’t you bring a lunch?”
“Never.”
“I didn’t know that. What do you do?”
“Most days, there’s no time for lunch at all—lunchtime is the crazy hour. Then, and after school when the kids show up.” Benita added the last can to the shelf and broke down the box.
“No lunch?” Ken raised his eyebrows.
“Well, I’ve always been invited to help myself to whatever I wanted from the store—fruit, chips, granola bars. Those ready-made salads.”
“Well, no wonder this place isn’t exactly making anybody rich. Where do you write down what you eat?”
“Nowhere. What’s the big deal? It’s just an apple or banana here and there, and I had permission. It’s not like I was stealing.”
“I didn’t say that. I’m saying those are lousy business practices. How on earth do they keep track of inventory? What happens when the auditor wants to look at the books?”
“Ken, why are you getting so crazy about this?” Benita put one hand on her hip.
“Where did you write down all the spoiled food you tossed out this morning?”
“Nowhere, Ken. Good grief! You are so—”
“So what? Eh? Business savvy?”
“Anal-retentive,” she muttered, as a customer walked in. Benita waited on the woman: a young mother with two preschoolers in tow. After they left, she saw Ken in the back room finishing a sandwich he’d brought from home. After polishing off his apple, he began carrying the delivery boxes out to the car without another word.
“Are you taking those now?” Both of Benita’s hands knuckled her hips.
“No, I thought I’d let them sit in the van where the sun can beat on them for a couple of hours and then deliver them later. Yes, I’m taking them now.”
“Ken. It’s still the noon hour. If you do the deliveries now, I’ll be here alone during the crazy rush.”
“Crazy rush?” He looked around the empty store. “Oh, I’m sorry. What was I thinking? Okay, you take those two over there, and I’ll look after the lineup at the counter.”
Benita couldn’t believe what she heard. “It’s not usually like this, trust me. The minute you leave, they’ll all show up, and let me tell you, there are some sticky fingers among those junior high kids. I can’t keep an eye on them all. And why are you so sarcastic all of a sudden?”
“Because you’ve done nothing but boss me around since I got here, that’s why.”
“Well, I know the ropes around here and you don’t. Once you’ve learned everything, I won’t boss you around anymore.”
“In case you hadn’t noticed, Stacey and Rod hired both of us. They didn’t specify which of us would be the boss. It could just as easily be me. I do know a thing or two about running a business, you know.”
“You’re being ridiculous.” Benita shook her head.
“Am I? If I don’t deliver those orders now, when are they going to get delivered? Huh? One of us has to pick up the kids from school at three . . . if we wait till after that, the phone will be ringing off the wall with people demanding their purchases.”
Benita thought about that for a moment. “Whatever.”
He had a point. Besides, Mrs. McLaughlin from next door was shuffling in for her daily newspaper and Benita knew that, as was always the case when Mrs. McLaughlin came in, she was about to hear a litany of concerns and suggestions. Sure enough, the woman poured out her most heartfelt sympathy and then began to explain to Benita precisely how the Schneiders’ car accident could have been avoided.
As she did so, Ken slipped out the back door and began the day’s deliveries.
CHAPTER 24
December 1939
The fence posts whizzed by as Cornelia stared out the window from the backseat of the Robertses’ car. She had hugged Daddy and Jimmy tightly when they said their good-byes that morning. Only one stop at a filling station interrupted their silent three-hour ride to Winnipeg. Each member of the trio seemed lost in grief. Henry’s mother would periodically dab at her eyes with her hanky or blow her nose. Now she rested her head on the car seat and tried to sleep. Cornelia couldn’t tell what Mr. Roberts was thinking, but she knew this must be the most painful experience of his life. She had overheard him tell her father, “I’d give my other arm and both legs, too, to have my boy back.”
Her own thoughts drifted back and forth between the incredible experience she’d had at the creek the day before, her grief over losing Henry, and the deep secret she still carried. When would be the right time to tell Henry’s parents? I must wait until after the funeral, she decided. Because if they get angry and send me back to Daddy, I won’t even get to attend.
And poor Daddy. This will break his heart. She imagined the endless I-told-you-so’s and lectures they would both receive from Aunt Miriam. If only she had asked the angel about all this while she had the chance. She thought back to yesterday—was it really only yesterday? She had recorded as much as she could in her diary late last night and wished she could fish it out of her suitcase to reread now. I must write every detail down, she thought, before I forget.
“I can’t believe I almost forgot,” Henry’s mother said from the front seat. She reached into her purse and pulled out a tattered envelope. “This was found on Henry’s body, addressed to you. There was one for us as well.” She handed the letter back to Cornelia and dabbed at her eyes again.
Cornelia was torn between
her need for privacy and her desire to read Henry’s last letter. Finally she opened it and read what he had written:
My dearest Cornelia,
As I write, I am on a train for Halifax where we’ll board ship for somewhere overseas. The guys were ribbing me so much about writing to my girl—offering suggestions for what I should say, and so on. I found a freight car at the tail end of the train and settled myself in it. It’s full of crates and not really comfortable, but at least I have some privacy.
I don’t know how to say this, so I’ll just get it out there. I wouldn’t feel right leaving the country without asking for your forgiveness, Corrie. I’m sure we both know what we did the night before I left was wrong, but I want you not to blame yourself, sweetheart. I took advantage of you in an emotional time and I am sorry. I hope we can start again, forgiven by God, when I return home and we get married. By now, you might know I spoke with your dad before I left. We have his blessing, though I feel I’ve already abused his trust without his knowing. Unless you told him.
I also wanted to apologize for not talking to you more about the Lord. I left my parents’ home for Roseburg last summer in anger and resentment. I guess I was trying to ignore God, too. But now that I’m going into battle, I realize I need Jesus more than ever. I wish I’d shared my faith with you, prayed with you, helped you see how much he loves you. I wish I’d loved you better.
I did reconcile with my father before I left for boot camp, at least as best as we could. He can be a harsh man. But my Heavenly Father is always ready and able to forgive completely and give us a clean slate. He’s given me one, and I want that for you, too, my darling.
If you are feeling guilty the way I was, ask him, Corrie. He’ll clean your slate.
I know it’s hard for you to understand why we have to be apart now. But please believe me when I say I miss you, I love you, and I can’t wait for the day we are together again, in peaceful times.