by Terrie Todd
All my love,
Henry
Cornelia clutched the letter to her heart, but managed to keep the tears in check. Oh, my love, she thought. I have a clean slate, too. I hope you know that.
She carefully refolded the letter and placed it in her own purse. Thank you, Lord.
Her eyes widened as she took in the sights of the city. She had only been here once before, when she was too young to remember it. Knowing that Henry had grown up here made seeing it now bittersweet. As they approached their own neighborhood, the Robertses pointed out Henry’s school, the corner store where he’d worked the summer he was sixteen, and the home of his best friend, Eugene. Eugene was in the army now, too, waiting to be shipped overseas. Henry’s parents didn’t know whether he had heard the sad news or not.
Mr. Roberts stopped the car in front of a narrow two-story house made of gray bricks. The houses on either side stood dreadfully close to it, Cornelia thought. She couldn’t imagine having neighbors so near all the time. I suppose one gets used to it, she mused as she climbed out of the car and stretched her arms and legs. The first thing she noticed was a sparrow sitting on a shrub outside the Robertses’ front door. It reminded her of Aziel’s promise, and this settled her nerves a bit. Henry’s father pulled their bags out of the trunk and led her around to the back door.
The house felt cold, and while Mr. Roberts went down to the cellar to adjust the boiler, Mrs. Roberts lit a fire in the cookstove. She then showed Cornelia to their newly acquired water closet, which Cornelia gratefully used.
“Let me show you around while the water heats for tea.” Mrs. Roberts took Cornelia’s hand.
Cornelia followed her through the simple kitchen. Its cabinets were painted a cheery yellow, and the window curtains and tablecloth were made from the same yellow gingham. In the small living room, heavy drapes covered the front door to keep in the heat. Four overstuffed armchairs and one rocker stood around a low table. The focal point of the room, however, was the books. Lining all four walls, broken up only by the presence of a window or doorframe, were shelves sagging with books. Even Cornelia’s school library hadn’t housed this many books.
“My goodness! Henry never mentioned the books.”
“Oh, yes, we’re all quite the readers. He wouldn’t have thought to mention it, I suppose, because to him, this is normal.”
Through an open door, Cornelia could see Mr. and Mrs. Roberts’ bedroom, but they did not go in there. Instead, Eva led Cornelia up a staircase. At the top was a small landing with one room on each side. Mrs. Roberts indicated the one to the left.
“We’ve turned this one into a library.”
Cornelia’s eyes grew even wider. More books?
“The other, of course, is Henry’s room.”
Cornelia looked at the closed door.
“I haven’t been able to bring myself to go inside yet.” Eva placed one hand on the doorframe. “But, now that you’re here . . . well, this is where you’ll sleep. I hope that’s all right.”
Cornelia looked back at the door again and swallowed hard before finding her voice. “I’d be honored.”
By this time, Henry’s father had caught up with them and overheard the last bit of their conversation. They all looked at one another, then he reached out with his one hand and turned the knob. They stood still for a moment, then crossed the threshold—first Henry’s mother, then Cornelia, then Mr. Roberts. Though the room held no memories for Cornelia, she could already sense the essence of Henry there. His mother sat on the edge of the bed quickly, as though her knees might give out. His father turned on a desk lamp, and Cornelia took her time walking around the room.
“I knew him such a short time,” she said with reverence. She realized that the room held twenty years of memories for the two of them. “Thank you so much for including me—for coming to get me.”
“Oh, sweetie,” Eva said. “You were so special to Henry. He wrote to me—to us—faithfully all summer, you know. And every letter was about you. It does our hearts good to have you here.”
Over Henry’s desk hung photos of his baseball teams, taken from the time he was ten or so. Henry had told Cornelia stories about how he’d loved the game and had started coaching when he was only fourteen. She’d also attended the games Henry organized back in Roseburg the past summer, though the sport itself held little interest for her.
“He took his glove with him, but there’s his bat in the corner.” Henry’s father pointed to it and Cornelia walked over and picked it up. It comforted her to touch something Henry had held in his hands so many times. Hooks on the wall were draped with all the clothing Henry had left behind, which was most of it. She recognized a tan cardigan and stroked the sleeve. Next to the clothing, a narrow window looked out onto the street. The window had a pull-down blind and simple, dark blue curtains. A four-drawer dresser completed the furnishings. Over it hung yet another bookcase that was nailed to the wall and filled to capacity. Among the volumes of classic literature were sprinkled books on baseball and agriculture, including every Old Farmer’s Almanac going back to 1925.
“Henry read and reread all those throughout his childhood.” Eva ran her hand over the books.
The room grew quiet as each person became lost in thought. Finally Mr. Roberts broke the silence. “Are you hungry, Cornelia?”
“A little, I guess. But please, call me Corrie. Everyone does.”
“And you must call us Samuel and Eva.” He looked back at her without smiling.
“Yes, indeed,” his wife agreed. “Let’s all go back downstairs and see what we can rustle up for supper. It’ll be much warmer down there by now. I think I hear the kettle whistling. I’m so glad you’re here, dear.”
CHAPTER 25
June 2006
Benita hadn’t had one free minute. Between the demands of the store, housework, and laundry, helping the children with homework, and trying to grab a few hours of sleep each night, she hadn’t looked at Gram’s diary for weeks. The kids had insisted that they all go to church this morning, so she hadn’t dared protest. Not that she minded going to church.
But now, at last, Sunday afternoon had arrived. The store was closed, although Ken stayed in the back office working on the books. The washer and dryer were both humming, Katie-Lynn was reading, and James was at his friend Robbie’s house. Benita filled a mug with cinnamon apple tea and retreated to her favorite spot on the back porch. She sure would miss this porch when they moved to the apartment over the store. Oh, well. She knew she needed to keep things in perspective and enjoy it while she could.
She reached into the silver suitcase, pulled out the 1937 diary, and turned to where she had left off.
August 1, 1937. I can hardly believe it, but I am 16 years old today. Just when I thought everyone would forget, Daddy came in for lunch yesterday to announce he’d sold one of Daisy’s twins and wanted to take me shopping for a new dress and shoes. And not in Roseburg, either! We drove the whole 16 miles to New Pass and visited Mrs. Kimble’s dress shop. It was wonderful! I tried on five dresses and ended up choosing the first one I tried on. It’s pink with small brown polka dots. It zips up the back, but there’s a double row of little buttons all the way down the front for show. It’s slim-fitting nearly all the way down, with a nice amount of flare around the bottom, at mid-calf. The puffy sleeves end with a wide band above the elbow. I love it, love it, love it! Jimmy was bored to death, I could tell, but he was really good and didn’t complain. After the dress, we went across the street to try on shoes. Jim got a new pair for school, and I got brown pumps to match my new dress. They’re beautiful and they FIT! Now I can hardly wait till the harvest dance. I feel like a princess!
Before we headed back, Daddy bought us all ice cream from the soda counter in the drugstore. Instead of going straight home, we went to Aunty Nonie’s, where everyone gathered for a birthday supper for me! We filled up on corn
on the cob from her garden.
What a great day! It would have been perfect if it weren’t for Aunt Miriam. When I showed everyone my new clothes, she told Daddy he paid way too much and she could have made the same dress for half. And brown shoes? What were we thinking? Black would be much more practical, they would go with everything. But while I helped Aunty Nonie clear the table, she leaned over and told me to never mind Miriam. She said “your outfit is beautiful and your daddy loves you very much.”
So Aunt Miriam can go suck on lemons.
Now, will George Rollston invite me to the dance or won’t he?
Benita picked up her laptop computer from the wicker table in front of her and googled 1937 Fashion. Only black-and-white sketches appeared, but she found one that could easily have been depicting Gram’s sweet-sixteen dress. What would it be like to have had a daddy who loved her like that? Who provided for her needs and for her heart’s desires, even when it probably meant sacrifice? She turned back to the diary.
September 29, 1937. Daddy means well and I love him for it. We all dressed for the harvest dance, and when I came out of my room, Daddy said “those boys sure will be sorry when they see you walk in. But that’s okay, because it means I get to take the prettiest lady to the dance.” I really don’t mind that no one asked me. Well, okay. Honestly, I felt pretty disappointed. But still, I thought it would be fine. I made my pumpkin pie and it turned out great. Jimmy helped me whip cream for it and said he and Walter Sylvester planned a contest to see who could eat the most.
We arrived at the hall and stood around for a long time before the music started. Daddy asked me to dance and the Brewster Brothers did “Dream a Little Dream of Me.” We were half way through “I Found a Million Dollar Baby” when I saw George walk in with Agnes. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Why didn’t she tell me George asked her to the dance? She knows I like him, that’s why. I didn’t even think she liked him, but apparently I was wrong. I finished the dance with Daddy and went to the ladies’ room. I wanted to cry, but I didn’t. I hated the rest of the night. I danced once with Alex and twice with Pete. George and Agnes stuck together like glue all evening. I’m so mad I could spit. Boys are dumb anyway.
Also—I finished reading Pride and Prejudice. Again. Sure wish we could find some new books.
The afternoon flew by as Benita delved into the ups and downs of a young girl’s life. Her grandmother had been a typical teenager in so many ways. Yet to think that she’d run a household instead of attending school—where perhaps she would have been a cheerleader or played sports—both fascinated Benita and made her a little sad. The books Cornelia mentioned reading and the precision with which she wrote told Benita she had probably been a good student before she was deemed too old for school.
After breaking for supper with the family, Benita returned to the diary. I’ll just read one more entry, she told herself. By now, she was up to 1939. When she picked the diary up, a neatly folded but brittle and yellowing piece of paper fluttered into her lap. Benita unfolded it.
It was a Jersey Milk chocolate bar wrapper.
CHAPTER 26
December 1939
Cornelia felt so grateful when Henry’s parents insisted she sit with them at the funeral, as part of the family. Together, they had viewed Henry’s body for the first time the previous evening, privately, at the funeral home. Cornelia felt her knees begin to buckle when she first looked into the casket, yet at the same time she knew she must.
Eight weeks had passed since they said their good-byes, and this was certainly not the reunion she dreamed of. He looked like a pale, empty shell, as if the real Henry had merely stepped out of his skin and moved on. Eva began to sob, and as Cornelia focused her attention on supporting Henry’s mother, she felt her own strength return.
Now as the funeral music played, she sat at the end of a pew with Henry’s parents on her left. To their left sat Eva’s mother, Henry’s grandmother Bridget. Behind Cornelia sat a row of aunts, uncles, and cousins, and when she felt a tap on her shoulder, she turned to see Elizabeth and Trudy, Henry’s cousins from Roseburg, with their parents. Trudy patted her shoulder and Elizabeth leaned in for an awkward hug across the church pew. Behind the cousins sat rows of strangers who had come to say good-bye to Henry and support his family.
Throughout the service, Cornelia’s mind kept wandering to her secret. She had dismissed each thought that had arisen about how she might raise a child alone. She could not think that far ahead. The shock of this loss was more than enough to handle, but she knew she needed to tell someone soon. The pastor was telling a story about Henry, which drew her attention back to the service.
“I’ll never forget the first time I watched Henry play ball,” the pastor said. “I think he was about twelve. He invited me to his games many times and, finally, I made it to one. Henry was pitching and doing a fine job. Then a smaller boy with a clubfoot went up to bat. It was clear that even if the boy managed to hit the ball, running around the bases would prove a problem. But you could read the determination on his face. After one strike, he did hit that ball and what followed was the most brilliant display of baseball choreography I’ve ever seen.
“You would have thought they practiced it. That ball rolled right past Henry, although he could have easily caught it. The second baseman picked up Henry’s cue. By the time he threw it to the first baseman, the boy was on his way to second. The ball went back to Henry and around and around it went, each player always too late to tag the runner, who completed the first home run of his life. And oddly enough, the boys never once appeared to be ‘trying’ to fumble the ball.
“Henry took some criticism for his act of kindness, but I happily watched the coach pat his shoulder after the inning. The next time I saw Henry, I, too, commended him for putting others ahead of himself. What he said next will stay with me forever:
“‘It was Jesus,’ he said, with a shrug of his shoulders. I asked him what he meant.
“‘Who was Jesus?’
“‘The boy with the bad foot.’
“‘What do you mean?’ I asked him. ‘Jesus didn’t have a bad foot, as far we know.’”
“Henry explained, as though it was an obvious fact everyone should know, ‘Jesus comes in all shapes and sizes. You need to learn to see him in every pair of eyes you ever lock onto.’
“Henry recognized his savior in other people. I’ll never forget Henry’s lesson, and since that day I’ve tried to live my life looking for Jesus in every person I lock eyes with.”
Cornelia would have been surprised to hear this about Henry, had she not received his last letter. Beyond the gift of his hymnbook, he had shared little about his faith during his rebellious summer. His doing so would have only irritated her, she knew. But now, having looked into the eyes of Aziel, she saw things so much differently. Had Henry seen Jesus in her eyes, too?
“There is not one doubt in my mind that Henry lives with Jesus now,” the pastor continued. “And there’s no doubt they knew each other instantly, for they already enjoyed a great friendship.”
The funeral concluded with a hymn Cornelia didn’t know, but the words poured into her soul while she listened intently to the congregation sing:
“Face to face with Christ, my Savior, Face to face—what will it be
When with rapture I behold Him, Jesus Christ who died for me?
Only faintly now, I see Him, with the darkling veil between
But a blessed day is coming, when his glory shall be seen.
Face to face! O blissful moment! Face to face—to see and know;
Face to face with my Redeemer, Jesus Christ who loves me so.
Face to face I shall behold him, far beyond the starry sky;
Face to face in all his glory, I shall see him by and by!”
As the music continued, Cornelia considered whether Henry’s pastor might be the one to whom she could take her secret.
At the graveside, Cornelia stood behind Henry’s parents as more prayers were offered, and the casket was lowered into the ground.
For a brief moment, Cornelia was back at her mother’s funeral, where she and her brother had stood, one on each side of Daddy, holding his hands. Aziel’s words came back to mind: You have already endured sorrow upon sorrow in your young life, and there is still more to come. But Jesus will be with you. He understands sorrow. It’s one of his nicknames.
At the gathering afterward, Eva introduced Cornelia to so many of Henry’s relatives and friends, she knew she would never keep them all straight. She wondered how much it mattered. Although they were sharing a profound experience right now, would they ever see one another again?
A young light-haired man in an oversize suit approached her. “Cornelia?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Henry’s friend Eugene.” He extended his hand, and Cornelia shook it. “I wish I could have met you under happier circumstances.”
“Me, too.”
Eugene told her that Henry had confided his intent to marry Cornelia.
“He said he fell in love with you instantly,” Eugene said. “I teased him, of course, but I was happy for him. I sure will miss that guy.” Eugene pressed his lips together.
“He was very fond of you, too.”
Cornelia had hoped she might find a moment with the pastor and perhaps set up an appointment with him, but by the time the crowd had thinned out, he was nowhere to be seen. She returned with the Robertses to their home, where they all went straight to bed, utterly drained by the events of the day and by their grief.
The next morning, Cornelia was sick. Grateful for the warmth of an indoor bathroom, she tried desperately to be quiet as her stomach emptied itself. When she emerged from the bathroom, it was clear she’d been unsuccessful. Eva looked at her with concern.