by Terrie Todd
Cornelia took the form from her aunt’s hands, and Miriam returned to her seat looking as if Cornelia getting the job was a done deal.
“I intended to start applying for jobs soon. I suppose it would be fun to teach at my old school.”
“Fun has nothing to do with it. It just makes good practical sense.”
“Well, thank you.” Cornelia tried to suppress a grin at the return of her aunt’s normal demeanor. “Graduation is June fifteenth. It would be lovely if you all could come, although I will certainly understand if it’s not possible.”
“We’re proud of you, Corrie.” Her father smiled. Cornelia knew he was staying deliberately noncommittal about attending her graduation, and she could accept that. It was a long trip and money was scarce.
“I feel so privileged,” she said. “I can hardly believe I’m getting to do this at all.” Though her words rang true, Cornelia wished she could shed the weight of her horrendous deception once and for all.
CHAPTER 36
April 2007
On Easter Sunday, Benita finally found another chance to pick up Gram’s diary. The whole family attended church that morning, and after lunch Ken took Katie-Lynn and James to The Forks, a historic site in downtown Winnipeg where the Assiniboine and Red River meet, to watch the ice breaking up. James had grabbed his skateboard and helmet on the way out the door, hoping to have a chance at some of the half-pipes set up there.
Benita breathed a prayer of thanks that Ken was spending time with his children. Maybe something was finally starting to change. They’d even hired a part-time clerk, Richard, to help out in the store.
She poured a fresh cup of coffee and curled up on the couch with the precious pages. She was now beginning 1941.
January 4
Dear Diary,
I’m on the train on my way back to Winnipeg to finish my year at school. I’m going to be a full-fledged teacher! I can hardly believe it. My two-week Christmas break went quickly. It was great to be home, but I’m glad to go back. I could not bring myself to tell my secret to Daddy and I don’t know when I will, if ever. I thought about it a lot. I couldn’t do it, I’m not sure why. I had no idea it would be so hard. I suspect that’s why I’m glad to be going back. Anyway, by saying nothing, I’m keeping my end of the bargain with Henry’s father. And so I shall.
I attended Roseburg School’s production of “A Christmas Carol” while I was home, and Aunt Nonie introduced me to the director, a young teacher named Stuart Baker. He did a remarkable job with the children and I told him so. He finished Normal School two years ago and had most of the same instructors I have now. Like me, his favorite was Mr. DeVries and his least favorite Miss Banning.
It took me until my last day at home to work up the courage to walk down to the creek—to “our” spot. There was no sign of Aziel. You would think that would make it feel like his visit never really happened, but nothing could be further from the truth. It’s still as real to me as ever. Of course, I still miss Henry, and my memories with him by the creek bring back such a mixture of pain and loveliness. I spent my time there crying and praying. It will be good to go back when summer comes again.
Benita awoke to the clattering of the children’s footsteps coming up the stairs. She had fallen asleep reading Gram’s diary.
“Mom! Look what I got!” Katie-Lynn bounced over to her mother holding a chocolate egg in each hand. The city had sponsored an Easter egg hunt for the children at The Forks. Ice jams and skateboarding had been forgotten amid the excitement of chocolate and bunnies. James followed closely behind his sister. His hands were empty, but his lips and cheeks were sticky and brown.
“To the washroom!” Benita ordered, sitting up and tucking Gram’s diary safely back into the silver suitcase. Ken appeared at the top of the stairs, James’s skateboard in one hand, a couple of chocolate eggs in the other, and a grin on his face like Benita had not seen in months.
“Boy, did we hit it lucky.” He held out one of the eggs to Benita, who accepted it gladly.
“For me? I thought the Easter Bunny would have forgotten all about me.”
“He did, but I wrestled him to the ground for ya. I said, ‘Your chocolate or your life, Rabbit!’”
“We had a good time, didn’t we, Daddy?” Katie-Lynn gave her father a chocolaty grin.
“We sure did,” Ken admitted. “How about you, sport?”
James walked back into the room, drying his hands on his pants. “I wish we could do that every day. No more school, no more store, just play and find eggs and eat chocolate. Every day should be Easter. Or maybe Christmas.”
They all agreed that would be awesome, and when Katie-Lynn grabbed the game of Twister out of the closet, Ken lowered himself to the floor to play with her and James.
As she popped corn for their evening snack, Benita got an idea. She crept downstairs to the store and soon returned with cream, fresh strawberries, a bag of ice, some chocolate sauce, and Gram’s ice-cream maker. No one had used it in decades, but tonight would be the night.
Benita’s guess was right: The children, fascinated by the antique, fought over turning the crank. After what seemed like an eternity spent cranking, there was enough for them all to enjoy the delicious frozen treat.
“I didn’t know ice cream ever tasted like this.” James licked the bottom of his bowl.
“You’re going to be so sugared up, we’ll have to peel you off the ceiling,” Ken said, which sent both children into waves of giggles. Benita couldn’t remember the last time their family had had this much fun together. She hoped with all her heart the experience would convince Ken to close the store occasionally, before the kids grew too old for this. Before it was too late.
After she’d tucked James and Katie-Lynn into their beds that night and was headed off to her own, she breathed a prayer of thanks. I don’t know what you’re doing to change things, God, but it must be you, because I sure haven’t done anything. The only thing I’ve done is pray.
Whatever it is you’re doing, please don’t stop now.
CHAPTER 37
August 2007
The rain beat against the windshield as Ken, Benita, Katie-Lynn, and James drove home from an evening at her mother’s. They had filled up on barbecued chicken, corn on the cob, fresh garden tomatoes, and rhubarb crisp. They’d watched an old Jimmy Stewart movie, No Time for Comedy, which even the kids seemed to enjoy. Ever since Easter weekend, Ken had agreed to close the store on Sundays, and their family had been doing more things together. Now the children dozed in the backseat as the wipers kept time with the rain.
“You’re quiet,” Ken said.
“Mm.”
“You asked your mom a question tonight that sure made me curious.”
“I did?” Benita was pretty sure what he meant, but had thought he wasn’t listening.
“I heard you ask if she’d ever wondered what it would be like to have a sibling, or to discover a long-lost brother or sister somewhere. That doesn’t have anything to do with stuff you’ve been reading in Gram’s diary, does it?”
Benita had indeed asked her mother the question. She learned enough to be convinced her mother had no idea of Gram’s story or of Mary Sarah’s existence. When her mother asked why, she’d shrugged it off.
“Oh, no reason,” she’d lied. “I saw a movie the other night where something like that happened, and it made me wonder what it would be like.”
Her mom had jumped to the wrong conclusion. “You weren’t adopted, Benita, if that’s what you’re thinking. And you’re my one and only. I would have liked more children, but when your father left us . . . that was the end of that.”
Benita had let the matter drop.
But Ken obviously wasn’t satisfied. “I don’t recall you watching any movies lately, about long-lost siblings or anything else. You sure have been reading that diary a lot, though.”
Benita wasn’t ready to share what she knew with anybody. She tried to form an answer while they rounded the corner of their block. The first thing they spotted through the rain was a broken window and the front door of the store hanging open, banging back and forth in the wind. Benita gasped and Ken stepped on the gas, racing up to the store and then braking hard. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and called nine-one-one before Benita could even comprehend that the store had actually been broken into.
“Oh, no.” She was about to climb out of the car when Ken reached out an arm to stop her.
“They might still be inside,” he warned.
She craned her neck, trying to see inside the store through the pouring rain while Ken made the report by phone. They were instructed to stay in the car until the police arrived. When they did, two officers went inside while a third invited Ken to sit in his patrol car and answer some questions. The children were awake by this time, and Benita did her best to keep them calm.
After the police determined that there was no one inside, they allowed Ken and Benita to go in. Benita sucked in her breath when she saw the damage. Besides the broken window that had left shattered glass everywhere, an entire rack of canned food had been toppled over, and cans had rolled all over the place. The cash register was smashed, even though Ken had left it empty and the drawer open, as was part of their closing procedure. Cans of pop had been shaken and opened, making a spray that left a sticky residue over everything. A computer was missing from the back office and the thieves had ransacked the desk drawers, no doubt looking for cash. James stood wide-eyed and Katie-Lynn started to cry. Benita looked at Ken and felt sure that they were both wondering the same thing. Had the thieves gone upstairs?
Benita flicked the light switch at the bottom of the stairs, but nothing happened. Her heart sank. She climbed the stairs in the darkness and when she felt for the doorknob to the apartment, she knew the lock had been smashed.
The first sight that met her eyes was that of open cupboards and drawers, but it was not immediately obvious whether anything was missing. In the living room, the thieves had overturned couch cushions and taken the television, stereo, and DVD player. The laptop computer they’d left lying on the coffee table was gone.
The children’s rooms appeared untouched, and Benita wondered if the culprits had run out of time. But when she got to her own room, her heart stopped. Although nothing else appeared to have been touched, she saw a clear outline on the carpet where Gram’s treasure had been sitting.
The silver suitcase was gone.
CHAPTER 38
September 1941
Cornelia held the bell high over her head and clanged it as loudly as she could, as if the volume could somehow cover her nervousness. Her first day as teacher at Rocky Creek School had begun.
Every day for the past two weeks, Cornelia had worked in this building from sunup until sundown. She had reviewed the guidelines that were taught at Normal School for teaching multiple grades:
Teach to the oldest and let the learning trickle down.
Do projects that can be adapted to include the smallest child and the tallest teen.
Allow older children to learn by teaching.
She had prepared the first week’s lessons for eight grades in six subjects: English, mathematics, history, geography, science, and music. She had covered the walls with bright pictures, maps, and letters of the alphabet. On one corner of the chalkboard, she’d drawn a large calendar for the month of September and decorated it with fall leaves in colored chalk. She had pushed the desks into the most suitable, age-appropriate arrangement for 32 students from seven different families. She’d even written a play the children could perform for the all-important Christmas pageant in December. And she had prayed.
Oh, how she’d prayed.
Lord, help me! I’m barely twenty years old. Some of the older students will remember sitting next to me in these very seats. Help me teach them well. Help me gain their respect. Help my stomach to stop churning. Help me, help me, help me.
As the children filed past her into the building, she smiled and said “Good morning” to each one as brightly as she could. Most returned the greeting with “Good morning, Miss Simpson,” but some only looked at their shoes. One little girl clung tightly to her sister’s hand. Cornelia recognized the older girl as a Murphy, but couldn’t recall her first name.
There were seven Murphy children, including the two who had completed grade eight and moved on, one to high school and one to farmwork. They all had the same flaming red hair and freckles. Cornelia’s roster listed five Murphys, so this new little girl must be the last of the clan. Their reputation for misbehavior was widespread. Cornelia had spent all eight of her years at Rocky Creek School being terrorized by the oldest, Russell. Briefly she wondered whether she would run into him now that she taught his younger siblings.
Once all the students were seated, Cornelia stood at the back for a moment to compose herself, taking in the sight of the room. The east wall of windows allowed the bright morning sun to shine in from the students’ left. Cornelia knew this was the standard design of every school built in the days before electric lighting. Most students were right-handed and this arrangement prevented them from creating shadows across their work. Those who were naturally left-handed had been strongly, and sometimes cruelly, encouraged to use their right hands.
On the west wall of the room hung a massive blackboard. More blackboards covered the front, with the letters of the alphabet displayed above them and a portrait of King George VI in the center above that. Little had changed since Cornelia had studied here herself.
Breathing deeply, she stepped to the front of the class. She knew these next few minutes would be crucial in setting the tone for the year.
“Hello, everyone,” she began. “Welcome back to school. Thank you for finding your seats so quickly. I’m your new teacher, Miss Simpson, and I’m looking forward to a good year getting to know all of you and assisting you through your studies.
“We’ll begin each morning with Scripture, the Lord’s Prayer, and the singing of ‘O Canada.’ We’ll end each day by singing ‘God Save the King.’ You may have noticed that I hung the flag this morning, but after today, the older boys will share the task of putting it up in the morning and taking it down after school.
“Now, does anyone know how many chapters are in the book of Proverbs?”
A hand shot up, and Cornelia recognized her friend Agnes’s little sister, Trudy.
“Yes, Trudy?”
“Thirty-one.”
“That’s right. This year, we will read through the Book of Proverbs every month, one chapter a day for each corresponding day of the month. Now, today is September fourth. So which chapter will we read today?” She looked at the youngest children for a response, but a loud adolescent voice cracked from the back of the room.
“Thirty-two!” A round of giggles in various voice ranges followed this answer.
Cornelia looked up to see an enormous grin on the freckled face of the oldest Murphy boy, Randy. His red curls had been flattened on top by the cap he’d worn on the way to school, while the sides still stuck out. A perfect image for the class clown.
“Incorrect, Mr. Murphy,” Cornelia said. “But since you are eager to be heard, you may come to the front and read Proverbs chapter four aloud.”
The other children snickered as Randy shuffled to the front, took the Bible from Cornelia’s hands, and turned to face his peers.
“Hear, ye children, the instruction of a father, and attend to know understanding,” Randy read without hesitation. This brought another round of giggles from the room. Cornelia let it pass. She listened, impressed with his ability, as the boy read the remaining twenty-six verses.
“You read very well, Mr. Murphy. Thank you.” Cornelia smiled at him and watched his face turn the same color as his hair. She led the cla
ss through the Lord’s Prayer and a badly off-key version of “O Canada.” When the last strains of “We stand on guard for Thee” had dwindled, she surprised the students with her next words.
“Since today begins our first year together, we will spend some time getting to know one another. I’ll ask each of you to tell me your name, age, and your favorite summertime activity. We may take until recess to do this, but I want everyone to take a turn. Afterwards, I’ll answer questions about myself. Who would like to begin?”
The boldest of the grade seven girls, a blonde with long braids, raised her hand. “I’m Connie Webber and I’m twelve. My favorite summer activity is swimming down by Rocky Creek.”
Next to Connie sat her younger brother, Ernie. He raised his hand high, but spoke softly when Cornelia acknowledged him. “I’m Billy Webber. I’m twelve and I like fishing.”
From bravest to shyest, the students all took their turns. But Cornelia had difficulty concentrating. The mention of the creek had hit her in the face like a blast of hot air, and memories of Henry washed over her. She had thought she would easily avoid memories here, in this building that should hold none of him. Now she could see how wrong she had been. What other things might catch her off guard?
She steeled herself and tried to focus as, one by one, her students stood to introduce themselves. Some enjoyed their chance in the spotlight while others said as little as possible.
“My name is Brenda Murphy. I’m ten and I guess I like going into town for ice cream on Saturdays.”
“I’m Bert Rogers. I’m nine years old. I like playing with my puppies.”
“I’m Clara Rogers and I’m eleven. I like riding our horse, Champ. He’s a great big bay and he’s twenty years old. He was my daddy’s when he was a boy, and he can run like the wind.”