The Silver Suitcase

by Terrie Todd

  Now July is almost over. Stuart and I settled into the little teacher’s cottage beside my school. It sat vacant all last year, but the School Board pitched in to spruce it up with new paint and a few repairs. Aunt Miriam helped me sew curtains for the windows and gave me several of the rag rugs she braided over the years. We have four small rooms, if you count the screened-in porch that will be useless come winter but makes a lovely dining room now. The kitchen has a small pump at the sink, an oil-burning furnace fills half the living room, and the bedroom barely has room for our double bed. It’s tiny, but it’s home.

  Stuart’s been working with Daddy and Jimmy. We put in the garden at Daddy’s as usual and I’ll soon be busy with vegetables, preparations for a new school year, and finding my place in the community as a married lady.

  God is good.

  CHAPTER 47

  September 2007

  Benita waited until the children left for school before she tried to call her mother. Just as she went to pick up the phone, it rang.

  “Honey, I didn’t sleep a wink,” her mother said, a new energy in her voice. “But I’ve given it a lot of thought. I’m sorry I accused you of making it up.”

  “It’s okay, Mom, really. I know it was a shock.” Benita took a seat on the couch.

  “You told Ramona you’d call her back today, right?” Grace said. “I think we should meet. If we don’t, we’ll both wonder forever.”

  “Oh, I’m glad to hear it, Mom. I think you’re right. I figured out Ramona is sixty-seven years old. If she’s the one who tried to contact the family when you were in college . . . she’s been looking for an awfully long time.”

  “I know.” Benita could hardly believe the difference in her mother’s voice compared to the evening before. “I already thought about that, and I feel terrible. She would have been about twenty-five then. She could have known us all these years. She could have known Gram. Now it’s too late. And it’s all because I refused to tell anybody about the phone call!”

  Grace’s speech picked up pace and rose in pitch. “What if she realizes she contacted the right family all along, Benita? What if she remembers? What if she can’t forgive me?”

  “One step at a time, Mom.” Benita rose from the couch and wandered to the window. No customers approached the store. Ken should be fine down there by himself for now. “For all we know, yours was just one of many such phone calls. But even if she does remember—better late than never. She can meet her sister, her niece, Uncle Jim—”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that. Uncle Jim would be so confused.”

  “Well, we wouldn’t have to tell him who Ramona is, Mom. It would just be for her sake. Anyway . . . let’s cross that bridge when we come to it. And just think—her son lives right here in Winnipeg. So we have relatives we didn’t know we had, too!”

  “Assuming she is indeed the right person. How do we go about confirming it?”

  “I have no idea, Mom. But we’ll find out. Ramona will have researched it by now.” She turned and wandered into her kitchen. “So . . . should I tell her to come over? Do you want to call her yourself?”

  “No. You call her. I might panic and hang up.”

  Her mother giggled like a teenager, and Benita was struck by a feeling of longing on her mother’s behalf. What would it have been like for her to have a sister when she was younger? What would it be like for her now, if it was true?

  They said good-bye quickly, and Benita immediately dialed Ramona’s number. She pictured the woman waiting impatiently by the phone, eager to begin unraveling the mystery of her life. In fact, Ramona did answer on the first ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, Ramona. It’s Benita.”

  “Oh, yes, dear. I know. Thank you so much for calling me. Did you speak with your mother?”

  “I did. She wants to meet. Of course, we want to take steps to confirm this one way or the other. I’m sure you do as well.”

  “Certainly. I have a good feeling about this, though, Benita. You sound like family.”

  “I . . . what?”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t even say this, you’ll think I’m crazy,” Ramona said with a laugh. “But I have two daughters—Nancy and Vicky—likely around your age, dear. I can never tell them apart over the phone; they sound so much the same. And you . . . well, maybe it’s because I want so badly for this to be true, but . . . you sound a little like them too.”

  This news left Benita speechless. The only cousins she’d known about were on her father’s side, all boys. When her father disappeared from her life, the cousins soon did as well. The idea that she might have more cousins—women her own age—had not crossed her mind.

  “Is tomorrow too early? I’m staying with my son, David, and haven’t booked my flight home yet, so I can give you as much time as you need if tomorrow’s too soon.”

  Since she and the children had appointments scheduled with Phillip the next day, Benita wanted to wait. She arranged for Ramona to come to the apartment on Monday, and then she hung up the phone. She spent the rest of the day in a fog. All she could think about was Ramona’s pending visit. How wonderful it would be if she could find Gram’s diaries before then! Her posters hadn’t generated any other calls, however, and Benita knew that with each passing day, the precious records were less likely to be found.

  Benita decided to prepare the children for their special visitor. At first, she felt inclined to say Ramona was her aunt, but since they hadn’t established whether or not that was true, she settled on “old friend of the family.” In the meantime, she began jotting down whatever details she could remember from the diaries: Henry’s parents were Samuel and Eva Roberts, and Samuel had only one arm. Henry was an only child and graduated from a Winnipeg high school around 1938. He loved baseball. They had relatives with the same last name in Roseburg, or at least they did back then. If any family members remained, she figured it might be easier to unearth them in a small community.

  Benita’s next session with Phillip revolved around her processing despair over the lost diaries, guilt over not having told her mother sooner, excitement about the meeting with Ramona, frustration with Ken’s ongoing detachment, and worry for her children. Since the break-in, Katie-Lynn had been having bad dreams and James had gotten in trouble for sassing his teacher at school. When his turn came to talk to Phillip, he bit his lip and said he wanted his old house back.

  “What do you miss about your old house?” Phillip asked.

  “I don’t know,” James said with a shrug. “We did stuff together. I liked it when Dad didn’t work.”

  “But when your dad didn’t work, wasn’t that hard on the family?”

  “No. We used to do fun stuff.”

  Benita cringed to think that Ken’s period of unemployment was a fond memory for her son. She remembered it as endless days of worry and running up debt, trying to make ends meet. But the children knew only that their dad had been more available. Perspective really is everything, she thought.

  “What’s wrong with this picture?” Benita asked Ken when she summed up the counseling session for him that evening. It was one of those rare nights when he’d actually come up to the apartment before she fell asleep.

  Ken sighed. “What do you want from me, Benita? The entire time I was out of work, you worried and fussed and cried and complained. Now that I’m working, you won’t quit going on about how I’m not spending enough time with the kids. Well, you can’t have it both ways! You blame me for all our problems, no matter what I do.”

  “Ken, I’m not blaming you for all our problems—”

  “Oh no? What do you call it? Look, I can’t be in two places at once. You decided the kids needed counseling . . . how did you think we’d pay for that if I worked less?”

  “Well, I’ve been working too . . . !”

  “Have you?” Ken looked her in the eye. “Yo
u’ve been so wrapped up in this visit from your long-lost aunt lately, you haven’t been much help around here. Honestly, sometimes I wish you’d never seen those stupid diaries.”

  “Stupid diaries?” Benita could not believe her ears. “How dare you? Those diaries are a rare treasure! How many people can say they possess such a thing?”

  “I don’t know. But you can’t exactly say you do, either, now can you? And yet they still somehow possess you.”

  Benita thought she might explode if she stayed in the room. She grabbed her jacket, purse, and car keys and headed out the door.

  “I can’t talk to you! If you’re looking for me, I’ll be at my mother’s. I’ll come back in the morning to get the kids ready for church. Heaven forbid you should have to do it!”

  She flew down the stairs and ran out the door.

  CHAPTER 48

  January 1944

  Dear Diary,

  I’m going to have a baby! I started to suspect last month, and Dr. Thompson confirmed it this week. Aunt Nonie went with me, but I’m so glad she stayed in the waiting room. When asked whether this was my first pregnancy, I had to tell the doctor the truth. He didn’t press for details, but when I asked, he assured me Stuart need not see the form in my file. The baby should arrive in late June or early July.

  Stuart is delighted, as are Daddy and Jimmy. Jimmy insists it’s going to be a boy and he’ll teach his little nephew how to fish.

  As for me, I can’t even begin to describe my emotions. Fear, yes. I feel some sadness as so much of my last experience comes back to me. Mostly, I am overwhelmed by the grace of God. My heart is full.

  Oh tiny baby, whatever and whoever you are, rest assured I love you with all my heart. I can’t begin to tell you how much happiness you have already brought into my life, you precious little person. Sometimes I can’t wait to hold you in my arms and look at you. Other times, I want to hang on to you and carry you around inside me forever so you won’t have to face the difficulties of life.

  Your father and I will do our best, but we’re only human and we’ll fail you at times. I pray you’ll forgive us our shortcomings and grow into a good, healthy man or woman in spite of us. I worry about what kind of mother I’ll make. But, others have done it. I guess I can, too. Mostly I’m just SO happy. Thank you, God. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

  Daddy prays for the war to end before the baby comes. We all do.

  Cornelia sat behind her big teacher’s desk and looked around the room. It was the thirtieth of April and, as ordered by the school board, it was her last day at the school.

  “It’s not proper for an expectant mother to be instructing our children,” Mr. Black had told Cornelia. He’d pushed for a March resignation. Cornelia had assured him she could teach through June. In the end, the board compromised and hired Aunt Miriam to finish out the months of May and June. They offered next year’s contract to a newly graduated teacher.

  Now the time to say good-bye had arrived. Three school years had taught Cornelia more than they had taught her students, she was certain. She’d learned to maintain discipline, even with eight grades in one room. She had learned how to organize a parade for the district field day. She knew how to keep the students busy while giving individual attention to those who struggled most. She’d seen shy children blossom and coldhearted ones warm to her. Most of all, she had learned to love these young people, even the ones she didn’t particularly like. She prayed for them regularly, and felt confident she had seen God’s hand at work in their lives. As much as she looked forward to her baby’s arrival, she knew she would miss this classroom.

  Connie Webber raised her hand. “Mrs. Baker?” She stood when Cornelia acknowledged her.

  “Since this is your last day, may we take a few minutes to present you with something we’ve been working on?”

  Cornelia smiled. “Of course.”

  Five students came to the front of the room: Brenda Murphy, Randy Murphy, Bert Rogers, Teeny Webber, and Ivy Murphy. They stood in a diagonal line, facing Cornelia’s desk and their classmates.

  “We wrote a limerick for you,” Bert said from the center of the lineup, then he looked at the others. Cornelia laughed. The students had been learning about limericks and found them quite a challenge. What had they come up with?

  Brenda delivered the first line and Randy the second, and so on down the line:

  “There was a nice teacher at our school;”

  “Who never once looked like an old fool.”

  “She taught us all well;”

  “And then rang the bell;”

  “Then put up her feet on a stool.”

  Cornelia laughed and clapped. “Terrific work! You don’t know how relieved I am to know I never looked like an old fool.”

  “We have a gift for you, too,” Brenda said. “It’s from the whole class.”

  At that, the two smallest boys came forward carrying a big box wrapped in tissue paper. A large homemade envelope was stuck to the top and when Cornelia opened it, she saw the words We’ll miss you, Mrs. Baker on the front in a beautiful script that could only be the work of Clara Rogers, the school’s most talented artist. When she opened the envelope and looked inside, she realized that every student had signed the card. She peeled back the tissue paper and opened the box, pulling out a pink and blue baby quilt. Embroidered on the center square were the words Rocky Creek School, 1941–1944 and a line drawing of the schoolhouse in tiny neat stitches.

  “How wonderful,” Cornelia said. “What a treasure! Thank you all so much. I will miss you all, too.”

  “You’ll come back to visit us, right, Mrs. Baker?” Randy Murphy asked.

  Cornelia looked at her class clown and grinned. “I sure will. But I don’t expect to find you here, Mr. Murphy. You’ll have moved on to high school—I hope.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Randy said, as though it only now dawned on him that his years at the one-room school were ending. This brought another round of laughter from the class. Then two of the oldest girls brought out a plate of oatmeal cookies to share.

  Half an hour later, the room stood empty and Cornelia sat alone. She placed her personal belongings into a box and headed for the door, turning to look around one last time.

  “I’ll be back,” she whispered.

  July 1944

  Cornelia laid the laundry basket at her feet and sat on the doorstep to wait out another contraction. The familiar pains had been coming on and off all day, and she knew it was time to tell Stuart. He’d been staying close to home in anticipation of the baby’s birth, keeping the car filled with gas and ready to go at a moment’s notice.

  Determined to put away the last of the laundry, Cornelia wrestled the basket into the kitchen and began folding items until the next contraction forced her to stop and lean over, one hand on her stomach and the other on the table for support. This was how Stuart found her when he walked in from the living room.

  “Corrie! What’s wrong? Is the baby coming?”

  “It’s all right, this will pass.” Cornelia puffed air out, waiting. Then she calmly picked up a towel and folded it.

  “How long has this been going on?” Stuart asked.

  “For a while, but I just want to finish this—ooh!” Another contraction. Corrie clutched her abdomen again.

  “It’s time to go! I’ll grab your bag. Do you need help to the car? Go to the car. Can you make it to the car, Corrie?”

  “Yes, I can get to the car. Give me a minute,” Corrie said. When the contraction passed, she went directly to the car and climbed in, just as another contraction hit her. Stuart was already behind her with the suitcase she had prepared. He tossed it into the backseat and they took off down the road.

  “Wait a minute, shouldn’t we tell Daddy and Jimmy we’re going?” Cornelia said.

  “They’ll figure it out!”

  Cornel
ia had never seen Stuart this anxious, but he drove skillfully, and within an hour they arrived at the hospital. It seemed to Cornelia that things progressed much faster than they had the first time she went through this.

  She kept the thought to herself.

  “She’s perfect.” Stuart held his new baby daughter and admired her soft skin and wispy hair. “I can’t take my eyes off her. Wait until your father and brother see her! They’re not going to believe how perfect she is.”

  Cornelia smiled, enjoying this new side of her husband. He was great with his students, but always maintained his position as teacher and authority. With this little girl, he seemed completely smitten.

  “You’re nothing but a big ball of mush,” Cornelia teased.

  “I won’t deny it.” Finally he looked up long enough to say, “Thank you, Corrie. Thank you for this beautiful little girl.”

  “I’m not the one who deserves thanks,” she whispered.

  What a contrast from four years earlier when she had felt so lost and alone as her child was carried away by others. No one to share the joy or the sorrow. No one to share the love. No one but Jesus. Thank you, God, she prayed. Thank you for being so gracious to me. For giving me a new child to cherish.

  “Jimmy had us so convinced we were having a boy, we never got around to discussing girl names,” Stuart said. “What should we call her?”

  CHAPTER 49

  October 2007

  “A wiser woman would insist you go back to your family,” Grace said as they shared hot chocolate at her kitchen table. “But I’m selfish enough to want the company of my only daughter. Please don’t see this as taking sides, because I’m not.”

  “Maybe you should tell Ken. He might not see it that way.” Benita played with her spoon.