Short Story: Cornelia K. White Takes A…

Short Story: Cornelia K. White Takes A Fall

This piece has not been edited by the ShortbreadStories team.

Cornelia (Lea) White, on location in Northeastern Minnesota, stood filming a plant that grew from under huge boulders. Why would they do that? What nurture was there for life? Darkness, warmth, moisture, what dependence existed here that she could propagate in the lab? She had already collected several specimens and had them in her backpack in glass vials, but she would need help to move such huge rocks in order to investigate the source of energy which fed the roots. Professor Enueme – Bernard – would be here in a few moments and help her.

She stepped around carefully, because she was near a mountain precipice of some awesome drop, maybe fifty or more feet, down to the river’s edge. She would not like to find herself bouncing off the rocks and shale, and tree roots that held fast.

No longer the skinny girl with pale skin, just out of college and a failed love affair, she was now a brown-eyed blonde woman wearing dark glasses. Her hair had grown long. She simply pulled it back in a bun at the neck. Her body was encased in snug khaki cargo pants that revealed her rounded bottom, and a cotton shell top of dark green. For comfort in the cool air she wore a light grey jacket that covered her upper curves; huge pockets were loaded with tools of her trade, brushes, diggers, secateurs, and specimen containers. Her knapsack was resting against the nearest flat boulder where she had stopped for a snack.

Studiously photographing, she, disjointedly hummed a tune. She’d heard it that morning before leaving the tent of the Alderguard Group to search out plants indigenous to this cool area, so near the Canadian border. It was here that she had first spied the little plant that appeared to grow from beneath rocks. She was intrigued. ‘This will be the day that I die,’ she sang. Next she whispered, ‘Hum, the church bells were broken’; and, ‘the day the music died’. Moving in closer, she chanted, ‘Bye Bye Miss American Pie’. Finished, she stood and turned to look out over the amazing scene before her, the forest and river, the vast blue sky. Then she recalled having seen these plants near Falls of Pigeon River yesterday. Perhaps she’d go back.

She could hear the breeze in the stand of trees a few feet away, the raucous scream of an eagle overhead, and she was totally unprepared for the blow to her back that took her over the edge, grasping the camera to her chest and holding tightly even though she lost consciousness, and her glasses, as she hit, and bounced. Her body rolled over the roots. Her hair came loose and ground into the loose dirt. She became bloodied as she suffered head wounds; once more she bounced off a jagged boulder. Mercifully, she did not feel the compound break of her leg, nor did she hear the right clavicle snap. She came to rest at the bottom, battered and still, and unaware of the figure that watched from the ledge above. But her camera was still clasped to her chest.

The figure overhead suddenly hurried to the boulder where Lea’s backpack rested, and settled herself as if waiting for someone. Annoyed by her own unremarkable looks, and ageing, at forty-three she envied Cornelia’s youth and loveliness. She was going gray, and no one looked at her anymore. The pose was for the benefit of someone approaching, tromping his way.

"Marva!" called Bernard Eneume, the Canadian Professor of Science who was directing the group. "Glad I found you. Have you seen Cornelia? She was to meet me back at the truck, but has not returned. She went this way — Is that her backpack?" He looked around. "Where could she have gotten to?"

Marva Tempe looked up at him — Professor was what everyone called him. She had fallen for him immediately, but he was all science and, moreover, younger than she. He never seemed to notice her. She yearned to hold his tanned face and kiss his wide mouth. She thrilled at his grey eyes under thick black lashes and wanted desperately to be held in his arms. Perhaps he was French, had some native background, as well as a bit of English? She wanted him for a lover, but was tired of trying. Now she would have him — with Lea White out of the way.

"I don’t know. I was waiting. Maybe she is off in the trees – you know. She should be here in a minute, unless she got lost or something."

"She has a sixth sense about this work. Not like her to get lost. Something has happened to her, I feel it —" He eased close to the cliff edge. "Dear God! Cornelia! She fell down this cliff! I cannot tell if she’s . . ." He turned and said, "Stay here in case she is alive and calls out. I’ll go get help."

He was gone so quickly she had no need to react. She simply sat, with a smile on her lips and let the breeze cool her a bit before she got up and went to peer over the edge of the cliff. Satisfied that there was no life in the figure below, she returned to the bolder, opened Cornelia’s backpack and looked at everything in it, removed the vials and stuffed them into her jacket pockets. She zipped the bag closed and replaced it, patted her pockets and waited, humming.

It was a while before she heard the helicopter. She had to stand up to see it hovering over the river, searching for a bit of land to settle upon, which it did not far from the body. Two men dropped out, retrieved a stretcher and raced to the inert form. Bernard was next to exit. He raced to Cornelia. Marva hissed through her teeth, as he knelt and brushed the hair back on Lea’s forehead, then stood up. They carefully straightened the bleeding leg and splinted it, making many trips to and from the airlift. Carefully, they lifted her to the stretcher, covered her with a blue blanket and raced for the helicopter.

"They didn’t cover her face!" Marva spat out, "She has to be dead! She has to!"

The helicopter rose, rocked, and flew south. So would they take her to the nearest coroner, or hospital? What to do, she wondered for a moment. Then she picked up the backpack and ran through the trees to the Aldergard camp, and breathlessly announced to the surprised company there, "Cornelia fell off a cliff. I think she’s dead. They took her away. I couldn’t see how bad it was, but she never moved."

The shock on the faces around her stopped her, she held out the backpack and said, "I brought her stuff back."

All sound and motion ceased. Marva shivered, and took the pack to Cornelia’s tent. She came out immediately, and went to her own tent to fix her hair and add fresh lip gloss. She pressed her arm against the vials in her pockets.

Outside, the camp came to life and once more it was bedlam for a few moments. Marva strolled into the scene and calmly sat down on a camp stool, and waited once more for Bernard.

When he came, he was disheveled, and breathless, "Marva has told you? Well, Lea will live. She has broken bones and contusions, but she’ll be okay after a little time off to get well. Be laid up for a few weeks, but she will be back." Resuming their tasks, the crowd sighed in relief.

"Marva," Bernard said, "you’re wanted in the big tent, please. Mac is waiting for you."

Marva gasped, certain they were going to give her Cornelia’s assignment. Unsuspecting, she followed Bernard. Inside Mac Crowell was sitting at a folding table that served as desk, he was turning a pencil over and over, and the scowl on his face was formidable. "Sit down," he growled. "You brought in Cornelia’s backpack. You were seen rummaging in it earlier. You will turn over the vials you took. Now! Before the sheriff gets here to take you into custody."

"What?" gasped Marva. How could they — who could have seen her?

"Cornelia was conscious when they got to the hospital. She told us she was pushed over the cliff. Bernard arrived to find only you there. So, that, I think, is quite conclusive. I have been aware for sometime of your jealousy. It is not to be endured in this camp. Ah, I hear the vehicles, yes, they are here. The vials, please."

Marva placed them in his hands as Bernard ushered in the Sheriff, and without a tear she was taken in handcuffs, into custody. She was later convicted of attempted murder.

Cornelia returned to the group in six weeks and began her research into the little plants that needed boulders to feed them life-giving nutrients. Someday she might learn of some use for them, they were her projects.

Bernard was her hero.