Forgotten Boxes (15 page)

Lynnie sliced into the cake, pulling out generous hunks and placing
them on each of the three saucers. Tarn got up to pour the coffee, bringing the
steaming brew back to the table.

“This smells absolutely divine,” Charity said, inhaling a slow,
deep breath.

“Even better with this,” Tarn drawled, pushing a small jar her
way. She knew it was maple cream, even though the jar was unmarked. Their eyes met
and clung, bringing a pleased smile to the mother who watched.

A few moments later, Charity closed her eyes in reverence. “Heaven,”
she murmured. “Pure heaven.”

“This girl is definitely a keeper, Tarn.”

“Ma!”

“Oh, no need for either one of you to blush. Some things, like
how the two of you feel about one another, are obvious.”

“We-We barely know each other,” Charity managed to say.

“That’s only a matter of time, Charity dear.”

“I’m not from here. I live in Baltimore.”

“Oh, what brings you to Vermont?”

Charity told her about her aunt’s death and generous gift. She
had never gone into specific details with Tarn, nor did she now with his mother.
And even though she had come to this mountain to deliver the last of her packages,
the plain and simple truth was that she gave no thought to the box as she sat in
the Danbury home, soaking up the homey atmosphere. As conversations often went,
one comment would lead to a new subject, and so the original purpose of her trip
up to this mountain became lost in the shuffle. Charity had such a wonderful time
visiting with Tarn and his precious mother, that she gave no thought to her mission.

Sometime after the second cup of coffee, Gavin Danbury came home.
He found the trio still lingering at the table, talking like old friends. Even Tarn
contributed to the easy flow of conversation, something he seldom did when a young,
pretty woman was present.

“Is it that late already?” Lynnie cried in dismay when she saw
her husband, home from the store. She immediately turned to Charity. “You’ll stay
for dinner, of course.”

“Oh, no, really I couldn’t.”

“Of course you can. I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. I put a
roast in the crock pot this morning, so it should be done.”

“Honestly, Mrs. Danbury, I’ve imposed enough as it is.”

“I have so few visitors, you won’t deny me the pleasure of company,
will you?” Lynnie struggled to her feet. “But you can be a dear and set the dining
room table. Let’s use the plates that match these. You’ll find them in the china
cabinet. Tarn, you can help me dish up the roast.”

With little else choice, Charity found her way into the dining
room and selected four plates from the ‘fall’ dishes. She added a small bread plate
atop each, so that the place settings were randomly mismatched in coordinated colors
of brown, red, green and gold. She added silverware and cloth napkins with a colorful
leaf pattern, then stood back to admire the festive setting.

Charity often ate with her father and stepmother, or attended
holiday meals and special occasions with her stepsiblings. It was usually a rowdy
group, and she blended in well. So well, in fact, that she often worried no one
really ever saw her. Certainly, they never drew her into the conversation or asked
her opinion on significant issues. The Danburys, however, treated her differently.
They were interested in what she had to say. They listened when she talked. They
shared stories with her, opening up their lives and their home to her.

Better than treating her like company, the Danburys treated her
like family.

Gavin Danbury was a gifted storyteller,
entertaining his audience throughout the meal with tales of memorable customers
and adventures in sugarmaking. And though his wife and son had no doubt heard the
stories countless times, they listened with rapt attention and laughed right along
with Charity.

“So ol’ Merle was as tight as a new pair of cheap shoes. He still
used a team of horses to pull his wagon through the woods, when all the rest of
us had turned to tractors. Refused to invest in new plastic tubing, too. Said the
metal spiles and buckets had worked for his grandpappy and would work just fine
for him. But he was too cheap to hire good help. He would pick up a few kids here
and there to help when the sap flowed, but he was too ornery to pay ‘em like he
should have. He kept bringing in new ones, because the old ones caught on real quick
that they might not be paid.”

Gavin stopped to take a gulp of fresh apple cider before continuing
with his spirited tale.

“Anyways, it seems that a few of them got together and figured
out that he was giving them all the slip on payday. So one morning, instead of bringing
him a vat filled with sap, they brought him pure, clear water. He set about boiling
it down as usual. We have to do that, you see, to get the water out of the sap.
Comes out as steam, which we could bottle as distilled water if we were of a mind
to. Anyways, Merle boiled and boiled, and steam still bellowed out. He added more
wood and boiled it some more. Same thing. Before the day was done, the whole kit
and caboodle had evaporated into nothing but steam and ol’ Merle realized he had
been had!”

Charity loved the sound of the laughter that resonated around
the table, hers perhaps the loudest. This, she reckoned, was the sound of
family
.

“Lynnie, that was a fine meal,” Gavin proclaimed after the laughter
died away. “Only thing that could top it is a slice of that cake I saw in the kitchen.
Tarn, your mother looks tuckered out. Why don’t you put on a pot of coffee and bring
the cake in. Assuming you left any for me.” He winked mischievously in Charity’s
direction.

“I’ll clear the table.” Charity pushed quickly to her feet, ignoring
Lynnie’s protests. “It’s the least I can do, after that delicious dinner,” she insisted.

Miraculously, the generous cut of beef had all but disappeared
from the platter. The side dish of root vegetables held a single slice of sweet
potato and a spear of celery. Everything had been fork-tender and seasoned to perfection.
No wonder it vanished so easily.

For a big man, Tarn moved easily around the kitchen. Charity
liked watching him, keeping a covert eye on his movements while she washed a few
dishes. By the time the coffee was done, the sink was empty.

“Mmm, you’ve done it again, Lynnie.” A pleased smile worked across
Gavin’s bearded face as he savored the taste of spiced pumpkin, laced with maple.

Charity noticed that her hostess’ face was pale and pinched with
pain. The fine meal and pleasant company had come at a cost to Lynnie Danbury. Assuaged
with guilt, Charity waved away the cake Tarn held toward her. “I really must be
going.”

“You’re welcome to stay the night, dear. We have extra rooms
upstairs.”

“Oh, Mrs. Danbury, I could never impose like that! I’ve already
taken advantage of your hospitality as it is.”

“It’s hardly an imposition. We’ve been delighted to have you.”
Her eyes twinkled with warmth, despite the obvious pain written upon her face.

“And I’ve enjoyed every minute of it.” Charity’s voice came out
husky, choked with unfamiliar emotions. Even when she visited her father and stepmother,
they never invited her to stay the night.

“You’ll come again?” Lynnie asked hopefully.

Gavin shoved another bite of cake into his mouth, swallowed,
and swiped a napkin across his satisfied smile. “I never did hear how you came to
find us up here on the mountain. Did our advertising pay off?”

Charity’s mouth hinged open. As impossible as it seemed, she
had completely forgotten her day’s mission. As she smacked her forehead with her
palm, she berated herself under her breath. “I have the attention span of a gnat,”
she grumbled.

Realizing her hosts were looking at her strangely, she laughed
and waved off her own stupidity. “I can’t believe I forgot, but I came up here looking
for an address. Maybe you can help me. Hold on, I’ll be right back.”

She rushed out to retrieve the package from her car. When she
came back in, her face was flushed and her cheeks rosy. Even with her strawberry
blond hair mussed and tangled, Tarn thought she looked adorable.

“I actually came up here on a mission. But I was just so surprised
to see you. And then I was having such a wonderful time visiting with you and your
mother, and then your father, that it just slipped my mind.” Embarrassment made
her words come fast and jumbled. “I know you must think I’m a total idiot.”

Distracted by her bright blue eyes and chattering monologue,
Tarn just stared at her. Fascination lifted one corner of his mouth.

Charity squirmed beneath his gaze. He stared at her as if she
were a shiny new toy on Christmas morning. Shivers of delight danced up her arms,
but she struggled to remain on topic. Now if she could just remember what the topic
was…

Oh, yeah.
The package in her hands.

She shook her head to dislodge the flyaway strands obstructing
her vision. Perhaps the effort would clear her brain, as well. “I told you I was
here to settle my aunt’s estate. It’s a long story, but while I was cleaning out
her shed, I found some undelivered packages. I thought it might be fun to deliver
them to their rightful owners, even though it’s like thirty-one years later. I’ve
delivered two of the four, but I’m having trouble with this address. Maybe you can
tell me where it is? The name is illegible.” She looked down to read the address
from the box she held.

Tarn was clearly surprised. “That’s our address.”

“It is? Wow, what a coincidence!” It took a moment for his words
to sink in. As GoGo’s words echoed in her mind, a brilliant smile lit to her face.
Maybe it wasn’t a coincidence at all. Maybe it was fate.

Unusually sharp, Gavin’s voice broke into her romantic assessment.
“What is that?” he barked suspiciously. “Is that… Does that box say…
Kingdom Parcel
?”
There was no denying the accusation in his gruff words.

Beside him, Lynnie gasped.

“What is the meaning of this?” Gavin further demanded.

Completely confused by their behavior, Charity’s forehead puckered.
“I don’t know the specifics,” she admitted. “But I assume you’re familiar with Kingdom
Parcel?”

It was an innocent question, but their responses were rife with
castigation. Gavin’s face turned blotchy and red. Lynnie slumped in her chair. Tarn’s
look of enchantment faded, giving way to suspicion.

Eyes darting back and forth between her once-charming hosts,
Charity whispered weakly, “I-I don’t understand…” She backed away, suddenly frightened;
not of them, but of whatever terrible thing she had done. Her eyes locked with Tarn’s,
begging for an explanation. “Wh-what…?”

“Tarn!” Gavin’s voice broke in. “Help me with your mother.”

Lynnie had all but wilted in her chair. Her face was pale, her
breathing ragged and labored. Charity stood by helplessly as Tarn disappeared, returning
with a portable oxygen machine and a wheelchair. Gavin slipped the oxygen tubes
into place, even as Tarn lifted his mother into the chair. Judging from their deft
movements, Charity suspected this was a familiar routine.

As Gavin wheeled his wife from the room, Lynnie’s scarred and
twisted arm trailed out limply behind her. “Charity…” she mumbled. “Forgive me.”

Charity was immediately by her side. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry,
Mrs. Danbury. I-I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“To-Tomorrow,” she managed. “Stay. Talk tomorrow.”

“Yes, yes,” Charity agreed. “I’m so sorry.” She put her hand
over her mouth, trying to hold in the sob that worked its way up from her heart.
She had no idea what she had done, but obviously it was something very wrong.

March 1984

Harold inched the nose of his car up against the snowbank, easing
his way into the far corner of Big G’s parking lot. It wouldn’t do for his car to
be seen this time of day, not when he technically had not finished his rounds yet.

He would deny it, of course.

Of the two boxes still on the truck, one was so small it could
easily be over-looked, Harry reasoned. And since the last few lines of his route
printout had been smudged into an unrecognizable smear of ink, it could be that
he had not noticed the other package awaiting delivery, either. Just to be sure,
Harry had shoved the boxes against the rear fender wheel of the truck, back deep
where shadows were known to gather. Those shadows made it mighty hard to see inside
the dark shell of the truck, particularly on a dreary snow day like today.

Nosirree, when he glanced back into the truck, he didn’t see
a single box left. So with an hour or more handily dropped from his day, Harold
had plenty of time to stop off by Big G’s for a round or two of poker. He might
even be home in time for an early supper.

People gathered round the smoky tables this afternoon that Harold
did not recognize. Must be because he was here earlier than usual, he surmised,
as he ordered a drink from the bar and ambled his way toward the game.

A smile tugged at his thin lips. Today would be the perfect opportunity
to test his new theory. If he were as good a poker player as his group of cronies
proclaimed, he would have no problem winning among the new crowd. But if he lost…
well, things might still be smelling afoul.

By the fourth losing hand, the room grew ripe.

Harry had been there almost an hour before the owner of the establishment
noticed him. Guy Griffes came from his back office, rounded the corner, and came
to an abrupt halt when he saw the poker game in progress. Surprise flickered in
his eyes before he schooled his emotions into a bland expression. By the time he
spoke, his booming voice was almost nonchalant. “Harry, you must have had a short
run today.”

“Guess the snow storm slowed things down.” Harry struggled to
sound just as casual.

“How ‘bout a round of drinks on the house, boys?” Big G offered
unexpectedly. He flashed a smile in Harry’s direction. “You’re playing in the presence
of one of our best, after all.”

Harold pretended not to notice the surprised expressions around
the table. When Big G asked him to fetch the drinks from the bar, Harry excused
himself. He discreetly glanced over his shoulder and saw Big G speaking lowly to
the group at the table.

The break, it seemed, did wonders for Harry’s game. From that
time forward, he laid down hand after hand of winning cards.

If the others noticed how Harold’s luck changed the precise moment
Big G walked into the room, they never said a word. If they were unhappy that a
new dealer came out from the back room, no one ever complained. One by one, the
players quietly folded and dropped out of the game, until finally they were replaced
with more familiar faces. Another round of free drinks and three more winning hands,
and the smell was no longer so offensive. Harry forgot he was conducting an experiment.
He was caught up in the spirit of the game and the thrill of watching his poker
buddies hand over their crisp new bills, practically without glancing at their cards.

By the time Harry finally called it a night and staggered home
to Nell, it was much too late for an early dinner.

***

The next morning, Nell tucked a thick wool scarf around Harold’s
skinny neck and pressed a thermos of hot coffee into his hands. “The snow is coming
down thick this morning,” she said, a hint of worry flavoring her voice. “You be
careful out there.”

“Aren’t I always, Nellie girl?”

She ignored his light teasing. “Still, I worry about you.”

“You’re a good woman, Nell.”

“Even though I let your supper fairly burn last night?” She was
still upset about the slightly charred pork chops that awaited him when he finally
arrived home. Trying to keep them warm, she had inadvertently re-heated them one
too many times.

“It’s not your fault I had a late run last night,” Harry mumbled.
It was an outright lie, but he was loath to admit the truth; he had set a trap and
ended up falling into it himself.

“You’re working yourself to a frazzle, Harold Tillman. You can’t
keep up this hectic schedule.”

“You’re right. A buddy of mine invited me to go fishing with
him at the end of the month, down in Portsmouth. I thought it might be nice to get
away from the snow and remember what sunshine looked like for a change.”

“You should go,” Nell encouraged him without pause. “It will
do you good.”

He knew she would not object, but he still felt a bit guilty,
going away on a trip without her. They so seldom went anywhere, not even to visit
her family in Maryland. Harry dug into his pocket and impulsively pulled out a handful
of bills. He shoved them into her hand. “Here. I want you to take this and order
yourself something nice from those catalogs you like to look through.”

“Harold! Where in the world did you get this?”

He shrugged his bony shoulders. “Saved up a few dollars, here
and there.”

“But this is a hundred dollars!”

“If that’s not enough, I’ll give you a hundred more.”

“Harold Tillman, are you doing something illegal?” Nell asked
suspiciously.

“Nellie, I work all hours of the day and half the night. I’m
president of the company. I can afford to splurge now and then and spend a little
money on my best girl.”

“Oh, Harry, that’s one of the sweetest things you’ve ever said
to me.”

“None of those tears, woman,” he said, his own voice slightly
gruff with emotion. He knew he didn’t deserve a fine woman like his Nell. He pulled
her close and pressed a kiss upon her lips, determined to do better by her from
here on out.

He would start today.

***

When he reached the warehouse, Harry knew there was trouble.
He could hear Galano down on the shipping floor, yelling at the worker bees. He
heard enough to know that the men were catching Galano’s wrath for the missing packages.

Harry slipped down the hall, guilt nibbling at his conscience.

“I’m telling you, I have it all under control. The poor fool
doesn’t suspect a thing.”

The smooth words floated out from behind Mansel Debarge’s closed
door as Harry passed by. His steps faltered. With only a moment’s hesitation, Harry
pressed an ear against the wooden barrier and stopped to listen.

“…going as planned… Relax. I assure you, we have all the bases
covered. And if ever anyone questions us — which I can assure you, they will not
— everything points back to our man. He’s the perfect patsy… A happy co-incidence,
I must admit. I’ve come up with a brilliant story to implicate them both… No, no.
This is only one small setback. Our new headquarters will be fully operational within
the week. The packages will be delivered today, I promise… I can assure you that
this will never happen again. I’ll have a talk with our patsy boy. If the problem
persists, it will be eliminated.”

He did not need to hear more. Harold pulled his thin body to
its full six feet, two inches. His back was straight as a rod as he marched solemnly
to the front office.

Both women were already in the office, seated at their desk.
Only Evelyn greeted him with a friendly smile. “Good morning, Mr. Tillman.”

“Morning.” Something in his lack-luster reply alerted the young
woman to his mood. Her eyes flew up to his and a quick look passed between them.

“Let me bring you some coffee,” she said immediately, scooting
back from her workstation.

Harry went to his desk and sat down with a thud, his mind still
reeling from the overheard conversation. He was still staring at the plant on his
desk when Evelyn brought him a cup of steaming coffee cocooned in a paper napkin.

“Here. I think you need this.” She kept her back to Brenda as
she handed him his coffee and slid a meaningful glance down to the napkin. With
deft fingers, Harry slid the small piece of paper from between the folds and worked
it beneath the edge of his cuff. He thanked Evelyn for the coffee as she turned
away and returned to her work.

Harry piddled at his desk as he drank the coffee, knowing fully
well that Brenda cast overt glimpses his way. Pretending not to notice her censure,
he pulled the picture frame from his desk drawer and muttered loudly enough for
her benefit, “Well, time to hit the road. Wish me safe travels, Nellie.”

Even if she stood directly in front of him, it would have been
difficult for the bookkeeper to see the way his long, thin fingers smoothly transferred
the paper from his sleeve into the bottom of the frame. It slid perfectly between
the back of the photo and the cardboard backing, even though half dozen similar
papers were stuffed inside.

Over the last few weeks, Evelyn had been slipping him pilfered
information, all of which he stored in the picture frame. When he came back to the
warehouse late in the evening and found he had the office to himself, he would slip
the papers out and see what new secrets the secretary had uncovered. A dangerous
game they played, but Harry knew of no other way. Everything— including the inner
office doors, file cabinets, even Brenda’s desk—was kept under lock and key. A straightened
paper clip didn’t always do the job.

On his way back out, Harry gave Evelyn the secret code to meet
him after work. “Miss Evelyn, I might need a bit more of that paper you ladies keep
hidden round here. I’ll get it when I’m done with my rounds.”

“Of course, Mr. Tillman. You be careful out there.”

“Yes,” Brenda agreed in a stiff voice, watching the exchange
between the two. “Be careful.”

***

Darkness had settled in for the evening, pushing dark shadows
into every nook and cranny. Normally unconcerned with nightfall, Harry felt a shiver
of unease as he parked his car at Dan’s Market. Crossing the parking lot, he hunched
his shoulders to ward off the chill. Whether it came from a blowing wind or unseen
eyes, he couldn’t quite say, but his long pace quickened.

This was the third time to meet with Evelyn afterhours, and they
had established a bit of a routine. Evelyn would stop by the store her family owned
and casually offer to help out, busying herself with random tasks until her boss
showed up. Harry would come in and mention coffee, which she would offer to make
fresh. While waiting for the dark liquid to brew, they would strike up what appeared
to be a casual conversation.

“Did you look at the paper?” Evelyn asked lowly.

“Didn’t get a chance. Debarge was still there.”

Harry did not bother to elaborate with the full story. When he
returned to the warehouse and saw Mansel Debarge’s car still in the parking lot,
he knew what was coming. The other man would demand to know why the two packages
were not delivered the day before. Judging from the conversation he overheard that
morning, the exchange would not be pleasant.

Deciding to take a pro-active approach, Harry beat him to the
punch. “Say, the darnedest thing happened today. I came across two packages that
weren’t listed on my delivery manifest. ‘Course, I went ahead and delivered them
anyway, ‘specially when one of them was to Beecher. I know they’re one of our Preferred
Customers and all. But how do you figure that could have happened?” Harry hoped
he looked genuinely perplexed as he scrunched his eyebrows.

He obviously caught Debarge by surprise. The other man had no
ready answer, but the relief was clear on his face. With a trace of wariness lingering
in his gaze, Debarge thanked him for taking the initiative and delivering the package.

To Harry’s relief, the incident died without further mention,
but he made a hasty exit in case Debarge changed his mind. Harry’s hands had been
a bit unsteady as he reached for the door handle.

His hands were steadier now, even though the sensation of being
watched still lingered in his belly. Just in case, Harry made a show of gathering
his Styrofoam cup and sugar packets as he waited for the coffee to brew. “What was
on the paper?” he asked out the side of his mouth, his voice too low to carry.

Evelyn turned to him with a bright smile. “Absolutely nothing.”
For anyone watching, she might have been stating her plans for the coming weekend.
But as she dipped her head again, her voice dropped and she elaborated, “It was
a blank piece of paper. It was stuck to the bottom of Galano’s shoe when he came
from the padlocked room.”

“So why give it to me?”

“When you see it, you’ll know. Feels almost like linen.”

“Like money?” Surprise made his voice come out louder than intended.
He glanced around to see if anyone was near enough to hear his outburst. No one
was.

“Exactly.” Again, a bright, open smile for the benefit of anyone
watching from a distance.

Harry thrust his cup forward and played along with the charade.
“That looks mighty good. Piping hot, too.”

“Yes, I’d say very hot. You’ll have to be extremely careful.”
She poured the liquid slowly, her voice now little more than a murmur. “The store
took in some more of those counterfeit bills. Nice crisp twenties like the ones
I gave you a few weeks ago. I hear they’re popping up all over town. Over in Johnson,
too.”

When Harry jerked in surprise, he sloshed hot coffee all over
his hand.

“Mr. Tillman, are you all right?” Evelyn cried in concern.

Harry hardly noticed the red whelps already appearing on his
scalded skin. He had spent much of his poker earnings — most of it paid out in crisp,
new twenty-dollar bills — right here at Dan’s; he also frequented their location
in Johnson when over that way.