Secrets of the Red Box (34 page)

Bonnie tested the bathwater with her fingers as she leaned over the sparkling salmon-colored
bathtub. “Bath time, Jeannie!” she called from the bathroom. She placed two towels on the toilet
seat and peeked out of the door. “Jeannie? Come on, now I don’t have time to play games.”

A wail pierced the air and Bonnie walked into her children’s bedroom. “What happened to
Charlie?” she asked, bending down to pick up her crying fifteen-month-old son.
Jeannie’s large blue eyes stared up at her mother. “He tried to pull Baby Girl’s tail and she hissed
at him. I think she scared him.”
Bonnie sat on Jeannie’s twin bed. “Well, never mind. Get undressed.”
She wiped Charlie’s tears away with her apron and tugged off his shirt and pants. Next came the
rubber pants and his diaper and then she carried him to the bathtub.
Jeannie followed, naked and pink and happy to take her bath. “I don’t wear diapers anymore,
huh, Mom. I’m a big girl now, huh, Mom.”
Bonnie knelt beside the bathtub and lifted Charlie into the tepid water. He sat with a splash and
began slapping at the bubbles. “Yes, you’re my big girl,” she said with a soft smile. She helped
Jeannie into the tub and soaped up a washcloth.
Bonnie looked at her two miracles, the two most precious gifts she’d ever received. She’d never
believed she could love her children as much as she did. Every facet of her life had completely
changed the moment the nurse laid her baby girl in her arms. She remembered the overwhelming
love that had poured out of her as she fingered the blanket and peered into Jeannie’s tiny face. She
remembered the tears that flowed down her cheeks as she held her baby, more valued than her own
life. The impossible had become possible.
When she became pregnant with Charlie, she’d prayed she could carry him to term, just as she
had with Jeannie. And when he was born, more tears greeted the arrival of her beautiful son. She
and Glen had made a family, a family they were head-over-heels in love with.
“When’s Daddy coming home?” Jeannie asked as her mother scrubbed her back with the
washcloth.
“He should be home any minute,” she replied. “And I want you both scrubbed and in your
pajamas before the babysitter comes.”
“Cause it’s your ann-i-ber-serry, huh, Mom.”
Bonnie smiled and tapped Jeannie on the nose. “That’s right. Daddy and I were married five
years ago today.”
“Five,” she said, holding up her hand, fingers and thumb spread wide to indicate the number.
“That’s a lot, huh, Mom. I’ll be this many pretty soon.” She curled her thumb into the palm of her
hand. “Four.”
Bonnie grinned. “Yes, you’ll be four in a few more months.”
She gave Jeannie a final rinse, hauled her out of the tub, and placed her on the bathmat. As she
rubbed her daughter dry with a towel, she kept an eye on Charlie. He was content entertaining
himself with the water.
Bonnie kissed Jeannie on the forehead. “Okay, now—”
“Where is everyone?” Glen called, stepping in from the hallway.
Jeannie bolted from her mother’s hands. “Daddy! Daddy!”
The little girl squealed with delight as Glen hoisted her into his arms and smiled down at Bonnie.
“Hi, babe,” he said, kissing the top of her head.
“Guess what, guess what, Daddy?” Jeannie asked, tugging on her father’s lapel.
Glen drew his attention to his little girl and smiled. “What, Jeannie-beanie?”
“Mommy let me help make peanut butter sandwiches today.” The girl, who looked like her
mother, nodded emphatically.
“Will you get her in her pajamas while I finish up with Charlie?” Bonnie asked over her
shoulder. “I’ve still got to get myself ready for tonight.”
“Oh, you could wear a potato sack and look amazing,” he said as he turned from the bathroom.
“Good,” she replied after him with a laugh. “I’ll wear that next year on our anniversary and you
can wear a pair of torn overalls.”
“Make it a barrel and you’ve got a deal.”
With the children bathed and dressed for bed, Bonnie and Glen began to get ready for the
anniversary party Irene and Don were hosting. Jeannie sat on her parents’ bed, talking to a doll while
little Charlie sat on the floor in his footed pajamas, chewing on a squeaky toy.
Glen stood in the closet rummaging through things, grumbling to himself as he did.
“What are you looking for?” Bonnie asked as she fastened the rhinestone earring to her ear lobe .
“My high school yearbook,” he said, his voice muffled by the clothes.
“Why are you looking for it in there?”
Glen stuck his head out of the large closet. “Because I’ve looked everywhere else for it, that’s
why. I can’t find it.”
Bonnie heaved out a sigh. “Why do you have to look for it now? We’re going to be late.”
“I promised Ralph I’d bring it to the party. He said something about meeting someone at work
he was sure was in my class. He’s too embarrassed to ask the guy. Said he’s a big shot or
something.”
The doorbell rang and Bonnie grabbed her second earring off the dresser. “That’s the
babysitter,” she said. “It’s probably up in the attic in one of those boxes with your old uniforms.
You don’t have time to get it tonight, honey.”
With the earring clasped in her hand, Bonnie lifted Charlie into her arms as Jeannie ran ahead of
her. “The babysitter’s here, the babysitter’s here!” the little girl cried with excitement.
///////
It was Saturday afternoon, the day after their anniversary celebration. Bonnie and Irene had
taken the Taggart children to buy new shoes. Glen had already done his normal Saturday chores and
was rambling around the empty house looking for something to do when he remembered he had
failed to produce the old year book for Ralph the previous evening.
Whistling a jaunty tune, he went into the hallway and pulled on a short rope tethered to the attic
door. As the door came down, an extension of stairs descended from the opening. Glen climbed the
narrow stairs and entered the attic. He fumbled for the string attached to a single light fixture
suspended from the rafters. When he yanked it a stream of dusted light filled the cramped room.
He took an inventory of the Christmas decorations, an old sewing machine belonging to his
mother, a hideous lamp he’d found at a garage sale, but that Bonnie wouldn’t allow in the house,
and stacks of boxes piled against the angled walls. He lifted one down and pried open the crisscrossed flaps, peering inside with a twinge of excitement. He hadn’t seen the contents of this dusty
box for years. He sat on the grubby floor and rummaged through it, pausing to look at his old report
cards, some crude-looking drawings from a high school art class, an old cigar box containing a rock
collection. He laughed and wondered why he’d kept any of it. When he found no yearbook he took
down another box and began his search again.
As he lifted the flaps the harsh light from the single bulb glanced across a red box. He took it
out and examined it. He shook it gently and could tell there was something inside. And then he
remembered. This was the box he’d rescued from the trash, thinking Bonnie had thrown it out by
mistake. She must have truly thrown it out because he’d never heard her asking about it, and in the
excitement of that day, he’d completely forgotten of its rescue.
He recalled the first time he’d seen the box in Bonnie’s little apartment the day he’d helped her
move. A vision flashed in his mind of the look on her face that day, the colorless pallor of her skin
as he brought it toward her. He wondered now what made her throw it out. It had seemed so
important to her back then.
The screws of the left hinge had come loose, and the one on the right looked as though it had
been torn free. The lock was of the type that flipped up when opened, a metal tab released by
pulling sideways on a gold button. Even though it was still locked, when he popped the remaining
screw free from the right hinge the lid was able to be opened.
With Glen’s curiosity piqued, he lifted the lid and looked inside. He choked down the guilty
feeling that rose in his throat as he stared at his wife’s private things. There were two photographs of
Bonnie with a man he’d never met. He chuckled to himself and thought the man must have been an
old boyfriend. It’s funny what women will keep, he thought to himself.
He placed the photos beside him and saw a piece of paper folded in half. Picking it up, he
splayed it open. As his eyes scanned the document, his heart lurched into his throat. He could feel
the blood in his veins run cold and his head began to pound. There must be an explanation, he told
himself as he read over the marriage license again. There it was in black and white—John Peterson
and Bonnie Denton, married January 5, 1945, issued in San Diego County.
Glen swallowed hard and tried to get his heart to slow its hammering.
Bonnie Denton…is that my
Bonnie? Was she married before? Was this John killed in the war and she didn’t tell me?
His head was spinning
with unanswered questions. His fingers fumbled over a little bank book, the kind used for savings
accounts. Glen thumbed open the pages and saw regular deposits dated from 1942 to 1945, with a
final withdrawal of over twelve thousand dollars.
He could no longer breathe. What did this all mean? Another paper presented itself. His fingers
were trembling now as he read. John Peterson, born in Charlotte, South Carolina, mother, Harriet,
father, Joseph, two brothers, Daniel and Lewis. Brown eyes, sandy hair, mole on left cheek, likes
peanuts and hamburgers…
“Bonnie,” he heard himself whisper, “what is this…”
Another folded paper beneath the description of John Peterson stared back at Glen, daring him
to open its secret. Tears formed in his eyes as he read from the marriage license, Arthur Jackson and
Bonnie Brown, married October 17, 1944. He felt his heart rip in two, the betrayal so palpable he
thought he was going to retch. Glen continued forcing himself to reveal everything dark and ugly
contained in the red box.
He read paper after paper, marriage certificates for Allan Reinhold and Bonnie Jepson, February
1, 1944; Joseph Shippton and Bonnie Elliot, August 10, 1943; Wyatt Belka and Bonnie Garrett, June
14, 1943; Luther Shold and Bonnie Mackenzie, November 3, 1942.
His entire world collapsed in on him, spiraling him into more pain than he’d ever felt in his life.
He thought he knew Bonnie, but now he realized he didn’t know her at all. He didn’t know anything
about her. It was as if he had been living with a stranger for the last five years.
Rage began to claw at him with talons of icy steel. He shot to his feet and beat down the urge to
hurl the box against the wall. Glen clasped his head between his hands as all the emotions swirled
within him, frothing and churning in a sea of pain and betrayal.
He had to leave the house before Bonnie got back. He couldn’t look at her now. He had to go,
try to think this through, try to make some sense of it. The photographs, the descriptions of each
man, the marriage licenses burned his fingers as he shoved them back into the box. Tears welled in
his eyes and his gut twisted on itself as he picked up the box and climbed down the attic stairs.
Lifting the bottom step he gave it a shove and the stairs folded up on their spring-loaded mechanism
and disappeared back into the attic, the little door following.
Glen stormed to the kitchen and scribbled out a note.
Went to the office, be back soon
. Glen cursed
himself. Why was he concerned now about what she thought? What did it matter? What did any of it
matter? Everything between them had been a lie.
The oppressive weight of her betrayal crushed his chest as he got into the car, the box of lies
tucked under his arm. His lungs heaved with jagged breaths, his fingers fumbling to engage the key.
He jammed the car in gear and sped from the driveway.
It’s all been a lie…every minute of the last five
years, a lie…I thought she loved me…
Glen drove blindly. He squealed around corners, drove too fast, not caring whether he lived or
died. Everything was lost to him now; everything he’d believed in, had loved was destroyed by the
secrets of the red box.
A bitter ache gouged his throat dry, and he could no longer see the road through his tears. Glen
pulled the car into a parking lot and pummeled the steering wheel with his clenched fists. He
screamed with an anguished pain that comes only from a tortured heart. Rivulets of tears scalded his
face and he slumped against the car seat, racked with heaving sobs.
When he could no longer cry, when all he felt was numb and dull-minded, he opened the box.
Slowly, as if he had no choice in the matter, Glen looked at each item again.

Luther Shold – born May 19, 1924 – farmer in Albert City, Kansas. Blonde hair, blue eyes, Navy
communications, 4 sisters, parents Carl and Dagmar. Likes to go fishing, doesn’t like Chinese food, reads Jules
Verne and H. G. Wells. Approx. 5’ 8”, nickname Spud. Calls me angel.

Glen let the paper fall beside him on the car seat. In the box was a cluster of Social Security
cards held together with a paper clip. He took off the clip and shuffled through them. They all listed
the first name as “Bonnie,” but had differing last names. Glen patted them together, replaced the
clip, and set them aside.

He picked up a photograph of Bonnie grasping a light post. She was smiling, looking perfectly
innocent. But as he studied her face, he could see there was no life in her eyes. They looked empty,
like nothing he’d ever seen in her before.

Fresh tears welled in his eyes as he reviewed photo after photo of Bonnie with men he didn’t
know, men who obviously didn’t know Bonnie any better than he did. What had happened to these
men? Were they still alive? Had they survived the war? Maybe each of them had died in combat and
Bonnie re-married after their deaths. He wanted to believe that, to make that true, but as he opened
the little bank book, the evidence would not support his improbable theory. Deposits, made
monthly, increasing in number confirmed that she was married to all of them simultaneously. The
first deposit of fifty dollars was made in December of 1942. By July of 1943, two fifty-dollar
deposits were made each month until August, when there were three fifty-dollar deposits. Each
marriage, each year mounted in the book, providing Bonnie with three hundred dollars a month by
March of 1945. The most telling deposit, however, was one for ten thousand dollars. Ten thousand
dollars…Glen knew that amount. He’d signed up for the government life insurance policy as well,
making his father the beneficiary. The knot in his stomach tightened. Which one of these men had
died to enrich Bonnie’s life? Which one of these poor suckers had given her what she’d wanted all
along?