Secrets of the Red Box (17 page)

After ten days at sea, Glen Taggart was more than ready to set foot on American soil. As the
Liberty ship came into the harbor at Newport News, Virginia, Glen made his way across the deck
for his first glimpse of the United States in more than three years. His pulse raced as he read an
enormous sign spanning the dock: “WELCOME HOME, BOYS! WELL DONE!” The impact of
the greeting overwhelmed him with relief and gratitude. Tears welled in his eyes, the reality of
arriving home finally hitting him with full force. He couldn’t believe it, couldn’t believe he’d actually
made it.

Men crowded the deck of the ship, some tearful like Glen, others whooping and shouting with
exuberant joy. Glen saw hundreds of civilians lined up below, waving tiny flags and shouting their
welcome. Men, women, and children, gathered together in a festive reception for the men who’d
risked their lives for them.

Glen felt his throat tighten, his chest constrict with emotion. He imagined his mother there,
waving a handkerchief at him, tears streaming down her face. Maybe she
was
there, he thought,
maybe it wasn’t his imagination. He’d felt her near more than once during the battles, the gunfire,
the cold desperate nights. Maybe she was welcoming him home too.

He was ordered to line up as the gangway swung into place. Glen felt a nervous roll tremble
through him as men’s names were called off a list. When a name was called, that GI disembarked
from the ship. Glen watched as some of the men fell to their knees and kissed the ground. He knew
what they felt, besieged with emotion too raw to express any other way. They were home, finally
home, and touching U.S. soil with their own two feet.

Glen waited as the lines around him dwindled. Finally, he heard his name and dashed for the
gangplank. He couldn’t help it as he hurried into the crowd of people and fell to his own knees,
leaned forward, and planted his lips to the ground. He wasn’t ashamed of the tears that moistened
his cheeks when he stood up. A man thrust his hand into Glen’s and shook it vigorously. “Welcome
home, son.”

Glen saw something in the man’s eyes that astonished him. He saw gratitude for what he’d done,
and an understanding that it had come with great cost. The man’s eyes misted with sincerity, and it
touched Glen to the depths of his soul. He didn’t think he’d ever forget that look, or the moment,
or the sense that his sacrifice had been worth it…that
all
their sacrifices had been worth it.

The GIs were ushered toward waiting trucks. Glen climbed into the back of an already crowded
military truck and wedged himself between two men. “Where we goin’?” one of the men asked.
“I heard Camp Patrick Henry,” someone said.
“I don’t care where it is, just so’s I can get out of this uniform,” another shouted with a loud
laugh.
“Man, if I never see olive drab again, it’ll be okay with me!” the first man said with a slap to his
thigh.
Glen observed in his quiet way, taking in the moment as a silent witness. The truck started to
move, jerking and shuddering as the driver shifted gears. His head was spinning. Everything seemed
to be happening with tremendous speed. Before he knew it, the truck pulled through the gates of the
camp and came to a stop. As they jumped to the ground, they were pointed to the rec hall in area
five and given a map of the camp.
Glen and the others surged into the rec hall, a buzz of male drones. They were instructed to take
a seat and wait for their name to be called. Glen found an empty folding chair and sat down. There
was a sense of surrealism about the whole thing, as if he was watching from some distant place,
watching everything unfold before him. Men’s names were called, they walked to the front, saluted
the officer who handed them their discharge papers, did an about-face, and were free men.
He hated that his gut was churning, a mixture of anticipation and dread roiling together in a
heated blend. As much as he wanted to be a free man, Glen wasn’t sure he’d know how to act as a
civilian. He wasn’t sure how he’d handle waking up when he wanted, going where he wanted, doing
what he wanted. Every aspect of his life for the past three years had been regimented to one degree
or another—dictated, as it were, by some captain or lieutenant, some general up the line. Now he’d
be his own man again, but he wasn’t sure who that man was.
Corporal Glen Taggart…the name sounded foreign to him, but he got up when he heard it and
went to the front. He saluted and received his discharge papers, did an about-face, and started back
through the rec hall. He walked by a captain on his way and automatically saluted.
The captain smiled. “You’re not a soldier anymore.”
Glen managed a sheepish grin. “Oh, yeah.” He shook his head as if to make it register. Reaching
into his pocket, he took out the Special Service Guide map of the camp he’d been given. Now all he
had to do was see the paymaster to get his mustering-out pay, grab a bus to the train station, and be
on his way.
With three hundred dollars in his pocket, Glen boarded one of the buses transporting GIs to the
bus depot, the train station, or into town. He took a seat and started smiling. It was almost like he’d
done something wrong and had avoided being caught. He was no longer Corporal Taggart, but Mr.
Taggart, and no one stopped to question him as he left the camp. There on the bus, with other
discharged GIs, Glen felt almost giddy as the men celebrated their good fortune. Instinctively, he
turned to share his thoughts with Charlie. The giddy sensation soured to bitter disappointment, and
the smile faded from his lips.

August melted into September with hot days but cooler nights. Bonnie felt comfortable in her
routine now. She liked working at Kirkendall’s, and found the chatty Irene fun and pleasant. Irene
never seemed to pry, and Bonnie didn’t offer much personal information. She was content to let
Irene carry the conversation when they were in between calls, listening to her prattle on about her
family and neighbors.

Her life had become ordinary, just as she’d always wanted. She fit in now with the hum of life in
Omaha. She became more able to push her former life into the recesses of her memory as if it had
all been a bad dream, fuzzy and fading with time.

On a Friday afternoon in mid-September, Bonnie finished up a call and reached for a glass of
water she kept on hand. It was warm and stale, but helped moisten her parched throat. Irene
swiveled in her chair. “Did you sign up for the company picnic?”

Bonnie looked over at Irene, then put the glass down. “I don’t think I’ll go—”
Irene flicked her wrist. “Oh, no you don’t,” she said with a teasing smile. “You’re coming and
that’s that. Beside, how would it look if one of the newest employees didn’t show up? You know,
some people go to have fun, which is me,” she said, pointing to herself, “and some people go to
make an appearance. But I promise if you come, you’ll have a good time.”
Bonnie chewed on her bottom lip. A company picnic seemed harmless enough, she guessed. She
wouldn’t have to stay long, just long enough to say hello to the right people. “Well, I suppose I
should—”
“You should,” Irene insisted. “Sign up for something easy, like cookies or chips. I’m bringing
my world-famous potato salad. Everybody loves it—it’s one of the first things to go. I’ve made it
every year since I started working here.”
“I don’t really cook much,” Bonnie admitted.
“Kirkendall’s buys all the hot dogs, and you should see Mr. Hammond in his cook’s apron.”
Irene chuckled. “He puts on his little chef’s hat, and wields a pair of tongs as if he was some sort of
king. He loves it, and so do we.”
“It’s tomorrow, right?”
Irene nodded. “It’s held at Riverview Park. The address is on the sign-up sheet. There’s a big
pavilion there—kind of looks like some Greek temple thing, I’ve always thought. Anyway, there’s a
lagoon with rowboats and a zoo there in the park. We’ll have games for the kids and some fun
activities for the adults as well. You’ve just got to come, Bonnie.”
Bonnie felt as though she couldn’t say no. “All right, I’ll come.”
Irene smiled. “I can’t wait for you to meet my family,” she said, her eyes filled with pride. “I’ve
told them all about you.”
What had Irene told them? Bonnie had barely revealed anything about herself to Irene. “Really?
What did you tell them?”
“Oh, I told them what a sweet girl you are, how smart and pretty. I told them you’re a good
listener and a good worker,” Irene gushed. “You’ll be just like part of the family.” Her board lit and
she spun to her station.
Bonnie took another sip of her warm water. She was taken aback at Irene’s description of her.
She had never considered herself sweet or smart, or even pretty. At least, she never
felt
pretty,
although on some level she knew she could attract men with her looks. The qualities that Irene
attributed to her were assumptions, as far as Bonnie was concerned. Irene had no evidence to back
them up. Because of her silence, she supposed, Irene had projected those attributes onto her, but it
was a façade at best. Irene didn’t know her at all, didn’t know what she was capable of doing.
For five weeks, she’d heard all about Irene’s family, about her husband, Don, who worked at the
Omaha Stock Yards, her oldest son Randy, a graduate from the University of Nebraska, a nd the first
in the Orton family to attend college. Randy was a teacher and had married his high-school
sweetheart, Doris. They had three children, two boys and a girl—David, Daniel, and Darcie. Then
there was Irene’s next oldest, Ralph, a sales manager for Swift and Company. He married a girl
named Candy, and they had two daughters. No, Bonnie remembered, it was
three
daughters—
Beverly, Maryann, and Peggy. Then her youngest child, Ann, had just married George Norton. She
remembered laughing when Irene had told her Ann had gone from being an Orton to a Norton and
teased her daughter by calling her Ann Orton-Norton.
Bonnie knew all about them, about Irene and Don’s little house on Laurel Avenue that was in
need of a new furnace, about the year all three of her children came down with chicken pox, about
the nosey neighbor, Mrs. Sheffer, who lived across the street. She knew that Irene spoiled her
grandchildren and that her husband loved Western movies. Bonnie had learned that Irene permed
her hair and loved to bake. She knew more about Irene Orton and her family than she knew of her
own parents. And in a strange, distant way, it was as if she somehow belonged to Irene’s family too.
Maybe it was just her desire to fit into something normal, something she’d never known growing up.
Maybe it was the way Irene spoke to her that made her feel included, as if she
was
a part of the
family. Maybe Irene made everyone feel that way. Whatever the reason, the Ortons didn’t feel like
strangers to her; she just hadn’t met them yet.
At the end of the day, Bonnie marched over to the sign-up sheet posted on the company bulletin
board. As she wrote down her name and food assignment and took down the address of the park,
she found herself smiling. She was actually looking forward to the picnic, and was glad Irene had
insisted on her attendance. And then Bonnie realized something she hadn’t expected. Irene
reminded her of her mother. Not in looks or personality, but through her essence, the kind, gentle
essence they both shared. Tears suddenly welled in her eyes. Bonnie hurried from the building and
began her walk home.
When she crossed Jones Street, she absently glanced up at her living room window. There was
Baby Girl, sitting on the window sill, peering through the glass at the activity below. Bonnie had
never seen her do that before and wondered how she’d managed the jump. It was probably her
recent growth spurt, Bonnie realized, and smiled as she neared the building.
She climbed the four flights of stairs and noticed a note tucked against the doorjamb. She pulled
it free and unfolded the paper.
Miss Cooper, you’re in violation of your lease. Come to my office at your earliest
convenience.
It was signed by the building manager. Bonnie felt her stomach lurch. She unlocked the
door and hurried inside to retrieve her copy of the lease agreement. She couldn’t imagine what she
had done.
Baby Girl meowed as if to complain about her mistress’s blatant lack of attention. They had a
pattern established—Bonnie opened the door and called the cat, then Baby Girl would jump onto
the comfy chair and wait to be petted.
Bonnie found the lease in her dresser drawer, took it into the living room, and sat down. She
began to skim the document until her gaze settled on the “no pets allowed” policy. Bonnie closed
her eyes and shook her head. She hadn’t realized that when she’d signed the lease. Of course, she
hadn’t had Baby Girl then, either. She wondered if a neighbor had heard the cat and reported it to
the manager, but most likely, he’d seen Baby Girl in the window and there’d be no way to deny it.
“Oh, why didn’t I think of this before? What are we going to do, Baby Girl?”
The cat jumped into Bonnie’s lap, already purring, made an attempt to nibble on the corner of
the lease, then squinted her eyes with contentment. Bonnie stroked her and fretted as she thought
about meeting with the manager. “I’d better go see what I can do about you, Baby Girl.”
Bonnie put the cat on the floor and went to the kitchen to feed her. She placed some kibble in
the dish and headed off to the manager’s office. All the way there, Bonnie kept thinking of ways she
could convince him to let her keep the apartment. But then, she thought, maybe it had nothing to
do with Baby Girl. Maybe there was something else. She hoped that was the case as she knocked on
the manager’s door.
Bonnie’s heart was pounding as the door opened. She gave him a disarming smile. “You wanted
to see me?” She sounded as though she had no idea why she’d been summoned.
“Yeah,” he said, leaning against the doorjamb. “You got a cat. No cats allowed.”
“Yes. I didn’t realize there was a no pet policy—”
“Don’t matter. You signed the lease. Get rid of the cat or move,” he said gruffly.
“Can’t we come to some sort of agreement?”
He scowled. “Yeah, we already did when you signed the lease.”
Bonnie tossed her head. “Well, I’m not giving up my cat.”
The manager hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans. “Then you got one week to
move, or I’ll evict you.”
“One week!” Bonnie gasped. “But I can’t—”
“One week, and that’s being generous. I could kick you out right now.”
Bonnie held up her hands. “No, no…please…I’ll be gone in a week.”
He started to close the door, then gave a shrug. “Sorry—it’s the policy, ya know. Nothin’
personal.”
Bonnie stared at the closed door and let out a breath. How would she find an apartment that
allowed animals on such short notice? And how was she going to get her things moved? She didn’t
even own a car. As Bonnie started back to her apartment, she considered contacting a moving
company to see how much it would cost, but it was too late in the evening to call now. And then
there was the company picnic to consider. She should skip it and start looking for an apartment, but
she didn’t want to let Irene down, nor seem ungrateful by not showing up.
She decided she’d make some phone calls first thing in the morning to some of the apartments
listed in the phone book to see which ones allowed pets. Then she’d go to the Hinky Dinky market
and pick up the chips, grab the bus to Riverview Park, put in her appearance, then return to finding
an apartment.
Bonnie went inside, and Baby Girl loped toward her in happy greeting. She picked up the cat
and kissed her head. “I’m not giving you up, Baby Girl, no matter what,” she murmured. “No
matter what.”
Bonnie didn’t sleep well, tossing and turning with worry. Baby Girl lay on the pillow beside her,
waking whenever Bonnie moved, but not leaving. She found a measure of comfort in that, a sense
of commitment from Baby Girl; as if she was telling her she wouldn’t give Bonnie up either,
wouldn’t leave her alone.
When dawn began to edge over the horizon, Bonnie threw back the covers, determined to make
the most of the time she had. She dressed, made some coffee and toast, fed Baby Girl, then sat
down with the phone book on her lap. She had a pencil and a pad of paper at the ready and began to
look up apartment buildings.
She wished she knew the city a little better. There were so many apartments, but she didn’t
recognize the addresses. It would be best if she found something close to work like the Drake had
been. Bonnie considered calling Christine. She’d know the proximity of the addresses, but Bonnie
hadn’t called her since she’d left the Rose Building. It would be awkward to ask for help when she’d
ignored her for so long.
Bonnie placed her finger on a page of the telephone book and decided to start calling,
eliminating those that didn’t take pets. At least she could narrow down the options and go from
there. She dialed the first number, and the phone rang without an answer. She made a note on her
paper and called the next. Again, no one answered. Bonnie glanced at her watch. It was only eight
o’clock. Maybe it was too early.
She shoved up from her chair and got her purse. She’d go to Hinky Dinky for the chips, then
come back and try calling again. On her way out of the store, she picked up a copy of the
newspaper. Maybe there would be some apartments for rent in there.
///////
Bonnie closed the phone book at eleven o’clock with a sigh. The apartments she managed to
reach didn’t allow pets, and there was nothing in the newspaper that did, either. She was beginning
to wonder if there was such a thing as a pet-friendly apartment. But she wouldn’t give up looking
until she had exhausted every possible avenue.
She changed into a yellow cotton sundress that tied behind her neck, exposing her bare
shoulders and the graceful curve of her collarbone. Pulling her hair into a ponytail, she fastened it,
and attached a decorative comb of colorful butterflies. She checked her makeup and applied fresh
lipstick, slipped her wrist through a thick Bakelite bracelet fashioned with linking clusters of cherries,
then walked through a mist of Arpege.
“What do you think?” she asked the cat as she turned in the mirror to check the back of her hair.
She went to the kitchen, taking up the paper bag of potato chips and her purse. “I won’t be long,
Baby Girl. Try to stay out of the window,” she called as she closed the apartment door.
Bonnie had already consulted the bus routes and climbed aboard the first of two buses she
would need to take. Then she’d only have to trek a couple of blocks on foot to reach the park.
The trip took longer than she’d expected with all the stops along the way to pick up and drop
off passengers, but she managed to make it there a little after noon. She saw the pavilion Irene had
mentioned and began to make her way toward it. The grounds were beautiful, with carpets of lush
grass, flowering shrubs, and tall trees to offer plenty of shade. She was surprised at how large t he
park seemed to be, unable to see any end to it from her vantage point.
“She’s here! Bonnie’s here!” she heard from the edge of the pavilion, and saw Irene wagging her
arm through the air.
Bonnie waved and watched a crowd of people flow out behind Irene as she came to greet her.
“Where should I put these?” Bonnie asked, indicating the bag of chips.
Irene took them from her and handed it to one of her grandsons. “Take this over to the table,”
she instructed the boy, then turned back to Bonnie. She offered a beaming smile and gave Bonnie a
little hug. “I’m so glad you’re here. Let me introduce you to everyone.”
Bonnie was a little embarrassed by Irene’s unexpected hug, yet it somehow felt good to her,
almost comforting. Irene started the introductions with her husband, and went through her children,
their spouses, and then her grandchildren. Putting a face to the names came easily to Bonnie, and
she noticed that each of the family members sported the same happy manner as Irene. This was
something entirely foreign to her, something she didn’t quite know how to take. Were they really as
happy as they seemed, or was it some sort of act, something they dusted off for public occasions?
Don was a tall and lanky man, his thin arm draped around Irene’s shoulder. “We’re just thrilled
to meet you, Bonnie. Irene has loads of nice things to say about you.”
Bonnie blushed, still stunned by Irene’s perception of her. “Well, I think of lot of Irene, too.
She’s been so kind and helpful to me.”
Irene’s oldest son snorted. “That’s Mom,” Randy said.
Randy’s wife, Doris, tipped down her sunglasses and smiled. “I love your dress, Bonnie. I wish I
had a figure like yours so I could wear something that cute. I’d look like a two-pound sausage
stuffed in a one-pound casing if I tried to wear it.”