The Locked Box

 
July 31,1981, Crabapple Farm Twelve year old Trixie Belden sighed loudly as she slapped her dust cloth across the table and stared out the living room window. The clouds were heavy and dark. A storm was definitely imminent. She sighed again, louder this time. Helen Belden stood in the doorway between the living room and kitchen and smiled at her daughter’s melodramatics. She knew that her daughter was missing her older brothers Brian and Mart. The boys were away at camp, Brian as a Jr. Counselor and Mart as wait staff. “Trixie,” she called out. “Bobby is going over to Chase Morgan’s for a play date. I was hoping we could work in the garden, but I don’t think the weather is going to let us. Why don’t you get started on the cellar while I’m gone. Most of those boxes were put down there after your grandfather died, and Heaven knows we need more storage space for our winter canned goods.” Helen hid a smile as her daughter’s blue eyes brightened. “Moms,” Trixie gushed. “Can I look through those boxes? I wasn’t even born when Grandpa Dave died. There’s probably all sorts of cool stuff in them.” Helen nodded. “I don’t see why not. Look at whatever you want. Just remember to sort them into piles for Daddy to go through. He needs to decide what we’re keeping, and what goes out.” “OkeeDokey,” Trixie yelped, as she started out the door. “Wait!” Helen held up her hand. “Finish the dusting first, and put away your cloth. Then you can get started on the boxes. I’ll show you what I need you to do.” Fifteen minutes later, Helen watched as her daughter clomped down the cellar stairs dressed in cutoff jeans and a dust smudged tank top. Trixie bore a striking resemblance to the girl Helen had been, with one noticeable exception: Helen would not have been allowed to dress in such a tomboy fashion, even to clean the cellar. As Trixie started attacking the pile of cardboard boxes, Helen thought smugly that both her sister Alicia and her sister-in-law-also, ironically, an Alicia-would have a fit if either saw her niece thus garbed. Both older women were always trying to turn Trixie into a proper lady. Helen knew full well that Trixie’s time would come. She saw no reason to force her only daughter into premature adulthood. “Start with the section along this wall,” she instructed. “Anything you think can be thrown away put in the cardboard boxes. Books, clothes and things worth keeping should go in the Rubbermaid containers. Daddy can look through them later and make the final decisions.” Helen kissed her daughter’s forehead, and started up the stairs. “If you think you’ll be okay, I might drop Bobby off at the Morgan’s, and do a little shopping until he’s done. Sound all right?” “Sure Moms,” Trixie said. “I’ll be fine. There is a lot to go through, and it’s not like I’m a baby.” “I know,” Helen sighed. “Just be careful.” She whispered to herself as she left, “You’ll always be my baby.”  Trixie worked very hard for nearly two hours, separating old bills and clothing from books and papers she thought might be interesting or useable. Before long she had three Rubbermaid containers filled, a stack of potential trash, and one box left to sort. Opening the last box she sat back with a gasp. Inside was filled with a uniform, an open tin full of colorful ribbons and medals and a wooden box with a small brass lock. Trixie gently removed the uniform and unfolded it. Navy dress whites. Standing, she held the pants up to her body. The waist was nearly shoulder height, but then again, she wasn’t all that tall. Grinning she folded up the trousers and returned to the box. The medals and ribbons were interesting, especially the purple heart, but Trixie’s attention was drawn again and again to the locked box. Trixie carefully folded up the uniform and placed it and the medals in a rubber container, searching hopefully for a key to the wooden box. She moved the empty cardboard upstairs and out to the garage, then swept the cellar floor. Finally, she picked up the box and took it up to her bedroom. Sitting on her bed she opened her night stand drawer and pulled out a hairpin left from Aunt Alicia Johnson’s last attempt to tame Trixie’s hair. Bending the pin, Trixie carefully inserted one end into the lock and wiggled it gently. After a little work, the lock popped, and she was able to open the lid. A wave of guilt hit her, but she pushed it aside, rationalizing, “Moms did say I could look at whatever I wanted.” Guilt assuaged, she peeked inside. The scent of cedar wafted over her as she lifted out a book covered with navy cloth. It was embossed with the naval emblem and the words My Life in the Service. The pages were yellowed with age, and it bulged with papers that had been tucked into a pouch attached to the back binding. Underneath the book was a small packet of letters, tied with a faded silver ribbon. Trixie left the packet, and turned her attention to the book. Opening the cover, she noted her Grandfather’s name in neat script; Lieutenant David J. Belden. She turned the first page and began reading. May 22, 1946 I have been a soldier for eight years. Two four year tours. I have seen death. I have caused death. I was wounded in the Pacific, and I have experienced the desperation of men willing to sacrifice themselves for ideals, even ones I couldn’t understand. None of that compares to the destruction and desperation I have experienced in the last six weeks. Nature’s destruction trumps it all, and the destruction of my own fantasies and beliefs follows close behind. I have served my country, and I have betrayed my wife. The vows I made lie shattered, and I can’t take back what I have done. What is worse, I can neither deny the actions that have brought me here, nor am I sure I would change them even if I could. The events of the last several weeks have opened my eyes to my own faults and follies, and have made me make choices I may have otherwise avoided. It all began on a sunny morning in paradise....  Honolulu, Hawaii, March 31st 1946 “Grab a bag and meet me at the strip at 4:00 Kah-mah-eelee,’” Lt. David Belden grinned at his secretary drawing out her name. “We’re going to Hilo for two days.” Kamaile Kaneohe, his civilian secretary, stopped in her tracks, the morning mail still clutched in her hand. “Hilo?” she gulped. “Today?” “Is that a problem? David grinned again, his bright blue eyes dancing. “Because your mother already said she’d watch Kalahiki for you.” “You spoke with my mother?” Kamaile shook her head. “That was a bit nervy, don’t you think?” “Your mother likes me,” David said. “And I need you on this trip. There is some sort of hold up with a shipment. The C.O. wants me to meet with the PTB and work it all out, and I need you to document the meeting, because no one else can decipher my writing. So, Mrs. Kaneohe, get moving. We’ve got two hours.” “Aye, aye sir,” Kamaile mocked, handing him the mail. “I’ll go get my things, and you can deliver the mail. There’s a nice pink envelope in there for you by the way. From the Missus?” She turned sharply and walked away, leaving the Lieutenant staring appreciatively after her.  Hilo, Hawaii, March 31st, 1946 Lieutenant David Belden sat in Paradise and wallowed in Hell. He hunched over the bar, the letter clenched in his fist, and signaled Joe the barkeep for another drink He downed the single malt whiskey in one gulp, then looked blearily at the crumpled letter and signaled for another. There was a tap on his shoulder and the whisper of soft cotton as Kamaile slipped onto the bar stool next to him. “What are you doing here Lieutenant?” she asked quietly. “Getting stinking drunk,” David growled. “Not that it’s any of your business Camille.” Kamaile winced at the use of her “English” name, but stiffened her spine and spoke firmly to her boss. “Lieutenant, you’re already stinking drunk. Joe called me. If any of the upper administration gets wind of this, you could lose your commission.” “Don’t matter,” David, said grimly. “It’s not like I’ve got anything left to lose.” He dropped the letter on the bar and clumsily tried to smooth it. “This came today. Read it! Go ahead.” Kamaile picked up the crumbled paper and began to read. Dear David, Your mother’s condition worsens daily, and I fear that your father won’t be able to go on should the worst happen. It is lonely here on the farm, David, and we need you. Hal and Alicia barely recognize your picture, and you’ve never even held little Peter. I know that I married a soldier David, but that was when there was a war. I didn’t know you would spend so much time, so far away. I can’t do this anymore. I was talking to Seth Tomlinson last week, when he came over to set the fields. He treated me like a woman, even though I feel like a drudge. It was nice to have a man look at me, talk to me. I miss that. David, you haven’t been home in nine months, and your last leave was only six weeks. I know you’re planning to re-up when your enlistment runs out in June. I am begging you not to. You need to be here. I need a husband, the children need a father and your parents need their son. I would hope you need us more than you need the Navy. You must make a choice, David. Think about it carefully. I still love you, but if you reenlist, I will divorce you. I need more in my life. than I have now. The children and I deserve better. Choose carefully David, Caroline Kamaile set down the letter. David looked at her. “See?” he asked. “She’s going to take it all away, just because she’s got a thing for Seth Tomlinson. He’s a damned farmer and horse breeder. He’s never been outside of Westchester County. He’s got nothing. He is nothing. And she...” he paused, then continued softly, “I either lose my career, or my family. I can’t win.” He signaled for another drink, but Kamaile caught Joe’s eye and shook her head slightly. “You’ve had enough Lieutenant. Let’s go for a walk.” She tugged lightly on his uniform sleeve. He yanked away. “I don’t want to walk,” he said in slow, measured tones. “I want to drink.” Kamaile looked at him, and simply said, “No. You don’t.” David looked into her dark eyes and nodded. He dropped some bills on the bar and allowed himself to be led out onto the beach. Out on the sand, Kamaile reached down and removed her sandals. “You too, Lieutenant,” she ordered gently. “Barefoot on the beach time.” David unlaced his shoes, but lost his tenuous balance and dropped to the sand. Kamaile knelt next to him, “Are you hurt?”she asked. There was no answer. “Lieutenant?” she tried again. Silence. She place a hand on his chest, he was breathing rapidly and she realized that he was in fact sobbing. “Oh David,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around him. “It will be okay. It’ll work out.” They sat there for hours, in the sand as David confessed his anger and his fear of losing all he had worked for. Kamaile listened, sympathized, and shared her own tale of sorrow. “My husband died at Pearl,” she said. “In the aftermath. He was burned so horribly, I could barely recognize him. He lived for three days after the bombings and it was awful. Kalahikiola was only a few months old when his father died.” She wiped her eyes. “I know what it’s like to lose what you love David. And I know how it is for a boy to grow up without a father. You have to put aside your anger, and follow your heart.” David stared at the sun rising across the horizon. He looked at the woman cuddled beside him. “Right now,” he said. “My heart is telling me to kiss you.” His hand stroked her dark hair gently. He dipped his head toward her, but she stopped him. “I think it’s the whiskey talking.” “No, the whiskey is long gone.” David said, as he pressed his lips to hers. Kamaile allowed herself to dissolve in the passion for a brief moment, then pulled back. “No, David,” she said firmly. “You really don’t want to do this.” “What if I do?” he asked, giving her a lopsided smile and pulling her close. Angrily Kamaile' shoved him away. Rising, she gathered her shoes and looked at him with a measure of disgust. “Contrary to popular American belief, women of Hawaii are not whores. You are a married man Lieutenant, and I assure you that I have morals, even if you appear to have lost yours in an alcohol haze.” She turned and stomped off down the beach. “Ahh shit!” David moaned, hauling himself to his feet and scrambling around after his shoes. “Kamaile I’m sorry! Damn it! Wait!” He stumbled after her as the first sun rays began to show over the horizon. He caught up with her quickly, as she had stopped suddenly, looking out into the harbor. She was pointing, and her mouth was moving, with no words coming forth. “What? What is it?” David asked, concerned at her pallor. Kamaile gathered her voice and croaked, “Awa malo’o.” “In English?” David asked, following her gaze. “The harbor is dry,” Kamaile’ stated in horror. “The harbor is dry!” David looked out across the boat yard. The harbor was, indeed, dry. Much more so than he’d ever seen before. “What’s going on?” he asked. “Kai’e’e.” Kamaile shook herself, “Tsunami. A tidal wave, David. We have to get to high ground. Hurry! “A tidal wave?” David wondered. “Are you sure?” Kamaile grabbed his hand and began to run. “Yes, I’m sure. I’ve seen this before. In 1933. We must raise the alarm, and we have to hurry. Please David, please!” Together they ran across the sand, Kamaile yelling, “TSUNAMI!!” and David yelling, “RUN!!” They were halfway up the beach cliff when the first wave hit. It wasn’t really a wave, more a towering wall of water. David had never seen anything more foreign or terrifying in his life. Not even during the war, facing enemy fire, had he felt as vulnerable as he did in the face of this 30 foot tall tower of black sea water. It crashed up the cliff, drenching them and hurling debris about. David felt Kamaile’s hand slip from his grasp as the wave began to recede, pulling her with it. He grabbed at her frantically as water filled his eyes and ears. Under the water, fighting the sucking current, David had the sickening feeling that he was drowning. His life had just begun to parade across his dimming sight, when his back struck hard against an immovable object, shaking him from his encroaching lethargy. A tree. He grabbed it with his free arm, dragging Kamaile with him. Their heads broke water and they both gasped as sweet air filled their lungs. David pulled her tight against him, mumbling, “It’s all right. We’re okay.” He took a huge breath and repeated, “We’re okay. The water is going down. We’re halfway up a tree, but we’re okay.” Kamaile shook her head. “There might be more. They could be worse. We have to get out of here.” She looked down at the now knee high water pulling back toward the open ocean. “We have to get to higher ground, and we need to do it fast.” They waited, clutching each other and the tree, for what seemed like hours. Finally, the water fell to a manageable depth and they left the tree and started once more for the hills. Hurrying forward, focused only on his destination, David was only marginally aware of the destruction all around him. Kamaile kept pace with him, stumbling over debris as it flowed past. She gave a frightened shriek, and David glanced back to see the second wave coming at them. Desperately he stretched the last fifty yards to the crest of the hill, pulling Kamaile with him. The second wave broke against the hill, drenching them both and swirling around their ankles, but David and Kamaile stood just above it, out of reach by mere inches. “YeeeeeHawww!” David screamed at the rushing water. “Take that Mother Nature, you old bitch. Not this time!” He waved his arms above his head and danced in a circle, thrilled to be alive. Kamaile watched him in stunned silence. Shaking her head she backed away from him. Her foot stepped back on something wooden. There was a cracking sound, and she barely had time to cry out before she disappeared into the earth.  “Trixie! We’re home!” Trixie jumped at the sound of her mother’s voice. She cast a glance at her clock. “4:00 already?” she whispered. “Wow, time flies.” “Trixie?” Helen’s voice echoed up the stairs. “Coming Moms,” Trixie yelled. She slid a nail file into the log book to mark her place, closed the cover, and slipped it under her pillow. Casting a longing glance at her bed, she headed downstairs to help with dinner. Beginnings Connections Index Family Secrets 3_Beginnings.html2_Connections_Universe_Index.html3.2_The_Family_Secret.htmlshapeimage_1_link_0shapeimage_1_link_1shapeimage_1_link_2