Answers & More Questions
Trixie overslept the next morning. By the time she was dressed and downstairs, her father had already left for work.
“Drat,” she grumbled. “Now I’ll have to wait until tonight.”
Bobby kept Trixie busy all morning in the garden. He tried to help pull the weeds, but Bobby’s “Holp” was much more of a hindrance. Finally, after a late lunch, Moms put Bobby down for a nap and told Trixie to take a little time for herself.
That was all Trixie needed to hear. She retrieved the log book and packet of letters from their place under her bed and headed off through the wood to the neighbor’s small lake. As she walked past the tightly shuttered Manor House, Trixie wondered again if anyone would ever live there. The place had been empty for as long as she could remember, and although she and her brothers readily availed themselves of the lake, it might be nice to have neighbors again. Nice neighbors, not grumpy ones like Mr. Lytell and the scary old scarecrow Mr. Frayne.
Settling herself on the dock, Trixie kicked off her sandals and dipped her bare feet in the cool water. Leaning back, she pulled gently on the ribbon around the letters. Taking the first envelope, she read the address. “T. Penny. P.O. Box # 72. Hmmm. I wonder who that is.”
Removing the letter from the envelope, she began to read.
September 4, 1946
Dear David,
I hope this finds you well and settled back in your life. I received your letter, and I agree that you do deserve to be aware of your child’s life. Writing in care of your friend feels a bit spy-like, but I can understand your reasons. The baby is growing daily. By the time you get this letter, I will be nearly seven months along, and I assure you I am as big as a house. He or she moves around quite a bit, especially when I am trying to sleep!
We are doing well back here in Kauai. Kalihikiola is beginning school, and I have lucky enough to get a very good job with my cousin. As I told you before you left, we do not need your financial support. However, since you have already allocated your Reserve funds for our child, I assure you that it will be placed in savings for his or her future.
I will write again after the baby arrives.
Affectionately,
Kamaile
Trixie moved on to the next letter, dated January 25, 1947.
Dear David,
It is with awe and love that I write of the birth of our daughter. She arrived at 4:23 a.m. on January 3rd. She weighed nearly 7 pounds, and is 19 inches long. Her hair is dark with little blond tips, and her eyes are strangely gray-green. She is incredibly gorgeous and healthy. Her Hawaiian name is Kai'nehe pronounced Kah-ee-neh-heh. It means Calm Sea. I thought it appropriate given the circumstances of her creation. Conceived in a storm, I pray her life will be less tempestuous. Her English name is Sarah, in honor of your late mother. I hope you approve. We are well and happy. Kalahiki has taken to being a big brother. You needn’t worry about keeping the boys away with your gun; Kal is already polishing his father’s machete.
Kamaile
March 5th, 1947
David read the letter, sitting cross legged in the hayloft of the old barn. Tears streamed down his face, but he was smiling at the same time. A picture of his new daughter was cradled in his hand. She was a little beauty. He studied the black and white photo, searching for any family resemblance.
It was barely four months since his mother died, yet he fancied he saw her in the curve of his baby daughter’s lip, the shape of her nose.
“David!” Caroline Belden’s voice broke through his reverie. “David, you have a telephone call.”
Startled, he folded the letter and tucked into his shirt, wiping his face on the sleeve of his heavy flannel shirt before descending the ladder. Caroline looked at his red eyes curiously as her husband passed by her on his way to the phone. The David who had returned to Crabapple Farm was different from the man she had married, and she wasn’t yet sure if the difference was a bad thing or a good thing.
The man who had left for war had been handsome, yet arrogant. She had loved him, but distance had tarnished her feelings. It had seemed to Caroline that David came home just long enough to make another baby, then left again to pursue adventure. She had grown to resent being left alone in the middle of Nowhere, New York, especially after the war had ended. She had felt herself growing old and bitter, while her handsome husband frolicked in exotic locations. Caroline found herself engaging in flirtations with the few eligible men in Sleepyside. Nothing blatant, of course. She was a woman raised to be a lady, but years of raising her children alone while caring for her ailing in-laws and struggling to keep the family farm afloat, had taken a toll on her self esteem.
Now David was home. He was more thoughtful and caring than she remembered. He still went off every month or so, to what Caroline referred to as his “Reserve Practice”, but he was home, mostly. And when he was home he was really there. He worked the land, cared for the animals, and seemed to be enjoying spending time with his children. He had even befriended young Thomas Maypenny, and spent hours with the teen, fishing, hunting and talking about God knew what all. He was a new man. A different person. Caroline liked who her husband had become, but a part of her worried that the change would not last.
Subconsciously she rested her hand on the slight curve of her stomach. She hadn’t told David yet, but he would soon be a father again. Those Belden’s and their overwhelming fertility. Caroline knew the moment she had conceived this baby: Thanksgiving night. The day she finally allowed herself to begin to trust David once more. She only hoped he would welcome the news with joy, and not go running off again to find adventure without familial responsibility. Caroline set her jaw, and offered a silent prayer that the man who had returned inside her husband’s body would remain and continue to grow with his family.
Manor House dock, August 1
A fish jumped, sending a splash of water up Trixie’s leg and startling her from her reverie.
She had been so lost in the letters that she had forgotten the time. A quick glance at her watch told her it was time to go home and help with dinner.
There were a total of twenty two letters in the packet. Trixie had made her way through fifteen. They had averaged two a year from Hawaii, and all had included a picture or two. The one Trixie held in her hand had also included a smaller letter, written in childish script. It read:
Dear Daddy,
Today at school we practisd writing letrs. I am fine. How are you? I hope you will visit me someday. I was 8 last week. I went riding on my new horse. She is big, not a pony.
Love,
Sarah
With the letter was a photo of a gap toothed smiling girl on a small white mare. Trixie held that picture for an extra minute. The little girl was her aunt. She slipped the picture back into the envelope.
Despite her young years, Trixie knew she had gone as far as she could without talking to her father. She only hoped he had some of the answers to the questions she had. Picking up her paraphernalia, she headed back to Crabapple Farm.
