Dovetail(70)

“Incredible.”

“It was just there. If it wasn’t for the storm, it would still be there.”

“I can’t wait to see what’s in it.”

“Should I meet you at the store, or come to your house?”

“I’ll come to you,” she said.



When Kathleen pulled into the driveway, she was relieved to see Joe sitting in one of a pair of rocking chairs on the covered porch, waiting for her, the box in his lap. Walking up to join him, she held the key aloft. “Brought it.”

“Knew you would.” He put the box on the table between the chairs, stood, and extended a hand. “Be careful of the steps. They’re slippery from the rain.”

Somehow, Kathleen knew it wasn’t that slippery. He was using it as an excuse to take her hand, which was fine with her. She took a seat in the other rocking chair and set the key down on the table. “Let me look at this box for a minute.” She held it and examined it closely from every angle. “I don’t think the box itself is anything out of the ordinary. Just a standard metal lockbox.” She turned the key in the lock. “It’s definitely a fit.” Twisting, she heard a slight click and then pried open the lid. She pulled out a piece of wrapped leather, held together with a cord. She removed the cord and opened it up to see what was inside.

“What is it?” he asked.

“A lot of different things.” One by one, she pulled out the items and placed them on the table. Two brooches, a wedding band, an engagement ring, a book, a seashell, a ceramic frog, and a bundle wrapped in cloth and tied with a ribbon. “Someone’s treasures.” She examined the rings with interest. They needed a good cleaning, but otherwise, they were in perfect shape. Not that she’d advise Joe to sell them. Obviously, they’d belonged to someone in the family and as such were heirlooms.

She removed the ribbon and unwrapped the cloth to reveal a stack of yellowed paper. Setting the ribbon and fabric aside, she unfolded it. Her brow furrowed as she studied the pages.

“What is it?”

Kathleen glanced up at Joe. “This is probably the most exciting thing you’ve come across yet, Joe Arneson.” She smiled. “This box must have belonged to Alice, and these letters are to Alice from someone named John. It must have been your mystery man, John Lawrence, the one Howard said worked at the mill that summer.” She unfolded each one and smoothed them out carefully, keeping them in order.

“But why was it in a tree? Was that a usual hiding place back then?”

“Not that I know of.”

With the letters resting on her lap, she said, “The print is faded. Do you have a magnifying glass?”

When Joe returned, glass in hand, he found her already reading.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself.” She held the letters up. “Did you want to be the one to read them first?”

“No, you go ahead.” He leaned against the railing and watched as Kathleen returned to the letters, this time using the magnifying glass.

She looked up and caught his eye. “Just so you know, in the first letter, John refers to the box being in Alice’s secret hiding spot, so I’m guessing that would be the hollow in the tree you mentioned.”

“Odd that she kept it outdoors.” Joe folded his arms.

“She had six sisters. It was probably safer in a tree than in her room.”

Joe nodded. He’d caught Linda snooping through his stuff more than once. He didn’t own anything incriminating or valuable, but that wasn’t the point. A person deserved a little privacy.

Kathleen kept reading, and Joe kept his eyes on her. She ran a finger above each page, not even touching the paper, just as a guide. After about fifteen minutes, she sighed, putting a hand over her heart, and straightened the pile. She was finished.

Joe waited for her to hand the letters over, but when she didn’t, he asked, “So?”

“In the first letter, he talks about being able to write of matters of the heart and says . . .” Her gaze dropped back down to the page, and she began to read. “‘I do not know how best to say how important you have become to me. Seeing your beautiful face each day has become my greatest pleasure. Hearing you sing is all the music I will ever need. Your laughter is tonic for my soul. You have a keen intelligence, and I enjoy hearing your opinions after reading the newspaper. I just read what I wrote above, and it all sounds insufficient. None of it quite conveys the sentiment of my heart. I think what I mean to say is that I think I am growing in love with you a little more each day.’”

“Oh, that’s nice,” Joe said.

“That’s nice? I think you’re understating it by a lot. It’s more than nice. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.” She shuffled the papers and continued. “He talks about reading her letters over and over again.” She looked up. “Later, he tells her that she’s his heart and that he wishes they could make their love public but understands why she wants to keep it quiet.”

“Why would they need to keep it quiet?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe her father wouldn’t approve?”

Joe nodded.

“He talks about working for her father at the mill, and they mention the war overseas and the weather and various things about their day-to-day life, but the really fascinating part is that toward the end, he confides in her. He tells Alice that he wants to share a secret with her, something his mother cautioned him never to tell anyone.” Her voice rose with emotion. “John says his father is in prison for murder and goes on to say that his great-grandfather was a Negro. He says . . .” She rifled through the papers, stopping when she located the right one. “‘Could you love a man whose family is such as mine?’ John says he’ll be in agony awaiting her reply.”