Forgotten Boxes (2 page)

Too bad, it didn’t work that way.

All morning, the bloodstained clothes haunted Charity’s mind.
She tried to work in the kitchen, cleaning and sorting, but everywhere she looked,
she saw the distorted edges of a bullet hole, or the smudges of old, dried blood.
She scrubbed a stain on the stove three times before she realized the spot was burned
into her cornea, not splattered onto the enamel. She couldn’t determine if the fading
red rim around a bowl was paint or blood. Was that gunpowder caked along the baseboards
by the refrigerator, or merely dirt? Her imagination even turned the eyelet edges
of the curtain into shotgun spatter.

The refrigerator, itself, was all but empty; either a neighbor
had thought to clean it out or Aunt Nell had been on the verge of starvation. Charity
wasted little time wiping down the empty shelves, giving a wide berth to the bottle
of ketchup still tucked inside the door. Was it really ketchup … or blood?

By noon, Charity was a bundle of nerves. She took a much-needed
break, choosing to eat her lunch outside on the swing. She left the front and back
doors of the cottage open, hoping the screen doors would pull a crosscurrent of
fresh air through the musty interior of the house.

She had stopped at a little deli in town this morning, and now
had a veritable feast for lunch: turkey and cranberry layered upon hearty wheat
bread, kettle chips, bottled water, and a wedge of maple brownie with walnuts for
dessert. Charity even turned off her iPod and listened to the simple sounds of nature
around her.

If not for the bloodstained clothes and the raised hairs on her
neck, it really was a perfect spot, Charity mused.

She tried to think of explanations for the tattered clothes.

It wasn’t really a bullet hole; it was a moth hole…

What looked like blood was actually paint…

Her aunt and uncle were members of the local theater and the
outfit was a prop…

The day before her uncle died, he ripped the shirt on a nail
and bled; her aunt kept the clothes for sentimental reasons, remembering his last
household chore…

Aunt Nell shot her husband in a fit of rage and kept the clothes
as a reminder to control her temper…

Charity gasped, wondering where that last thought came from.
Surely, she wasn’t suggesting her aunt was a murderess! That was impossible.

But why would it be impossible,
a tiny little voice in
her head asked. She knew so little about her aunt. She had not seen her in sixteen
years, and then only briefly. She recalled how strangely her aunt acted, how she
kept to herself and barely exchanged a dozen words with anyone, even though she
traveled hundreds of miles to attend her sister’s funeral. Charity’s father never
spoke of her, except to say she was a crazy, lonely old woman.

“Hello, there!”

A voice called out a cheerful greeting, startling Charity from
her musings. She peered over a hedge of knockout roses, spotting the woman coming
down the pebbled walk with a basket in her hands.

“Oh, don’t get up,” the woman called out, still half the yard
away. “Stay right there. I’ll come to you.”

Charity watched the woman approach, deciding she had to be a
neighbor. Her gray curls were like a fuzzy cap around her head and could use a good
comb-out. Her ample figure was swathed in a bright blue housedress and she wore
slip-on house shoes, the kind with a hard sole for outdoor wear.

“I’m Hilda Brooks, from across the street,” the woman said, slightly
out of breath. She pointed in the general direction of the driveway. Charity could
not see a house from where she sat, but suspected one hid beyond the cluster of
evergreen trees and hedges lining this side of the road.

“Hi. I’m Charity Gannon.”

Hilda Brooks nodded as if it was old news. “I heard Nell’s niece
was coming. I brought the mail.” She thrust the basket toward a surprised Charity.

“Oh.” Frown lines crinkled Charity’s brow as she stared down
at the two dozen or more envelopes inside the basket, topped with a jar of preserves.
As an afterthought, she added, “Thank you.”

“Oh, it was no problem,” the neighbor said, waving away her words.
“A few letters still trickle in now and then, mostly from sweepstakes or car warranty
offers, but I just toss those in the trash can. These are the only ones that looked
important.”

The lines deepened on Charity’s forehead. Glancing around, she
belatedly noticed there was no car in the driveway other than hers. She cocked her
head to one side. “Did Aunt Nell have a car?”

“Oh, no, dear, she didn’t drive.”

“Really?” Charity asked in surprise. “That must have been difficult,
living way out here.”

“Actually, no. Nell didn’t get out much. Hardly at all, to be
honest. She had most of her groceries delivered, and asked me to run an errand or
two for her now and then. Your aunt was practically a recluse. Although she did
love her yard,” she was quick to say.

Charity glanced around, realizing the yard was part of what spooked
her to begin with. Like the interior of the house, at first glance there was nothing
amiss about the flourishing flowerbeds and prolific hedges. The ivy-covered arbor
out front might even be considered charming. So might the vines that clung to the
fence, tucked neatly along the row of evergreens. Only now did she realize that
the sleepy, overgrown yard offered more secrecy than privacy, more a sense of unease
than of peace. The excessive yard had given her the heebie-jeebies, even before
she saw the clothes.

“Did you know my aunt well?”

Hilda Brooks shrugged her beefy shoulders. “As well as anyone
did, I suppose.”

“How long had you known her?”

“Let’s see. We moved here before my Tommy was born, so about…
forty years, I think. Yes, that sounds about right. Oh, my, how times flies!”

Charity made the appropriate murmur of agreement, although she
was eager to ask her next question. “What can you tell me about my aunt?”

“Well, she was
your
aunt!” the woman softly chided.

“We didn’t see each other very often. I live in Maryland,” Charity
explained.

“Like I said, Nell didn’t get out very often, not after… well,
not in the last thirty years or so. But she was a good neighbor, all the same. I
would drop by to visit, and we talked on the phone at least once a week. I’ve truly
missed her since she’s been gone.”

“I’m sure you do,” Charity offered her sympathy. “Are you the
one who cleaned out her refrigerator?”

“Yes, I didn’t want there to be any spoiled food to worry about.”

“Thank you for that, it was very thoughtful of you.”

“Nell would have done the same for me. Well, if she had left
this yard, anyway.” Tears glistened in the other woman’s eyes as she attempted the
sad joke.

Charity mulled over her earlier words. “You said Aunt Nell had
been that way for about thirty years? She came to my mother’s funeral sixteen years
ago.”

“Yes, I remember. You have no idea how difficult it was for her
leave her safe place and to travel all that way by herself. I offered to go with
her, just for moral support, but I had a terrible case of the flu and she wouldn’t
hear of it. She was devastated by your mother’s death and she insisted on going
to the funeral.”

Simply hearing the story made Charity’s heart ache. She could
not imagine being so terrified of — What? Of anything! — that you were unable to
leave your home. Nor could she imagine conquering that fear for such a sad and solemn
occasion as attending your only sister’s funeral, particularly a sister from
whom you were estranged. It was simply heartbreaking.

“That’s so sad,” Charity commiserated. “What-What happened to
make her become like that?” she asked with sincere curiosity.

The talkative neighbor suddenly clammed up. She darted a nervous
glance around the yard, her eyes seeming to land on the old shed on the opposite
side of the house. “I-I believe it was after her husband died,” she answered vaguely.
“Grief, I suppose.”

“What can you tell me about my uncle? I never knew him. He passed
away before I was born.”

“Harold was… a dreamer.” Her search for a kind word of description
was obvious. “Always thinking of some way to get rich without having to actually
put in an honest day’s work. He was a friendly enough fellow, most of the time.
But he was a dreamer and a schemer.”

Charity heard the disapproval in Hilda Brook’s voice. “What did
he do for a living?”

“He never had any job for long. He did a variety of things, from
lobstering in Maine, selling insurance, trying his hand at a cranberry bog, logging
in New Hampshire, selling shoes door-to-door. You name it, he tried it for a month
or two.”

“So he traveled a lot?”

Hilda bobbed her head. “Claimed he knew every road in these highlands.
That’s why he started up his own delivery service. He was so sure he could do a
better job than the postal service and the big national delivery companies. Said
it took a local to serve the people of the Northeast Kingdom.” She all but sniffed
with disdain.

“I take it he didn’t succeed.”

“Kingdom Parcel was a colossal disaster.”

Charity tried to hide her dismay. Hilda Brooks almost sounded
pleased that Harold Tillman had failed. Perhaps she had not been such a good friend
to her aunt, after all. “Do you recall how he died? I don’t believe I ever heard
the story.”

The heavyset woman darted another nervous glance toward the house.
Again, she was vague, fluttering her hands in the air. “I think it was rather complicated.
Probably nothing they wanted to bother you with.” She abruptly changed tunes. “Well,
it was really nice to meet you, dear, but I really must be going. I just wanted
to bring you the last of Nell’s mail.”

“Yes, thank you. It was nice to meet you, too. And thank you,
for all that you did for my aunt.”

Tears moistened the neighbor’s eyes again. “It was the least
I could do for her, after all she went through, the poor dear.”

“Such as…?”

“Being a widow and all, you know? That sort of thing.” Hilda
Brooks made the lame excuse even as she backed her way out of the yard. It seemed
she could not leave fast enough.

Totally perplexed, Charity watched the woman scuttle down the
walkway and disappear behind the cover of the vine-smothered fence.

***

As soon as the strange neighbor was gone, Charity grabbed her
phone and typed ‘Kingdom Parcel’ into its search engine. Buried several hits down
was a woeful tale about a young start-up company in the early 80s that went under,
hardly before it even began. Amid rumors of a failed business venture, one of the
founders of the company, Harold Tillman, was found dead. There was mention of foul
play, but the case was ultimately ruled a suicide. The company was dissolved and
never heard from again.

Poor Aunt Nell! Her husband committed suicide. Charity’s heart
ached for the lonely old woman and the pain she had endured. No wonder she became
a recluse.

Charity looked around the yard again, trying to see it through
her aunt’s eyes. This had been her sanctuary. She obviously put a lot of love and
attention into the space; too bad, she had no one to share it with.

Sorting through the mail in the basket, only a handful of letters
looked important enough to open: utility bills, something from the tax appraisal
district, and two letters. One came in a flowery envelope, the other addressed in
a bold masculine hand with no return address.

She tugged at the flap of the small flowery envelope and pulled
the handwritten note free. Someone named Betty was thanking her aunt for the recipes
she submitted for the Ladies’ Auxiliary fundraiser cookbook. She ended the note
by inviting Nell to join them for their monthly meetings; practically begged her,
in fact.

As Charity ripped open the second letter, she half-hoped it was
of a personal nature. She would like to think her aunt had some sort of romance
in her life over the past thirty years. A quick glance down at the stark, typed
words dispelled that notion.

Don’t think we have forgotten.

With her brow furrowed in a frown, Charity turned the single
sheet of paper over in her hands, searching for something more. That was all there
was. One simple sentence. It sounded almost… threatening.

A sudden sense of unease slithered down her spine. She collected
the remnants of her lunch, gathered up the mail, and went back into the house.

One step across the threshold and she remembered the bullet hole.
Inside was clearly no better.

Charity forced herself to stay another two hours, scrubbing and
cleaning and sorting. When she came to the first obstacle, she jumped at the excuse
to quit early. What could she really do without boxes, trash bags and storage tubs,
anyway?
Best to find a dollar store, buy what she needed, and come back tomorrow
morning.

That would give her the entire evening to gather enough courage
to return.

September 1983

“Nellie! Nellie, where are you?”

Nell Tillman wiped her hands on her apron, trying to get the
stickiness of honey from between her fingers. She was making Harry’s favorite pie
for dessert. In case things hadn’t gone quite the way he planned, at least they
could have a sweet ending to their day.

“In the kitchen!” she called out, even though it was hardly necessary.
He could easily see straight through the dining room and into the kitchen, the moment
he stepped through the living room’s front door. He kept promising they would move
to a bigger house. Once they had more room, he promised, they would start a family.
Never mind that the years were quickly slipping away and she would soon be too old
for childbirth. All he needed was that one big break.

There had been plenty of days like today. Harry would head out
to some big meeting with another of his grand ideas, hoping to come back with good
news. Hoping to find a financial backer for another of his ventures.

More often than not, he came home looking like a deflated balloon.
Nellie lost count of the ideas that never quite panned out over the years. She learned
long ago not to ask questions, just be waiting at home with his favorite foods;
she could serve them in celebration or consolation, depending on the look upon his
face.

“We did it, Nellie!” Harold Tillman announced in a booming voice.
He came up from behind, sliding his arms around her waist and lifting her off the
ground as he swished her feet in the air. He nuzzled his face into the bun at the
back on her neck. “We started our own company!”

“Put me down, you silly man!” She tried to sound stern, but her
laughter killed the effect.

“Not a chance, Nellie girl! Not a chance!” He swung her again.
Her apron flared out like a tent and her feet caught the edge of the trashcan as
he twirled her in a circle. The can toppled and its contents spilled out onto the
floor, but he paid it no mind. “Soon we’ll have servants to clean up messes like
that,” he predicted. “And a cook to prepare our meals.”

“Turn me loose, you old dreamer,” she said, swatting at the hands
clasped over her stomach. “And who else but me knows just how you like your meals?”

Nell bent down to gather the garbage, but her eyes kept darting
upward. She rarely saw her husband like this. Had she ever, in fact? He looked years
younger, his long narrow face split with a wide smile.

“You’re a fine cook, I’ll give you that. But as the wife of company
president, you have no call slaving in the kitchen. We’ll have a staff for that.”

“President? They truly made you president?” Nell’s pale blue
eyes glowed with pride as she gazed up at him.

“Darn tootin’. This whole business was my idea, after all.” Harold’s
chest swelled, threatening to pop the buttons right off his shirt. He hooked his
thumbs through his yellow suspenders. “I even got to choose the name.”

“You don’t say!”

“Yep. They were so impressed with my presentation, they said
it was only fitting that I get to name it. ‘This is your baby, after all’, Mansel
Debarge told me. ‘You do the honors’.”

“Oh, Harry, I’m so proud of you!” Nell wiped her hands on her
apron, making certain they were clean before she took him by the arm and led him
into the dining room. “You sit down right here and tell me all about it. Don’t leave
out a single word. I’ll have your dinner on the table in no time. Now go on, tell
me what you’re going to call the company!”

“Well, I’ve been studying on that all the way home. We talked
about a few different things. Someone suggested Tillman Delivery, but I don’t feel
right taking all the credit.”

In truth, Harold was the one to suggest the name. Debarge never
said a word, but a deep frown curled his heavy lips down, giving him the appearance
of a bulldog. Harold quickly discounted his own idea, pretending modesty. The two
other men made their own suggestions, leaning favorably toward
Kingdom Parcel
.
They stopped short of writing the name on the paperwork. Pascal Galano made a big
show of insisting that Harold take the evening to decide on the final name, but
for the rest of the meeting, the venture was referred to as
Kingdom
.

“So whatever will you call it?” Nell asked over her shoulder.
She bent to take the roast from the oven. It was a small, stringy cut of beef, but
she kept it simmering all afternoon in broth to make it tender. With a few root
vegetables thrown in and a pan of cornbread, there would be plenty for Harold, and
enough for her. And if he asked for a third helping, she could always fill up on
pie.

“I kind of like the sound of Kingdom Parcel.” He said the name
with reverence as he slid a bony hand across the air, painting the empty space with
the words. “Sounds official, don’t you think? And since we’ll be catering to the
Northeast Kingdom, might as well have it as part of the name.”

“Oh, how clever! I think it’s just perfect.”

Nell hurried to get his plate and utensils, setting them before
him as she praised his creative thinking. The name was just so clever, and quite
catchy, as well. She brought him a tall glass of milk, then tucked his cloth napkin
into his shirt collar, exactly the way he liked it. Only after she brought the meal
to the table and filled his plate with generous portions did she go back to the
kitchen for her own place setting.

“So tell me about your business partners,” she urged. “Would
you like more butter? How about some sweet pickles? I think I have a jar open in
the fridge.”

“Sit still, woman, so I can tell you about my day. You’re making
me dizzy, hopping back and forth like a rabbit. Although some maple syrup would
be right nice on this cornbread.” He stuffed a large chunk of roasted potato into
his mouth, even though he had not yet swallowed his meat.

“Talk loud enough that I can hear,” Nell cautioned as she hurried
into the kitchen to fetch the syrup. “What is it that Mr. Debarge and Mr. Galano
do?”

She missed the scowl that marred her husband’s long face. As
he fished around on his plate to spear an onion, he sounded more confident than
he looked. “Debarge is in investments. He’s the moneyman behind our venture. I think
Galano is some sort of salesman. He kept talking about clients and shipments, like
we already have the accounts. I suppose he’s bringing his best customers with him.”

“Oh, that’s a wonderful idea! And a good start for your business,
don’t you think?” She unscrewed the lid on the syrup, handed the jar to him, and
slid back into her chair. She dished out seconds for Harold, before she had even
taken a bite of her own meal.

“Without a doubt,” he agreed, holding his plate out. “Is that
all the roast that is left? You did a mighty fine job on it. Don’t rightly know
if I want someone else cooking my meals, or not!”

Nell glowed beneath his praise. He was in a fine mood tonight,
a fine mood.

“Here, have some of mine, too. I didn’t realize my piece was
so big. I could never eat all that!” She sawed off a tiny sliver to save for herself,
then raked the larger portion onto his plate. “I may be too excited to eat a single
bite!”

“In that case, dish me up the last of the potatoes. A few more
carrots, too, if you don’t mind.”

“Might as well finish off the onions, as well. That way I don’t
have to worry with leftovers.” She smiled as she dished out the last of the vegetables.
“When will you be up and running?”

“We’re going over to St. Johnsbury tomorrow, to look for a delivery
truck.”

“That soon?”

“These fellas don’t believe in wasting time. They say the sooner
we get started, the sooner we can start making our fortunes.”

“So explain to me how it will all work.”

“Well, basically we’ll take the deliveries the other companies
don’t want. Those brown trucks can’t make much money, wandering round all day through
these woods and mountains for just one or two boxes. Their money is in town, where
they can go door-to-door and be done with it.”

Nell worried over his words while he chomped noisily on his meal.
She finally ventured to ask, “Won’t it be the same for Kingdom Parcel?”

“You forget. I know all the back roads.” He winked at her in
confidence. “Plus, I know half the folks from Brownington to Barre. If nothing else,
I can track them down in town or leave the package with their mamas.”

She pursed her lips. “I suppose.”

“You’ll see. Once our name gets out there, we’ll give the brown
trucks and the US Postal Service a real run for their money! Don’t believe all that
nonsense about sleet and snow not stopping the post office. You know what winters
can be like up here; mud season is even worse. But who’s the best driver you know?
Who can drive in blame near blizzard conditions? And who knows these highlands like
the back of his hand?”

“You, Harry.”

“Darn tootin’. That’s why I’ll be the main driver. Course, once
we branch out and get more trucks, I’ll share the load with drivers I train myself.
But till then, the deliveries will be up to me.”

“President
and
driver? Why, you’ll be practically running
the entire operation!”

Harold gave a nonchalant shrug, but his voice rang with pleasure.
“Well, it
was
my idea. I’m the brains behind the business, you might say.”

“What about the others? Will they have a hand in the day-to-day
operations?”

Harold shoveled the last of the roast into his mouth and nodded.
“Debarge will take care of the bookkeeping. Galano will be in charge of sales. His
niece is going to be secretary and dispatcher. We even went to look at a warehouse
today. Remember that old fertilizer plant over in Irasburg? It will be just right
for us. Plenty big for the offices and shipping yard.”

“I am so proud of you, Harold! I just know this is the start
of something big!”

“I think you’re right, Nellie.” His eyes glowed with rare enthusiasm.
“I think Kingdom Parcel is going to change our entire lives.”