The Mahogany Box

Josh studies his aging father admiring the gray hair leaning against the soft, orange reclining chair centered in front of the television set. Josh was not sure how much longer his father would remember him before Alzheimer's disease erased his memories completely. His father's pale skin was almost translucent making Josh struggle to remember how his father looked when Josh was a child. He wondered, as he watched his father's chest rise and fall gently, if his father was dreaming of the same thing he was now wondering about.

Josh's memories of his father's tears over the loss of his mother when Josh was only twelve flooded his mind. Was his father dreaming about that?

"No Gertrude," his father shouted suddenly slightly rousing himself from his dream. He mutters to himself, lays his head against the orange cushion of the chair, and dreams again. "Not marry," he mumbles. Josh's heart sinks, he doesn't know any Gertrude. His father is having a senseless dream. "I love you," his father whispers, barely audible. A tear rolls down his father's face, and he watches as it is rubbed away. Feeling his father's sadness, he gently touches his father's arm and shakes.

"Dad," Josh whispers near his father's sun speckled cheek. "Dad," Josh says a fraction louder than before.

"Chris?" his father looks at him without recognition. Josh holds back the desire to sob.

"No Dad," Josh says, his voice cracking. "It's me, Josh." He watches as his father's eyes light up with recognition and then his face flush with embarrassment.

Josh tried to smile at him. His father reached for a glass on a wooden tv tray set up next to the right side of the chair. Josh saw the disappointment when his father set it back down. He picked up the cup and walked to the fridge filling it first with chipped ice just as his father preferred, and then watered down the ice. He hands the refreshing beverage to his father who looks at him with gratitude in his eyes.

His father stares at the television set. The picture blinks bright colors on his face. "There's a box in my dresser," he says without look at Josh. "Promise me," he slowly turns his head and looks his son in the eye. Josh notices for the first time that tears were rolling down his cheeks.

"What is it Dad?" Josh lightly squeezes his father's shoulder.

"Promise me you'll give it to her. Gertrude. Promise me you'll give the box to Gertrude." The pleading in his father's eyes causes Josh to hold back tears of his own.

Without thinking, Josh responds, "Of course Dad, I promise."

Josh's father reaches over to the stand on his right and pulls out a tissue from a box. "Her address is in the box. After all these years, she still hasn’t moved."

"Do you want to talk about her?" Josh bends down and rests on his left knee expecting his father to talk a long time.

"This is a story you're going to have to find on your own." Josh stood feeling a little disappointed. He was used to his father telling long stories. Usually, it is the same stories over and over. His voice would change in the same spot emphasizing the same point in the story. He always wondered how many of the stories were true. He had heard them so often he could almost tell every detail himself. He was finally looking forward to hearing a new one.

"I need a rest." His father was attempting to stand. Josh stood, clasped his father's arm, and slowly walked him to bed making sure he did not fall. He opened the dresser to get his father his night clothes, but his father waved him a no. Josh returned to the bedside and helped his father pull the solid blue quilt over his weary body.

"I love you, son," his father whispers as he drifts to sleep.

Josh stands at his father's side watching his father's breathing through the rise and fall of the solid blue quilt. "I love you too," he whispers as he steps out of the room. The moment he is out of view, the quilt stills.

Josh sits on the solid blue quilt covering his father's bed thinking about the rising and falling he had watched just three days prier. He clutches his father's shirt against his nose breathing deeply. His best friend is now just a memory, just a scent on a faded shirt that he found in a bedroom hamper. He stands, drops the shirt on the bed, and walks to the dresser. He slides open the top drawer and tosses socks into a box beside him. He opens the second and third drawer repeating the process of tossing clothes into the box. He slides open the bottom drawer exposing a solid mahogany box. He heart skips a beat as he stares at the last conversation he had with his father. He gently lifts the box out of the drawer and walks backward to the bed. He holds the box listening to the wind up alarm clock tick on the bed side table working up the courage to open it. He slowly lifts the lid revealing a black and white photograph of a young woman. She has long face and small oval eyes. Her nose would one envied by movie stars. She has her hand rested, open, under her chin. A flower corsage is pinned to her lacy dress. She had shoulder length wavy hair, most likely blond or light brown that was styled tight against the top of her head and flowed out into a bell shape and rested at the top of her shoulders. She was stunning. He flips the picture over and reads the back: Gertrude 1950. He flips through a pile of letters whose envelops have turned to a slight yellow color from the passage of time. At the bottom of the box is a bright white piece of paper folded in half. He picks up the piece of paper and reveals a large diamond engagement ring. He picks it up and puts it on his pinky finger studying the brilliance of the diamond. He unfolds the piece of paper and reads:

Dear Josh,

With all my heart I love you. I am sure you are missing me a great deal right now, but I hope that some time has passed since my funeral. I will be asking you to take this box to a woman named Gertrude. I raised you to be a man who keeps his promises and I know you will. Before I tell you about the woman I want you to meet, I want you to know that I loved your mother very much. I was heartbroken when she died. If there ever was any regrets, it would be that I had you so late in life. I wish I had more time with you. You were not only my son, but also my best friend. I hope you know how much I loved you. We keep secrets, even with the people we love. I have kept a secret for most of my life. I loved a woman named Gertrude when I was young. Younger than you are now. I wanted to marry her, but I was going into the navy and she wanted to wait until I returned. I wrote to her as often as I could until I was captured in Korea. I was only 19. When I was finally rescued and returned for Gertrude, five years had passed. That picture you held from this box is what kept me alive while I was held captive. She must have believed I was dead, because when I returned, she was in the arms of another man. I never spoke to her. I left and never married until I met your mother. I've never stopped loving Gertrude. I ask son, that you take her this box and this ring. Let her know that I never stopped loving her. Thank you, son.

All my love,

Dad

On the back of the letter is an address in Portland, Tennessee. Josh replaces the diamond and closes the box lid. He walks out of the room leaving the bottom drawer open and the box on the floor. He packs a duffle with clothes, loads it into his black Ford truck, and pulls out of the driveway. He opens a map while watching the road and steering with his knee. He lays it on the seat next to him, leaves Ardmore behind, and takes the exit onto 65 headed north.

Josh slowly drives up a long driveway toward a white house with blue shutters and a wrap-around porch. A large gray barn stands off to the right with a white painted fence. He sees four horses grazing in a meadow encased by the fence. A man steps out of the front door and onto the porch before he makes it all the way up to the house. He can see someone peeking out the curtains. Josh puts his truck in park and steps out clutching the mahogany box.

"You lost?" the man on the porch asks? As Josh gets closer to the steps, he notices a striking resemblance. The man on the porch looks like him, and looks just as shocked.

"Does Gertrude live here still?" He wants to ask more questions. "why do you look like me?" he thought. As far as he knew, he had no living relatives. His father was an only child, and so was he. His eyes never wavered off the stranger on the porch.
It takes a few moments for the man on the porch to get over the shock of seeing a stranger who looked like his mirror image. "Please come in," the man finally answers. "Grandma!" the man calls into the room to the right. He can see the old lady's white hair leaning against a maroon colored couch watching Wheel of Fortune. "You have company." The man places his hand on her shoulder to get her attention.

Josh stands at the front door where a long staircase ascends in front of him. To the left he sees a large cherry colored table surrounded by chairs. A white solid wood door is closed on the other side.

"Please come in," he hears an old lady's voice say. He steps across a solid wood floor into the living room, onto a red and green patterned rug and sits in a maroon colored high back chair with wooden legs. He looks at the woman whose beautiful smooth skin he saw in the picture has become almost translucent and wrinkled. Her bright green eyes are still striking. She looks at him, at the man confused, and then back at him.

"Gertrude?" Josh asks just for something to say.

"Yes." the old lady replies. She spies the box he clutches in his hands.

"Do you remember Herald Berringer?" At his words the old lady's eyes widen, and the man's mouth drops open. Gertrude drifts back into her memory and tears fall from her eyes.

"Are you his grandson?" The man hands his grandmother a tissue from a box on the windowsill.

"No," he thought of how to explain, "I'm his son."

"I could explain, but the letter in this box will do a much better job than I can." He extends his hands out to her offering her the solid mahogany box. "He asked me to give this to you." He watches as Gertrude sets the box on her lap and slowly opens the lid. She removes the letter Herald had written to his son and began to read. He watches her face tear with sadness, then cringe with regret, and finally smile with love as she closes the letter. She shuffles through letters that are addressed to her, sealed, and stamped but never mailed. Josh watches as she approaches the bottom of the box.

"Oh," she gasps beholding the ring that was intended for her over half a century ago. Her grandson sits next to her on the maroon couch and gently places his hand on her back stroking it lightly.

"Is everything ok, Grandma?" He peers in the box at the ring. Gertrude weeps. "Let's go lay down." He attempts to help her up off the couch but she dismisses him with the wave of her hand.

"There are many things," she says through her tears, "I regret in my life." She pauses long enough to motion her grandson to fetch another tissue. He obeys. "I was only sixteen when he left and I never had the chance to tell him I was pregnant. I never knew he came to see me. I thought he was dead. I never told him he had a son." She looks up at her grandson and then again at Josh. "This is your nephew Herald Berringer III."

Josh and Herald politely acknowledge each other with a nod, but both quickly look back at Gertrude.

"There is still more to say," she tells Josh. "Would you please stay for dinner?"

Josh looks into Gertrude's eyes and says, "I'd love to."