After breakfast, he sat in his rental car with his coffee and checked the map listings under schools. There it was on page 6, section C5. Twelve miles was all that separated him from Maddy. His heart pounded in his chest. He wondered how she would look. She’d been so lovely at twenty. Now she was forty years old. Had life changed her? Had motherhood changed her?
Fifteen minutes later, he made the final right turn and came to a strand of yellow blinking lights with warning signs picturing an adult crossing with a child on every corner. At the end of the street he reached a wall of black iron gates in a fence encircling an enormous property. There were two gates, one to enter and one to exit. The stone entrances were marked by guardhouses, and inside each sat security guards.
Peter was surprised that Maddy, idealist that she was, would work at such an ostentatious place. Maybe she only cared about money now. Or maybe she had to work here to send their child through school.
Shame shot through him.
He parked and crossed the street, and as he slowly approached the gatehouse the guard lifted his head from a book. “Can I help you, sir?”
“I’m here to see one of the teachers. Madeline Marsden.”
“Does Ms. Marsden know you’re coming?”
Peter’s heart raced. He was in the right place. All his searching and wondering had brought him here now, after all these years. He took a deep breath. “She isn’t expecting me.”
“I’m going to have to call inside. Do you have ID?”
“One second.” Peter fingered nervously through his wallet and pulled out his driver’s license.
The guard looked closely from him to the picture three times before he picked up the phone. “Hi, Betty. It’s Henry at the South Gate. I have a fellow here to see Ms. Marsden.” It was quiet for a moment. “She doesn’t know he’s coming. Okay. When?” The guard looked at his watch and shook his head. “I’ll tell him. Thanks, Betty.” He turned to Peter. “You have to wait until her break. She’s with the kids in the library and can’t be disturbed.”
“Sure.”
“You can sit in the front office. They have a lobby for visitors. Betty will let Ms. Marsden know you’re there. Do you see the building with the tower? You’re going to have to leave your car here and walk. It’s not safe for the kids to have a car around the property.”
“Of course. I understand.”
“You need to sign the visitor’s form, and I’m going to have to hold on to your ID until you return.”
Peter signed the paper and handed over his license.
“Now, you’re going to walk around these two buildings until you get to the building with the tower. That’s the Yates Building. You’ll see two double doors. Go through them and up the three steps, and there will be another set of doors. Go through them, and you’ll see the office to your right. Got that?”
“I think so. Thank you so much.”
“See you later.”
“Later?”
“When you come get your ID.” The guard shook his head and went back to his reading.
Peter walked past the gatehouse and through the campus, spacious and meticulously landscaped. The buildings were old-fashioned and well maintained, a calming atmosphere. A rattling sound behind him grew closer, and before he could turn a half-grown German shepherd pounced on his side. He lifted his arms in surprise.
“Lancelot, come here. Stop!” The dog pulled back and ran, and a gentleman with a pipe grasped the leash. “I’m sorry. He’s still in training. Can I help you?”
“I’m actually headed toward Yates Building. The office.”
“You’re going the long way, if you don’t mind me saying. Who told you how to come this way Henry? It figures.” The man shook his head. “If you like, you can cut through the library. It’s ahead of you about thirty steps. Walk right through the main lobby, and you’ll see the north doors straight on. Once you cut across, you’re there. “
“Thank you. I’ll do that.”
“You’re welcome. Let’s go, Lancelot.” The gentleman pulled the German shepherd on his way, leaving the smell of pipe smoke lingering in the air.
Peter went up the steps and into the library, and as soon as he was inside he paused, stunned at the craftsmanship of the paneling and ornate ceilings, bright brass handrails running along each wall. From the middle of the floor he saw a matching pair of outer doors directly across from him, exactly as the gentleman had said. A bell sounded, doors opened, and children filled the corridor, leaving their classrooms in single file, almost impossibly organized. Then as quick as a blink he noticed a simple hand holding onto the handrail.
That’s when it all pieced together: the organized lines, the banisters, the order in which the children walked, the tight security, Maddy’s young idealism.
This was a school for the blind.
He could see that the classroom doors were marked in Braille, tiny clusters of bumps on a plaque below each glass window. The children laughed and chattered around him as they followed each other to the doors and outside.
He went through the doors and across the brick-laid road to the Yates Building, where dozens of German Shepherds similar to the gentleman’s dog waited outside and, at the sound of another bell, ran obediently to the children as they began appearing. Some children carried lunches, while others walked with friends, their voices carrying through the clear air as the dogs ran to them.
Peter entered the office building through double doors, up three stairs and through the next set of doors, just as he’d been instructed. He realized how important counting must be to someone without vision. The gentleman with the German shepherd had even said, “about thirty steps.” It was the only way to get around.
An elderly woman behind the front desk greeted Peter with a smile. “You must be Ms. Marsden’s visitor. Please take a seat. She should be down shortly. I tried calling up to the library, but she’d already left. I guess you’re going to surprise her.”
Peter sat with his heart beating in his throat. Soon he heard a tapping on the stairs to the left, the voices of women and laughter. The door opened, and a woman came through.
She saw him and smiled. “See you later, Madeline,” she said over her shoulder.
Peter straightened in his seat, took a deep breath, and suddenly stopped breathing. Slowly and rhythmically, a walking stick appeared in the doorway. The blind woman came through the doorway before him, holding her walking stick in front of her.
Peter froze.
Maddy walked right past him and then stopped, turned, and smiled. Her hair was longer but still chocolate brown, just as he remembered. She was still slender, with the same expression he had etched in his mind, as though she were a girl again walking down a dock with her art supplies in her arms. Only her lovely hazel eyes no longer sparkled in response to his.
How could he ever forget those eyes, with their flecks of green? How could he forget her smile and the tiny crinkles at the top of her nose?
Her face glowed when she motioned to him. “Stetson?”
“What?”
“Are you wearing Stetson cologne?”
He fumbled with his hands. “Yes, I am.”
“Sorry. I have an acute sense of smell.” Maddy turned away toward the front desk, and Peter exhaled.
He had to restrain himself from crying out. There was no child. He had no small, innocent life for which he had unknowingly been responsible. Madeline was simply blind.
Was that why she’d retreated from him? Had it brought her so much pain she’d had to part with everything important to her? He didn’t know what he was going to tell her after all this time. What if she hadn’t wanted him to find out? Perhaps she’d suffered all those years, wondering why he didn’t search for her. Perhaps she was already with someone and had found her own closure. Peter’s thoughts made him light-headed.
Maddy sp
oke to the woman behind the desk. “How are you today, Betty? Any messages?”
He could run before it was too late.
“You have a visitor. Right there by the door.”
This was it.
“Don’t tell me,” Madeline said. “His name’s Stetson.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name. Sir?”
Peter stood and crossed the small room.
“You’re looking for me?” Madeline asked. “How rude of me. Were you waiting long?”
Peter paused, thinking of the endless years. “No. Just a few minutes.”
“I’m Ms. Marsden. Madeline.” She extended her arm, her posture straight and graceful, her comportment that of a dancer.
Peter took her hand and placed his in hers. “Bill,” he said abruptly. “Bill Torres.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew he’d made the worst mistake of his life.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Torres? Or shall I call you the Stetson man?” Maddy chuckled.
His heart ached. “I was wondering if we could talk.” He wiped his temple. “I’m from Boston. I’m interested in the blind. I’m—I’m a writer.” He was making it worse every second, but he couldn’t seem to stop. “I was hoping you could answer some questions.” He didn’t know what was wrong with him. The sight of his Maddy—of her eyes so beautiful and familiar and yet unable to recognize him—was making his head reel.
“Boston?” She paused and recovered in an instant. “I don’t suppose you would mind doing ground-duty with me?”
“Excuse me?” Peter exhaled.
“The students are divided in two groups during this hour. Group A is outside on the grounds, while Group B eats lunch. I have the first half outside. Patrolling, you know, making sure there are no fights or wrestling or mischievous behavior. Although it’s more like the blind leading the blind, if I do say so myself.” She smiled.
“I’d be happy to. Fights?” He laughed with joy at the sight of her smile, so like her smile in the old, crinkled photograph tucked away at that moment safe in his wallet.
“Mr. Torres, the only thing at rest here is their sight. Everything else is absolutely normal. You’ll see it’s the same as in any other school. They can play freeze tag better than anyone. Come. I’ll show you.”
Peter followed Maddy down the stairs and through the double doors, she sure of her way with her stick. They walked together outside down the brick-faced pathway, and two girls ran over.
“Who’s your friend, Ms. Marsden?”
“This is Mr. Torres. He’s a writer from Boston. He might be doing a story on our school.”
“Cool! Does he want to interview me?”
“Actually, ladies, he’s interviewing me, but we’ll let you know if we need you. Go play. Shoo!” Maddy waved her arms.
The girls sang as they ran away. “Ms. Marsden has a boyfriend!”
Peter laughed.
“I told you—no difference here.”
“I’m realizing that.”
“So, Mr. Torres, what can I do for you?”
“Please, call me P—I mean, Bill.”
“Then you’re going to have to call me Madeline.”
“Tell me, Madeline, how long have you been teaching here?” Peter’s head was whirling. At any moment now he’d find a way to tell her the truth.
“Ten years this September.”
“I can tell from talking with you briefly this is not just a job for you.”
“It fills me with joy to be with these children. I know I’m making a difference with them.”
“You’re a wonderful person.”
“I don’t know about that.” Maddy laughed, her light voice almost breaking his heart. “But thanks for the build-up.”
Peter smiled and glanced around. Trees lined the pathways and greens, and in the distance boxwood-lined gardens with roses still in their fall bloom. Benches nestled under trees along the pathways, and he could just see a play area with black rubber-paved grounds. He carefully matched his steps to hers. “What did you do before this?”
“I was in school myself for four years. Went back to graduate school. I had to learn how to teach them. Before that, well, I had to learn to teach myself. I had to learn to read Braille and write it. Born again, as I like to call it.”
“Can I ask you a personal question?”
“Weren’t those personal questions already?” Maddy smiled up at him, and the two little crinkles appeared at the top of her nose.
Peter’s heart twisted. “I guess so—”
“I’m just kidding with you. I know what you’re going to ask me. Was I born blind?”
“I know you weren’t born blind.” He realized what he’d said as soon as he said it.
“How do you know?” She stopped.
Peter hesitated. “I’m—you said you had to be born again, to learn everything again.”
“You’re a very good listener, Bill. You would make an excellent teacher.”
Peter blushed, his face burning. “I’m told I’m good with children.”
“That’s an important quality.” She continued walking, and her cane tapped lightly on the bricks.
“If you don’t mind—how did it happen?” His temples pounded, almost deafening him.
Maddy paused and took a deep breath. She turned around.
“Listen, you don’t have to answer that. Please don’t go,” Peter begged.
“It’s not that. It’s time to go back. Grounds duty is only confined to a certain area. Fifty-six. It’s just counting. We’ve come fifty-six steps.”
“You can keep count as you talk?”
“Can’t you?” She laughed out loud. “I’m sorry. It takes a while to get my sense of humor.”
“I get it just fine.” The sound of her laughter was magical—beyond magical.
“You’re asking how I lost my sight?”
“If you don’t mind.”
“I had a rare eye disease. It’s still rare today, but it’s a miracle my eye doctor even recognized it twenty years ago. In 1966 there was very little literature on it and very few cases to be studied. I started with headaches, almost normal headaches here and there, but they accelerated suddenly into migraines. I didn’t tell anyone. My vision became blurred until I was having blackouts from the pain. I was sure I had a brain tumor and dying, and I was so frightened I hid it from everybody. Finally I had to tell my mother—”
“Your mother—” Peter remembered Ann Marsden, so cool and collected, with her signature string of pearls always around her neck.
Maddy nodded. “Of course she told my father, and he rushed me straight to the hospital that evening. The doctors ran tests and sent me to a specialist, and when I saw the specialist he was dumbfounded. They all were. He made some phone calls and suggested I come to Colorado to this specialized eye institute. When I arrived I felt like a guinea pig. The doctors each had their own opinion, but it was all the same thing, variations on how to prolong the inevitable. They told me my options, and I chose a risky procedure. If everything worked out this procedure wouldn’t repair what had been damaged, but it might stop any further damage. We’d have to act immediately. There was a hospital in England that could do the procedure if we went right away. We did, and they did, but you can already tell it didn’t work. My eyes didn’t even respond to treatment at the rehabilitation center, so they suggested we return to Colorado. There was nothing else we could do.”
Peter cleared his throat. “But how did your family adjust? Didn’t you live—didn’t you have a life you had left behind?”
“Yes, absolutely. It was awful. My father had to resign from his job, and the entire family moved to Colorado. It was literally overnight. There was more testing, more doctors, and more opinions. They would say two weeks, then six weeks. They had ideas. They didn’t have ideas. Wh
ile they tested and probed and argued, I was simply slowly going blind.”
Peter wiped his forehead with his palm. She walked so calmly a step in front of him, her shining brown with its golden highlights head just under his chin. He remembered the seagulls crying out over the waves, the sandy towels under them, and his guitar in his hands. He remembered his own fingers tenderly rubbing her temples as she closed her eyes against the bright sunlight.
He hurried to catch up with her. “What did you do afterward?”
“Afterward?” Maddy stopped and turned her head away. She breathed deeply. “You have to understand, I was a different person then.” She began walking again, and Peter followed quietly at her side. “I was so angry. I pushed away everyone I loved. I hated everything and everyone but most of all, I hated myself. This person I had become, this woman I no longer recognized, was someone I didn’t want to be.”
He felt physically ill. “What happened with your home, where you’d lived before?”
“As soon as my father realized we weren’t coming back, he put our house up for sale. He found another job once we settled in Colorado, but not all the new radical treatments were approved by our insurance, so our finances took a hard hit. We were all affected.”
Peter remembered Tom Marsden’s car in the driveway in the middle of a weekday afternoon. He remembered the For Sale sign that appeared unexpectedly among the pink and white azaleas after Maddy stopped answering the phone or front door. “What about when you knew you weren’t going to get your sight back?”
“I did what I had to. What I was told to do. I went on living my life.”
Peter was becoming dizzy. He didn’t think he could keep listening. She had gone through this without him by her side. He had searched and searched, and all that time she’d been here—needing him. He stopped walking.
Maddy paused. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know what came over me. I just need a moment.”
“Of course. I’m sorry.” The school bell rang. “That’s my bell. I have to go inside.”
The Shoebox Page 8