Secrets of the Red Box

by Vickie Hall

Her mother took a large coffee can from beside the coals, a cake baked inside, steaming and sweet. With a wooden spoon, she ladled out a chunk onto a tin plate. “Here you go, baby girl. Happy birthday.”

  Bonnie blinked and smelled the scent of vanilla rise toward her nostrils. She tore off a piece of cake and set it on her tongue. It tasted wonderful. She smiled and put her arm around her mother’sneck. “It’s really good, Mama.”

  “I saved a little flour here, a little sugar there, so I could bake this for your birthday,” her mother said with a faint hint of pride in her voice. “I only wish I had birthday candles for you.”

  Bonnie took another bite. “We have a big candle right here,” she said, pointing to the fire.

  “Hurry and eat it all up, baby girl,” her mother urged, standing beside her daughter.

  Bonnie pinched off a piece and held it up to her mother. “You have some, Mama.”

  She held up her hand. “Oh, no. It’s all yours. Go on now, eat it up.”

  From out of the fading darkness, a gruff hand snagged the tin plate from Bonnie’s fingers and flung it to the side. “What the hell’s goin’ on here?” her father demanded. “Can’t you see it’s almost dawn?You should be dressed and ready by now.”

  Jean Murphy reached toward her husband, but didn’t touch him. “But it’s Bonnie’s birthday today, John. I made her a cake.”

  John’s arm flew backward, the ridge of his knuckles landing against Jean’sgaunt cheek. “Ain’t no time for no damn birthday cake! Now clean this up and get out in the field.” He stomped closer to Bonnie, grabbed her by the arm, and jerked her toward the wagon. “Birthday cake’s for good littlegirls,” he said with a sneer. “You ain’t been good one day in your whole damn life!”

  Bonnie roused to a yowling sound from outside. It was urgent and plaintive. She opened the front room window and listened. She recognized it as a distressed meow, a sad note carried on a heated summer breeze. She wiped her cheeks dry and went outside, following the mournful cry. When she exited the apartment building, the cry seemed to be coming from the west. She followed the building, listening, her ears keenly attuned to the increasing volume as she walked.

  “Kitty, kitty?” she called, searching the grounds beneath the shrubs and flowers.

  The meow grew faint and she thought she’d turned the wrong way. Pausing to listen with uninterrupted concentration, she heard another cry, muffled and melancholy. Bonnie went to her knees and crawled along the grass, listening and calling. When she came to the edge of the building, the sound grew clearer, but lacked the former urgency that had caught her attention upstairs.

  “Where are you, kitty?” she asked aloud, crawling and searching. “Tell me. Meow again so I can find you.”

  A muffled cry, raised in pitch but softer and more desperate, sounded near the drainpipe. Bonnie scurried over and peered inside. It was too dark to see, so she edged her fingers inside the opening. There she felt the fur, and the tiny tail. The kitten must have gone exploring and gotten caught, or was too scared to back out. “There you are,” she said softly. “Don’t be afraid. I’ll get you out.”

  Bonnie worked her fingers through the narrow opening, her knuckles scraping along the edge of the rough pipe. She could just reach one hind leg and managed to get her thumb and forefinger around it. Gently she tugged, but the kitten didn’t budge. She let go and tried to maneuver her hand further inside the drainpipe. “Don’t fight me, little one. I’m trying to help.” Again, she took hold of the leg and pulled. The kitten moved a little and then cried and tried to burrow into the pipe again. “Oh, baby, don’t go that way,” she sighed.

  Bonnie didn’t want to hurt the little thing, but she wasn’t about to leave it in the drainpipe either. She tried again, this time determined to rescue the kitten. She grabbed the leg, pulled harder than before, and the kitten moved toward her, then as if it knew she was trying to help, relaxed its body and came free of the pipe.

  A frightened little ball of gray fluff emerged, its white whiskers smudged with dirt and grime. “There you are,” she exclaimed. Bonnie turned the kitten and peered into its small gra y face, its chin a daub of white. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get you cleaned up and fed.”

  Bonnie came to her feet, the kitten nestled against her cheek. It began to purr, the rhythmic throbbing rumbling against her throat. “You’re safe now,” she whispered as she carried it up to her apartment. “You don’t have to be scared anymore.”

  Bonnie put the kitten on the kitchen floor as she opened the refrigerator. Its little spiked tail went straight in the air and it let out a quizzical mew. She took out a bottle of milk and poured some into a shallow dish, then set it in front of the cat. “Here you go,” she said. “Try that.”

  The kitten stared at the milk, sniffed at it, then began to lap it up. She laughed when it got too aggressive and sank its muzzle into the dish, raising its face with milk-covered fur and whiskers. Bonnie knelt down beside the feeding cat and ran her finger down the center of its head. “You are a darling little thing,” she said. The cat stopped, looked at her, left the dish, and stood on her foot, looking like it wanted to jump to her knee. Bonnie laughed again and took the kitten in her hands. The purr sounded like music as she caressed the animal and held it against her.

  Bonnie went to the living room and sat in her comfortable chair. She placed the kitten in her lap and stroked it down the back, and its tail uplifted like a mast. Its little gray paws were the size of Bonnie’s thumbnail—the kitten was barely old enough to be weaned from its mother. It walked up her chest and nuzzled in beneath her chin, then climbed to her shoulder and burrowed against her neck. The soft rumbling purr and the touch of its nose against her skin melted Bonnie completely. She closed her eyes and listened to the purring, relaxing her with a hypnotic drone. “I guess you’re pretty comfortable, aren’t you, baby girl?”

  Bonnie smiled and cupped her hand around the tiny cat. She thought of the warm sensation she’d felt whenever her mother called her “baby girl”, the words able to push aside all the pain and hurt of everything else in her life. Just those simple words were like a healing whisper. And now this little bundle gave her a similar warm sensation, with its comforting purr and soft fluff. It seemed fitting this tiny bundle should be gifted with the same name. “Welcome home, Baby Girl.” ///////

  Bonnie arrived at work early the next morning, hoping it would smooth some of Mrs. Kemp’s ruffled feathers for calling in sick. She went to the back room and put her hat and purse in the locker, glanced in the mirror and smoothed her hair, then went to her station. Settling the headset in place, she sat at attention, waiting for the first call.

  Mrs. Kemp came from her office and stood behind Bonnie. “How are you feeling today?” she asked.

  Bonnie was surprised by the tone in Mrs. Kemp’s voice. It wasn’t drenched with compassion, but it sounded genuine enough. “Much better,” she replied without turning to face her. “I’m sorry for any inconvenience, Mrs. Kemp.”

  The woman sniffed. “Well, we managed without you. I took your switchboard position and helped out as needed.”

  Bonnie swiveled now and smiled. “Thank you, Mrs. Kemp. That was very kind of you.”

  She arched a brow. “It’s not the first time I’ve had to step in, and I’m sure it won’t be the last.”

  That’s for sure, Bonnie thought, especially if I can get that other job. She began to think about Baby Girl and how much she’d enjoyed playing with her. She’d taken a length of ribbon and pulled it across the floor, watching the cat pounce and attack it again and again. She’d laughed whe n Baby Girl hunkered down behind the chair leg, eying the ribbon, her little butt wiggling before she sprang toward it. Bonnie had made a makeshift litter box from a roasting pan and some torn-up newspaper. She planned to stop at the pet store on her way home and pick up some items for her new kitty.

  A smile spread across her lips when she thought about how Baby Girl had curled up on the pillow next to her and purred her
to sleep. How comforting it was to have some little creature beside her, happy, content in her company, offering its own kind of love. Baby Girl didn’t judge her, didn’t care who she was or wasn’t, didn’t need anything from her but a little attention. Bonnie felt a warm feeling spread through her insides, a nurturing feeling she hadn’t felt before.

  “Look, Mama.” She pointed toward the old barn. “There’s a kitty.”

  “I see it,” Jean said. “Leave it be now.”

  Bonnie left the edge of the bean field, wanting to touch the cat, talk to it. She glanced over her shoulder. Her mother was busy picking beans. She could sneak away, just for a minute. The little calico cat was so enticing to her— she had to touch it. Bonnie eased away, careful not to move too fast or she’d be noticed.

  The cat sat in a patch of sunlight, licking its leg, its eyes narrowed to f ine slits. Its raspy pink tongue slid down its orange-and-white patches of fur, pausing to nibble at some irritation. Bonnie crept slowly closer, her hand extended. “Kitty, kitty…”

  The cat stopped licking, sat up, and looked at her, its ears twitching back and forth. “Kitty, kitty…I won’t hurt you…come here…” she called softly.

  The cat stood up, stretched its front legs in front of its body and then shook out a hind leg as it moved toward her. Bonnie felt her heart quicken as the cat came closer. She stayed low, wiggled her fingers to coax the animal closer. The cat meowed and sniffed curiously at her. Bonnie lifted her hand slowly, so slowly to pet the cat, then it arched its back beneath her hand and ran the length of its body under her fingers. A moment of joy raced through Bonnie’s belly, a feeling of pure delight as the cat offered its affection to her.

  “Nice kitty…would you like to be my friend?”

  The cat looked at her, its golden-orange eyes winking an answer. Bonnie continued to stroke the soft, furry creature, loving the way it made her feel. And then she heard the cat’s throaty purr, felt the vibration beneathits chin. She smiled. “I wish you were mine…I’d feed you, and take care of you and love you forever and ever…” Suddenly the cat grew wary, sank down on its paws, and skulked away. Bonnie heard footsteps behind her now and turned as her heart stopped beating. She felt relieved as her mother reached for her. “I know you’d like to pet the kitty,” she said in that soft Southern drawl, “but don’t let your daddy catch you away from the field. Come on now, let’s get to work.”

  Bonnie craned her head over her shoulder, watching as the cat settled in the open doorway of the barn to resume its bath. “It was nice to me,” she said, looking up at her mother. “It wasn’t mean at all.”

  “Never mind about the cat,” she said in a firm but soft way. “We have a heap of beans to pick—”

  “Mama, could I have a kitty of my own? I’d take real good care of it.”

  Jean stopped at the edge of the bean field and dropped to one knee beside her daughter, her face filled with a sadness Bonnie didn’t understand. She touched Bonnie’s cheek and managed a wobbly smile. “I know you would, baby girl, but it just isn’t possible. We move around too much, and there’d be no way to take it wi th us, and besides…well, Daddy doesn’t like kitties.”

  “Oh…”

  She brushed back Bonnie’s hair and cupped her chin in her hand. “Maybe someday, baby girl, maybe someday things’ll be different…”

  Even at seven years old, Bonnie knew it would never be different…not ever.

  After work, Bonnie went straight to the pet store. The cheerful sounds of chirping birds filled the shop as she opened the door and stepped inside. Finches, parakeets, and lovebirds lined a wall in tall cages, and a small wire pen held fat, white rabbits. Goldfish swam in a good-sized bowl, while chained to a pole sat a tiny monkey, its toothless mouth chattering at her as she approached. The pole sat inside a circular metal tub filled with wood shavings, and the chain was long enough to allow the monkey to jump on the edge of the tank. It held out its little paw to her, a miniature hand, begging for food or attention—Bonnie wasn’t sure which.

  A woman came from around the end of an aisle. She wore a blue smock with the name Edna embroidered on it. “His name is Chester. Ignore him. He’s been here longer than I’ve owned the store. And he’s an ornery little cuss, too.”

  Bonnie looked at her and smiled, then stared at the monkey as it stuck out its pink tongue. “He doesn’t have any teeth.”

  “Nope,” Edna said, hunching a shoulder. “They were removed long ago.”

  “How old is he?” Bonnie asked, circling the tub as the monkey watched her with its intense, dark brown eyes.

  “I would guess he’s around thirty years old.”

  “And he’s lived here all his life?”

  “Most of it.” The woman slipped her hands inside the two front pockets of her smock. “The story I got was that he belonged to some wealthy family who bought him for their little boy. When Chester bit him, they had his teeth pulled.”

  “Oh, how awful! For the monkey, I mean.”

  “The family kept the monkey for about a year and then brought him to the pet store. Said he wasn’t a good pet. The father wanted to have it killed, but the boy begged him not to. I guess they didn’t know what else to do with him.”

  “And he’s been here all this time?” Bonnie asked. The older woman nodded. “What kind of monkey is he?”

  “He’s a capuchin. They come from South America. I guess they’re kind of popular pets down there.”

  Chester stretched his nimble hand toward Bonnie again. “What does he want?”

  “Food,” she said. “He’s always hungry. But I’m sure you aren’t here to feed Chester. What can I help you with?”

  Bonnie pulled her gaze from the monkey. “I just got a cat,” she said, a smile broadening across her face. “I need a few things for her.”

  The older woman smiled and adjusted the belt around her thick waist. “How nice for you. Cats are such wonderful pets. Have you had a cat before?”

  Bonnie shook her head. “No, not really…been around a few barn cats. But I love animals, all kinds.”

  “That’s a good start. Now let’s see, you’ll need some food.” Edna walked to another aisle. “Since the war, I haven’t been able to get canned food for the dogs and cats.” She sighed heavily and looked over her shoulder at Bonnie. “Pet food is classified as ‘non-essential’,” she continued, “although if you ask me, it’s pretty essential to the dogs and cats.” She laughed and went to a big bin. “But we have some kibble that’ll work. How much would you like?”

  Bonnie blinked. “I don’t know…how much do they eat?”

  “Oh, not much,” she said, reaching for a brown paper bag. “Let’s start with a couple of pounds. Give the cat a small bowl of it. That should go a day or two. Be sure it has plenty of fresh water.” She scooped some food into the bag and placed it on a scale. “There’s a bit more than two pounds,” she said, eyeing the needle on the scale.

  “I want bowls for her,” Bonnie said as the woman folded the sack closed. “Do you have those, maybe something special for cats?”

  “Sure do. I have ones that say ‘kitty’ on the edge, some with little paw prints painted on it; I even have one that says ‘Princess’.”

  “Here name is Baby Girl,” Bonnie said with a note of pride. “I think…this one, two of them.” She pointed to pink dishes with tiny black paw prints circling the inside rim. “And I want her to have a toy.”

  Edna placed the food on the counter next to the register and picked up two of the pink dishes. “Toys are over there. Do you need sand?”

  Bonnie paused on her way to the toys and turned back. “Sand?”

  “For the litter box? Unless you plan to have her go outdoors.”

  Bonnie shook her head. “No, I want her to stay inside where it’s safe. It would kill me if she got run over by a car or hurt by a dog.”

  Edna smiled and nodded. “It’s nice to see someone care about a pet like that. You wouldn’t believe how some people treat their anim
als—leave them out in all kinds of weather, believe they can fend for themselves, chain them in the back yard and ignore them. It breaks my heart.”

  Bonnie looked thoughtfully at the woman and then glanced at Chester. “It’s horrible what some people can do to animals,” she replied. And children, too…

  “Just get a cardboard box from the grocer and cut it down, then fill it with about an inch or two of sand.” She came up beside Bonnie to look at the toys.

  “I don’t know what she’d like,” Bonnie said, bringing her fingers to her lips.

  “Can’t go wrong with a catnip mouse.” Edna picked up a little box with a picture of a cloth mouse sporting a yarn tail. “Cats love catnip. It makes them real frisky.”

  “Catnip,” Bonnie repeated. “Okay, I’ll take one, and what about this little ball?” She picked up the package and shook it. She could hear a bell inside. “She’ll like that, too.”

  The woman wrote down the items in a ticket book and totaled the sale. Bonnie paid for everything, then worried how she was going to carry it all home. The weight of the sand and the kibble nearly broke her arms as she hoisted them up and grabbed the sack of dishes and toys. “Let me help you to your car,” Edna said, coming around the counter.

  “I walked, but I don’t live far—only about eight blocks.”

  The woman scowled as she watched Bonnie fight with the load. “Tell you what,” she said. “I close up in twenty minutes. How about I give you a ride home? My car’s just out back.”

  Bonnie placed the heavy bag of sand on the counter and peered at her. Even though the distance wasn’t much, she knew the bags would get heavier and heavier as she went. “That’s very kind of you. Thank you.”

  Edna reached into the pocket of her smock and handed Bonnie a ring of keys. “Take this,” she said, searching for the car key. “Go out that back door, unlock the trunk of the car, and put everything in there. I just have to water the animals and check on the rabbits. One of the females is pregnant.”

  Bonnie hoisted the heavy bag of sand and headed for the back door. “My name’s Bonnie,” she called back.