The Treasure Box

By Mark Romang

Copyright © Mark Romang 2014

Kindle Edition

Cover design by Robin Ludwig, Inc.

Prologue

Copeland, Louisiana—1962

A ballpoint pen clutched in her hand, and a journal balanced on her lap, Rose Whitcomb sat outside in a wicker chair on the lower gallery of her house. She looked out across her stately lawn and vibrant flower beds and gazed far into the distance, searching for inspiration. But the words—always prevalent and dependable on most days—stubbornly resisted her pen.

Over the years she’d learned to be patient, and so she waited for her emotions to shape themselves into letters and words and sentences. But after several minutes of waiting, a strong breeze blew in from the west and fluttered the pages of her journal, losing her place.

Rose sighed and shut the journal. Some days the words never do come.

She closed her eyes and focused her attention on the breeze kissing her face, and on the scent of magnolia blossoms riding the wind currents. She felt a little guilty for lingering so long on the gallery. Her ailing mother might need her inside. But the lovely morning made her reluctant to move.

With her eyes still closed, she daydreamed of a time in her past, a period when heartbreak seemed far away like a distant land she would never travel to. She would give anything to go back into her past and relive those days. But time always marches forward, never backward.

The sound of gravel crunching under tires roused her from the pleasant daydream. Rose snapped open her eyes. She saw a car rolling slowly up the long driveway. She recognized the car—a Ford Fairlane. The car belonged to Ned Hoxley, her neighbor.

Her driveway looped around in front. Ned parked his Ford in the curved part just past the steps and hopped out. He walked up to the steps. “May I join you for a bit, Rose?” he asked.

Rose felt her heart speed up and thump oddly. Something is wrong, she thought. “Sure, Ned, come on up.”

Ned climbed the steps and joined her on the gallery. He sat down close by in a wicker chair identical to hers. Ned was two years younger than her.

“Can I get you something to drink, Ned? It will have to be tea or lemonade. I don’t have anything stronger.”

Ned took off his fedora. He twirled the hat anxiously in his hands. “I’m fine, you needn’t get up.”

“What brings you here, Ned? Even though we’re neighbors you rarely visit me.”

Ned looked at her with sad eyes the color of mud. “Closure brought me here, Rose,” he said solemnly.

“Closure makes for an odd traveling companion.”

“They finally found him, Rose. His body…I mean.”

“Who are they? And who did they find?”

“German police identified Bobby’s remains. He was only a mile from the Swiss border when he died. Some skiers found him way up in the mountains. He must’ve died from exposure.” Ned shook his head. “He almost made it, Rose. He was so close to safety.”

Rose felt her lungs deflate like pricked balloons. Bobby Hoxley was her first love. Actually, he was her only love. They were both seventeen when the attack on Pearl Harbor came along and wedged them apart. Bobby joined the United States Army Air force in 1942 and served as a tail gunner on a B-17 bomber. According to what U.S. military representatives told the Hoxleys, Bobby’s plane was shot down during a bombing mission. Everyone aboard the plane parachuted safely to earth, but were all captured by German soldiers.

Bobby became a POW along with the other crew members aboard the plane. And at one point during the winter of 1944/1945, Bobby and his fellow prisoners were moved to another camp. Bobby somehow escaped during the death march and was never seen again. The U.S. had listed him as MIA for the past seventeen years.

“I’m so sorry, Rose. I know you loved him dearly,” Ned said.

Rose didn’t know how to respond. Her eyes welled up. She’d waited faithfully for Bobby to return, refusing to date another man. Before he enlisted, Bobby had asked her to wait for him. So she did.

“But now you can move on, Rose. You’re still young enough to find someone and have kids. Bobby wouldn’t want you to wait any longer. He’d want you to be happy.”

“That’s enough, Ned,” Rose said, burying her head in her hands.

“I’m sorry, Rose. It’s just so tragic; you living here all alone in this big house. It’s too much for you to take care of.”

“I’m not alone. My mother is with me.”

“But she’s so sick. She won’t last too much longer. And then you’ll be alone. Bobby wouldn’t want you to live like a hermit.”

“I think you should leave now, Ned.”

Ned stood up. He put his fedora back on. “I’ll let you know about the funeral arrangements. The service will be soon, within the next few days. The plane carrying his body landed in Baton Rouge yesterday.” Ned lingered on the gallery. “I’m so sorry, Rose. Bobby was the salt of the earth.”

“Goodbye, Ned. Thank you for telling me the news, however dreadful.”

Ned started to walk down the steps but stopped in his tracks. “Oh, yeah, I almost forgot.”

Rose looked up. She watched Ned pull a folded-up piece of paper from his trousers.

“This was found on Bobby.” Ned looked at her sheepishly. “It’s a letter to you. I didn’t know at first it was for you until I started to read it. I’m sorry about that.”

Rose took the letter from Ned’s hand. “Thank-you,” she mumbled as she immediately unfolded the letter and stared at Bobby’s penmanship. She barely noticed Ned walk down the steps and get into his car, didn’t hear him start up the Ford and drive off. And as a lump formed in her throat, she started to read.

My Darling Rose,

You were right when you said I would get myself shot down. We had just finished a bombing run—taking out a munitions depot and a bridge—and were headed back to the airfield when a squadron of Messerschmitt Bf 109s dropped out of the clouds and lit us up. When it became clear our crippled plane wouldn’t make it back to the airfield in England, we all bailed out and parachuted safely to the ground.

We stayed in the countryside while we were free, sleeping in the woods and sometimes in barns, once in a church. But German soldiers caught us five days later. They took us to a prison camp. They beat us and starved us to the point we all longed for death. Days and weeks and months went by. It seemed so hopeless. I really thought I would die in that camp.

The only thing that kept me going during my imprisonment was memories of you. I often think of that last party at your parent’s house, the one before I shipped off. That was the best night of my life. I can still hear the band playing; can still feel you in my arms as we danced. And I often think of the secret room we found near the attic, and the mystery box inside. I don’t know why, but I’m obsessed about it. I guess we’ll never know what treasure lay inside the box.

Eventually the war started to turn against Germany. We could tell this by the worried looks on our captors’ faces. And when the allied forces closed in near the border, the Germans moved us to another camp. Despite our weak and poor conditions, we were forced to walk miles to our new prison camp in the dead of winter. Many other prisoners died during this time. This is when I decided to make a break for it. My goal was to get to Switzerland, contact my superiors and rejoin the war.

I underestimated how hard this would be, and didn’t take into consideration my fragile health. Even as I write this letter to you, I am lost in the Alps somewhere. I haven’t eaten in days. I’m too weak and too cold to move. I know I promised to come back to you, and my heart literally aches to be with you, but I can’t, Rose. I’m dying.