Secrets of the Red Box (14 page)

Bonnie turned and glanced at a coffee table placed in front of a long leather sofa. Copies of
Life
Magazine, Nebraska Cattlemen
, a rumpled copy of the
Farmer’s Almanac
, and one stray
Superman
comic
book were fanned across the table. Bonnie wondered why the comic book was there. Probably one
of the employee’s children came in to visit now and again.
“Mr. Hammond will see you, uh,” the woman glanced at the application, “Miss Cooper.”
Bonnie turned and smiled. “Thank you.”
She followed the woman, who was built rather like a pear, with broad hips and a slender waist,
wearing sensible shoes with low heels and laces. Bonnie wondered if the shoes were company issue
or the woman’s preference. She was led to a glass-fronted door that displayed the name of Harold.
G. Hammond, General Manager.
The woman tapped on the door and opened it. “Here she is, Mr. Hammond,” she said, then
smiled at Bonnie.
“Come in,” Mr. Hammond greeted. He got up from his desk and took the application from the
pear-shaped woman. “Thank you, Beatrice.”
Bonnie extended her hand with confidence. “Mr. Hammond, I’m so pleased to meet you.”
Harold G. Hammond was a man of average height, but with a very broad chest and a slim waist.
His suit coat seemed overly large to accommodate the width of the shoulders while dangling loosely
about his hips. He wore circular, frameless glasses perched on the bridge of his wide nose, enlarging
the appearance of his hazel eyes. “Please, sit down, Miss Cooper,” he said, pumping Bonnie’s hand.
“We’re rather informal around here.” He brushed aside a well-read copy of the
Omaha World-Herald
from the chair facing his desk.
Bonnie sat down, her eyes following him as he rounded the desk and took a seat. She noticed a
picture frame tilted slightly toward her of a woman and three girls—his wife and children, she
guessed. They were very pretty, she thought, all the girls dressed in matching pinafores and ruffled
blouses. “Is this your family?”
Mr. Hammond seemed to light up. “Yes, my wife, Esther, and my three girls.” He pointed at the
photo. “This is Cathy, then Sharon, and the little one is Jennifer.”
“They’re just lovely,” Bonnie replied. “You must be very proud.”
Mr. Hammond’s eyes lingered on the photo as he smiled. “I am,” he said. “The little one there,
Jennifer, she’s Daddy’s girl, that’s for sure.”
Bonnie felt a tug at her heart from the empty space she harbored there, void of such pleasant
memories. “You’re very lucky, Mr. Hammond, and so are your children to have such a caring
father.”
Mr. Hammond gave Bonnie a curious glance and then began to look over the application. “Isee
you’ve been employed at the exchange in the Rose Building.”
“Yes, I enjoy the work.”
He continued to evaluate the paper in his hand. “You’ve only been there a little over four
months.” He looked up and locked his eyes on Bonnie’s. “If you enjoy the work, then why are you
leaving?”
Bonnie didn’t vary her gaze. She nodded and swallowed down her sudden nervousness. “I assure
you it has nothing to do with the job itself or the other operators, not even my supervisor, Mrs.
Kemp. I—”
Mr. Hammond raised his hand. “You don’t have to tell me, Miss Cooper. I have a keen sense
about these things. You’re obviously a very attractive young woman, single, working in a man’s
world. Am I on the right track?”
Bonnie felt herself blush. Was she that transparent? “Yes, I guess so.”
He smiled with a somewhat paternal look on his face. “Times aren’t what they used to be.” He
sighed. “But tell me about your previous work experience. You state here that you worked as a
receptionist in Colorado. Tell me about that.”
“Yes, I answered phones there, opened mail, sorted the correspondence to the various
managers, did a few odd jobs—you know, whatever was needed.”
“And you were there for a year?”
“Yes, the building burned down. There was a short in the wiring or something, they said.
Anyway, they were going to re-build, but I couldn’t wait for that to happen. A cousin of mine lives
here and she invited me to try Omaha, so I did.”
“Do you live with your cousin, then?” he asked in a casual tone.
Bonnie let out a half laugh. “Funny thing, she got married just after I came here and moved to
Indiana with her husband. He’s in the scrap metal business. So, here I am on my own in a strange
town. But I like it well enough.”
Mr. Hammond nodded and returned to her application. “It doesn’t look like you have much
other work experience, Miss Cooper.”
“Oh, I can explain that,” she said quickly, bringing her finger to her earlobe. “I was in school,
college for a couple of years. I didn’t graduate, then after that I moved back home to help take care
of my mother. She had cancer…she died almost a year and a half ago now. My father died just three
months later in a pedestrian accident. He was looking at the pocket watch my mother had given him,
was reading the back of it where she’d inscribed,
I love you more each hour
. He stepped off the curb
without looking…” Bonnie opened her handbag and routed for a hankie. “I’m sorry, Mr.
Hammond. I didn’t mean to burden you with so many personal details.” She blotted at her nose and
then peered over the desk at him. “The thing is, Mr. Hammond, I need this job. I’ll work hard for
you and I’m always on time. I don’t complain and I keep to myself. You won’t be sorry if you hire
me.”
Mr. Hammond leaned back in his chair and studied her. He adjusted his glasses and cleared his
throat, then levered himself to an upright posture. “I have two other applicants to consider. May I
call you later this week?”
“I don’t get home until after five. Perhaps if I called here on my lunch hour?”
He came to his feet and took a business card from his desk drawer. “That would be just fine.
Give me a call at this number on Thursday.”
Bonnie took the card and tucked it inside her purse. “Thank you, Mr. Hammond. I appreciate
your time today.”
Mr. Hammond followed Bonnie to the door and opened it for her. “Goodbye, Miss Cooper.
We’ll talk again soon.”
Bonnie nodded and patted her purse as if to indicate she had his card stored safely inside.
“Goodbye.”
Beatrice stood just outside the door, her hands folded in front of her broad hips, her face
radiating a pleasant smile. She motioned toward the counter and to the half-door that would allow
Bonnie to exit. “Thank you, Miss Cooper. It was a pleasure to meet you.”
Bonnie slipped past the little door and turned back to wave. “You too.”
She turned north along the block that was mostly occupied by Kirkendall, Jones & Company.
She drew in a breath and let out a long, breathy sigh. She’d had to lie again, hadn’t she? How else
could she keep her secrets? She felt a slight disappointment in the lapse of her resolve, but she
realized there was no alternative. She never wanted to be linked to California, to San Diego, to
anything that might reveal who she really was, or what she had done. It was just so much easier to
lie…so much simpler fabricating what needed to be said at any given moment. It kept her protected,
she thought, anonymous.
She decided to head to the Rose Building and go to work. There was no point in losing more
income than necessary. The money she’d brought from San Diego seemed to dwindle more every
day. Perhaps, she thought, she’d look for a less-expensive place to live. But then, she reconsidered, if
she was going to keep to herself, she wouldn’t be spending money on new evening wear, hats, and
shoes. With a little frugality, she could just about make do on what she made.
She turned east on Farnam Street and walked at a slow, deliberate pace. The summer sun beat
down on her as she strolled, like a magnifying glass concentrating her thoughts into hot focus. She
had to find some way to occupy her idle hours. If she didn’t, she’d go mad—that tiny hummingbird
inside poking her with its needle beak to do something, go somewhere. She just couldn’t spend
another night home alone. Perhaps she could get a second job. That would fill her empty hours.
Maybe she could do some volunteer work, although what kind, she couldn’t speculate. She didn’t
even know what sort of places needed volunteers. In San Diego, she’d volunteered as a hostess at
the local canteen, serving coffee and doughnuts to the servicemen. But now that the war was
coming to an end, that didn’t seem to be a long-term solution. But certainly there must be other
opportunities out there; she just had to find them.
The few blocks she’d walked brought her to the Rose Building before she knew it. She
approached the door and saw Paul Warsoff heading straight for her. Her stomach plummeted to her
toes and she briefly considered turning away and walking in the opposite direction. But it was too
late. He’d seen her and made no effort to avoid their meeting.
His eyes didn’t leave her face as she came through the door. She felt her stomach rebound and
fly into her throat. “Hello, Paul,” she managed to say.
“Bonnie. I’ve been thinking,” he began, his open palm gesturing toward her. “About what you
said…”
Bonnie turned her face and shook her head. This was exactly the thing she’d dreaded would
happen. “Before you say anything more, Paul, I want you to know I haven’t reconsidered my
decision. Nothing has changed.”
“No, I know that,” he said. “I just wanted to tell you that if…” He drew nearer, lowered his gaze
as if he was ashamed to look her in the eye, as if he knew what he was about to say was pathetic. “If
you ever change your mind, Bonnie, I’ll be here for you.” He raised his eyes now, peered into hers
with a marked intensity. “What I’m saying is, I’ll wait for you, Bonnie.”
Bonnie felt a mixture of pity and disgust for him. She squared her shoulders and tried to keep
her voice even. “Don’t do that, Paul. You can’t wait—you
shouldn’t
wait. I may never be ready—”
Paul took her by the arms, his emotions dismissing reason. “I don’t care. I’ll wait for you,
Bonnie. If it’s my whole lifetime, I’ll wait. No one has ever touched me like you. I’ve never wanted
anyone as much as I want you. I
have
to wait, Bonnie…”
Bonnie peered over his shoulder at the number of people who had turned from the elevators to
watch. “Paul!” she hissed. “People are staring…”
He released her, straightened himself. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to embarrass you. But I love you,
Bonnie.”
She shook her head and pressed her fingers to her temples. “How can you love me? You don’t
even know me.”
“I know enough to know I love you.”
“No,” she said with a bitter edge, “you just
think
you love me. You’re infatuated, not in love.
You’re infatuated because Iwon’t give you what you want—what all men want. And if I did, you’d
use me and leave me.”
Paul’s face registered his utter shock. “That’s not true, Bonnie. I’d never use you like that.”
Bonnie felt herself grow icy inside. “Didn’t you try? Didn’t you? The first night we went out?”
Paul looked remorseful and pained. “No, I—”
“Just forget me, Paul. Really, you’llbe better off if you do.”
He barred her way, stepping in front of her as she tried to leave. “Bonnie, give me another
chance. I just want to be near you—”
She couldn’t hide her contempt any longer, not for his weakness, his pathetic pleas. She
narrowed her eyes at him. “No amount of begging will ever change the way I feel about you. You
want the truth?” she said, her words now as hot as her temper. “You disgust me. Every time you
touch me, my skin crawls. I was never interested in you—only what your money could buy me. Is
that worth waiting for, Paul? Is it?”
He stood before her, his mouth open, his face paralyzed with the shock of her blunt revelations.
Bonnie swerved and dashed back out the door, no longer interested in going to work. She couldn’t
look at Paul’s face again, see the way he looked at her, or hear the pitiable tone in his voice. He
reminded her of her mother, paralyzed to act, a victim of emotion. All she could see in Paul was
weakness, especially after his pathetic and humiliating display. She’d been right about feelings—they
made you lose control.

Bonnie was still fuming when she reached her apartment. She couldn’t abide Paul’s flaccid
framework, his sentimentality. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe now he’d leave her alone, wouldn’t
try to approach her again. And if he did, he’d get slapped down once more.

She kicked her shoes off and sank down in the comfortable chair. Closing her eyes, she leaned
her head back and sighed. Running away had been so much harder than she’d expected. But at the
time, the desperation to leave had driven her, without planning, without thinking beyond the
moment.

She wondered about Paul and about her mother and what made them slaves to their feelings. It
seemed they were both immobilized by them. Why couldn’t Paul just move on with his life? Surely
he wouldn’t spend his days pining for her. He was exaggerating. And why couldn’t her mother just
leave her abusive relationship? All those years trapped in a marriage of pain and suffering… It was
fear, she knew. Fear of something, fear of everything.

That was the look on her mother’s face the last time she’d seen her, the moments before she
slipped out the back door…fear. Fear for her daughter, or for herself—Bonnie didn’t know.
Thinking about her mother made her want to telephone. It was Monday afternoon. It would be
a good time to reach her—she’d be alone. Without trying to talk herself out of it, Bonnie went to the
phone and dialed the long-distance operator.
The phone rang four, five, six times. It generally never took her mother that long to answer—
her father wouldn’t allow it. He wanted the phone answered by the third ring. It was one of his
rules, one of the many he burdened her mother with.
On the seventh ring, she heard a voice. “Hello.” It was spoken more as a command than a genial
question. It wasn’t her mother, but a male voice, her father’s. A shiver of panic chilled her spine and
she began to hang up the receiver.
“Hello!” he shouted into the phone. “Who is it? What do you want?”
Why hadn’t her mother answered? She wasn’t allowed out of the house except on Saturday to do
the grocery shopping, and then only in her father’s presence. Something inside Bonnie urged her to
speak. “Is Jean there?” She tried to disguise her voice, though she doubted her father would
recognize it.
“Jean? Is this some kind of joke?” he spat. “Jean’s dead.”
Bonnie felt the blood drain from her body. Her ears began to ring and her vision faded. She
staggered back and let the phone fall from her hand. She could hear the faint buzzing sound coming
from the phone line, and then it went dead. Bonnie’s knees buckled and she collapsed to the floor.
A sort of keening forced itself from her throat in a sound she didn’t recognize, a sound like that of a
wounded animal, visceral and primitive. Her body began to tremble as she rolled onto her side and
clasped her knees to her chest. Scalding tears flooded her eyes, streaming down her cheeks in hot
rivulets. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried like this, and so it seemed she cried now for
all the times she should have, but didn’t.
She cried until all her tears had been shed. Her throat ached and the muscles in her face felt
cramped with the contortion of her pain. She cried until she was empty of everything but a sense of
exhaustion. She lay on the floor, limp and spent as she wondered how her mother had died. She
could only speculate now, but at least she was free of her painful life, free of all the wounds inflicted
upon her, both physically and emotionally. If only her mother had come with her—maybe she’d still
be alive. Maybe Bonnie could have made a difference and her mother would be well and alive and
free. She should have forced her out of the kitchen that day. She should have grabbed her by the
arm and dragged her kicking and screaming from that house.
“Happy birthday, Bonnie Blue.”The voice was tender and softened with a Southern drawl. “You’re six years old
today.”
Bonnie rolled onto her side in the back of the wagon, the sky still dark. “I am?” she whispered, afraid of waking
her father.
“You are, baby girl,” her mother said. “I have something for you.”
Bonnie sat up, rubbed her eyes, and looked around. “Where’sDaddy?”
Her mother ran her hand over Bonnie’s goldenhair. “Don’t you worry about him,” she said. “He’s already
gone.” She stretched her fingers out and took Bonnie’s hand. “Come on now.”
Bonnie stood up and moved closer to the edge of the wagon bed. Her mother scooped her up and held her in her
arms. Bonnie nestled her face against her mother’s cheek. She always felt safein her mother’s arms, and even though
her hands were rough and cracked from hard work, they always felt soft and reassuring to Bonnie. “Where are we
going?”
“Not far,” she said with a smile as the faint pink color of dawn crept over the horizon.
Bonnie saw a small cooking fire blazing against the damp morning earth. The melon fields would soon be
swarming with workers like a plague of locusts. But just now it was quiet, and it seemed they were the only two people
in the world.
Her mother brushed back Bonnie’s hair and kissed her. “I baked you a little cake,” she said, putting Bonnie on
her feet as she hunched down beside her. “It’s all yours, Bonnie Blue.”
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.