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On the bottom of the small old wooden shelf up in my Grandma’s attic sat a small rusty metal box with a tiny lock on it. On the either side of the box, someone had written “Do Not Open”.
Ever since I was a child, I would go up in to the attic and sit in front of the box, taking it in my hand and pondering over its mysterious contents. I was not allowed to open the box--no one was-- and I only really got to see it over the summer holidays, when I visited my Grandmother.
She was quite sensitive about the box; I wasn’t to walk around with it or shake it (which I once tired to do to guess what was in it). The box was to be held with the utmost care. I asked her once when I was seven, about it's contents.
“Gran, what’s inside the metal box up in the attic?”
She had been reading a book. She peered at me from the top of her glasses. “What box?”
“You know the small one. The one with the lock and it says ‘do not open’?” I took a seat beside her on her bed. She took off her glasses and placed them gently on her side table. She fingered the book for a while, lost in thought.
“Well?” I said impatiently.
“It belonged to my sister. My little sister Annabelle.”
“She died when she was twelve right?”
“Yes her, Now don’t interrupt and I’ll tell you all about it.” She frowned at me. I nodded back. She continued, “We use to live in a cabin, away from town. We very poor and Father had just lost his job. He worked as a hired help for a farm uptown. Mother would go into town and sew for money. She earned money, but just barely enough to survive. Annabelle and I decided one day to sell all our belonging for a bit of money. We got it into our heads and told no one about our plan.”
Grandma chuckled softly. I did not see what was so funny. I wanted her to get to the part about the box.
“Well we got our all our things together. All our stockings, mittens and any toys that we had, all our clothes other than the ones we were wearing. Then we marched off to Town without telling anyone. But when we arrived, we did not know where to go, what to do, or where to sell our things. After a bit of looking around we saw beggars lined up on the street selling bits of odds and ends. We placed a sheet on the ground and sat right beside them. We were quite dusty and tired from our long walk to town, so we fit in right with the beggars.
“Annabelle starting calling out to people, just like the other vendors on the street. Now that I recall our prices were outrageously cheap. Every bit of thing we had was sold. With the small cash we had earned we headed back home, two very happy, bright-eyed girls. Oh we got scolded my Ma. But Papa took our hard earned cash and put it into his breast pocket. “Thank-you girls. It’ll really help”
“Is it a lot papa?” We asked. He smiled softly and nodded. Oh bless him. It was actually barely enough to buy bread and eggs. It wasn’t until the next day, we regretted our hasty decision. We never talked of it but we always felt it. We didn’t own a bit of thing. By and by we got a few clothes but not a toy we had other than our own home made twig dolls.
“Six months later, Papa came home with a small metal box with a key and lock.”
I perked up, suddenly attentive and very much interested. Grand-ma sighed.
“He handed it to Annabelle. He told her it was hers. Just for her. Her very own. He told us he had found it in the woods on his way home from Town. Dear Annabelle hugged it to her chest, her first possession in months.”
“What did she put in it?” I couldn’t contain myself and blurted my question out.
Grandma looked at carefully.
“I don’t know. She never told us what she kept in it. She was very secretive and possessive about her box. She opened it and closed all the time, she took it with her wherever she could. And not a single one of us was allowed to touch it or open it. Whatever she kept in it, she kept it a secret. It was always locked”
“But didn’t you ever try to open it?” I asked slowly.
“I tired but she always kept it with her. Especially when she caught the scarlet fever. It was always by her side. I never got the chance to open it. She died just soon after. Leaving me the key.”
“Did you open the box then?”
“No dear. Many times I wanted to. But I respected her wish. Her secrecy. I still have the key. And I can open it anytime I want. But I won’t.”
“Oh” I said, much disappointed. “Well Grandma if you change your mind…can you tell me what’s in it?”
Grandmother smiled slowly. “Go on now and let me finish my book.”
It wasn’t until I was married and had kids of my own, that I ever got to open the box. Grand-mother Died at the age of eighty-seven leaving me the key to the box of Annabelle.
I was a grown up woman by then, but my curiosity about the box was as fierce as ever. I deceived the trust of my Grand-mother. I opened the box soon after her death.
I knew I couldn’t live without ever knowing what was inside the box. I needed to know why Annabelle was so secretive. What did the box contain that she could show to no one, not even her closest friend, her sister.
A week after my Grand-Mother’s funeral, I climbed up to the attic, the key to the box in my hand. I knelt down towards the box. I opened it slowly, turning the key in the lock. The box was extremely old and rusty. It made an awful noise as I pulled the lid up.
It contained a small piece of folded paper in it. My heart thumping, I carefully unfolded the paper. This was it. Annabelle’s secret.
My heart fell as I read the paper. I was confused. In neat cursive writing, it read “Annabelle Rose Johnson.”
What so secretive about that? I didn’t understand. Maybe the real object had been taken out by Annabelle before she died. Maybe Annabelle had gone crazy. Was that a symptom of the scarlet fever? No I didn’t think so.
I left Pine Hollow, My Grand-Mother’s house two weeks later, ready for the long car ride home. I got myself and my kids in our van and started for home, my head still buzzing with questions about Annabelle’s box.
“Mommy tell Ben to stop bugging me.” My six year old complained from the back of the van.
“Ben, leave your little sister alone.”
“I just wanted to read her diary.” Replied Ben
“Jenny, dear will it hurt if you let you brother read it?” I groaned.
“ But Mom. It’s mine!”
“Is there a secret or something that you don’t want Ben to read?” I asked.
“No-oo” She replied slowly. “But it’s mine. All mine. I don’t have to share. It belongs to me and only me. Mommy I really like having it as just mine.”
I was about to say something back to my daughter about sharing, when suddenly I remembered Annabelle’s box. Suddenly it all made sense. My six year old daughter had answered all my questions.
I suggest tat you read through it to yourself (out loud or under your breath). That really helps to diminish the rough spots and make it read smoother.
. Just read it over carefully like other two have said. Kudos for an enjoyable read.
