A half consumed glass of milk sat on a small table next to a dish containing only the smallest traces of a few chocolate chip cookies. Next to them stood an old floor mirror, its dusty cover crumpled at its feet. It wasn’t possible to pick through all the pockets without unfolding the clothes, and of course, once unfolded, they had to be tried on. So the process of refolding them and putting them back in the suitcase took a lot longer than expected. Perhaps the 80’s weren’t so bad. She had even set aside a few items to ask her mother if she could wear them. A trip through the washer would get rid of the musty smell in no time. Maybe she’d even hang them outside to sun dry.

While the clothes in the suitcase were more fun to go through than she expected, Jessica had yet to find the key to the dusty old chest. She had only made it through two of the several suitcases, having opted to look through the case full of old photos prior to the clothes. The photos were fun, and mostly from before Jessica was born. Her parents had gone digital near the turn of the millennium and while they’d printed some things, the bulk was stored on DVD’s. The only traditional photo album that could be found on a shelf in the living room was from her parents’ wedding. The other albums were tucked away in Mom and Dad’s room hidden behind Mom’s books. Jessica didn’t go in there to look at them frequently and Mom didn’t like it anyway.

Here, in the privacy of the attic, Jessica had time to go through the old Kodak folders with the now obsolete negative strips. She recognized most of the faces. Her grandparents smiled at her as first time parents holding Mom in their arms. A larger version of this one was on the mantle. It was a trip through memories Jessica had to piece together post facto. Her parents gave toothy smiles after a game in their youth. Mom with her high school friends, wearing some of the same clothes Jessica would go through here in the attic, holding up a bluefish on Grandpa’s boat in Long Island Sound with the Northport smoke stacks in the distance. Grandpa did love to fish. The ones she lingered on the longest, though, were of Aunt Claire. Jessica seemed to have received Aunt Claire’s infectious smile, or so Grandpa always said. It would have been nice to have known her.

“Hey, kiddo!” Dad’s head popped up through the floor like a prairie rat. “How goes?”

“Oh, hi, Dad!” Jessica replied. “You’re home from work already?”

“It’s almost dinner time. Mom says you’ve been up here all day. What’s with the pile of clothes?”

Jessica was a bit sheepish. “Hah… well, I was wondering if Mom might let me borrow them. I didn’t find the key.”

“Well, judging by the clothes and photos, it hasn’t been for lack of trying. Dinner in 10 minutes.”

“Ok, Dad.” Her father disappeared again as Jessica moved the small pile of clothes she was hoping to keep next to the hole he had just vacated.

Ignoring the piles of photos that still needed to go back in their suitcase, Jessica decided there would be time to take a quick look through one more suitcase. Opening it up, she found the stacks of casually tossed in papers that she had only briefly rummaged through the day before. She quickly pulled things out and placed them into several piles on the floor.

“Jessica! Dinner!” called her mother.

“Ok, just a minute!” She hastily finished emptying the suitcase and then felt around the lining. There was no key to be found.

“Now, please!” Jessica gave up and went down the stairs, grabbing the clothes on her way.

---

 

“You just wait,” Mom said at dinner with a smile. “The 80’s are coming back!” Jessica’s interest in Mom’s old clothes lent a light hearted mood to the conversation. “It’s the 90’s we have to watch out for now. All that flannel may have been fine for lumberjacks in the Oregon woods but not so much here.”

“Did you and Aunt Claire share clothes a lot?” Jessica asked.

“Well,” Mom answered rhetorically, “You saw a lot of the photos today, didn’t you? She was 2 years younger than me but we were close enough that it didn’t matter so much. I think she was a bit sad when I took my things with me to college but she had plenty of her own clothes, too.

“Actually, one time she came to visit me at school during her winter break and one of my skirts went missing. It seems it magically ended up in her bag. Accidentally, of course. I got it back the next time I went home to visit, but that wasn’t till the end of the year.”

“Hah! That would’ve pissed me off so much! What did you wear back then, Dad?”

“I don’t know. Probably what everyone else was wearing.”

Mom answered for him. “I seem to recall a lot of Panama Jack. Dad hasn’t always been the most adventuresome from a fashion standpoint.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Dad protested.

Jessica changed the subject. “The green chest was Aunt Claire’s wasn’t it?” Mom and Dad exchanged a look. Mom nodded but it was Dad who answered.

“Yes, it was, Jess.”

“I thought so.” She was pleased that she was right. “I noticed today while looking at it that it had Goodwin written on it, but it didn’t look like Mom’s handwriting.”

“That doesn’t mean it was hers, Jess,” Dad countered. “That’s Mom’s grandfather’s handwriting on there. He actually had very nice penmanship. They don’t teach that anymore.”

“He gave it to Grandpa and Granpa gave it to Claire the chest when she went off to school,” Mom added. She was a little surprised to even be talking about it, but she went on. “His parents gave him the chest when he left home, and he tried to give it to me, but I didn’t want it. Too utilitarian. It’s pretty ugly even all dusted off. So Claire took it.”

“Did you go through it when she died?”

Dad answered quickly. “Mom did. We never went through it together. Mom asked me to promise to never open it and I’ve kept that promise.”

“Why what was in there?” she looked at her mother but no reply came. “You have the key, then, Mom?”

“Not really, dear, no.”

“What do you mean not really? You either have a key or you don’t.”

“Look, Jess,” Mom explained. “I don’t see why you have to be so curious about what’s in there. It’s just a bunch of personal things that Claire never had time to get rid of and wouldn’ t have value to anyone else.”

“Well, I want to know more about her,” Jessica demanded. “All I’ve got is a few pictures of her holding me as a baby.”

“Jessica,” Dad interrupted sternly. “Don’t push your mother on this.”

“But, Dad…”

“No but’s, Jessica!”

“It’s ok, Steven.” Mom sighed. She didn’t usually use Dad’s first name except in serious conversation, but now she was starting to accept the inevitable. “Think of all the other things she could be into instead.” Jessica silently watched her parents wondering what to say next. Mom continued. “Jess, Dad hid the key many years ago because I didn’t want to go through it again. I don’t know where it is.”

She wasn’t sure she wanted to ask her father but she knew she had to. “So, Dad, which suitcase is the key in? I’ve gone through three of them and it’s not in any.”

“No, it’s not in the suitcases.” Dad looked every bit as unsure as he felt. He looked to his wife for reassurance and she nodded. “You’re ok?” he asked. She nodded again. “You sure?” This time there was no response, so he went on slowly. “It’s,” he began.   “It’s taped to the back of the chest.”

“Really?” both Jessica and her mother asked simultaneously.

“Uh, yeah,” he chuckled. They were both stunned. “You’d have found it pretty easily if you’d bothered to move it.”

They spoke simultaneously.

“You mean you put it right where anyone could find it!?”

“You mean I could’ve found it ages ago!?

“Uh… yeah. Didn’t want to lose it, did we?”

---

 

To no one’s surprise, Jessica was back in the attic almost as soon as dinner was over. She had the chest dusted off in no time, but when she tried to slide the chest away from the slope of the roof, found she was unable to move it. She bounced downstairs to get her father’s help.

“It’s ok. Go ahead,” her mother reassured him. “I know you were always curious.”

A short while later, Jessica and her father had slid the chest out from the rafters, and Jessica was removing the tape. “I have to say, Jess, I’m kind of excited about this, too.”

Jessica looked up. “You mean, you really never looked in here before, Dad?”

“Nope.”

“And you knew where the key was the whole time?”

“Yep.”

“Weren’t you curious?”

“Yes, Jess. More than you know, but I made a promise to your mother and that was more important. I knew there would be a day where I’d find out.”

“I think you’re crazy. I’d have opened it ages ago.” She was almost giddy. She turned her attention back to the tape. “I also think you could’ve used less tape!” She pulled the last piece free and pulled out the key. It wasn’t much like the key she had imagined. It wasn’t shining silver, but rather a dark bronze. Instead of a clover shaped bow, the grip was solid with scalloped edges, and the shank was very short. There were markings on the grip that Jessica couldn’t make out and her father didn’t recognize, either. Nevertheless, the key slid easily into the lock and opened it. Jessica lifted the latch and then the two lifted the lid together, leaning it against the sloping roof beams.

The inside was lined with burgundy fabric containing a golden weave. It was old and worn in a way that enhanced its beauty more than detracting from it. Unlike her mother’s clothes from the suitcase, there was no musty odor. The contents filled the chest nearly to the brim. On top was a yellowed linen cloth upon which a twig of dried lilac had been laid. The flower petals crumbled when Jessica picked up the stem. Dad held out the bag of paper towels that she had used to dust everything off. “Here.” She tossed the stem in and together they dusted the crumbs from the linen cloth into the bag as well.

Beneath the linen, then actual contents were neatly organized. On the left were a pile of old newspapers stacked on top of some clothes. On the right, more clothes made an additional soft lining around several glass medicine bottles. Wedged into corners and between shirts were little knickknacks that didn’t appear to have any value beyond the personal.

Jessica examined the bottles. The labels were long faded and someone had written letters on each, but there were no more than 2 or 3 letters identifying each. “What’s this?” Jessica asked holding one up. Dad looked at the label.

“S. J. W.” he read. “Doesn’t mean a thing to me.” The rest were equally mysterious. The bottles had stood on a plain wood box. A cube about 8 inches to a side, it was locked and seemed to weigh more than its size would suggest. Dad held it up and inspected it closely. “That’s amazing,” Dad marveled.

“It’s just a plain wood box, Dad.”

“No. Look at these dovetail joints. They’re perfect. You see how fine the grain is?” All that conveyed to Jessica was that someone had done a nice woodworking job.

Jessica was unimpressed. “That’s great, Dad, but what’s in it?” she asked.

“No idea,” he replied. “That’s not the point, though. The point is, this wasn’t a cheap box, and it wasn’t hastily built. Someone put serious time and effort into it. And yet, there’s nothing on the outside to indicate what’s inside.”

“Well, the key isn’t taped to the back. Where’d you hide this one?”

“I told you I’d never opened this chest before.   I had no idea this would be in here and I never saw another key. I’m as clueless as you are.”

“Maybe it’s inside the chest somewhere.” Jessica started to pull out the rest of the clothes. “These clothes aren’t anything like Mom’s old stuff.” Jessica held up a long black skirt with black lace trim.

“No, they’re not!” Dad chuckled. “For one thing, they’re not nearly as colorful. I think these are a little more recent.” They continued to pull out skirts and blouses in various earth tones. Jessica would put her hand in each pocket in her search for a new key, but she came up empty each time. Dad ran his hand around the inside to see if they had missed anything.

“I can’t believe there’s another box!” Jessica exclaimed. “Why on earth would someone lock a box inside a locked box?”

“Maybe she put valuables in there.”

“What? Like jewelry?”

“Possibly. It’s a lot heavier than it should be, even with dense hardwood. Gold, maybe? I don’t know. She probably had the chest open regularly and the small box needed to be kept safe.” Dad looked at his watch. “It’s getting late and I have to go to work tomorrow. Let’s put this stuff back and we can look at it again tomorrow.”

The two folded the clothes back up and gradually put everything back. Jessica was putting the newspapers on top when something caught her eye. “Dad? Why do you think Aunt Claire had newspapers from the 40’s?”

“Good question.” Dad looked at the date on the New York Times Jessica held in her hands. June 6, 1944. “Allied Armies Land in France” read the headline. “That was D-Day in World War II.” He was talking to himself more than his daughter at this point. “I wonder why she had this.”

Together they sat down again and started to look through the papers. A number of them were from D-Day itself. Boston Daily Globe, June 6, 1944. The Hour, June 6, 1944. Connecticut Post, August 9^th, 1944. That one caught their eye and they read the front page together.

“Look at this,” Dad said pointing to the list of war casualties. “Edward Goodwin, Pfc.”

“You think he was related? Is that Mom’s grandfather?”

“Not her grandfather, but I think he probably was related,” Dad explained. “Maybe a great uncle. I don’t see why your aunt would’ve kept these papers if there was no family connection. Still, she couldn’t have ever known him if he really died in August of 1944. That was nearly 30 years before she was born.”

“Let’s look at the obituaries,” Jessica suggested. Dad turned the page and, sure enough, a third of the way down was a brief write up of Edward Goodwin.

“Yep, he’s related to your mother,” Dad concluded. “Edward Goodwin, of Fairfield. It mentions his older brother who was honorably discharged. That’s your Grandpa. Looks like Edward was sent forward during the first push inland and was caught by a sniper. She must’ve felt some connection to him. I guess that explains the newspapers, then!” He was quite pleased with himself.

“Not so much, Dad,” Jessica was confused. She pointed further down the page and read aloud. “Ronald Lowry, Connecticut Nutmeggers, Shortstop. Died July 31, 2019.”