There was no way I was going to get home on time. Although I was basically a good kid, my mom would frequently say, "Kate, if you got your head out of the clouds and stopped talking long enough you might have better sense." When I'm not reading, I'm usually talking. I love to talk to people. You find out the most interesting things just by asking questions and then listening to what other people have to say. Yes, my name is Kate. No, not Katherine or anything like that, just Kate. My immediate family consists of me, my little sister Olivia, who is 7 years old, our mom Elizabeth (Beth) and father, Jack. If you check out our mailbox, it refers to us as, "The Sage Family." Kate Sage! That's me!! My father tells me that he is a 3rd generation Texan and that I should expect to always live in Dallas. When I heard him say that I thought, "We'll just see about that, dad!" Even then I knew life was full of surprises.
It's autumn here in my hometown of Dallas, Texas and what better way to occupy yourself after a long day at Lipscomb Elementary School, where I study the general courses offered to your average 5th grader, than by reading at the Lakewood Branch Public Library. The school, library and our house are all within about 6 blocks of each other. My sister Olivia is in the 2nd grade at the same school. Most of the time she goes with me to the library, but today she wanted to go home for some reason.
I had been lost in dreamland as I read one of my favorite books, when I realized it was late.
"Mom is going to kill me!" I imagined as I gathered my belongings. Dramatic thought, yes. But when she yelled, I felt like dying! That's something good to know about me. I don't like to be yelled at. It crushes me; makes me shut down inside. Unfortunately, my family (all except for Olivia) YELL at me all the time!
"Thank heavens the walk home is just 6 blocks." As I strolled along, my mind was deep in dreamland about what I'd been reading that day. Adventure books were the best, but lately I'd been drawn to books about how to take care of myself. Things are happening with me that I don't understand, so I go to books for the answers. My mom is a nice person, but horrible at raising children. Honestly, I've known for a long time that my mom wanted a different life for herself. Since my total years on this earth don't exceed 10, I'm not exactly sure what mom wants, but even at this age, I can see she isn't happy with what she has. I wish I could help her. At the moment, the best I can do is help myself. There are several books that I looked through today, but the one that I keep dreaming about was focused on how to have good hygiene and be stylish. The hygiene part is easy and I do have pretty good habits, but the stylish part; that's much harder to figure out. So, this book is helpful. The book is titled, A New You. It's a book I would never forget. Books really are my friends sometimes.
Mom's unhappiness makes it hard for Olivia and I, as we are kind of left on our own to make our way through life. Mom expects us to do our chores, our lessons and not make trouble...anywhere! Not make trouble -- that can be hard to accomplish when you don't have guidance. Mom works nights at a local bank. In 1969, it's rare that a mom works outside the home and at the moment I'm not sure I understand why she does it. Her job is to make sure the checks and amounts are entered correctly into the bank machines. She tells me about her work and sometimes I even get to go with her to where she works and watch or play until she's finished. They call her a "Keypunch Operator." She types FAST on a keyboard and the machine punches little rectangular holes into larger rectangular cards that have one corner sliced off at an angle. It's fascinating to me! Dad works days at Dallas Power and Light Company. Doing what, I don't know. That is typical dad. You just never know what is going through his head or what he's doing, but you can be sure that whatever it is, it's about how to make a fast buck. For someone always scheming about money, it's surprising just how little of it we actually have! So, I didn't know what to expect when I got home, but I knew it wasn't going to be good.
As I walked along thinking a thousand things all at once, a groan from the bushes next to an apartment building I pass on my way home, stopped me dead in my tracks. As I looked into the bushes, I could see a man, neatly dressed but clearly hurt. I jumped back at the sight of him. He looked at me and motioned for me to come closer. He said,
"Come here, child. I won't hurt you. I've been hurt and need your help." I thought I must be crazy, but I couldn't just run away from someone so in need of help. When I got close to him, he looked deep into my eyes and said in a gasping whisper,
"The box. You must get the box!" He put a key into my hand. As I looked down at the key he said, "You know the pretty little white house on Worth Street just off Glasgow that has the purple iris window?" I knew this house well! You couldn't live in Lakewood and not know about The Iris House.
"Yes, sir!" I said.
"Go there, open the door and go all the way to the back of the house to the kitchen. There you'll find a rug on the floor. Lift the rug and a trap door will be revealed underneath. Open the door and find the box hidden there. Bring the box back here to me." I listened but said,
"Wait right here. I'll get someone to help you." He grabbed my wrist and said,
"No! The box. Bring the box. Keep it safe. Whatever you do, protect the box. If I'm not here when you get back, the box is yours. Now, run!"
I ran all the way to The Iris House. It was dark now. As I approached I thought how the house looked like it was just waiting for me. I had always wanted to walk around in that pretty little house. Over the years I must have passed it a thousand times on my way to school and had dreamed of what it must be like inside. Today was not the day to notice. As I got closer to the house I kept thinking, "Now, what had he said? Get the box -- all the way back in the kitchen." All this I thought as I unlocked the door and called inside,
"Anyone home?" No answer. Then like a light, I dashed to the back following every instruction. Just as the man had said, underneath the rug was a trap door. When I opened the door there it was, a box. In the dark hole in the floor, it didn't look all that special. As I lifted it out I noticed that it was kind of heavy and it was a beautiful rose gold metal, smooth--shiny; a lovely little box. I've never seen anything else like it. Quickly I replaced everything as it had been and ran back to the man. To my amazement he was gone! "Now, what do I do?" I said to myself. Without really thinking I decided to take the box back. I know he said to keep it, but I was scared. "What if the box hadn't been his?" I thought. "Did I just steal it for him? I'll put it back. That's the right thing to do."
Back to The Iris House I ran. But now there were three men going in and out of the house and they were not happy. I tucked the box between some bushes on the side of the house and peeked in the window. There to my amazement, was the man! The angry men were hitting him and asking,
"Where is it?" The man replied,
"I don't know what you're talking about!" Then one of the men hit him over and over again. It hurt me to watch, but I kept remembering what he had said, "Whatever you do, protect the box!" Watching what the man was going through to protect the box made me somehow stronger. I thought, "If he would do that for the box, I can keep it safe and be quiet for once." I knew that this time, I was going to have to keep the secret. I wasn't going to be able to run my mouth about it or even let on that I had seen or knew anything. Otherwise, how could I accomplish what the man was taking a beating for? All of a sudden another man came in, pulled out a gun and shot the injured man! At that moment, my breath froze inside my lungs. I was like a rock on that spot. "Is what I'm seeing really happening?" I thought as I sank down to my knees, staring at the box. One of the men said,
"You fool!! Now you've done it! We'll never find the box! We better beat it. We can't be found here like this, besides we now have to figure out what to tell Smith. Come on!" All three of the men quickly ran out and got into a car and sped away.
One of the things my dad was crazy about, was cars. All my life he had taught me to be able to determine the make, model and year of the cars we passed on the highway. It was easy for me to tell that this car was a turquoise blue and white 1960 Chevrolet Bel Air Sedan with Texas plates: CJ 9435. How could I remember the plate? Easy! One of my best traits is my memory. To make it work, I associate many things with many things. In this case, "CJ" I associated with the name of a family friend, Clarence Julius. We called him "CJ." The number was easy to remember. I have a 94 year-old great grandmother and both of my parents were born in 1935: CJ 9435. It's easy to remember that way.
I waited for a moment, then started thinking about what the man had said, "Protect the box." The man had just died protecting the box. I might have to do the same unless I could get home and quick. I looked around and finding it clear, I took off running all the way home. When I arrived no one was in the front room of our house. I ran to my room and hid the box among my possessions and went to the bathroom to wash my face and to think. I thought about what had happened, but doing that was just making me scared. So, I decided that from this point on, I would just keep quiet, watch and listen. If I needed help I would have to seek out God's help. For now, I just need to be normal, whatever that is!
While I was in the bathroom I heard dad and Olivia come in saying,
"I wonder where she's gotten off to this time?" Olivia called my name,
"Kate, are you home?"
"I'm here!" I called back to her.
"Thank, God!" I heard dad sigh. "Where have you been?"
"I've been at the library."
"They closed an hour ago didn't they? Why are you so late?" asked dad.
"Oh, I must have been lolly-gagging like usual." Dad seemed to have accepted this excuse and said,
"We went to get some hamburgers for supper. Finish cleaning up and get to the kitchen so we can eat."
The conversation over supper was minimal, since dad wanted to get to his TV set as soon as possible. Olivia just ate and stared at me. If anyone can read me, it's Olivia. I'm 3 years older than Olivia, but she's 3 brains smarter than me. Although she can usually figure me out or trick me into talking, this time I'll not breathe a word about what happened. I have to think things through.
That night after I rushed through my chores, did my homework and got ready for bed, I thought about the day. There was no doubt that I had witnessed a murder and the reason for the murder was sitting in my bedroom closet! "Have I lost my mind? Did I dream what happened? No, it was real and I've got to figure out what I'm supposed to do now. What am I going to do?" I thought as I drifted off to sleep.
The next day was Saturday and we were always instructed to eat and go out and play so mom could sleep. I don't have any idea what dad did, but we were to get out of the way and not cause trouble. Again, with the trouble! "How am I supposed to do that?" I thought. On this particular day, Olivia wanted to go to the park, but I convinced her to walk over to the school instead. This way, I could see The Iris House and see if anyone was around. As we turned the corner, there were police everywhere and no way to pass the house. A policeman approached us and asked,
"Did you see anything suspicious here last night?" Both of us just shook our heads. Inside, I was screaming, "Murder!" but they already knew there was a murder. We turned around and walked to the park instead. As we walked, I thought about the box. "What should I do with it? What did he say? Protect the box!" As we played in the park I thought about the box. "I must open it." But that would have to come later. Right now, I have to figure out how to get the information about the men and the car to the police, but how to do it without them knowing it's me who saw everything. As Olivia and I played on the swings, rode the merry-go-round and climbed the money bars, I thought and thought. During that time in the park, I worked out a plan.
Every good plan has steps and in my head I made a mental list of my strategy:
- Get paper and the portable typewriter that mom keeps in the main closet.
- Type a note to the police that says what I saw, giving as much detail as possible, but not mentioning the box.
- Put the paper in an envelope and put the following on the envelope: "To the Detective in Charge of the Murder at The Iris House on Worth Street last Friday."
- Then, take the envelope to the police station and ask to see the detective and tell them that man gave me the envelope and a quarter to deliver it to the police station.
This was the best plan I could come up with. They will believe me, because I've got a quarter and I'll show it to them and smile. Since I'm a kid, they won't think I know anything and I'll be on my way and they will have the information they need to catch those bad guys.
When Olivia and I got home, mom was fussing about trying to get ready for her weekly 'date' with dad. Since she was busy and Olivia and dad were watching wrestling on TV, I thought I'd be able to open the box. I went into my closet; to the place where I hid my special things and just as I was about to grasp the box I was startled by a call from my mom.
"Kate, get in here!" I regained my composure and retreated from my bedroom closet and stood with downcast eyes at the door of my parent's room. That tone of voice always made me feel so guilty.
"Yes, mom?" I said, calmly.
"I thought I told you yesterday morning that the laundry had to be hung out on the line as soon as you got home from school!" she shouted. Oh, no! I'd forgotten the laundry!! It had been sitting in the washing machine for more than a day.
"I'm so sorry, mom! I forgot!! I'll do it right now!" I said and rushed off. The laundry had to be rewashed. It took me an hour to get the task of hanging out the clothes even started. Since it was so late when the wash was done, I'd have to bring it in when it was dark. That's okay since it was my fault. Olivia went out with me to keep me company later when it was time to bring in the clothes. I went on through the evening doing chores, making supper for Olivia and I and actually forgot all about the box...for awhile anyway. It was safe among my belongings and so far, the thing had caused nothing but trouble. But I hadn't forgotten my plan. While Olivia watched Saturday night TV shows, I typed my paper and got it all ready. I'd take it to the Police Station tomorrow.
When it was time for Olivia and I to get to bed, mom and dad still weren't home yet from their Saturday night date. It was just like every other Saturday in my memory. As I lay there, I thought about the box I'd hidden in my closet. What is this box that a man would give away his life to protect? Or was he only protecting me? At that moment, I sat straight up in bed. What if I was the reason he was dead? "But wait a minute, Kate! He was already in trouble when you came along. He couldn't protect the box any longer and so, fate brought him Kate." I convinced myself. I felt like Jane the heroine from my favorite book, Jane Eyre. She was sent to rescue Mr. Rochester in the beginning from his fall from the horse and in the end from a life without love. "I'm just like Jane," I dreamed. As I lay back down, I still wondered if I'd helped the man or not. Falling asleep, I began to dream of what the contents must be. "Such a small box yet so heavy! (yawn) What could be in there? I'll have to open it tomorrow." And with that final thought, I was fast asleep.
The next morning as I dressed for church, I had to figure out where to put the envelope so that I'd have it on hand for the delivery after lunch that day, as I'd planned. Since I always dressed in my best clothes for church, that meant I'd need to take some play clothes to change into at grandmother's for lunch and the afternoon. I usually put my clothes in with Olivia's, but on this day, I put mine into a pretty little handbag and just said I wanted to carry my own bag this time. My mother just shook her head and got Olivia's clothes together. I put the envelope folded in between my pants and my top and never let the handbag off my arm for a moment. When I'd change later at my grandmother's, I'll put the folded envelope into my pants pocket.
After church and lunch with the family, everyone did what they usually did on Sunday. "How predictable we've become," I thought. The whole family, parents, grand parents and great grand parents would nap or watch football on TV or sit talking while drinking cup after cup of coffee. No one will miss me while I go over to the Police Station. We usually have Sunday lunch at my grandmother's house and it just so happens that the Police Station is just 4 blocks from her house! It only took me 30 minutes to complete the task. They never even asked me my name. When I got back to my grandmother's house, Olivia was waiting for me.
"Where have you been?" she asked with that sideways glance that said she already didn't believe me.
"Oh, just around the block." I lied. No words left her lips, but her expression spoke volumes. She thinks she'll figure me out, but I've got news for her. This time, Olivia, will not. Now, all I have to do is watch the papers to see if the news says they find the guys who murdered the man with the box. I will be able to think more clearly if I just know that those men do not go unpunished.
Under the guise of "current events" for school, I was able to read the paper each day after dad was finished and was able to follow the case. From the beginning, I clipped the articles about the case and learned so much about the mystery man I'd seen murdered. In the end, living close to the courthouse downtown where the culprits were tried, I was able to actually sit in the court room for part of the trial. It's amazing how easy it is for a 10 year-old to just walk into a court room. No one seemed to pay much attention to me. The three men were found quite guilty as their finger prints were everywhere and the bullet that killed the man was traced back to the gun of one of the men. It seems that when that piece of evidence was discovered, the rats began to jump ship and everyone started pointing the finger at the others. There were two things that I found most interesting about the trial. First, the fact that none of them ever said a word about the box and then, that the person I had only heard mentioned as "Smith," was also found guilty of the murder! But none of them ever breathed a word about the box. Every lawyer asked questions like, "Why were you there?" or "The place was ransacked. What were you looking for?" Each of them played dumb. In the end, the four men were sentenced to prison for murder and a string of other offenses. Each would be behind bars for a very long time.
Over time I learned about the man whom I'd helped that autumn day and who was ultimately murdered to protect his great possession, the box. His name was Matthew Peterson. He was a well known optical engineer with many patents to his credit, but was most well known for designing a weapons sight that allowed the soldier using it to simply look at the intended target and the ordinance would be delivered precisely where he focused. Mr. Peterson was a widower with no children or living relatives, but the newspapers were full of great affection for this quiet, brilliant man. I was so honored to have been able to help him, but I still felt responsible for his death and would feel this way for many years. After the trial of the men truly responsible for Mr. Peterson's death, I put all of my collected newspaper articles in my scrapbook and once again, thought about the box. Deep in thought about all that had happened, I remembered that I had yet to open the box!
