A knock at the door startles Ben. He’s not expecting visitors and has left instructions at the front desk that he is not to be disturbed during the afternoon.
“Mister Dayton?” yells the voice from the other side of the door. “Benjamin Dayton? There’s a box for you.”
“What—a box? Who’s there?” he asks through the closed door.
“It’s a trunk,” comes the reply. “The packing slip says it’s from a Daniel Webster. I need your signature.”
Ben is stunned. He freezes in his tracks as he considers what he has just heard. How could there be a delivery from Daniel, here, on this day? This has to be some kind of practical joke.
“Mr. Dayton? Are you there?” asks the voice.
Ben closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and then exhales slowly. He has an image in his mind of Daniel and Elizabeth Webster. Over the past five decades they have given him as much guidance, strength and inspiration as they had during the short time that he had known them during the last years of their lives in Wakefield. As far as Ben was concerned, they were dead, although this fact was never ascertained. They had simply disappeared without a trace 50 years ago. But even if they were alive then, surely they’d be dead by now. If not, Daniel would be 142 years old, and his wife, Elizabeth, would be 137. Even they couldn’t have lived this long, he thinks.
“Can you sign for this, sir?” asks the voice again. “I have other deliveries that I have to make this afternoon.”
Ben turns the handle, slowly swings the door open, and stares at the trunk sitting in his doorway. “This can’t be possible,” he exclaims softly. “It can’t be.”
“Are you OK, sir?” asks the delivery agent as Ben falls to his knees in front of the trunk.
“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” he replies. Without lifting his head, he reaches for the shipping invoice, scrawls his signature hastily, then hands it back and begins to drag the trunk into the room.
“Let me help, sir,” offers the agent.
“That’s all right,” replies Ben. “Don’t worry about me. And thanks for bringing this.” He pulls a roll of American bills from his pocket. “I hope you don’t mind American money,” he says apologetically. “I just returned from New Orleans and haven’t had time to change my money yet.” Peeling off a couple of bills, he hands the agent the largest tip he has ever received.
“Thank you, sir. That’s very generous,” says the grateful agent. “Good luck tonight, Mr. Dayton. I’ll be there, you know. My seat is way up in the nose-bleed section, though, so don’t look for me in the crowd,” he laughs. “Really nice meeting you, sir.”
Ben extends his arm and the two shake hands. Ben looks him straight in the eye. “Take care of yourself, young man,” he advises. “I hope you enjoy the presentation tonight. Good bye, now.” He turns quickly and continues to drag the trunk into the room. The agent watches, then closes the door as he turns and leaves.
The last time Ben had seen this trunk he was 47 years old and Daniel Webster was still fixing automobile engines at his home in Wakefield. How has it found its way to this hotel room after all these years and why now? Who hired the agent to deliver it? He leaps from the edge of the bed, opens the door quickly and scans the empty corridor. He should have questioned the young man, but the shock of hearing Daniel’s name and seeing the trunk had caught him off-guard. He regrets this mental lapse. Maybe they’ll know downstairs, he hopes as he reaches for the phone.
“This is Ben Dayton in 463,” he explains. “Can you tell me the name of the delivery service that dropped off the trunk here a few minutes ago?”
“There haven’t been any deliveries to any guests this afternoon, Mr. Dayton,” replies the desk clerk. “All deliveries must come to the front desk for inspection. If there had been a delivery to your room, we’d have a record of it.”
“You didn’t see a young man in a blue uniform, just five minutes ago, delivering a large wooden trunk on a push cart?” he asks in disbelief.
“No, sir. Someone would have noticed that. Besides, no one but guests can access the rooms. That’s why you have the security pass. Delivery agents must report to the front desk. Maybe you’d better not open it, if you aren’t sure. I can send someone up from security,” she offers.
“No, no, that’s not necessary. I know what’s in the trunk. I just wanted to know who delivered it. I wanted to ask him a few questions. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
He hangs up the phone, and then sits down again on the edge of the bed, staring at the trunk.
“Well, Daniel,” he whispers, “congratulations. You never cease to amaze me. Even fifty years after the fact.”
He reaches for his attaché case, opens it, unzips a flap covering a small pocket and retrieves the skeleton key that he has been carrying with him for more than 50 years. He discovered it on the day he had last seen the Websters alive. He knew that it was the key to the trunk that held the results of their 25 years of research into the 11 secrets. Daniel had referred to the folders inside this trunk on countless occasions during their discussions on health and wellness. But as willing as they were to share their knowledge and pass it on to a new champion, they guarded the contents of the trunk religiously, keeping them under constant lock and key. Ben had always hoped—even assumed—that he would be given the opportunity to study these documents, so he didn’t force the issue. Biding his time turned out to be the wrong strategy, though. When the Websters disappeared the only thing they took with them was the trunk.
Besides the benefit of countless hours of discussion and debate around the 11 secrets, the only thing that the Websters had left with Ben was the old skeleton key that opened the trunk. At first, Ben thought it was some kind of cruel joke, but upon reflection realized that he had never known this unusual couple to do anything without a purpose. If they had chosen to leave the key with Ben, there must have been a reason for doing so.
For many years Ben simply treated it as a good luck icon, carrying it with him as he travelled around the globe. This tangible connection to Daniel and Elizabeth helped to boost his confidence in what he was attempting to do. It was now clear, however, that the key was more than just a good luck charm. The Websters knew exactly what they were doing when they tucked the key away in his car back in 2002. The only thing that remained unclear was why the Websters had chosen this day to deliver the trunk. Ben wasn’t even going to try to figure out how they could have known the actual date and address of his hotel room when they made whatever arrangements were necessary to ensure that the trunk reached him five decades in the future. There were some things in life that simply couldn’t be explained, and the Webster magic was one of them. Better just to accept it and carry on.
He’s surprised by how smoothly the key turns inside a lock mechanism that hasn’t been used for five decades. But why should he be surprised, he wonders—it would have been maintained by Daniel, a master mechanic. He would have ensured that it was stored in ideal conditions to prevent deterioration of any kind. Fifty years earlier, the trunk looked old and weathered, but today it doesn’t look any older than it did then. It was as though it had stopped aging on the day that the Websters left this world behind.
As he opens the lid, he is overcome by an olfactory-induced flood of memories: the familiar smells of Daniel’s auto repair shop and the aroma of incense that drifted from the house into the garage through the walkway. He closes his eyes and sees Daniel bent over the engine of his Toyota; there’s Max sprawled on the couch sleeping like a baby; Vic Parsons sits on a wicker chair near the aquarium, while Elizabeth offers nutritious treats to her guests. There was magic in that trunk, after all, he realizes.
He is jolted back to the present when he opens his