The Treasure Box (28 page)

“To the bride and groom,” the guests echoed.

“Son,” he said, turning to the couple sitting to his right, “the woman you have married bears a special name: Sophia Rose.

Sophia for wisdom, Rose for beauty. And she is both wise and beautiful.”

Vita smiled. A wedding reception. Sophia Rose, all grown up, had just gotten married.

The guests applauded, and the groom gave his bride a kiss on the cheek. “My darlin' daughter has brought me great joy,”

Michael went on, “and taught me many important lessons. And so in the spirit of the moment, I'll pass a little bit of my own experience along to you. You may be a Commander, sir, but don't even try commanding this one. The fact is, you've chosen a lass who thinks for herself—”

“Ain't that the truth!” someone yelled from the back of the room.

The hall broke out in gales of laughter, and as the bride blushed furiously, Vita had the chance to study her features. She bore a remarkable resemblance to a young Cathleen, with golden blonde hair and startling blue eyes. But her expression held none of the perpetual sneer that had marred her mother's beauty early on. She exuded wit and intelligence, and Vita realized that the best of both Rachel and Cathleen had come together at last in the person of Sophia Rose.

The groom stood, handsome and debonair in Navy dress whites. He pounded his father-in-law on the back and raised a hand to quiet the crowd. “I already knew that, Michael, and it seems that everyone else did, too. But thank you anyway. Now, my mother-in-law, Rachel, tells me that true love is highly uncommon, and nurturing it is the work of a lifetime.” He grinned in Rachel's direction. “And everyone knows that a wise man always heeds his mother-in-law's advice.”

Another roar erupted from the crowd, and for a minute or two he couldn't go on. “And so I pledge myself,” he continued when the noise subsided, “to my lovely bride. May we never stop growing, and may we help each other become all that God has created us to be.”

The guests applauded heartily, but Vita barely heard the commotion. Nor did she take more than passing notice of the thunderstorm gaining momentum, pelting rain like gravel against the sunroom windows. Her mind was fixed on the words:
“My mother-in-law tells me that true love is highly uncommon, and nurturing it is the work of a lifetime
.
”
Hap's mother had said the same thing, just last night. And what else?
“I'd love to take credit, but it's your grandmother who was the wise one.”

Vita jumped as a peal of thunder cracked nearby, and a bolt of lightning strobed through the dense, heavy air. On screen, the bride was standing, acknowledging her new husband's words, laying her hand on his arm. And then Vita saw the ring.

Sophia Rose was wearing a wide band, intricately worked, with three precious stones set in gold. A center diamond flanked by two small rubies.

The storm front rumbled nearer. A final toast. Applause. The band playing “Sentimental Journey.”

Vita's breath caught in her throat. Real. It was all real.

Lightning rent the sky, and thunder followed in an earsplitting crack. There was a blinding flash, and everything went dark.

26
AFTER THE BLACKOUT

A
lthough the storm passed on through shortly after noon, the blackout lasted all day and into the night. Phone lines were down and streets were blocked with fallen limbs. No traffic was moving anywhere.

While she had the benefit of daylight, Vita tried to read, to do manual work on the Alaska project—anything to keep her from being bored out of her mind. She ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and made a point of opening the refrigerator only when absolutely necessary. Finally, around nine-thirty, Vita abandoned hope of finding anything to occupy her mind and went upstairs to her bedroom.

The rain had washed the air clean; a cool, fresh breeze blew in Vita's open window and stirred the flame of the single candle that burned on the bedside table. In the light from the flickering flame, she studied the diamond and ruby wedding band, then replaced it in its velvet case and stretched out across the bed.

Sleep eluded her, and she lay on the bed with her eyes wide open, thinking.

Roe Reardon was Sophia Rose Woodlea. The Treasure Box program was real.

And her memories—the new memories, the ones that included a sister and niece and nephew, a best friend, a fiancé—those were real, too. Vita could still recall the years without them, but that life now seemed like a bad dream, a nightmare of solitary confinement and isolation.

She flung a hand over her eyes. If she let herself analyze it, her mind got muddled and confused. But when she just accepted it, embraced the new life as the one she was meant to live, everything made perfect sense. Never mind that it was impossible. It felt . . . true.

Maybe that was the key. Perhaps the question she should be asking was not “What is real?” but “What is true?”

The Treasure Box was true. She had been lured in by the story.

And once inside, the truths of the fiction became her truths, working their way outward into her life. Changing everything.

Perhaps that was exactly what faith was all about. Making the big leap into something that couldn't be quantified or proved by scientific formulas. And once the leap was made, once you were on the other side of the chasm, your perspectives shifted, and your point of view was altered. Once the miracle had happened, it worked backward as well as forward, transforming the past as surely as it changed the future.

Vita's world had certainly been transformed. Love had been the key that unlocked all her bolted steel portals. And now, as she looked back on the person she once had been, she could barely recognize herself.

Vita didn't know all the answers. If she were to be perfectly honest, she had to admit that she didn't even know all the questions. But that didn't matter. Some day, when she was ready to talk about her experiences, she might ask Roe to fill in the missing details about the Treasure Box. But for now, she simply needed to revel in the miracle, to hold it close like a secret gift from the One who loved her.

Somehow, miraculously, her life had changed. And she meant to keep it that way.

By the time the sun rose, Vita was in her office at the computer. A little after five, the power had been restored, and the dark silence of the early morning had been shattered by the humming of electricity through the wires and the jarring shock of lights coming on unexpectedly.

The first rays of dawn shot the big oak outside her window with a rose-hued light. Vita opened the window, took a deep breath of the cool, charged air, and leaned forward to watch. The sun came up behind the tree, suffusing its branches in pink and gold—a giant burning bush, with every green leaf ablaze. She held her breath, waiting like Moses to hear the voice from heaven, but no voice came. Just a whisper on the morning breeze, invisible footsteps across the wet grass, leaving a trail of diamonds in their wake.

The show didn't last long—nature's demonstrations of glory never did. You had to keep your eyes open and take in the details before they vanished.

Vita offered up a silent heartfelt
thank-you,
then turned back to the computer.

The boot-up was finished, and there on her screen was her desktop with its wallpaper of the Blue Ridge Mountains surrounded by program icons. No starry sky, no voice from the speakers.

She rebooted the computer. Still the same. Her Blue Ridge wallpaper, her word processing and research icons. But no Treasure Box program.

For a moment Vita felt abandoned, bereft. She hadn't the foggiest idea what to do next. For two weeks her work had been delayed and her life suspended because of the Treasure Box. How could it be gone, just like that?

“What am I thinking?” she muttered to herself. “If it won't come to me, I'll go to it. I have the Web address. I can get back to it whenever I want.”

She clicked the Internet icon and waited while the computer logged on. She had e-mail—twenty-seven new messages, but only six of any importance. Impatiently she scanned the list: one from [email protected]—that would be Hattie. One from HRPastimes—that would be Hap. One from MKate35—her sister. Two from her editor, one from her agent.

Vita closed the mail window. She'd come back to that later.

Right now she was more intent on finding out the details of Sophia Rose's marriage to Hampton Reardon. She typed in the Web address—
http://www.enchantedtreasurebox.com
—and hit the Enter key. After a minute or two, a message box appeared:

CAN'T FIND WEB SITE

• The site you requested is not available. It may have moved, or may no longer exist.

• If you typed a Web address, double-check for any misspellings, punctuation errors, or extra spaces.

• If you believe your address to be correct, try adding http://www at the beginning. If you still cannot connect, close all programs currently running, restart your computer, and try again.

Vita's eyes flitted back and forth from the message to the Web address she had typed into the box above the window. Her spelling was accurate. No punctuation errors or extra spaces. Everything was correct.

She shut down the computer, rebooted, and tried again. No sign of the Treasure Box site anywhere. No links in a general search, no hits on “Treasure Box” or “Enchanted Box” or any other configuration of the name. No rotating icon. No starry sky. Nothing.

Vita sat back and let out a frustrated sigh. After three minutes of idleness, the screen saver kicked in, and she watched the swirling spiral move around the desktop, distorting the icons in a lethargic whirlpool. What had happened to the program? How could it have taken over her computer—and her life—for so long and then just disappeared? And why now?

Well,
she thought,
sitting here glaring at the monitor isn't going to help me figure it out. I might as well answer my e-mail while I'm on-line.

Vita opened her mailbox, deleted the junk without reading it, and went directly to the e-mails from her editor and agent.

The first one from the editor was a download of the preliminary cover design for the Alaska project. The second informed her that, due to a change in the production schedule, her deadline had been extended by two months. That was good news. Her agent was just checking in.

She sent back a brief response to the business messages, then clicked on Hattie's name:

Hi, Vita—

Wanted to know if you're up for a visitor this weekend. I'm sick of Atlanta, and it's been too long since I've been to the mountains. I thought I'd take a weekend off. If you'll have me, I'll drive up Friday afternoon. We can rent movies and eat popcorn and stay up all night—just like the old days. Let me know.

Love,
Hattie

Mary Kate's was next:

Sis—great time talking with you the other day. Thanks again for keeping the kids. Gordon and I are going to counseling— that's a step in the right direction. And I've been accepted in the MSW program at UNCA. Can we celebrate? I'll take you out to dinner and we can resume our discussion about “many paths.” How about this coming Monday?

The twins send their love and want to know when they can come back for another visit. I love you, too, by the way—

MK

Vita backtracked, sent a response to Hattie inviting her to come, and answered Mary Kate's message, telling her that Monday would be perfect. Then she opened the last one—Hap's e-mail— to find a single line:

I love you. That's all. Hap.

She let her eyes linger on the message, then put a finger to the screen to trace the words,
I love you.
The Treasure Box program might be gone, but something else—something far more important— had appeared in its place.

Vita would never have all her questions answered. But the big ones, the really important ones, about love and faith and God and family, had somehow resolved themselves in her mind.
I love you. That's all.

She clicked on the “answer” button and typed in her response:

That's enough. More than enough—more than I ever hoped, dreamed, or had the sense to pray for. More than I deserve. But isn't that the definition of grace?

I love you, too.

Vita

Vita looked at her watch. It was nearly five, and she was supposed to meet Hap for dinner in an hour. All afternoon she had been at work in the garden—weeding, planting pansies, marking off a space next to the willow tree for a small pond and fountain. When she was finished, it would be beautiful—peaceful and serene, a paradise. Except for one thing.

The garden gate.

Carrying her toolbox in one hand, she went to the gate and stood there looking at it for a minute. The padlock was gone, and the empty hasp hung like a broken finger from the frame.
No more locks, no fortress towers, no more protective shields,
Vita thought.
I've had enough of bolted doors.