Hap grinned. “Absolutely.”
Vita got to her feet and went to kneel beside Roe’s chair.
“Thank you. I don’t think you can know how much this means.
I feel—I don’t know, as if I belong.”
Roe gathered her into a hug and held her there. “You do belong, my dear,” she whispered into Vita’s ear. “To Hap, and to me. That’s what family is all about.”
After a minute or two Roe released her, and Vita went back to the sofa and sat down at Hap’s side.
“Now,” Roe said briskly. “I have something else to say. Are you listening?”
Vita dragged her eyes away from the diamond and ruby ring.
“Yes ma’am.”
“All right. I promise not to be an interfering mother-in-law, but there’s one bit of unsolicited advice I feel I must pass on to the two of you. Marriage isn’t a merging of two halves—it’s the joining of two wholes. Ideally, marriage is a covenant between two people who draw out the best in each other, heart, mind, soul, and body. If you help each other become better, nobler, truer, more faithful individuals—in short, to develop into the kind of human beings God created you to be—you will have created something between you that is bigger than the sum of its two parts. But that kind of love is highly uncommon, and nurturing it is the work of a lifetime.”
An alarm went off in the back of Vita’s mind, a vibration, very faint. Where had she heard those words before?
“You’re a wise woman, Mother,” Hap said.
Roe shook her head. “I’d love to take credit for that, but it’s your grandmother who was the wise one. She endured a lot of heartache in her life, and used it to build a faith as immovable as a mountain. If I manage to become half the woman she was before I die, I’ll consider my life well spent.”
“She must have been a remarkable person,” Vita said. “I wish I could have met her.”
Roe looked at her watch. “Good grief! It’s nearly eleven o’clock. I’ve kept you children far too long, rattling on with my old-lady blather.”
“We probably do need to go,” Hap conceded. “I need to get up early to unload the van and get the new stuff into my shop before nine.”
Vita got to her feet. “Won’t you let us help with the dishes before we go? I hate to leave you with all this cleaning up to do.”
“Nonsense. I’m a little fussy about my kitchen, anyway. I’ll have it done in a flash.” She hugged Vita and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Come see me often, dear,” she said, “with or without Hap. You’re welcome any time.”
Vita returned the hug, strangely warmed by the woman’s display of affection. “Thank you for the ring,” she said. “And for— well, for everything.”
Hap kissed his mother and herded Vita to the door.
Roe stood on the front porch, watching as they made their way to the van. Just before Vita climbed into the passenger’s seat, she called out, “Vita! I forgot to ask you something.”
Vita turned. “Yes?”
“Hap tells me you now have possession of the Enchanted Treasure Box.”
“That’s right.” Vita wondered how Roe knew about the box.
But of course Hap must have told her about it, or shown it to her in his shop before the day Vita found it.
“Good. It belongs with you. Take care of it—that box holds great value and significance. Someday I’ll tell you about it, so you can pass it on to that niece of yours when it’s her turn.”
Her turn? Before Vita could respond, or voice the hundred questions that rose up in her mind, Roe waved and went back into the house. Vita climbed into her seat, Hap put the van in gear, and they drove away.
debate about whether the Vita awoke the next morning in a clouded half-light, with the sounds of thunder rumbling in the distance and rain pounding against the bedroom window. Roe Reardon’s parting words swirled in her mind. That box holds great value and significance. It belongs with you. And, I’ll tell you about it someday.
What could Roe possibly have to tell her about the Treasure Box that she didn’t already know?
After a quick shower, she brewed a pot of coffee and went to her office, carrying a plate of toast in one hand and her coffee cup and the blue velvet ring box in the other. She clicked on the computer, and while it booted up turned her attention to the wedding band.
She withdrew the ring from the box and watched as light from the lamp caught the diamond like a prism. A beautiful stone, flawless to the eye, and clear as ice. But there was nothing cold about it; it held fire and brilliance at its core.
Fire and ice. Robert Frost had written a poem by that title— a debate about whether the world would end in fire or ice. The poet had claimed, “From what I’ve tasted of desire, I hold with those who favor fire.”
Vita considered the verse, intrigued by the personal implications she found in it. All her adult life, she had favored ice, keeping well back from the fire, not risking any chance of being burned again. And yet now that she had embraced the flame, she could barely recognize the ice maiden she had always been. Her years of self-imposed isolation seemed like a dream, a dim reflection of someone else’s life, someone she couldn’t imagine liking, much less being.
She ran her fingers over the gold and tested the heft of the wedding band in her palm. And suddenly Vita realized that the decision had been made, once and for all. There was no question of returning to the old way of life. Not one. Inasmuch as it lay within her power, she was never going back. Never.
Vita slipped the ring onto her left hand and found it smooth as satin, a perfect fit. She couldn’t wear it, of course—she had to wait for the wedding. But there was no harm in trying it on.
She sat there for a full five minutes, turning her hand this way and that. If it hadn’t been pouring buckets, she would have gone outside into the sun to catch the various plays of light across the diamond’s face. Even on a rainy day, and in dim light, the wedding band was nothing short of magnificent.
But it could have been the prize from a Cracker Jack box, for all the difference it would have made to Vita. She had never felt so giddy, so much like a schoolgirl before, not even when she had been a schoolgirl. And now, as a mature woman of thirty-eight, she had to resist the urge to giggle, to write Hap’s name on the front of her notebook, to dash out into the storm to carve their initials in the oak tree outside her window.
Idly she opened the middle left-hand drawer of the desk.
There, atop a stack of pale blue legal pads, lay the thick white envelope from Norwegian Cruise Lines. She opened the envelope and scanned the contents: an itinerary, some brochures from various ports of call, and two tickets, one in her name and one in Hattie’s. August 2-10.
In the drawer next to the envelope was a small appointment book with a tan leather cover. Vita flipped through the book and scanned its contents, feeling a bit like a detective investigating someone else’s personal items. Yes. There it was. The first two weeks in August were blocked off for the trip; apparently she and Hattie intended to spend a few days in Seattle before and after the cruise.
She turned pages in the calendar. August 20, Florist. August 23, Caterer. August 27, Fitting. For her wedding dress? Vita’s heart did a little skip. September 3, Deadline for Alaska project. September 21, Rehearsal Dinner. September 22, 4:00 P.M., WEDDING.
Wedding. Her wedding. She should be frightened, Vita knew. By all rights she ought to be scared out of her skull. But the closest she could find to fear was a small twinge of nervousness at the very back of her brain.
This was right. The right person. The right time. She would be ready on September 22.
Vita put the appointment book and cruise tickets back into the drawer and swiveled her chair around to face the computer.
The booting-up process was done, and silver stars on a deep blue field winked at her from the screen, like an old friend welcoming her home.
Amazing, how much a simple computer program could change a life. Love, indeed, was the key th
at unlocked every portal. In learning to care about Sophie and Rachel and Cathleen and the others, Vita had opened her heart to a whole new reality. She was no longer afraid, no longer compelled to keep the walls fortified and the gates locked. She knew the risk of being wounded, but now it no longer seemed such a terrible threat. Broken hearts healed. People got over being hurt. They learned to trust, learned to love again.
She pushed the Enter key and waited, increasingly aware of a change in her attitude toward the Treasure Box program. Vita was interested in finding out what happened with Sophia Rose, of course—the same way she might be interested in a well-crafted novel or a particularly compelling movie. But the recent turn of events in her life seemed much more real now than anything that might take place on the screen.
The scene that came up on the monitor was, evidently, a party of some kind. Music playing. People laughing. Couples jitterbugging on a dance floor while the strains of “Boogie Woogie
Bugle Boy” emanated from the speakers. Several of the men— people Vita didn’t recognize—wore army uniforms.
The 1940s. World War II. More than twenty years had passed since the day of Rachel and Michael McCall’s wedding, Vita’s last glimpse into the Treasure Box program.
This was quite the celebration—V-E Day, perhaps? Everyone seemed happy and relaxed, but the location didn’t look like a USO. More like a ballroom in a hotel, with chandeliers overhead and tables covered with white linen tablecloths.
A pinging noise, like a bell, got the crowd’s attention, and the band faded into silence. Vita’s view zoomed in on a long table on a dais at the front of the room, where a gentleman in formal morning attire was standing, tapping a spoon against the side of a crystal glass. He was middle-aged, with a slight paunch and a bit of a receding hairline, and on his left sat a lovely woman in a fawn-colored dress, her brunette hair done up in curls, with just a few streaks of silver at the temples.
Vita leaned close to the monitor and peered intently at the woman. Rachel Woodlea, maturing beautifully, a vision of elegance and charm. And the man standing beside her was Michael McCall.
“I’d like to propose a toast,” he called out, “to a woman who has always kept my life—well, interesting—” A wave of laughter rippled through the room. “And to the man who has now bravely taken up the challenge of living with her.” He raised his glass. “To the bride and groom!”
“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
Although 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?
The Treasure Box Page 21