The Treasure Box Read Online Free PDF Page A

she could get a link that would allow her to exit the program. But nothing worked.
    The voice came again, low and entreating: “His name is Jacob Stillwater. Watch and learn.”
    Then the flame of the lamp began to flicker, and the man began to move.

3

THE TINKER
    J acob Stillwater leaned over his bench and inspected his handi-work. “Ah,my little Sophie,”hemurmured tohimself, “if you ever doubted that you are the glory of your father’s heart, know it now.” He stepped back, put his hands on his hips, and smiled. “A labor of love—for your birthday.”
    Vita drew closer to the monitor and peered at him. He was an ordinary-looking fellow, not especially handsome or well-built. A slight middle-aged paunch showed beneath his work apron, and a bald circle at the back of his skull made him look a little like a tonsured monk. Still, he had a pleasant expression, warm brown eyes, and a genuine smile. From the rafters over his head hung the products of a tinker’s trade—hammered copper pots and pans, strainers and serving spoons, bridle bits and ornamental brasses. And on the worktable in front of him sat a sea blue box, painted all around with a map of the world and adorned with brass corners and brass handles and a tiny brass keyhole.
    Vita inhaled a quick breath. It was the Treasure Box. Her box.
    Beyond the single window on the far wall of the workshop, daylight faded into dusk, and Vita watched as the man reached to turn the kerosene lamp brighter. This was an odd sensation— not like viewing a movie, exactly; more like slipping uninvited into a stranger’s private spaces. Like voyeurism.
    She drew back sharply as a door creaked open, and a stout gray-haired woman entered the shop. “Good evening, Bridget,” Jacob said. “Is dinner ready?”
    The woman gave an awkward curtsy. “Aye, sir. Or nearly so.
    Miss Sophie is setting out the table and slicing the bread.”
    â€œI’ll be right along.” She turned to go, but he called her back. “A moment, please. Take a look, Bridget. Will she like it, do you think?” The woman drew near the worktable. “Take care not to touch it,” he warned. “The paint’s not dry yet.”
    Bridget made a circuit around the table, looking at the box from all sides. “Ach, Mr. Jacob!” she exclaimed at last. “’Tis a work of art, it is. That child’s got an imagination that won’t be stopped, as well as a taste for adventure. It’ll be her dearest treasure, and that’s the truth.”
    Jacob grinned and put a hand on Bridget’s shoulder. “It’s her tenth birthday, and I want it to be special.”
    â€œAs special as the child herself,” Bridget agreed. “I’ll be making her favorite dinner—glazed pork roast and mashed potatoes.”
    â€œPork roast?” Jacob shook his head. “We can’t afford—”
    â€œTush, now,” Bridget interrupted. “Don’t you go poking your nose into my business, if you please. As it happens, the butcher’s got a fondness for me shepherd’s pie.”
    â€œAnd for a certain Irishwoman, too, if I’m not mistaken.”
    Jacob pinched at her cheek, and she slapped his hand away.
    â€œAch! He’s an old fool, he is, but I’m not above a little honest bartering to get my girl a roast for her birthday. If he’s enough of an eejit to think something else is like to come of it, it’s his own fault, and none of mine.”
    Jacob laughed. “Bridget, you’re a wonder.”
    â€œI am,” she declared. “And don’t you be forgetting it.” She smiled at him and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “I’m making her an applesauce spice cake, too, from the last of those apples I canned last fall. Sophie’s little friend Rachel Woodlea will be joining us, as well as Rachel’s sister Cathleen. It’ll be a