The Treasure Box Read Online Free PDF

regular party, with streamers and hats and favors—some of those silvery crackers with the toys inside. I saved a few over from Christmas.”
    â€œSounds perfect. I don’t know what we’d do without you, Bridget.”
    â€œA widower with a child needs a housekeeper, sir,” she said in a no-nonsense tone. “Anyone else in my position would have done the same.”
    â€œI don’t think so,” he objected. “You love Sophie as if she were your own. And you take such good care of us. You’re not a housekeeper, Bridget. You’re a member of the family.”
    She ducked her head. “Does my heart good to hear you say so, Mr. Jacob. I do love that child with all my heart, that’s God’s certain truth. And don’t you worry yourself about her birthday.
    It’ll be a celebration to end all, I promise you.”
    â€œI’m sure it will. Just keep her out of my shop until tomorrow night, will you? I want my gift to be a surprise.”
    â€œAye, sir. And a fine gift it is. Now, if you’re ready, dinner is waiting.”
    Jacob turned down the lamp wick until the flame sputtered out, and Vita’s computer screen went dark.
    Vita stared at the black monitor, trying in vain to sort out her feelings. By rights, she ought to feel confused or frustrated or even angry at not being able to get into her own computer. But her prevalent emotion at the moment was simply disappointment at the brevity of the scene.
    She blinked and looked around her. The storm had passed on through, but night was falling, and a chilly breeze blew through the screen door, raising goose bumps on her arms. She got up and shut the door, turned on a few lights, and headed for the kitchen to find something to eat. The leftover chicken casserole would do. She heated it in the microwave, poured herself a glass of milk, and returned to her office.
    The computer screen was still black, as if the system had gone to sleep. Gingerly she touched the Enter key, not in the least certain whether she hoped for more of Jacob Stillwater or a return to her familiar desktop programs.
    The monitor faded back in. This time the scene was different: a larger room than Jacob’s workshop, but crafted of the same rough stone. On the far wall, a small fireplace held a smoky peat fire, with a mismatched collection of threadbare furniture arranged before the hearth. In the foreground, a trestle table was set with a humble meal of boiled potatoes, beans, and a crusty loaf of homemade bread. At one end of the table, a small girl with auburn curls and dancing brown eyes stood slicing the bread, shifting impatiently first on one foot and then on the other.
    Vita took a bite of the lukewarm casserole and leaned back in her swivel chair to watch.
    â€œPapa! Papa!” Sophie dropped the knife onto the table with a loud clatter and ran into her father’s outstretched arms.
    â€œHow’s my girl this evening?” Jacob embraced her and gave her a kiss on her sun-freckled nose.
    â€œI’m just fine, Papa,” she said, twining her arms around his waist. “I made the bread all by myself almost, and helped Bridget beat the rugs.”
    Jacob glanced over her head toward Bridget, who moved a small vase of wildflowers to the center of the table. “Is that right, Bridget?”
    â€œAye, sir. A regular little helper, that one.”
    Sophie wriggled out of her father’s arms and picked up the long bread knife. “Like this, Papa—bam! Bam! Bam!” She brought the flat of the knife down on top of the loaf, sending bits of crust flying. “The dust went everywhere! It was fun.”
    Jacob threw back his head and laughed. “I’m sure it was, love. But you’d best leave the bread intact if we’re to have supper tonight.”
    â€œWhatever you say, Papa.” Sophie seated herself primly at the table and batted her eyes at him. “You know what tomorrow is,