The Treasure Box by Penelope Stokes Page A

Because you were precious to her, too. She loved you, Rachel. At the time, I don’t suppose she realized she was risking her life for you, but even if she had known, I expect she would have done it anyway.”
    Rachel gazed at her mother, her blue eyes wide and somber.
    â€œI’d rather have died for Sophie than let her die for me.”
    Mam extended her arms, and Rachel slid off the tree trunk and sank down beside her on the bank, surrendering to the embrace. “There is no greater love on God’s green earth,” Mam said, stroking her daughter’s hair, “than to lay down your life for a friend.” She held Rachel tight and rocked gently back and forth. “I know you miss her, Rachel. And it’s a noble sentiment, being willing to exchange your life for hers. But have you considered that there might be a hidden destiny in all this—some higher purpose?”
    Rachel leaned back and frowned, scrutinizing her mother’s face. “I can’t accept that. What possible purpose could there be in Sophie’s death?”
    â€œNot in her death, child. In your life .” Mam stood up and brushed her dress off. “I’d better be getting back to the house.
    Dinner won’t cook itself.”
    â€œWait!” Rachel grabbed at the hem of Mam’s skirt. “If my life really does have a purpose, then what is it?”
    Her mother smiled down at her. “That’s a question only you can answer.” She walked a few paces from the riverbank, then turned back. “Life rarely turns out as we expect, my girl. Just keep a sharp eye out, and adjust with the changes. You’ve got a good heart, a kind soul. You’ll know what’s right to do when the time comes.”

9

THE JUDAS TREE
    I t was the first time Vita had seen the inside of the tavern where Rachel worked. On the dingy glass doors leading to the street, she could just make out the letters of the name, painted backwards, like da Vinci’s secret diaries. Her mind translated: The Judas Tree.
    An altogether disreputable-looking place, with an irregular stone floor, great gnarled beams overhead, and white stucco walls stained a dismal yellowish gray from decades of smoke and neglect. Spanning one end of the dimly lit room, a high bar stood like a fortress wall, separating the chairs and tables from the kitchen and the floor-to-ceiling shelves that held smudged glasses and steins and half-filled bottles of every conceivable brand of liquor. At the other end, a broad, soot-encrusted hearth contained an unattended fire, now burning itself to its last embers.
    Vita didn’t need a great deal of imagination to envision the place on a Friday or Saturday night. She could almost see the fire blazing high, with coarse men silhouetted against its light, pounding their ale mugs on the tables as they won—or lost—the last deal of the cards or throw of the dice. She could picture Rachel fending off advances as she served another round of beer or ale or whiskey.
    But not tonight. Tonight the place was empty, except for one solitary figure.
    Rachel looked around. Most of the lights were out, and all the chairs were upended on their respective tables. The Judas Tree had shut its doors for the evening. Even the manager had gone home, leaving her to clean up and close the place. Rachel had just taken a wet mop to the grimy floors when she heard the door creak open behind her.
    â€œSorry, we’re closed,” she said automatically and went back to her mopping.
    â€œI beg to differ,” a husky voice rumbled in her ear. Before she could turn, a hand grabbed her waist and jerked her into a rough embrace.
    Rachel spun around, raising the mop handle as a weapon against the intruder. Then, just before she struck out at him, she aborted the blow. “Derrick!” She began to laugh, a high-pitched sound bordering on hysteria. “You frightened me near to death!”
    He took the mop out of