CAN’T FIND WEB SITE 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?
“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 HarrietP@CDC.org—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.
She fitted a screwdriver into the top hinge and smiled. Robert Frost had written about mending walls, repairing the breach, and here she was creating one. “Before I built a wall,” she quoted under her breath, “I’d ask to know what I was walling in or walling out.”
All these years, Vita had never thought to ask what she was walling in or walling out. Now she knew. She had experienced firsthand the claustrophobia that came with too much safety.
The white picket gate, once removed, might make a nice backdrop in the corner of the garden to accent her irises. But no more walling in or walling out. She would put in an open arch in its place, perhaps. Or an overhead trellis. Some climbing plants—pink cottage roses or purple clematis. But no gate that could be latched.
The top hinge fell free, and the gate sagged at an angle against the ground. She had just removed the bottom hinge when the hairs on the back of her neck prickled, that sensation of being watched. Slowly she lifted her eyes and found herself staring into the gaze of a small dog. Sable and white, with keen, intelligent eyes and a beautiful face.
A Sheltie. Like the one in her dream.
“Hello, there,” Vita said quietly, intent on not startling the animal.
The dog wagged its tail and regarded her curiously, its head cocked to one side. One of its ears flopped over, and the other stood straight at attention. Vita laid down her screwdriver and extended a hand in the dog’s direction. It sniffed her palm, then gave a polite kiss to her fingertips.
“I see you two have met.”
Vita looked up. Hap stood over her, clad in gray dress pants and a navy polo shirt.
“I had to go to Asheville to buy some antiques from some old friends of mine,” he said. “They’re moving to the Cayman Islands and can’t take her with them.” He stooped down to scratch the dog’s ears. “How would you feel about an addition to our little family?”
Vita leaned back against the wall, and the Sheltie edged nearer, resting her head on Vita’s knee. The dog’s dark eyes held an expression of deep wisdom, and Vita could have sworn she was smiling.
Vita stood up and slapped the dirt off the knees of her jeans.
“Does she have a name?”
Hap nodded. “Joy. Her name is Joy.”
“Of course.” Vita laughed. “What else would it be?”
Joy bounded ahead of them to explore her new home. Vita took Hap’s hand, and together they followed her along the path, through the opening in the stone wall, into the garden. A garden with no gate. A garden which would never again lock a soul in or shut love out.