Free The Treasure Box by Penelope Stokes Page A

with you as my wife. Mrs. Derrick Knight.”
    Rachel shook herself and forced a smile. “Yes. Our future.”
    â€œHow long do you think we’ll have to wait?” Derrick gave her an intense look, as if probing into the depths of her soul.
    â€œThree months, maybe four. By early summer, at the latest.
    I’ve been saving every shilling I can manage from my work at the tavern. Sometimes the fellows even tip me, especially when they win at the gambling tables, or when they’re a bit too much in their cups.” She shuddered. “It’s horrid, Derrick. The noise, the smoke, the drunken brawls. Last week a married man twice my age tried to force me into the back room—”
    â€œJust a little while longer,” he interrupted. “I’ve been hoarding my pay, too, and pretty soon we’ll be able to book passage on a ship and sail away to America.” He raised an eyebrow and winked rakishly at her. “How much do you have?”
    â€œAlmost two hundred pounds, I think. I gave a bit to Mam to buy some things for Colin.”
    Derrick frowned. “Colin’s your baby brother, not your son.
    It’s not your responsibility to clothe him.”
    â€œHe needed shoes and books for school, Derrick. He’s shot up like a weed in the past few months and has outgrown every stitch he owns.”
    â€œAll right, all right. Just don’t get too generous. You’d give away your last pair of bloomers if you thought some other girl needed them.”
    Rachel blushed at the mention of her undergarments. “I would not, Derrick. Besides, that money’s hidden safe away, locked in my Treasure Box—the one Sophie gave me before she died. I keep it out of sight under a loose floorboard in the barn.”
    â€œGood. The more we save, the sooner we’ll be on our way to America in proper style.” He rose to his feet. “I must go. I have work to do.”
    Rachel stood and pressed her lips to his cheek. “All right, then. Will I see you later tonight?”
    â€œDon’t I always come to the tavern at closing time and walk you home? Until later, my love.” He kissed her hand and made his way across the green. Rachel watched him go and smiled.
    Vita sat back and sighed. Rachel, the sweet, faithful child, had grown up into a sweet, faithful woman. She was working hard at a job she abhorred so that she and her fiancé could make passage to America. Little Rachel, engaged—and to a very handsome fellow.
    There was something about Derrick that bothered Vita, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on anything specific. It was probably just her own prejudices. Ever since Gordon, she’d had difficulty trusting men. She had little use for the entire gender, the way most of them swaggered around shot full of testosterone, preening themselves like enormous peacocks, and then congratulating themselves on their sensitivity when they remembered to use the word “woman” instead of “girl.”
    But this wasn’t about Vita. It was about Rachel. And Derrick Knight might not be so bad. He seemed to adore Rachel—buying her gifts, planning for their future together. Perhaps he was a bit full of himself, but weren’t they all?
    Not all . Not Jacob Stillwater. Vita wondered briefly how he was getting along in the ten years since his beloved Sophie died.
    Now there was a man Vita could approve of—compassionate, kindhearted, hardworking, creative. If this Derrick fellow turned out to be anything at all like Jacob, Rachel Woodlea would have a very happy life.
    And if anyone deserved a happy life, Rachel did.

8

DOWN BY THE RIVERSIDE
    T he afternoon brought rain—a downpour, splashing through the emerging leaf cover and rolling off the eaves of the roof in a solid sheet. The kind of rain that made Vita want to crawl under the covers and take a long nap—except that she had already slept half the day away.
    She had