The Treasure Box by Penelope Stokes

child, your asking me to walk you down the aisle. After Sophie—” He paused, and a somber look flashed across his face. “Well, you know, I never had the chance to play the proud Papa at her wedding. I think she’d be happy for both of us.”
    Rachel let out a little sigh. “It means the world to me, too, Jacob. With my own father gone these five years now, no one but you could have made this day complete. It’s a shame Sophie can’t be here.”
    Jacob put an arm around her. “She is here, Rachel. Wherever she is, she’s watching.”
    Rachel nodded, then turned back to her mother. “Where’s Cathleen?”
    Mam raised an eyebrow. “Late, as usual. She’ll be along whenever she’s good and ready.” She shook her head. “Like as not, she’s a bit jealous, I’ll wager. Her little sister marrying before herself.
    But don’t worry about her, Rachel. This is your day; don’t let your sister spoil it for you.” She led Colin into the church.
    The final peal of the parish bells echoed into silence. Inside the church, the organ sounded a solemn chord, and Jacob offered his arm to Rachel. Together they glided down the aisle toward the altar, where the rector stood with the Book of Common Prayer open in his hands. With perfect timing, Rachel and Jacob reached the front of the sanctuary just as the processional ended.
    When the music stopped, all eyes turned toward the door at the right side of the nave that led to the vestry. This was Derrick’s cue to come out of the vestry and stand before the priest next to his bride. Rachel fixed her attention on the door, anticipating her first glimpse of her husband-to-be’s handsome face. How would he react when he saw her? Would he think her beautiful, the woman of his dreams? She could hardly wait to see the look in his eyes—that look of adoration, the one that never failed to kindle a flame in her.
    Tonight there would be no more holding back. Tonight she would freely give herself to him, abandon herself to his desire and her own, let him discover that their love was worth waiting for.
    Tonight they would be husband and wife, joined together by God for all time.
    Rachel held her breath. Time seemed to stand still, but that had to be just her imagination, a product of her nervousness and excitement. Then she began to hear rustling noises behind her.
    Hushed murmurs spread from pew to pew. The priest’s face had gone white as his surplice. Jacob, still holding Rachel’s arm, closed his eyes and moved his lips inaudibly. His usually ruddy skin took on a greenish tinge, and he looked as if he might be sick.
    A minute passed. Then two. Finally Jacob pried Rachel’s fingers from the sleeve of his coat, went to the vestry door, and knocked. In the quiet of the church, the sound fell on Rachel’s nerves like physical blows, the ringing of hammer against spike, a crucifixion.
    But no stone rolled away to reveal a resurrected bridegroom.
    Jacob knocked again, then turned the handle and opened the vestry door. From nearly anywhere in the sanctuary, you could see the entirety of the small room, with neatly-pressed clerical vestments and altar cloths hanging along the walls.
    It was empty. Not a sign that Derrick Knight had ever been there. Or ever would be.
    Rachel lay facedown across her bed in the small anteroom of the cottage, her dress rumpled, her shoulders shaking. Clutched in her hand she held the silver locket, its chain broken. A thin red welt raised up on the back of her neck from the force of ripping it free.
    â€œRachel, Rachel,” Rose said helplessly, stroking her back.
    â€œMaybe something happened to him—an accident, something . . .”
    But she didn’t believe it herself, so how could she possibly convince her distraught daughter?
    Rachel continued to weep. Rose continued to try to comfort her—with little effect. To be left standing at the altar