The Treasure Box by Penelope Stokes

“Please, put it down.”
    â€œAll right, since you asked so nicely.”
    Cathleen held the box out toward Rachel, dangling it by one of its brass handles. Then, as Sophie watched in horror, she swung her arm out over the river and dropped it into the water.
    â€œNooo!” Rachel darted to the bank and plunged into the stream. For a moment or two she kept her footing, wading out into the shallows. Cathleen still stood on the fallen tree, laughing.
    The bottom sloped down until the water rose as high as Rachel’s knees, then up to her hips. As the weight of it caught her skirts, she slipped and fell, and her head went under.
    Spluttering and gasping, she came up with the blue tin box in one hand. “I found it!” she shouted.
    Triumphant, she began struggling back toward the shore.
    Sophie buried her face in her hands, but when she looked up again, Rachel was staggering, pitching on the mossy rocks. She lost her balance, and as she went down, her head struck the side of a massive boulder, just a few feet from where the river widened and deepened and rushed downstream in a cataract of white water.
    Before Cathleen could scramble down from the fallen tree, Sophie was in up to her waist, frantically trying to reach her friend.
    The day had been mild, but the water was like ice, and the current was a good deal stronger than she had expected. She could hear Cathleen behind her—no longer laughing, but screaming above the roar of the river: “Rachel! Rachel!”
    At last Sophie got to her, and with some difficulty pulled her face up into the air. Rachel came to, coughing and choking and spitting out river water. When she finally found her feet and stood upright, she was still clutching the precious Treasure Box.
    Cathleen waded out part way and stood knee-deep in the stream. “It’s all my fault,” she muttered. “I never should have . . .
    I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
    Sophie gripped the boulder and watched as Cathleen put an arm around her sister and helped her toward the bank. Exhausted and shivering in the waist-deep water, she wanted nothing more than to go home to Papa, to be warm and dry and wrapped in a blanket by the fire.
    â€œCome on!” Cathleen shouted from the bank, motioning for her to hurry.
    But Sophie couldn’t move. The hem of her dress, heavy with water and silt, seemed to be snagged on some outcropping under the surface. “I’m caught on something—a branch or a rock, I think,” she called back.
    â€œWell, pull it free.” Cathleen’s repentance apparently hadn’t lasted very long; her annoyance was clear in her tone. “We need to go home. It’ll be dark soon.”
    â€œI’m trying.” Sophie tugged vainly at her skirt. “I don’t want to rip my dress.”
    â€œTear it, you little fool,” Cathleen shot back. “Unless you intend to stay out here all night.”
    â€œI’ll come help you,” Rachel offered, her voice barely audible.
    â€œYou’ll do nothing of the sort.” Cathleen grabbed Rachel’s arm to hold her back. “You’re already soaked and freezing; we both are.” She turned back to Sophie. “Pull harder.”
    A shudder ran through Sophie, whether from the cold or from fear she couldn’t tell. The sun was beginning to set, and a chill was closing in. The push of the river against her legs seemed to be growing stronger. Long dark shadows stretched over the surface, making it difficult to see. She took a deep breath, braced one hand against the boulder, and yanked with all her might.
    She felt a rip, and the dress gave way. The momentum threw her backward into the current, and before she could regain her footing, the force of the water swept her downstream toward the rapids.
    The monitor went black. Vita sat staring at it for a full minute after the image had vanished.
    She shouldn’t be surprised. Both logic and life