Chapter 1

“I’ll take it!” said Rhonda Peters smiling.

“Are you sure?” asked the woman. “I wouldn’t want you to be disappointed.”

“Oh it will be a surprise no matter what’s inside, and I can’t be disappointed with that.”

They both glanced down at the old dilapidated trunk, part of a myriad collection of items in the second hand store.

“Any idea where it came from?” asked Rhonda.

“Afraid not. I got it in an estate sale last week. There were no heirs so it and the rest of the estate were being sold by a liquidation company. Most of what you see came from there.”

“Well, I can’t wait to see what’s inside.”

“That lock looks pretty imposing,” opined the saleswoman, nodding toward the old, previous century hasp, heavy and keyless.

“You’re sure it hasn’t been opened?”

“Not by me. I thought about it and to tell you the truth if you hadn’t bought it just now, I would probably be sawing off that lock before the night is through. You’re not the only one who’s curious about what’s inside.”

Rhonda handed over the three hundred dollars (the woman had originally asked four hundred, but Rhonda was an experienced flea marketer and talked her down).

“Let me help you get it in your car,” volunteered the woman.

“Thanks. It isn’t that heavy but it’s rather awkward to carry.”

The two managed to get the trunk into Rhonda’s SUV. On the drive home she stopped by a locksmith shop and had the locksmith take a look.

“Tell you what,” he said when she asked how much, “Ill get it unlocked if you’ll let me buy that lock from you. It’s a beauty and I’m sort of a collector.

Get it unlocked and it’s yours,” she said smiling.

In a matter of two or three minutes he had it unlocked He got the lock and Rhonda was on her way home to discover what was in her “treasure chest” as she now thought of it.

A neighbor who was watering his lawn helped her carry it into the apartment.

“Want to stay for the big moment?” she asked.

“No thanks,” he replied, “I’ve watched enough of those storage bin auctions on TV to know they are almost always a bust. I don’t want to see the disappointment on your face when all you find is worthless junk.”

“Boy, aren’t you the optimist,” she laughed.

“Tell me about it later. Got to get back to watering,” he said walking down the steps from the upstairs garage apartment.

“Thanks, Ben!”

“You’re welcome. Just remember me in your will if there’s a million bucks in there.”

She turned back to the trunk sitting in the middle of the small living room.

Rhonda fixed herself a glass of wine and only after a couple of sips and contemplating a number of possibilities did she work up the courage to lift the lid.

Slowly it opened, raising and then dashing her hopes. What she saw was simply an old tattered rather nondescript quilt. Withdrawing it and setting it aside, she dug further. Under the quilt lay two small trophies and a souvenir plate from Tacoma, Washington. The trophies bore no names and there was nothing on the plate other than the usual tourist photo of a local Tacoma landmark. These were followed by a dress, two skirts and a sweater, all rather stodgy and uninteresting.

She was about to give up when she saw a book. Laying on the very bottom, it bore only the word “Journal” on the well worn cover.

Opening it, Rhonda could find no name of ownership. Realizing that this had obviously been someones’ personal thoughts or even diary, she hesitated, but her self professed curiosity got the better of her and she turned to the first page.

And from that first sentence she was enraptured.

The book was indeed a journal. The author remained nameless but indicated that the real story was about a woman named Gwen Morrow-Taylor. There were no dates to indicate the time frame when the events described occurred. The cover seemed worn, yet the paper was not yellowed. Rhonda wondered who this Gwen Morrow might be and why the author thought her story worth telling. As each page turned, the story unfolded and she began to understand why this Gwen Morrow’s life needed to be chronicled.