Letters in Time by Reiss Susan (i love reading books .txt) 📕

Until Daniel.  I could see, feel and read his words on paper.

My crutches thumped as I went to the writing den. I took the letters down from the cubbyhole and slid the blank sheet aside I’d put on top to hide the letters underneath. I slid first one blank sheet then another and another. Had I dreamed it all? Was Daniel a product of a drug-fueled imagination?  I checked the front and back of each sheet again. Blank. I moved a sheet off the short stack from the cubbyhole. Blank. Blank again.

Then there was a page with the words, Dear Emma, written at the top.

I was so relieved that I fell into the large leather desk chair. I hadn't dreamed it. I wasn't losing my mind. Once my breathing returned to normal, I picked up the letter and began to read it again. But no! This wasn't the letter I'd found only yesterday morning when I'd met Daniel. It was the letter that had appeared this morning on the desk. I leafed through the other sheets quickly. No, the first letter was not there. I examined the inked lines of his most recent letter and they seemed slightly faded. Then I realized what was happening.

Daniel’s words were evaporating.

I spread out the sheets on the large writing area of the desk. I ran my fingers over every one of them. The surfaces were all smooth.

If the pen didn’t leave a scratch on the skin of the paper, I reasoned, perhaps the ink has not disappeared completely. Maybe there might still be a ghost of the words left there.

Methodically, I held up one piece of paper after another to the light of the lamp, hoping to see a trace of Daniel's writing. Page after page, there was nothing but an ocean of white. As I was about to lower the last sheet, I thought I saw … something.

I scooted the chair closer and removed the lampshade. The light was blinding. Uncle Jack must have needed the wattage to see as his eyes grew tired. Squinting at the area close to the top, I could make out a broken line of curves, the curves that formed Daniel’s first words to me.

I mouthed what words I could make out to help me memorize them. Using one of the pristine blank sheets, I scribbled down the words. Now, at least, I had the essence of his message.

With care, I captured them again on paper and dictated them into my phone’s note app along with the words in the letter that had appeared that morning. There was no reason to take a chance of losing them, too.

Relieved, I fell back in the chair. It had been quite a day. Now, I had to use what energy I had left to take me upstairs to my journal and bed. As I was about to turn out the kitchen light, I glimpsed the point of land across the creek the witch had once called home. The old tree stood like a sentinel, its dark outline against the deepest blue of the moonlit sky. The moon wasn’t full yet, but it would be soon. I always marveled at how many stars appeared in the Shore sky.  The effects of moonlight were magical as well. I remembered the Farmers’ Almanac listed the dates of the full moon.  Maybe TJ would know which night would be best for moon-gazing. I smiled at the thought of making use of his small magazine then switched off the kitchen light.

In the darkness, something outside the window caught my eye. A flash of light. By the tree.  Moving around. In search of something. Then it was gone.

Chapter Thirteen

“If you cannot write straight without lines, draw very faint lines with a soft pencil and afterwards erase them; or, better still, slip a heavily ruled piece of paper or cardboard under the paper, so that the lines will show through.”

How to Write Letters

by Professor J. Willis Westlake, 1883

The past few days on the Eastern Shore helped me take a big step toward one of my goals: get off the prescriptions. After a day of activity, I was exhausted at bedtime. As long as I took the painkiller early in the evening, I could sleep soundly without a sedative. It was another small step toward getting back to normal. The sun woke me, its gentle rays creeping through the east window and across the ceiling. It was the same way I greeted the morning when I was a child. Once again, I sent a silent thank-you to Uncle Jack for leaving me the Cottage. I was up early enough to get ready for my P.T. appointment so I wouldn't look like a schlub this time.

As I was about to head down the stairs, my phone rang. What a surprise! I made sure I didn’t move as I answered the call.

“Ms. Chase! Oh, thank heaven.” Mr. Heinrick was gasping for air. “Are you all right?”

"Why yes, Mr. Heinrick. I'm fine." His urgency tickled my curiosity. "You don't sound well, I'm sorry to say."

He barked in my ear. “Ms. Chase, WHERE are you?”

Caught. I hadn't told him of my move to the Shore.

“I sent a messenger to your apartment,” he sputtered. “There are papers that need your signature and do you know what he told me?” I decided to let him tell the story, hoping that he’d run out of angry steam. “Security allowed him to go to your door since my office has delivered papers to you before.”

He knocked on the door and a foreign gentleman answered. He said you don’t live there anymore.