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

handwritten documents from that time was how straight each line was. They had an eye for keeping the words lined up evenly.

The content of a letter was vital to people of that era. It was their primary source of news. But the presentation mattered, too. I made a note to find some lined paper to slip underneath the blank page to give myself a fighting chance of writing a respectable letter.

Finally, I was ready to write to Daniel, but what was I going to say? It would be better to draft the contents, make any corrections, and copy it using the dip pen and ink. It was a natural point to take a break. And a perfect time to sit on the patio.

I felt a bit guilty. The thought of writing a 19th-century letter had driven away any thoughts about the firefighters. I hadn't heard a boom, so they must have handled the situation successfully, just as TJ said they would. I picked up the stack of library materials and stopped in the kitchen for a cool drink before delving into the dos and don'ts of dealing with a ghost.

It took some work and innovative thinking to get everything out to the patio, but it was worth it. The air was clear and the humidity was low, a rarity in August in this region. I felt like I was falling into a trance as I gazed at the water. The tide was coming in so all the mud that could get smelly in the summer heat was covered. The breeze tickled the green leaves that would soon be turning into a colorful show of reds and golds. It was there, across the creek, that a creepy old woman had once lived. A witch, it was declared. She was the target of the local people’s anger, grief and frustration when things happened that they couldn’t understand. In the 1700s, it must have been easier to blame the strange old woman for things like the appearance of disease, sudden loss of a child, or the destruction of a homestead.  I thought it was curious that the landowner didn’t move Virtue Violl off his property. Why would he allow a witch to live so close to his family? I’d have to ask TJ if she was one of his ancestors.

The Lone Oak now soared about eighty feet into the clear blue sky. It wasn't tall and skinny. It was full and well-shaped. Its branches beckoned to be climbed. I knew the view would be phenomenal. Not for me. I had work to do. I put my leg up in a comfortable position and began to make notes from the articles I'd printed at the library:

When dealing with a ghost, relax! 

That's easy to say on a bright, sunny day, I thought. I wasn't proud of how I’d panicked when I'd found Daniel's first letter on the desk. It was a natural response for a woman used to living alone in a major city with more than one deadbolt lock on her door.

A ghost feeds off fear.  Daniel must have binged that first morning.

I loved the next line:  Remember the ghost is probably like you, only dead. 

It’s often best to leave a ghost alone. Think of it as a quirky house guest.  That might work if the ghost wasn't writing you letters and waiting eagerly for a response.

Ask the spirit to leave.  Hmmm, too late for that one.

Keep a record of everything, sightings, feelings, strange occurrences.  Well, I’m trying to do that, but the content of the letters keeps disappearing. At least, my copies were holding up. I made a mental note to type everything into a document on the computer. Or would that allow Daniel to haunt my computer? The thought of Daniel fooling around with all my lesson plans saved in memory made me uneasy. I made a mental note to keep Daniel and my computer separate.

Bless your home. Use anything from a vial of holy water to special prayers by clergy to a full-blown exorcism. I decided it might be better to skip this option for now. Daniel seemed like a sensitive man. I didn't want to think how he would react if he was forcibly separated from the woman he thought was his Emma.  Plus, I was not comfortable with the idea of telling anybody about the ghost, at least not yet. Maybe never.

Invite a paranormal group to do an investigation.  If I didn’t want to tell a priest or minister about the ghost, let alone TJ, why would I ask ghost hunters who lug around weird equipment in the glow of a green light to invade the Cottage?  No, this wasn’t an option either.

Another article had other recommendations:

Ring a bell in each corner of each room to break up the negative energy.   I didn't think Daniel was a source of negative energy, but I circled this suggestion. It would be easy to do, just in case.

Burn sage and allow the smoke to waft through the house. I knew many cultures use sage as a purifying agent.  This wasn’t an option right now. I’d had enough smoke for one day.

I looked in the direction of the field that had caught fire. There was no smoke in sight. The firefighters were probably back at their station houses eating chili and Johnny was on the phone with his insurance company about a claim.

Something, out of the corner of my eye, snagged my attention. When I turned my head to look, there was nothing there. It must have been the bushes moving in the breeze.  Only the air was still. All this reading about ghosts must have set me on edge. I wondered if the painkiller was making me hallucinate. It