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

"I want to go to the family cemetery." I don't think he could have looked more surprised if I'd slapped him. "I feel a connection with Waterwood. After all, the Cottage is surrounded by the original plantation. Did you know there are some references to Waterwood in the papers pulled for me in the Maryland Room? It would be interesting to see if anyone I've read about is buried there. I'm curious, that's all. But if you don't want to…"

He took off his ball cap and ran his fingers through his hair. It looks soft and thick, gently streaked by the sun. Then he hid it underneath the cap again. “Well, I don’t understand why you want to go there, but I have time tomorrow morning. Yes, I’ll take you.” He glanced down at my leg. “Do you think you can manage it?” He asked with a tinge of hesitation. “I try to keep the grass mowed.”

“I’ll be fine,” I assured him.

“Okay, I’ll pick you up at nine.” As he walked away from the patio, he added, “And don’t forget to lock all the doors and windows, at least until they catch the bad guy.”

The bad guy.  I was so preoccupied with Daniel that I kept forgetting about the attack on the young man. My poor brain was having trouble managing the pills, doing exercises, and now, protecting myself.

I was tired, but it was too early to go to bed. There was one more thing that could distract me. I could write a letter to Daniel.

Chapter Nineteen

“There is a bill before the Texas State Legislature that states that if a husband is in the U.S. army or navy, the wife has ample grounds for divorce.”

—Baltimore Sun Newspaper, January 31, 1862

After dinner, I went into the writing den and made myself comfortable at the desk. I took out my calligraphy pen with the metal nib and reached for the bottle of black ink. I remembered how difficult it was to control the amount of ink on the pen point. Uncle Jack had bought an inkwell at an auction once. I ran my eyes over the many shelves of books and knick-knacks. Finally, I spotted it in a dusty corner.

The small crystal inkwell sat on a square bronze base decorated with an owl's face on each corner. Uncle Jack said he liked it because the owl was a symbol of wisdom. A person had to be smart if one was going to write with pen and ink in an old-fashioned way. That's the challenge I faced. This was my chance to build my connection with Daniel and to find out more. I suspected that if I didn't write this letter, I would always regret it.

I opened the bottle of ink and, with a steady hand, poured a quantity into the inkwell and set it back on its base. I pulled a sheet of paper, dipped the pen, and began to write.

My Dear Sir,

I never meant to give you the impression that I wanted you to leave my life forever. Pray, tell me what has transpired during this time of your silence. I truly want to know.

Yours most sincerely,

                          Emma

I laid the pen down and moved the inkwell to the side. I gently blew on the words so that the ink would dry. Then I remembered the rocker blotter tucked away in a cubbyhole. Our ancestors had the time and ingenuity to develop useful tools to help with everyday tasks. Why blow on wet ink when there was another way? Of course, I preferred the efficiency of emailing and texting, but writing a letter the old-fashioned way was, I don't know, elegant.

I'd made my decision. I set the finished letter in the center of the writing surface of the desk. I went to the door and turned out the light.

Before climbing the stairs to bed, I looked across the creek to the Lone Oak. No lights were waving around there tonight. All was quiet on that mysterious piece of land that was once home to two old women believed to be witches. Now, the local lore could add the mystery of how a young man had lost his life there. The thought sent me around the house to recheck the locks and close the curtains then I'd tackle the stairs.

The next morning, I found that once again I had forgotten to close the drapes in the upstairs bedroom as the warm rays of the rising sun caressed my face. I dressed quickly in a pair of comfortable jeans and a light pullover sweater of deep rose and went downstairs. Long pants were good for traipsing around an old family cemetery. One never knew if the mosquitoes were hungry or a tick was waiting to chomp down on bare skin. I’d learned my lesson as a child visiting the Cottage.

I smiled when I got to the bottom of the stairs. The thought of finding a letter from Daniel on the desk didn’t scare me anymore. Now that I’d decided to build the connection, I wanted to see what my ghost had written to me overnight. And I wasn’t disappointed.

On the desk, in flowing script, was his response.

My Dear Emma,

I was relieved to receive your letter. When it did not arrive immediately, my concern grew, but my patience was rewarded. Thank you so much for your caring and constancy.

I deeply regret that I did not say a proper goodbye to you before your father and I left Waterwood. It gave me great pain to ride away without telling you of our departure. 

I waited by the Lone Oak tree for as long as I