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

you there at all. I might even learn something that I can share with my family. I might even surprise them.”

We headed off to the main driveway of Waterwood. He parked by the stone wall of the cemetery enclosure. Ghost jumped out and took off running and sniffing at top speed. Seeing the streak of his white coat weaving around this quiet place was a little unsettling. After all, his name was Ghost. I got out of the truck and made my way to the gate without any help, for once. I paused to take in the atmosphere of this serene spot while TJ pulled out the key to the iron gate hidden behind a loose stone.

“Are you coming?” TJ asked.

The gate swung open and again, I entered the place that held family secrets tied to Waterwood. Daniel's letters had shown me that there were connections and betrayals, masquerades, and riddles.

I headed over to Emma's grave, navigating the ground carefully. Her white marble headstone was in excellent condition, a sign of a loving family. Next to it, the gray granite headstone, marking the grave of her husband Joshua who died in 1890, was cracked and growing lichen. Neglected. What he deserved, I thought with a stab of anger.

There was a small marble block nestled close to the foot of her grave marked Baby Boy 1867. A miscarriage or stillborn child? Lost, but not forgotten by his mother.

I checked the dates on Emma’s stone:

Born May 11, 1844

Died January 10, 1895

The dates spanned the time of the Civil War. I felt sure that this was the grave of the Emma who should be receiving the letters coming through the old plantation desk. I couldn’t imagine the loneliness she must have felt as she waited, dreaming of Daniel’s return. I wondered if she ever learned the truth.

I’d found the final resting place of Daniel’s love. A shudder ran through me as I remembered that Daniel didn’t know he was dead. I couldn’t imagine how he would react when he found out that his Emma was long gone. Thinking about the strength of his love for her and how it had transcended death soothed me.

I wished I had brought something, a small bouquet, to pay tribute to this woman who had inspired such strong feelings. What a joy it would be to read letters she had written to Daniel, to learn about her the way I had gotten to know him.

“TJ, before we leave, would you look again for a gravestone with the name Daniel on it, please. It’s kind of important to me.”

Steadying myself, I reached down to remove some fall leaves from her grave. Bushes with needle-like leaves of soft blue were planted on either side of her marble headstone. It was their scent that caught my attention. Minty, yet lavender-esque. I closed my eyes and reveled in the fragrance. I broke off a twig.

TJ returned. “I didn’t find any stone carved with the name of Daniel.”

“Do you know what kind of bush this is?” I handed him the twig.

He crushed a leaf between his fingers, held it up to his nose then held out his hand so I could take a sniff. "It's rosemary, symbolizes remembrance. You'll find it in many cemeteries."

“It smells so wonderful. I had no idea it could grow to such a size.”

“The city girl speaks. I bet you’ve only seen rosemary grown in those itty-bitty herb gardens people have in the windows of their condo kitchens,” he teased.

"You're right." I held my hands up in surrender. "I bow to the farmer, master of all plants."

“You were lost in thought looking at her grave. Care to share?”

“I wish I knew what she looked like.” I caught him looking at me. “What?”

“She has really snagged your attention. Why?”

I wanted to tell him about Daniel, but I was afraid he would think I was crazy. Instead, I said, “Oh, I’ve always been interested in women, how they lived during that time in our history—Civil War. I’d like to think she was beautiful and feminine and strong to run a plantation when everybody was away fighting.”

“Not everyone went away to war,” he said with a little disgust as he pointed to the grave next to Emma’s. “The word in the family is that the only cause he believed in was himself. I have no idea how he got such a beautiful woman to marry him.”

“How do you know she was beautiful?” I asked with a hint of humor. “Or are all the women in your family beautiful?

“I know because I’ve seen her,” he said calmly.

Was Emma’s ghost walking? Was she as unsettled as Daniel? “Where?” I breathed.

“At the main house.”

“When did you see her? Was she…?” My voice trailed off when TJ gave me a look filled with growing confusion.

“I see her anytime I want,” he answered, then a little groan escaped his lips.

“What, what is it?”

“Nothing,” he grumbled.

But it was clear, something was going on. "Tell me."

“There’s a picture.” He mumbled.

“What?”

He dropped his arms by his sides as if surrendering to the inevitable. “In the 1800s, if a family had the means—and mine did back then— it was traditional to have portraits painted of certain members of the family.”

When I realized what he was saying, I screamed. “There is a portrait of Emma.” I pointed to the grave. “This Emma, at the main house?”

He slowly shook his head. I was so disappointed. He waited another agonizing minute, then said, "There isn't one portrait. There are two."

Chapter Thirty-Five

“Florence Willis death at 16 was an especially heartbreaking loss to parents Nicholas and Susan. They lost nine other children at much younger ages. November