by Reiss Susan
A memory cropped up that might be very appropriate to share with TJ. “Going to P.T. like this reminds me of the times my dad took me to see the doctor when I was a little girl.” A giggle escaped. “That’s how I knew I was going to get a shot or something equally awful. Mom would always cry when I cried, so Daddy always took me. Then he spoiled me terribly.”
“What did he do?” TJ turned down the air-conditioner.
"Oh, he'd buy me a toy or…" I hoped to plant a suggestion. "Or he would take me someplace special afterward, like the ice cream parlor, the playground, someplace that would make me forget the trauma I’d just experienced.”
“That’s nice,” TJ said.
The guy couldn't take a hint. I tried again. "Since you think I was so good about coming to P.T., what about a reward?"
“Okay, I didn’t think you’d be interested in a playground, but there’s one—”
“No,” I cried, “Not a playground!” Was this man dense… or teasing me?
“Okay, okay, I was just playing. Where would you like to go?”
“Is there a place where I could learn about the history of this area?” I asked.
He shot me a strange look. “What kind of history? Do you want to go to the Talbot County Historical Society?”
I stared at the road, trying to think. “That might be a possibility.”
"No, that won’t work. They're moving or something. I heard all the files are packed away."
Why is everything so hard, I almost screamed?
“Would the library do?” he asked. “There’s a special reference area called the Maryland Room. You might find what you’re looking for there.”
I wanted to cry out with delight but, hoping to sound only vaguely interested, I said, “Yes, that sounds fine.”
His next words made me tense up again. “What are you looking for?”
I could handle myself in the classroom, but I was a lousy liar in social situations. I wasn’t going to tell him about Daniel and the letters. “Oh, I don’t know,” I began, hoping to sound nonchalant. “I’d like to find something out about this area and the people who lived here.” I looked away toward the passenger window so my face wouldn’t betray me.
“Well, I can tell you that this area is called the Bay Hundred. That comes from the Revolutionary War. The—"
I interrupted. “What about the Civil War?”
Way to go, Emma. That was about as subtle as a sledgehammer.
I tried to backpedal quickly. “I mean, I was surprised to hear that Waterwood was a plantation and had slaves. Somehow, I only equate that with the Deep South.”
“Oh, there were plenty of Southern sympathizers here. The landowners had more in common with the Confederacy than the Union. But the librarian can tell you all about that. He’ll probably load you up with all kinds of books.” He wet his lips. “There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.” He was hesitant to continue. “You didn’t tell me about the light you saw the other night.”
“No, I didn’t think it was important,” I said, shaking my head.
“If you see anything else, anything out of the ordinary, will you let me know?”
I shrugged. “Sure, but to be honest, I figured it was a car or truck on the road.”
"I think it's a good thing we changed the locks." His tone was lighter. "I can tell you now that the locks were old. A nudge on one of those doors could have been enough to pop it open."
I thought back to the appearance of Daniel’s first letter. I’d thought someone had broken into the Cottage and left it as a prank. It was a good thing I didn’t know about the door locks.
“It’s all taken care of now,” he assured me. “You’re safe. No one can get in.”
Right. If you only knew.
He must have sensed my thought and looked over at me. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“Thanks to you,” I said quickly.
“And we have to let Mr. Saffire know that your driver didn’t show up.”
I listened to him with half an ear as I thought about how to handle the research into Daniel and Emma without revealing the truth. No ideas were popping up.
“Earth to Emma, are you still with me?” TJ called me back from my thoughts.
“Yes, that’s a good idea,” I said.
“Because it’s important to stay on your weight loss program,” he added.
“Yes, good idea. Wait, what?”
"Caught ya. You're a million miles away. That's okay. You've got a lot going on. I'll pick you up after your session and take you to the library. We might even find an ice cream cone along the way."
I couldn’t help but smile. Then I groaned. “But first, I have to respond to my attorney’s emails.” I pulled out my phone and checked the bars. “At least I have service. The sooner I get this done…” Quickly, my eyes ran through his messages. More administrative stuff. I tapped out a quick response and put the phone away with a sigh. “Done.”
“Good. Why don’t we just enjoy the sights for a while? We don’t have to talk. You can think your thoughts, okay?”
“Yes, thanks.”
I wasn't sure what I was going to say to the reference librarian. I didn't want anyone to suspect anything. I made a mental note to look up information about the writing styles and writing instruments in the 1860s. The beautiful pen Uncle Jack had given me was used mostly to sign my name. I kept almost every note electronically now. It would be good to know how they wrote to one another in the Civil War era, in case I decided to assume the persona of Emma from long ago. What a strange thought. But oddly comfortable.
Chapter Ten
Farmer’s Almanac: “Useful, with a pleasant degree of humor.”
First issued in 1792 during George Washington’s first term.
It seemed like hours before I escaped the torture chamber of physical therapy. I knew that I was being unfair. The therapists were only helping me, but why did making you better have to hurt so much? I scanned the parking lot looking for TJ, only to find his truck tucked into the only shady spot, but it was so far away. For someone else, it was only some quick steps. For me, it bordered on a never-ending trail of ouch. I tried to focus on him, rather than the hurt. He was reading a small magazine propped up on the steering wheel. When I was feet away from the truck, he noticed me and jumped out to open the passenger door.
"All done?" he asked, as he helped me up to wiggle into the seat.
“Yeah, finally.” I tried hard to hide the face I knew I was making when my leg hurt.
When I was settled, he searched my face as if looking for some cosmic answer. I felt uncomfortable under his scrutiny.
“Are you okay?” he asked tentatively.
“Well, other than feeling like I’ve been hit by a truck again, yes, I’m fine.”
He nodded, though I could tell he wasn’t convinced. He closed my door and got into the truck. “I think you’ve earned that ice cream cone.”
His thoughtfulness brought me some comfort. "Yay! Thank you for bringing me and waiting. I'm sorry it took so long and that I'm in such a bad mood."
“No problem. I’m glad you came in August. If you’d waited any longer, I would have been a ghost.”
Strange, I thought, that he would use that word. I asked, “Why?”
"That's harvest time. I only eat, sleep and harvest for weeks. Right now, I have the time and I'm glad to help. Let's get you some ice cream."
It had been years since I'd been to a Dairy Queen. All their unusual concoctions on the menu were tempting, but I settled for a single scoop of chocolate with chocolate jimmies. With all the inactivity over the past months, excess calories were building up in critical areas. I didn't want to diet to wear the clothes in my closet once I got back on both feet. The jeans skirt and loose yoga pants I'd been living in hid a multitude of sins. But it was nice to sit in his truck and talk for a few minutes while we ate an icy cold bit of heaven.
“What were you reading when I came out of P.T.?”
He whipped out a slim magazine with an orange and green cover that I’d seen stuffed in the back pocket of his jeans. “It’s the Farmers’ Almanac. I was checking on the weather forecast for the upcoming weeks.”
“Really?” What a strange man. “Wouldn’t it be better to use a weather app and watch the radar?”
He held up his index finger to slow me down. “Don’t dis the Almanac. It’s been right on the money with its winter forecasts. It’s right more times than not.”
I shook my head, not buying into his argument. “Sorry, I prefer technology like satellites.”
“The Almanac has got weather forecasts and lots of good information.” He flipped to a page and read. “Abraham Lincoln read the Farmers’ Almanac.”
“He didn’t have a Smartphone and apps back then,” I countered.
"He didn't use it for farming. He used it to win a murder trial. According to this article, he showed the jury that the moon was low in the sky on the night of the murder. There was no way the prosecution's chief witness could have seen the murder committed by the light of the moon. It's got lots of interesting factual tidbits like that."
“Speaking of facts, do you think we could go to the Maryland Room now before I collapse? The physical therapist wore me out.”
Quickly, he started the engine and we were on our way. The library was a charming brick building with a landscaped courtyard at the entrance. I would have preferred the front door closer to the curb, but it was like an oasis in the middle of town. TJ escorted me through what he described as the newly renovated reading areas, offices, and stacks. It seemed very well stocked for a small-town library. I chastised myself for thinking like a big city girl. I didn't come to the Eastern Shore for big city living. This library had something very different to offer: historical information about Talbot County, where the Cottage, and Waterwood Plantation were located. Besides, if I were at the Central Philadelphia Library, I couldn’t navigate its many floors and miles of walkways.
The thought of unraveling the mystery of Daniel and Emma put a smile on my face. Fortunately, it masked my surprise at seeing the woman at the librarian's desk. She was young and radiated energy. She wore jeans, but her outfit was more of a coordinated jeans pantsuit. The jacket was embroidered with lots of colorful flowers. Her hair and makeup were perfect for a fashion magazine photoshoot. The red-framed eyeglasses were the only thing that fit with the stereotype of a librarian. I shook off that old simplified and uncomplimentary image just in time to hide my confusion.
She looked up and smiled. “Hello, how may I help you … TJ!” She slipped off her glasses.
His eyes were wide with surprise. “Stephani?” Then he frowned in confusion. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m working here as an intern, thank you very much.” She put her glasses on again with a little defiance.
“But I thought you were—”
“Doing hair?” She shook her head back and forth so her sleek cocoa brown hair swung gently in a perfect shape. “Oh no, I don’t do that anymore.”
TJ rubbed his chin. “But you were so good and—”
She cut him off again. “I wanted to do something worthwhile, so here I am. Her eyes flitted over to me and bore in.
“Hello, I’m Emma Chase. I just moved into my Uncle Jack’s Cottage down in—”
“I know who you are.” She flashed a million-watt smile. “News travels fast around here. Welcome to the Shore and to our library. What can I do to help you?” A quick glance at TJ seemed meant to dismiss him.
“I’m looking for information about the Cottage,” I said quickly.
TJ touched my arm. “Are you all set?” I nodded. “Then I’ll leave you ladies to it. I’ll be back in about an hour.”
Stephani pulled out a sturdy wooden chair at a large library table in the center of the room. "Why don't you sit down? Using crutches can be exhausting. We'll discuss your research plan."
I was grateful for her consideration and slid onto the chair while she got a pen and paper to take notes.
She asked, “Do you want to do a genealogical search of your uncle who left you the Cottage?”
"Ah, no, not exactly. I'd like to know about the land where the Cottage sits. It is surrounded by a place called Waterwood."
Stephani’s pen stopped moving. “Waterwood?”
“Yes, is that…”
She rose from her chair and hustled to a tall filing cabinet in the corner. After a little searching, she returned with a thick manila folder. "Let's start with the file on Waterwood, a well-known and old property in Talbot County. You can use my pad, but next time you should bring your own."
"Oh dear, I appreciate that you found all this material, but I'm afraid I don't have time to page through it all. TJ will be back soon. As you can see, I'm not in the best shape, recuperating from an accident. I don't suppose…"
Slowly, she shook her head. “I’m afraid the file material can’t leave this room. I’m sorry. If I could bend the rules, I would.”
My face drooped from disappointment as I gazed at the file.
Quickly, she added, “We have a new machine that will allow you to scan any piece to an email and it’s free.”
I checked the antique Grandfather clock in the corner of the reference room. “I have a little time before TJ comes back to drive me home.”
She helped me work through the file and found a few examples of letters written during the Civil War. Looking carefully at the handwriting, I got an idea. By the time TJ walked into the Maryland Room, copies of many documents were on their way to my email inbox.
“TJ, can you give us a few more minutes?” Stephani asked.
“Sure,” TJ said, looking a little uncomfortable.
"Good, I'd like to give Emma a few books she might find interesting, books that circulate." She headed out of the room then turned back with the grace of a ballerina. "You do have a library card with us, don't you?"
Oh, how I hate red tape and bureaucracy.
I started to explain my situation when TJ interrupted. “Can you check them out on my card?” He asked, reaching for his wallet. “She’s visiting. I’ll make sure the books come back on time.”
Stephani took his card with a slight smile. “Of course.” She leaned closer to him. “It will be our little secret.”
While we waited for the stylish librarian to return, I thanked TJ for ferrying me around and sharing his card.
He had a mischievous look on his face. “You looked surprised when I suggested you use my card.”
“I did not.”
He put his hands on his hips and said playfully, “I want you to know that this farmer/handyman uses the library a lot.”
Stephani returned, bearing a plastic bag from a grocery store. "I made several selections for you based on your interests. I took the liberty of bagging them so you can keep everything together.” She winked at TJ. “We wouldn’t want anything to get lost.”
TJ took the bag without a word.
I stood up on my crutches. “Thank you so much for your help.”
“I hope you’ll come back soon and tell me how you’re doing with your research. I’m here most days. In the meantime, I’ll see what else I can find.” She turned to TJ. “And you can come back, too. It would be nice to see you again.”
After we said good-bye and headed to the main door, I was bursting to ask how he knew the pretty librarian, but he deflected that topic.
"Why the sudden interest in our history?"
I pulled up sharply, almost teetering on my crutches, and had to think fast. “If I’m going to be living here, I thought I’d learn something about the area. It will add to the stories Uncle Jack used to tell me as a kid. That’s all. What else do I have to do?”
TJ shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. You could work on your book?”
“Ideas are percolating. Besides, everyone knows how important research is to a writer. It triggers ideas, builds a storyline and the development of a character, y
ou know, that kind of thing.”
"So, you're writing about the Eastern Shore?" His interest in my book was getting irritating, especially since I had no clue about the story.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I started propelling myself forward, hoping to put an end to the subject of our conversation.
He stood in place. “Yes, I would like to know.”
Getting no response, he caught up with me and we walked to the truck where Ghost met us with one deep-throated bark. It made TJ smile, but it startled me so much that I wobbled dangerously on my crutches. TJ shot out a hand to steady me.
"Easy there." Concern colored his voice. "Guess you haven't spent a lot of time around dogs. Ghost was just saying hello, saying he is glad we're back."
I could only nod. I was worn out. My nerves were frazzled. Thinking about Daniel and reading about the times when he and Emma lived had taken a toll as well. I climbed into the truck, leaning hard on TJ's support. As I let out a long sigh, my ringing cell phone made me jump. My obnoxious attorney had shattered my moment of relaxation.
Chapter Eleven
“You have to write the book that wants to be written. And if the book will be too difficult for grownups, then you write if for children.”
—Madeleine L’Engle
As TJ opened the driver’s side door, I said, “I’m sorry, I have to answer this call while I have phone service.”
He walked away to give me some privacy as I touched the screen of my phone. “Hello, Mr. Heinrick.”
“Hello, Ms. Chase. I thought I would call and see how things are going for you.”
