Letters in Time

by Reiss Susan

  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. You don’t live in your apartment anymore!” He took a deep breath and bellowed, “Ms. Chase, WHERE ARE YOU?”

  In the sweetest voice I could muster, I began to explain. "Mr. Heinrick, I told you I inherited my Uncle Jack's Cottage. I came down to the Eastern Shore to take possession." Slowly, I described subletting my condo, arranging physical therapy sessions, and a mountain of other details. “You see, Mr. Heinrick, there is no reason to worry. I’m fine.”

  I could imagine his cheeks swelling with breath as he harrumphed.

  “No reason to worry? Of course, there is reason to worry! My client disappeared. You could have been abducted for all I knew. You really should have notified me. I can’t begin to detail all the ways this could affect your case if the other side gets wind of your jaunt out of the city.” He let out a deep sigh. “But, as far as I know, it’s our secret.”

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. I wasn’t doing anything wrong. No one could believe I was faking my medical situation.

  Mr. Heinrick cleared his throat and spoke again in his most controlled voice. "Now, all you have to do is return to the city immediately and we'll say no more of this escapade."

  “Um, I’m afraid that’s not going to happen, Mr. Heinrick, at least not for another six months.”

  “WHAT?”

  "Perhaps you didn't hear me. I've sublet my condo. I'll be spending the next six months here at the Cottage. And before you get yourself all upset again, there's nothing we can do about it. I arranged it this way for a reason. So I couldn't go home."

  “The reason for your eccentric behavior eludes me.”

  “My behavior isn’t eccentric,” I said with growing indignation. “I’m doing what is right for me. The doctor approved it, so here I am.”

  I heard his quiet groan of submission. “Well, if you insist, I suppose there’s nothing I can do to persuade you to—”

  "I’m afraid there's nothing you can say or do. Cell phone coverage is spotty in this area, so I'm having a special line installed in the house. Once I have better service, I'll be able to respond to your calls and emails promptly. I think you'll find I'll be a very cooperative client."

  He didn’t give up easily. “But you won’t come back to the city?”

  “No, I’ll be here on the Maryland Eastern Shore.”

  He sighed again. "Very well. But there is one thing you must do. Not for me, but for yourself. You must keep alert to any strangers. Note if anyone seems to be taking an unusual interest in your activities. If that is the case, you must let me know immediately. Immediately, do you understand?”

  I wondered if the man repeated himself like this to a jury. If he did, would they be as annoyed as I was?

  “I don’t understand,” I said.

  "It's quite simple. If the defense knows you're there, it may send spies to watch you. I don't want anything to undermine this case."

  “Spies? I’m not faking anything. Mr. Heinrick—"

  “Oh, do not poo-poo the idea. If our positions were reversed, I would do the same thing. They want to make sure you were truly hurt and not lying about your injuries."

  I was aghast. "All anyone has to do is look at my chart, X-rays, and scans to see—"

  “I’m not going to debate legal maneuvers with you. Be aware of the people around you. If anything suspicious happens, promise me that you’ll notify me immediately. Promise.”

  Now, it was my turn to sigh. “Yes, Mr. Heinrick, I promise.”

  "Very good. I'll have my secretary contact you for an address to send these papers. I assume you get mail wherever you are?"

  I wanted to prick his supercilious bubble. “Yes, we have all the modern conveniences here, like electricity, running water, indoor plumbing—”

  “All except reliable phone and internet service.”

  I had to end this call before I exploded. "I'll give you the address now." There was a little arrogance in my voice.

  He dismissed the idea. “No, I’ll have my secretary take the call.”

  I gave the information to the poor woman who worked for him. The man was so frustrating. Always telling me what I could and could not do … and when. I lumped him with all the bossy doctors and nurses. Yes, they were helping me, but I was so tired of people controlling me. I felt sure that if I'd told him I was coming to the Eastern Shore, he would have forbidden my move. I couldn't let that happen. I wanted, no, needed to be here.

  Calmer, I put the phone safely in my pocket and made it down the steps without too much pain. I wished I could look forward to finding another letter from Daniel, but I'd been too tired to write to him the night before. It probably was proper etiquette in the 1860s to wait for a response before one wrote again. Nevertheless, a wave of disappointment washed over me as I hiked up my crutches and headed to the kitchen for breakfast.

  At the doorway to the writing den, I stole a peek at the desk where the other letters had appeared. A short note was there.

  Dea
r Emma,

  Forgive me for writing so soon and showing how anxious I am to hear from you again. I only wanted you to know that you are in my every thought.

  Yours with great esteem,

  Daniel

  I snapped a picture of the note and scribbled down a quick copy of the letter in case it started to fade before I got back from the P.T. appointment. Safely tucked away with the other letters and copies in the cubbyhole, I smiled as I hurried as fast as I dared to be ready for my driver.

  On the road, we passed a large field of short green plants. “Do you know what they’re growing there?” At heart, I was still a city girl. Like most people, the only crop I could recognize in the field was corn.

  “Those are soybeans.”

  “Does that land belong to Waterwood?”

  He turned quickly and gave me a strange look. “That’s a curious question.”

  "I'm learning a bit about Waterwood from the papers I'm reading at the library. It's natural to wonder about the land surrounding the Cottage. I'll read more about it today if you can take me to the library after P.T.?" A feeling of almost desperation surged inside me. It had been a long time since something had sparked my interest like this.

  TJ stared at the road for a minute. “I don’t know why it’s so important, but yes, you can research to your heart’s content for about an hour. On the way back, I need to check on something. It won’t take long, okay?”

  “That sounds only fair,” I said with a smile. This man was comfortable, easy, not complicated like so many men I’d met since my divorce. We drove along the main route to Easton in relaxed silence until I uttered the obligatory groan as he stopped at the door for P.T. – Pain Today.

  The happy therapists worked my body. The only thing that stifled the groans was the thought of going to the library. There was another reward. They gave me permission to begin to use my leg, but it was going to take concentration and patience to master this next step in my healing. After the session, I moved slowly, deliberately, across the sidewalk to meet him as he drove up. He jumped out, came to open the passenger door, and folded his arms across his chest. "Look at you. You’ve graduated. Well done!” Ghost barked his approval, too.

  My face felt warm. I bit my lip to push down the tears that threatened to erupt. Tears, not from frustration, but tears of pride and relief. Maybe the leg would function again. Maybe I'd walk normally again.

  He opened my door. “Okay, let’s get this champion into her chariot and away from this painful place.” He winked. And I smiled.

  We stopped for a quick lunch, but I turned down the offer of another ice cream cone. If I kept using ice cream as an antidote for frustration and celebration, my leg wouldn't have a chance of carrying the additional weight that was reappearing at an alarming rate.

  At the library, I made my way to the Maryland Room all alone, feeling independent. Stephani sat at the librarian’s desk, her glasses on top of her head holding back her shiny dark hair. She wore a turquoise blue summer sweater set that brought out her blue eyes.

  "Emma," she exclaimed. "How nice to see you again." She pulled out a chair at an empty table. "Why don't you sit right here? I have a short stack of things for you. It will only take a moment for me to get them."

  I pulled out a notebook in anticipation of what she would bring, like a little girl waiting for milk and cookies after school. Only this was better. I reached over to a library computer and typed in a few keywords for a search. The results were helpful. I had time to make a few quick notes.

  “Oh, you found something already.” Stephani reappeared with her arms full.

  I closed the cover of my notebook. The last thing I wanted the girl to see were my notes about how to deal with a ghost.

  “There’s a lot of material here.” She sat down across the table from me. “Will you be working for the rest of the day?”

  I shook my head. She slid the pile to her side. “Let’s see if I can make it easier for you. Tell me where you are in your research so I can pull out things in a logical order?" She put her arms around the stack as if protecting it from me.

  We talked about what I’d found so far about the Cottage and my interest in the Civil War period. That point made her pause for a moment. Her manner seemed strange. Then, throwing off her hesitancy to let me see the papers in the stack, she jumped right in with enthusiasm. She laid papers, files, and pamphlets in front of me with comments about what I might find in each. Family members often spent countless hours doing genealogical research then donated the results to the Maryland Room. There was a page written in Old English with the modern translation typed below. There were old and modern maps. Maybe I'd misjudged this summer intern who showed real love for the research process.

  I sat back in the chair and said, “You’ve been very helpful. I appreciate all you’ve done.” The clock chimed the hour. “I have to leave, but there’s one more thing. I’ve been reading about a witch – though probably just an old woman – by the name of Virtue Violl and another woman named Katie Cobin.”

  Stephani stiffened. “Why do you want to know about her?”

  I fumbled for a response while trying to figure out why she had become almost hostile. “Curiosity. Do you have anything about her?”

  Stephani continued to look at me like I had some oatmeal leftover from breakfast stuck on my lip. Then her face lit up. “Maryland isn’t a state known for its witches. There are only five recorded stories in the whole state.” Her voice climbed higher with her excitement. “But it’s not about witches. It’s about people maligning women because they’re different. That’s what we’re talking about here, isn’t it?” She took a much-needed breath and waited for my answer to her question.

  “Ah, I suppose so,” I answered, not sure how to respond to this burst of enthusiasm. “I’m interested in the people who lived around the Cottage. I don’t care if they were witches.”

  “Well, it should be part of your consideration. After all, as professional women today, we owe a debt of gratitude to them for standing up for themselves and their beliefs,” then she added, “and having the courage to live on their own.” She stood as if to honor the idea and took in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  Under control again, she continued. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything about Katie Cobin in the materials. I can take a quick look in the files, but didn’t you say you had to leave soon?”

  I swung my eyes around to the clock dial. “You’re right. TJ is waiting for me.” I gestured at my leg. “I can’t drive yet,” I said with a weak smile.

  “Oh, he should have come in.” She gathered up the copies she’d made for me. “I’ll carry these out for you. As we walked outside, she said. “Maybe I could do some research for you during my shift this afternoon. I won’t be busy today since the weather is so beautiful.”

  "That would be very kind of you. I'm not sure when I'll be back. Could you write down the references so I could look them up the next time I come?"

  “I have a better idea.” She gave me another bright smile. “I don’t live far from you. I could make copies of anything I find and bring them by the Cottage for you.”

  “You know where I live?” I was uncomfortable.

  “Of course, everyone knows where Jack’s Cottage is.” Her voice became softer. “I didn’t know him, I mean, as a friend, but I know he was very nice. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  Her sincerity touched me. “Thank you. That’s kind.”

  “What do you say?” Her blue eyes danced. “Shall I do the research and bring you what I find?”

  “Well, if it’s not too much trouble.”

  “That’s what we do here on the Shore.”

  TJ saw us emerge from the building. He rushed over, took the materials from Stephani, and, without pausing, sprinted back to the truck.

  I was a little surprised by his behavior and tried to cover for him. “Thank you so much for your help today and well, everything.”

  “I didn’t do much. I
’m interested in her, in them, the witches, too.” She paused and straightened her back in a more formal stance. “It’s my pleasure. I’ll see you soon.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “We have heard this morning that Thomas Lloyd’s wellhouse was burned by lightning during the storm last night.” August 3, 1864

  —The Willis Family Journals 1847-1951

  Edited and Annotated by James Dawson

  Settled in the truck, TJ asked, “Are you still okay about making a detour on our way home?” He asked. “Or are you hurting?”

  Even though I felt the effects of the therapy session, I wasn't going to give in to the pain. I checked the time. I still had more than an hour to wait until I could take the next painkiller. A distraction would be good.

  “I had a good session in the reference room again. Stephani found some good references and filled in a few details. Local knowledge is always valuable.”

  TJ stared through the windshield, suddenly intent on the road ahead.

  I was curious why he seemed to shut down. “How do you know her?”

  “It’s a small place. People know people.” And that was supposed to close the discussion.

  I shifted my gaze through the windshield to look down the road like he did. She seemed a little young to be his girlfriend, but these days, one never knew. “Who is she?” I asked.

  He didn’t say anything.

  “An old flame?” I suggested. “Or maybe your current girlfriend?”

  Still no response. I turned toward TJ. His finely chiseled face in profile didn't have the raw ruggedness of a life dedicated to working the land. There was more here than I first imagined.

  A man with layers. How unusual. I was intrigued.