Letters in Time

by Reiss Susan

  He looked out the window and continued quietly. “Now that I think about it, maybe I’m more like Benjamin Franklin Ross than I thought.”

  I waited for him to explain until I felt like I was going to burst. “Okay, tell me. How are you like Benjamin Franklin Ross?”

  He turned his face towards me and grinned. “Let me answer your question by telling you the rest of Benjamin Franklin Ross’s story. Let’s go into the living room where you’ll be more comfortable.”

  In response, I followed him and snuggled into the sofa.

  "Benjamin's father recognized the family's stubborn streak in his son and stopped fighting. He must have worked out something with Elizabeth's father. The young couple were married within months and set up housekeeping at Waterwood. Their daughter Emma was born during their first year of marriage. Other babies followed though they did not survive. Benjamin made sure every baby was given a name and buried with a tiny headstone marking the spot. I think Emma was nine or ten when Elizabeth gave birth to a son who survived his first two years of life. But it was at a cost. Elizabeth never fully recovered from the birth. When an illness like influenza or scarlet fever struck the Shore, neither Elizabeth nor her son survived.

  “People encouraged Benjamin to marry again. After all, he had a young daughter who deserved the guidance a new wife could give her. Benjamin refused. He claimed that no other woman could take Elizabeth’s place and he would be both mother and father to his daughter.”

  The story brought tears to my eyes. “How sad. Did Emma spend the rest of her life here at Waterwood with her father?” I read stories that it was not that unusual for an only daughter to stay in her father’s home, handle the responsibilities as mistress of the plantation and act as her father’s hostess.

  TJ jumped to his feet and started to pace. He showed more enthusiasm now than when he was talking about the fancy ball. "This is the part of the story I think is much more interesting. There was a smaller plantation adjacent to Waterwood owned by the Collins family. Just before the Civil War, the plantation got into some financial trouble. Mr. Collins was faced with the prospect of selling off a large part of his land to pay his debts. The man was clever and came up with a different scheme that involved the Ross family of Waterwood. He suggested that Benjamin's daughter Emma should be married to his oldest son, Joshua. It would be the union of the two families in the district and would somehow solve his financial difficulties.

  “The only problem was Benjamin saw through his plan. On the face of it, uniting great plantations was a good idea. But Benjamin looked at the young man who would be his son-in-law and was not impressed. He suspected he was not a gentleman and, if he had the same poor business sense that his father had, Joshua could only bring trouble to Waterwood.”

  “That’s something I can understand,” I said, as I pulled over a blue and white crocheted afghan to cover my legs. The fall season was declaring its arrival with a chill in the air.

  "Benjamin talked with Emma and discovered she was completely opposed to the idea. She had fallen in love with a young man raised at Waterwood. I don't know his name, but he was the son of Benjamin's plantation manager.”

  I reined in my excitement when I heard this and TJ continued.

  “He was a fine young man, educated, with fine manners, but not in young Emma's class. Emma insisted it was true love. That was something Benjamin could understand."

  “Of course, he would!" I exclaimed with a playful grin. "He had fallen in love with Elizabeth and proposed on the night of the glittering ball."

  "This was serious," TJ insisted. "It was a difficult time for Benjamin. Tensions between the North and South were heating up. There was talk of secession. Benjamin did not want to rush into a decision that would affect the rest of his beloved Emma's life. So, he helped Joshua's father with his debts and postponed the decision about marriage. After all, Emma was young."

  “What a story! How do you know all this?” I asked, my body rocking with excitement.

  "The women in my family are nuts about genealogy and history. My mom found letters, or was it a diary? I don't know."

  I had to take control of myself. I took a calming breath before I asked, "Do you have Emma's diary?"

  “I’m not sure.” He thought for a moment. “I guess we must. I can’t imagine anyone throwing away something like that. Maybe Mom included it with some other stuff about Waterwood when we donated to the Historical Society. I guess I could ask and find out, if it’s important.”

  “It would be great if you could ask.” I wanted to grab the phone and thrust it at him to call the president of the historical society immediately. What an experience it would be to read Emma’s words as she wrote her feelings in her diary and match them up with Daniel’s letters that kept appearing on the desk. Of course, if I insisted, I’d have to explain that I was exchanging correspondence with a ghost. That wasn’t going to happen. I’d have to be patient and find another way to encourage him to find the diary without raising his suspicions.

  I took a small pillow and squeezed it underneath my leg, grateful that the small gesture distracted him.

  “Is your leg feeling better?” he asked.

  “Yes, thank you. Now, tell me why you think that you and Benjamin Franklin Ross have something in common.”

  “I don’t know. When I think about that love story, I think it’s more like two love stories wrapped up in one. Of course, it’s about Elizabeth. But it’s also about his love for Waterwood and that’s where we match up. I was born and raised in Annapolis on the Western Shore of the Bay. I spent all my free time here at Waterwood or talking to the farmers in the area. I helped out in any way I could. My uncle who lived here called me his Little Shadow. But I would never be part of Waterwood, not the way I wanted to be.”

  “Why is that?” I asked.

  “My uncle owned Waterwood. He planned to pass it down to his son and so on. There wasn't room for me in the line of inheritance. That meant there wasn't room for me at Waterwood unless I hired on as a farmhand. That wasn't an option. My cousin didn't want me looking over his shoulder. He didn't want someone who had a rightful place at the family dinner table doing farm work. Besides, Waterwood couldn't sustain both of us."

  I tried to reconcile the story of a self-sustaining plantation that supported many families with the idea that it couldn’t support two farmers today. And I failed.

  Chapter Thirty

  “The Baltimore City Council passed a resolution unanimously to relieve the jail physician of his duties due to his failure to attend to U.S. soldiers confined there.”

  — Baltimore Sun Newspaper, January 31, 1862

  TJ must have suspected my confusion and continued. "You have to remember that the Waterwood that Benjamin Franklin Ross inherited isn't the same Waterwood you see today. The custom back then was to pass down the property and its assets in one package to the eldest son, unless an arrangement was made for any other sons or family members. Emma had two sons. The oldest one inherited most of the property on his father's death, but his brother was given a chunk of rich land, large enough to support his family. That, of course, passed down through that line and was no longer considered part of Waterwood. Over the generations, more land packages were given to younger children or sold off when the owner needed cash. That's how Waterwood has dwindled to what it is today."

  “But it’s still a substantial property,” I insisted.

  "Yes, it is, but it can't sustain the land, the main house and even one family on its own anymore. Today, we rotate crops, some of which are not as profitable, to help maintain the integrity of the soil. Land-use restrictions limit the areas we can plant. Farming itself has become an expensive business. Acreage doesn't always produce enough to support it on its own. That’s why I lease other fields for farming and run my custom farming business as well. In the 21st century, agribusiness emphasizes the business part, out of sheer necessity.”

  I was still confused. “So, how did you end up with Waterwood?�
�

  TJ dropped his eyes. "That's another sad part of the story. My uncle had one son. He wasn't all that interested in farming like I was. While I was away at college, his son went out drinking one night and wrapped his car around a tree. Since his daughter didn't have any interest in the land, he deeded it to me. After losing his son, my uncle didn't have the energy or the interest to manage Waterwood. My uncle figured that some good came out of the loss. He had a chance to see some of the early improvements I made before he died. It felt good to make him proud.”

  We sat quietly together, each lost in our thoughts. Outside the crickets joined the frogs in their early evening concert of peeps and chirps, the sounds of early fall. They were probably the same sounds Benjamin heard as he sat quietly looking at the water, pondering his daughter's happiness and the future of his land.

  Slowly, I came to the conclusion that this story didn't have a happy ending. The last thing Daniel had told me by letter was that he rode away from Waterwood with Emma’s father to join the Confederate cause. Daniel’s letters that appeared on the plantation desk were filled with concern that Emma thought that he didn’t care about her or may have forgotten him. There had to be more to the story. I was eager to know what happened. Patience when working with children was one of my strong suits. Patience in my personal life was not.

  “I hope you can finish the story, TJ. Did Emma and the plantation overseer’s son get together? Did they have to wait until after the war to marry? When did she marry the awful Joshua? Tell me what happened.”

  “Whoa there. You sure are interested in your namesake, even though you’re not part of the family.”

  I shrugged, hoping to appear casual. “We girls named Emma have to stick together.” I softened the statement with a wink.

  "All right then. But you have to sit through the whole story." I nodded in agreement. "The plantation owners on the Eastern Shore were very conflicted about the troubles between the North and the South. They wanted to maintain the Union and continue to enjoy all its benefits, but their way of life was built on the Southern plantation lifestyle that involved slaves.

  "Most landowners here wanted to avoid war and find a compromise so they could make a transition without destroying their livelihood. The men of the South, especially the Deep South, were firebrands. They thought the war was about their honor as gentlemen. States started seceding from the Union. Tempers flared in the North as well. Things started getting out of control. The Eastern Shore plantation owners were running out of options and room to maneuver." He paused and gave me a curious look. "You're sure you want to hear this?"

  “Yes, I do. It’s nice to talk to somebody who knows his history. Better than reading it in a book. Please go on.”

  He took a deep breath and leaned forward. "The year 1861 was an unsettled time. It didn't help that rumors were flying between New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore, and Washington.

  “When word arrived that a group of Union Army soldiers had invaded Baltimore, everyone on the Eastern Shore went crazy. Unfortunately, this story had the seeds of truth. The first regiment to respond to Abraham Lincoln’s call for volunteers came down the coast from Massachusetts by train.

  "During a stopover in Philadelphia, the commanding officer heard a rumor that there would be an attack on the train while it was in Baltimore. He ordered his men to ignore any verbal abuse from the local citizens, but to load every gun, just in case. Historians say that he told his men that if they were fired on, they were to take aim and ‘Be sure to drop him.’”

  “That sounds like a recipe for big trouble,” I said.

  “The situation was complicated,” TJ went on. “The people here on the Shore were told it was a Yankee invasion of Baltimore, the port city of their grand state, Maryland. Then there was the problem of the tracks. The troop train ran to the northeast part of Baltimore where the tracks stopped. Tracks came up from Washington City but the two lines didn't connect. They had to uncouple the railcars carrying the troops and draw them through the city by horse to another station where the cars were to be hooked up to another locomotive going south. The pro-Union city fathers decided to make it an event and had a band lead the procession to the southbound tracks.

  "Everything was going according to plan until a large crowd formed between the band and the soldiers. The route was blocked, so the soldiers had to get off the train and march to the other station. The crowd pelted them with rocks and bottles and anything else they could find. I guess the soldiers were pushed to the limit. They fired a volley into the crowd.

  “People were killed and wounded on both sides. False reports were flying: more Yankee soldiers were on their way; the Union was going to take over Baltimore; President Lincoln was going to turn the city into an armed camp.”

  “I guess those were fighting words, no matter which side you were on,” I said.

  “They sure were.” TJ looked into his mug. “Do you want some more coffee?”

  “Sure.”

  I handed him my mug and sat back trying to imagine what it was like living in this pastoral place and hearing about armed chaos on the other side of the Bay. It would be frightening because the conflict could spread to the Eastern Shore. But there was another important reason: Baltimore was the port city for commerce. Whoever held Baltimore could strangle the Shore.

  TJ returned and we settled back with our coffee, Maria’s cookies long ago devoured.

  He took a big drink and went on. “A wealthy Southern sympathizer over here chartered a steamer and paid for any man who volunteered to go and defend Baltimore. By the time the men from the Eastern Shore got there, the Baltimore police had the situation under control and the Union troops were on their way to Washington.”

  “That’s like getting all ready for a football game, only to miss it. There must have been a lot of testosterone in the air.”

  “According to my mother, Benjamin rode off to join the Confederacy and took the plantation manager’s son with him.”

  “That’s right,” I said softly.

  “Oh, have you heard this part of the story before?”

  I had to think fast. "Ah, no. I was, ah, just agreeing that such a crazy situation would force a person to make a decision and act on it."

  “Well, that’s what he did.”

  I put my hands over my eyes and tried to visualize the gravestones at his family cemetery. “I think I remember seeing all the Emma graves but, I’m not sure which one was hers. I was so overwhelmed by seeing my name all over the place, I didn't pay attention to the dates on the gravestones."

  "I can take you back some time if you'd like to go," TJ offered.

  “Yes, I’d like that. Then I could look for Daniel’s gravestone, too.”

  He gave me a puzzled look. “Who is Daniel?”

  That was a mistake. I’d have to cover it up and fast. “I think it was a name connected with Waterwood that the librarian mentioned. I don’t know. There are so many names to remember.”

  TJ crossed his arms. "Well, Emma didn't marry a Daniel." He took a sip of cold coffee and grimaced. "All this talk about the family is making me thirsty. Why don't we head to the kitchen and I'll grab a bottle from Jack's beer stash if that's okay?" As I got myself oriented and headed down the hall, I didn't want to know the truth. I didn't want to hear the name of Emma's husband.

  We settled at the kitchen table, it being a little chilly to go out on the patio. TJ picked up the story.

  “According to the records, Emma married Joshua. My mother got the impression that she wasn’t all that excited about the match.”

  “Did she read it in Emma’s diary?”

  “No, she found some letters written by Emma in a trunk. Mom said the girl didn’t sound excited about the match the way a bride usually does.”

  I could barely disguise my excitement. TJ's mother had found a diary and letters. "If Emma grew up without a stepmother, she and her father must have been very close. He must have been able to tell his daughter wasn't in love," I sugg
ested, thinking about the close relationship I'd had with Uncle Jack. When I married my high school sweetheart right out of college, Uncle Jack was all smiles at the wedding. In an unguarded moment, I caught a look on his face filled with worry and unhappiness. I ignored it at the time, but when my husband proved to be unfaithful after I helped put him through medical school, I admitted that Uncle Jack was a better judge of people than I was. Divorce was an option for me. It probably wasn't an option for Emma in the 19th century.

  TJ went on. “I suspect that Emma’s father knew his daughter well. Anytime anyone in our family talks about Joshua’s presence on our family tree, he’s referred to as the bad seed.”

  “I wonder where she got that phrase,” I said.

  TJ shook his head. "I have no idea. Records show that Emma and Joshua married, lived at Waterwood, and had two sons and a daughter. The girl died in her early teens, I think.”

  “Did Emma die in childbirth? So many women at that time died at a very young age.”

  “No, Emma lived to old age. It was unusual for her to have survived childbirth. It probably helped that she only had three babies.” He shrugged. “I guess the fire went out of the marriage.” TJ sighed. “Are you happy now that you know the Ross family history?”

  “Yes, I am.” I gave him a big smile. “As a thank-you, how about having dinner with me? Maria is a great cook and she always makes enough for two. Oh!” I realized with a start. “I don’t have anything for Ghost.”

  "Fear not, we come prepared." TJ sprinted out of the room with Ghost at his heel.

  My mind was filled with thoughts of Emma and Daniel. And why hadn’t I heard from him? While TJ was out of the house, I made my way to the writing den as fast as I could, hoping to find a letter from Daniel. But there was nothing on the desk’s writing surface. Disappointed, I clicked off the overhead light.

  There was nothing on the desk? I snapped on the light again. There was no stack of paper. How could Daniel write to me if he had no paper?