by Reiss Susan
TJ was still trying to catch his breath. “Before sun up. Something woke me. There it was on the desk. What he said about the miniature reminded me… I had to run up to the house and that is where I found this.” TJ held out his hand and opened it. A painted oval miniature with a silver chain lay in his palm. “I remembered my mother put a jumble of things in a small box. It took me a while to find it, but here he is. Daniel.”
Daniel.
My fingers trembled as I picked up Emma’s necklace. The painting wasn’t refined, an effort by a fledgling artist. Even though it was small, it was easy to see that the face of the dark-haired young man was handsome, filled with compassion. His dark brown eyes were alive and his full lips were about to draw up into a smile. Emma had added some redness to his cheeks that may have been a result of his time working on the plantation. He had a well-shaped chin and a nose that blended with his other features. I thought she had captured the essence of the young man who was writing letters to me.
“Emma?” TJ spoke softly. “Emma?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said with a start. “Thank you for finding the necklace. It’s amazing to see a portrait of—”
“A ghost.”
I raised my eyes to TJ’s face. The mask of disbelief and suspicion was gone. “You believe me?” My words quivered.
“I think I have to. If this is a hoax, you deserve a gold star for pulling off such an elaborate deception. But I don’t see how you could have known about the necklace. Yes, I do believe you, but I think we should keep this between us, don’t you think?”
Looking back at the miniature, it took me only a moment to agree. It was good to see Daniel’s face, finally. I wasn’t surprised that he had a sweet expression. Somehow his personality—his compassion, his loyalty—came through in his letters. “I wish…”
He waited, but finally had to ask, “What do you wish?”
“I wish there was some way to reunite them.”
TJ took off his ball cap, ran his fingers through his hair, and resettled it on his head in a gesture born of nerves or deep thought. "I don't know how to do that. Usually, people who loved one another in life are buried next to each other, that whole idea of spending eternity together."
“But Daniel was murdered someplace in Virginia during the Civil War. His body was probably tumbled into a mass or unmarked grave.” I could hear the tears of regret in my voice.
“So, that’s not an option. I suppose we could put a headstone next to hers in the family cemetery,” TJ suggested. “What do you think?”
I sighed, looking at the Lone Oak across the creek, my fingers playing with the chain.
“Emma? What do you think of the idea of a headstone for Daniel?” TJ asked again.
“Sit down and let me talk through a jumble of thoughts.”
He settled into a chair and Ghost rested his head on TJ’s thigh and they waited.
“The idea of a headstone is a nice gesture,” I said. “Only, it’s obvious that Daniel’s spirit is restless or he wouldn’t be writing these letters.” I looked up at the man and his dog and said gently, “TJ, I don’t think he realizes that he’s dead.”
I noticed a little shiver run through TJ’s body. He was as unsettled by the thought as I was.
I went on, thinking aloud. “What if Emma’s spirit is still out there longing for Daniel? What if there was a way to reunite them?”
His eyes grew wide as the significance of my words hit him. “You want to have a séance?”
I shook my head. “I didn’t need a séance to connect with Daniel. No, it might be something simple. Remember Daniel seems to be chained to the desk. What if Emma is…” my words trailed off. I had run out of ideas.
Thankfully, TJ carried the idea along. “What if Emma is connected to something, too?”
“Or some place. Remember the background of her portrait.” I pointed to the Lone Oak.
He craned his head. “Yes, and there was a stand of crepe myrtle. But the perspective is all wrong.” He looked at his watch. “Look, I’ve got some things to do today including a trip to the Western Shore. You keep thinking about what we might do. I’ll walk along the shoreline and see what I can see.” He stood and pointed a finger at me. “Don’t you go traipsing around in the grasses and weeds! If you fall, I might never find you. We can talk again tomorrow.” He pulled out his phone, ready to get on with his schedule. “I think you’ve accomplished a lot for one day.” He added softly, “You made me a believer.”
I held out the necklace with the miniature to him. He shook his head. "No, you keep it safe. Maybe it will inspire you."
Chapter Thirty-Nine
“If an invitation is issued, an acceptance or regret must be issued if it includes R.S.V.P. =Repondez s’il vous plait – answer if you please.”
How to Write Letters
by Professor J. Willis Westlake, 1883
I spent the rest of the day puttering around the Cottage, racking my brain for an idea of how to reunite the lovers. I was tempted to walk along the shoreline to find the perspective where Emma’s portrait was painted, but TJ was right. If I fell, he’d never find me in the thick foliage. If I fell in the water, well, I didn’t want to think about that outcome or the tirade I’d have to endure if I survived. Besides, the wind was picking up, a sign that a storm might be coming. I avoided taking a nap during the day so I’d get a good night’s sleep. But my plan didn’t work.
I wasn’t surprised that I felt a headache starting to spin up from the back of my neck. The best way to salvage the night was to take some aspirin with some warm milk and head back to bed. I put Daniel’s last letter into the cubbyhole.
On my way to the kitchen, a loud knocking at the front door made me stop. Someone was here at the Cottage in the middle of the night? I quickly reached into the pocket of my robe for my cell phone, but it wasn't there. The base station for the cordless phone was in the living room. To get there, someone could see me walk past the little windows on either side of the front door. The phone might not be there. I ducked into the den. My breath was coming in gulps. What to do?
I stood silently in the dim light, hoping this person would go away. The knocking stopped. I strained my ears to hear a car engine. Funny, I hadn't heard a car drive up. But the sounds of the wind could have masked it. I stood still. Minutes went by. The person must have left. As I relaxed, the knocking started again.
A woman’s voice called out. “Emma? Please open the door. I need to talk to you.” She knocked again. “Emma. It’s me, Stephani!”
Stephani? Here? At this time of night? Something must be wrong.
I got to the front door as fast as I could and threw it open. Stephani stood in the dim lamplight. Her usually perfect hair was running with rainwater. Mascara and eyeliner smeared her right eye. Mud splattered her stylish red boots.
My fists clenched in fear. “Stephani, what’s wrong?”
Panting, she marched past me into the hall and left puddles in her footsteps. I knew there was a murderer out there somewhere. Maybe in the shadows? Was he stalking her? I slammed the door and threw the deadbolt.
“Stephani, tell me what’s going on,” I insisted. “Is someone after you?”
“No, it’s nothing like that.” She gulped some air. “At least, not yet. We don’t have much time.” She looked around first towards the living room then towards my study. “Where are they?”
“Where are who?” I snapped. Her anxiety was contagious.
She heaved a big sigh. “Not who. What. The papers. I have to see the papers.”
Now, I was truly confused. "What papers? Why don't you come and sit down?" I pointed toward the kitchen. "Tell me what's going on while I make some coffee."
She caught my arm and stopped me. “I don’t have time for that. Stop playing games. If you had been straight with me this afternoon, I wouldn’t be here now. In fact, I’d probably be long gone.”
I stared down at her hand on my arm. She got the message and removed it. Even though
I was tired, the rush of growing anxiety had fired up all my senses. Anger was building. I didn’t want to upset her any more than she was, but she couldn’t push her way into my house like this. By instinct, I started turning on the lights. Lamps, ceiling lights, it didn’t matter. Later, I’d have to go around and turn them off, but it felt right. Then I remembered TJ’s instruction: If you need anything, turn on all your house lights and I’ll come. What I needed was to calm this young woman. I can do that, I thought, as I clicked on another overhead light switch, just in case.
Stephani followed me into the living room. “What are you doing? Why are you turning on the lights?”
I had to think fast. “I’ve found that when I’m upset, light can be comforting, especially in the middle of the night,” I added pointedly. “Why don’t you tell me why you are here?”
"You really don't know. You are truly a piece of work." She crossed her arms. Her eyes traveled from the top of my head, down to my feet, and back to my face. "You got your hair cut? About time."
She walked around me, checking out the cut. That gave me hope that I could distract her and get the woman out of my house.
“It’s not bad. But not great.” She huffed out of exasperation. “I don’t care. Whatever game you think you’re playing, but you can stop right now. Give me the papers and I’ll leave.”
I shook my head slowly. “I’ll tell you one more time. I don’t know what papers you think I have. The best thing is for you to leave. You can come back in the morning.” I started toward the door.
Instead of following me, she headed into the study and turned on the light.
“What are you doing?” I said as I tried to race after her. Daniel’s letters!
"I'm turning on more lights," she snarled as she opened the door to the plantation desk to expose all the cubbyholes, slots, and tiny drawers. She started to ransack the desk, pulling down papers and shuffling through them. In the rush of air, my folded blue butterfly fluttered down to the desktop and was smashed by a flying file folder.
"Stop it! Stop it right now," I ordered. I slammed the door of the desk. I couldn't let her see his letters, especially the last one. She'd know about the Lone Oak treasure. I didn’t want to look up to that cubbyhole. If I did, she would go right to it.
“All right then, give me the notes that you made today at the Maryland Room and I’ll stop going through your things,” she demanded with a snarly attitude that she had kept hidden until now.
“My notes from the library?”
“Yeah, the ones you made today. The ones you wouldn’t let me see. I know you found something. I know you found the key to the buried treasure.”
Treasure! I was right. That's what this was all about. I had to get this girl out of the house. I wasn't strong enough to fight her off. I needed the police. My brain kicked into overdrive. If I lied to her, she'd know. I remembered that the best lie was based on truth. I turned to look at her, my eyes boring into her. I made my voice as stern as I could.
“Stephani, what I found wasn’t important—”
“Don’t you lie to me.” She glared. “I saw you.”
I took a quick breath and began again. “You don’t know anything. The information I found today was about plantation life. TJ took me for a walk one day to his family cemetery. I was surprised that I shared a name with many of his female ancestors. I know Emma is—”
“Stop stalling. Spit it out. What did you find?”
"I learned about life on the plantation here for those women. How hard they worked, slaughtering pigs, smoking meats, making clothing for everyone, including the slaves. No wonder they all died young."
Her eyes narrowed. She took a deep breath and started to pace. She was weighing the truth of what I said. I hoped I’d passed the test. “The notes wouldn’t do you any good. You don’t have your glasses.”
She let out a shrill cackle like witches are supposed to do. "You are so gullible. I don't need glasses. I can see just fine."
“Then why do you wear them?”
“To make me look studious,” she sneered. “People take me seriously when I wear them.” She paced back and forth then stopped in front of me. "I don't know if you're telling the truth or not. I don't need those notes. I only need you. You're going to show me where that treasure is buried." She slipped her hand around the upper part of my left arm and squeezed.
Did the detective get it all wrong? Is Stephani the real treasure hunter? If her grasp of my arm was any indication, she could easily swing a shovel and kill somebody.
I had to free myself. I asked Stephani a ridiculous question about having dinner to distract her while I reached behind me for something to use to defend myself. My fingers found Uncle Jack's heavy metal stapler.
I closed my hand around it. I raised my hand to swing the stapler with all my might. She seized my wrist and drove it down on the corner of the desk. My fingers were shocked straight and I dropped the stapler. It clattered to the floor. Pain shot up my arm.
"Okay, no more." I said, sucking in air. "I'll do what you want."
Chapter Forty
“It is advisable to keep copies of all important letters, as a protection against possible misrepresentation, fraud, or malice.”
How to Write Letters
by Professor J. Willis Westlake, 1883
We stood there as if suspended in time: Her grip on my arm tightening. My body in her control. My breaths coming in shallow gulps. It was crushing to face the truth of how weak I was. The look of triumph on her face sickened me. Her lips stretched into a smirk that made me look away in disgust.
“Look at me!” She jerked my body hard. “Look at me, I said!”
I turned my head as she commanded and her scornful smile broadened. “That’s better.” In a singsong sweet voice, she said, “If you do everything I tell you, you won’t get hurt. That means, don’t even think about being brave or doing something silly.” She shrugged. “You won’t win. You’re a cripple.”
I wanted more than anything to slap that smug look off her face. But I knew she was right. The only one who could get hurt would be me. I'd have to wait for my chance… and take it.
She must have sensed my defiance and leaned closer. The smell of garlic and crab went up my nose. My stomach turned over. "If you try something, I can't be responsible for what might happen to you," she said with menace. “It wouldn’t be my fault if you fell and broke your other leg.”
She brought her face so close to mine that I could feel puffs of the air and spittle on my skin as she spoke each word. “That’s your worst fear, isn’t it? No more running, dancing, and all that stuff you used to do. And this time, it would be your fault.” She waited for a reaction, one that she could revel in.
I wasn't going to let her see how her words had struck at my core. Instead, I tried to look contrite and dropped my eyes so she couldn't see them burning with hatred. Hatred, born of weakness and fear.
That sickening sweet voice spoke again. "Now, you're going to find the treasure for me. After that, we'll see what happens. Now, move!" She jerked my arm. I almost fell. "You're pathetic," she sneered as she rattled the walker. "Get moving."
I thought she was behind me as I rolled it down the hall and out the door to her Jeep. She shoved me into the passenger seat. I didn't put up a fight. What could I do? The woman was younger, stronger, healthier than me. It didn't help that I thought of Kid Billy. Did Stephani plan to leave me at the bottom of a hole?
What if the treasure chest was gone? Emma's father had put it there about 150 years ago. Somebody might have taken it in all that time. Stephani would blame me. I tried to hide my shock that she was after the treasure, not Josh. She must have gotten the boys to do the digging for her. She knew them. They'd grown up together. A shiver ran through me at the next thought. In a fit of rage, she must have swung the shovel at Kid Billy’s head.
No, she couldn’t let me go. I had to think of something, fast.
“Sit still” she snarled, “and h
old on.” Gravel flew as she spun the wheels and headed out to the main road.
I clung to the bar in front of me until my knuckles were white. At the main road, I expected her to turn right toward the Lone Oak. When she turned left, I wet my lips and looked around trying to hide my surprise.
“Don’t worry,” Stephani said. “I know where to go.” The glow of the dashboard lights lit up her self-satisfied smile.
“This is another way to the Lone Oak?”
Stephani slammed the brakes. I stiffened my arms to keep myself from flying into the windshield. The Jeep fishtailed. It came to a stop, straddling the roadway. Stephani slapped the steering wheel. "So, it is at that big old tree! I wasn’t absolutely sure.”
I’d served up the location without being asked. Why, oh why, hadn’t I kept my mouth shut?
She rammed the stick shift into reverse and hit the gas, almost sending us off the side of the road. She yanked the stick into first and we flew down the road in the other direction.
“So, he was right.” She slammed her fist into the steering wheel again. “I hate it when he’s right.”
"Who?" I asked so quietly that I wasn't sure she heard my question over the engine.
“Nobody. Never mind. He won’t be bothering us anyway,” she jabbered.
“Who?” I asked again.
“Sit and be quiet,” she spat back. “Let me think.”
You can't do two things at once? I thought. That can't be good.
As we raced toward the Lone Oak, I tried a new tactic. “Stephani,” I said calmly. “You don’t have to do this. Your library work—”
