by Reiss Susan
How are you at a game of chicken, FANNY?
I pushed the pedal to the floor and ducked down in case she got off a lucky shot. She leaped out of my path. I was on my way to the road and out of this nightmare.
But not quite.
Lights flared behind me. The truck. Josh.
He was coming up on the right to bar my way to the road. I couldn't outrun him. I pushed the pedal to the floor. The Jeep shuddered as it crossed the rough ground. It was built more for fun than getting out of trouble.
I stole a look over my shoulder. Josh was gaining.
I had only one choice. I gripped the steering wheel. My timing had to be perfect. Stones kicked up by his big tires dinged my pathetic beach ride. It was my only weapon. I had to make it work.
He was closing in.
NOW.
I yanked the wheel hard to the right and aimed for his door. The shock on his face was the last thing I saw. The last thing before everything went black. Just like in the accident.
Chapter Forty-Three
“The best domestic letters are dictated by the heart rather than the head. Loving word is precious, filling the soul with sunshine, and making it for a time oblivious of pain.”
—How to Write Letters
by Professor J. Willis Westlake, 1883
“Emma?” A man’s soft voice called me out of the darkness. “Emma, come on. Wake up.”
I felt a touch on my shoulder.
"TJ! Don't move her," someone instructed. "Her neck, be careful of her neck. Watch her head. That windshield is spiderwebbed. She must have hit it hard."
Slowly, I recognized one of the voices. TJ. He was here. I didn't want to open my eyes. I didn't want to face what I had done to myself. It was enough to know that TJ was there. It meant that Fanny and her brother Josh couldn't hurt me. Couldn't hurt me anymore than I'd hurt myself.
Someone pried open an eyelid. A strong white light filled my eyes. Was this the light at the end? Had I survived one accident only to lose my life in another, one of my own making?
I was drifting back into the great fog when his words called to me. “Emma, come on. Let me know you’re here.” His voice was filled with anguish.
Pain was starting to register. I wasn’t sure who was hurting more, him or me? The man said I hit the windshield and broke it. But my head didn’t hurt. I thought it should, but it didn’t.
What about my leg? I thought in a panic.
I tried to flex. It moved. Maybe it’s okay. I took a deep breath in relief and moaned. My chest! Oh, no!
“Emma! Thank the Lord! You’re here!” TJ said in great excitement.
I might be here, but I’m in a world of hurt.
The real world formed into a mass flashing red and blue lights. Strangers poked me. Asked me inane questions, like what was my name? Then I was bundled into an ambulance for a heavenly ride to the hospital on a comfy cloud of drugs.
Later, I found out that it wasn’t my head that had broken the windshield. It was the sheer force of the impact. The airbag had saved me, but at a price. I had to remember to move slowly and carefully until my ribs felt better.
In those crazy few moments at the Lone Oak, I had saved my own life. Josh hadn't walked away from the accident. He was someplace else in the hospital, handcuffed to his bed. In my statement to the police, I repeated what I had heard Josh say.
To avoid a charge of accessory to murder, Stephani had corroborated my testimony and agreed to testify, if I wouldn't press charges for breaking-and-entering my house and kidnapping. They worked out something with the insurance company about her mangled Jeep.
My stay in the hospital was tense at best. I was worried about Daniel. What if he wrote to me and I wasn’t there to answer his letters? Finally, I persuaded TJ to bring me some paper from the stack on the plantation desk and any letter that might appear.
Fortunately, Daniel wrote in his first letter after that awful night under the Lone Oak that he was tired and wanted to rest a little. That worked for me. I assured him that I would respond when he wrote again.
I struck a compromise with the doctors that I would be their best patient, if I could go to rehab for intense therapy for my battered body. I was haunted by a deep-seated terror. I'd convinced myself that as long as I stayed in the hospital, they could amputate my leg. They agreed and moved me to a place that didn’t have an operating room. The physical therapy sessions were a challenge, but they got easier as my body healed. The following weeks did me a world of good.
Whenever TJ took a few hours off from the harvest, he came to visit. Of course, Ghost was by his side and became a favorite with the other patients. I began to look forward to his frequent phone calls with the combine rumbling in the background. We had lots to discuss. There were the official statements and the gossip about the case involving Stephani and Josh. And I learned more than I ever thought about the details of a harvest.
The one thing on our minds the most was the question of Emma and Daniel. We agreed to wait until I was released from rehab before making any final decisions, but Daniel wouldn’t be denied.
Chapter Forty-Four
“When we see ourselves in a situation which must be endured and gone through, it is best to make up our minds to it, meet it with firmness, and accommodate everything to it in the best way practicable. … while fretting and fuming only serves to increase our own torments.”
—Thomas Jefferson
Just a week before my release date, I knew there was a problem when TJ didn't respond to my bright, welcoming smile. His eyebrows were drawn together. His mouth hung open a little.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, reaching for his hand. Afraid, I looked behind him for Ghost. “Where’s…”
“He’s coming. Mr. Tomlinson is giving him cookies.”
Relieved, I thought of something else dear to me. “Is something wrong with the Cottage?”
He shrugged and handed me a letter.
My Dearest Emma,
I am suffering. The loneliness I feel sitting here at my father's desk is draining me of life. I don't understand why I never see my father. Why can't I go out and find you? You know that I'm here, but you do not come. Have I offended you in some way? Did you find what your father left for you in our special place? Have you slipped the hold that I thought Waterwood had on you? Please, tell me.
Perhaps I should break the invisible chain that keeps me here and find you. I cannot survive much longer. Tell me what to do. I must relieve this pain.
Now and ever yours,
Daniel
We huddled in the corner of the sunroom and spoke in riddles in case someone overheard our conversation. We tried to persuade ourselves that Daniel could be appeased by a letter to buy us a little more time. After the nurse delivered my one pill, I suggested we walk outside.
“It’s a little chilly.” TJ was always thinking about my comfort and well-being.
"This is a heavy sweater. I'll talk fast." I zipped up the white cable-knit sweater, grabbed my cane, and headed for the door. Outside and out of earshot, I summarized the situation. “The way I see it, we have only three choices. Two of them involve dealing with Daniel by letter.”
“What do you mean, deal with him?”
"The first way is to placate him. Tell him not to do anything yet."
“Okay, we’ve discussed that,” TJ said. “But after reading this letter, I’m not sure that will work.”
"That's why there's option two. Tell him that I, I mean, Emma has found someone else."
TJ drew in a quick breath. “That’s risky.”
“I know.” I waited because TJ took off his cap, ran his fingers through his hair. When he replaced his cap, he said, “Or we could tell him the truth.”
“What?” The word came out in a whispered scream. “Are you crazy?”
He shrugged. “Or we just ignore this letter and take away the stack of paper from the desk. If he doesn’t have paper, he can’t write to you. Then we put the desk back under a tarp i
n the garage and forget all about this.”
My breath caught in my throat. That was probably the easiest solution. But, somehow, I couldn’t see myself doing that to a man I’d come to know and admire, even though he was dead. I searched TJ’s face, but there was no comfort or resolution there. His furrowed brow told me that he wasn’t happy with any of the options.
A shiver ran through me. It was either from the chilled breeze that had picked up or the thought of possible consequences of our decision. I was about to tell TJ we could wait no longer when I touched my neck and remembered the miniature Emma wore in the portrait.
“There is one other alternative, TJ.” He gave me a hopeful look. “We could try to reunite them.”
“Let’s go inside. You’re shivering. But first, will you tell me how we’re going to do that?”
I laid out my plan. When we went back to the sunroom, he was smiling and I was shivering with excitement and a little anxiety.
TJ must have been a Boy Scout because he came prepared, just in case. We found a quiet spot with a desk in the rehab facility where I could use the inkwell and write a letter to Daniel.
Dearest Daniel,
I read your letter and my heart broke. I cry, knowing how lonely and confused you must feel. Many things here at Waterwood have changed since you and my father rode south. There is only one thing you must know. I believe you know it in your heart. You must have faith in my constancy of affection.
My dear Daniel, I beg that you be patient only a little while longer. I beg that you stay at the desk of your father. It is the key to our happiness. It is the way I can come to you. Trust me in this.
Think also of the miniature I painted to capture your dear face so I’d have you with me always. I know it is no great artistic work as I was a fledgling painter. To me, it is the dearest portrait ever created. As you sit at the desk, think of it and remember the wonderful times we spent by the water.
Be patient, my love. I’m coming.
Sincerely and entirely yours,
Emma
TJ read the letter over my shoulder as we waited for the ink to dry. I heard him clear his throat.
“Is something wrong?” I asked, worried.
"No. It's just that…are you promising Daniel that Emma will join him? I mean…"
I gazed at the letter again. “Yes, I guess I am.” I felt a shiver go down my spine.
"Isn't that a big leap? What if… What if this doesn't work?" he said with great reluctance.
“You’re right. What we’re doing requires a great leap of faith. I think we have to give him hope so, he'll give us time to put our plan into action. If we don't, he could go on a rampage now while I'm still in rehab. I wouldn't want you to deal with that alone. I'll be out of here soon. In the meantime, you have some renovation work to do."
“And what if our plan doesn’t work?”
TJ spoke so softly I barely heard him. But his concern was clear. I had to calm the unease of both men in my life. "Let's trust our plan. If it doesn't work the way we hope, we'll deal with it together."
Chapter Forty-Five
“The butterfly I folded when I first came to the Cottage helped me transform my life. I can only wish the same for Daniel.”
—Emma’s Journal
On the day before my release from rehab, I sat down at the desk in the out-of-the-way corner I'd used before. With paper, inkwell, and pen, I began to write what I hoped would be my last letter to Daniel. I wanted it to be ready when TJ came to visit so he could put it on the plantation desk tonight.
My Dearest Daniel,
At last, all is in readiness. I am coming to you. Stay by the desk. Remember the miniature I wear on a necklace. I yearn to stand with you by the water of our favorite creek and to gaze at the majestic Oak Tree where we've spent so many happy hours. Know that I believe with all my heart that love transcends all. I am coming to be with you for all eternity.
Your Beloved Emma
The next day, my day of independence, TJ picked me up. I was eager to get home to the Cottage. It would be my first opportunity to see the results of TJ’s labors. He'd spent a lot of time walking the shoreline of the creek, looking for the spot where Emma had stood for her portrait. We were both surprised that it was at the dilapidated cabin down the way from the Cottage.
As we drove down the main road to St. Michaels, he took his right hand off the steering wheel and gestured towards the back seat. “I know you’re anxious to get out of rehab, but you’re coming home with only a cane. Is that wise? Are you rushing things… again?” He gave me a crooked smile.
I too remembered that awful night after the writers group meeting when I had fallen. The night he had taken care of me. I smiled again. His concern touched my heart. “I am much stronger. Not to worry. There is no way I want to go back.”
Carefully, he made the turn for the long driveway down to the Cottage. It was wonderful to see the field of golden stalks that surrounded the Cottage. He pulled up at my front door and I released my seat belt.
“Just leave my things in the truck.” I scrambled out with my cane. “Let’s go to the cabin. I can’t wait to see it.”
“I hope you like what I’ve done. The guys will be here soon to move the desk.” He hustled behind me. “Hey, wait up! Be careful. The path isn’t like the smooth floors at rehab.”
“I’m sure you’ve done a great job, but it doesn’t matter what I think,” I called back over my shoulder as I scooted along. “It’s all up to them.”
At the curve in the path, I stopped and gazed at the cabin that was no longer in danger of collapse. It looked better than it had during my years visiting Uncle Jack. I could feel a tear tracking slowly down my cheek.
Catching up to me, TJ asked with a little hesitation, “What do you think?” He saw the tear on my face and his face crumbled. “Oh no, you hate it,” he declared, his Southern accent clear which signaled how much he cared. “I’m sorry. I’ll—”
“It’s perfect!” I wiped away the tear. “TJ, you’re the best!”
“Hey TJ!” a gruff voice called out. “We’re here and ready to work.”
It was time to put our plan into action.
I made my way back inside to my writing den to prepare the plantation desk for its new home. I gathered the stapler, scissors, and ruler along with the modern pens and pencils. I emptied the drawers of the thumb drives and chargers, anything from the modern world. If everything worked out, there would be no need for such things. I put the inkwell, bottle of ink, and what was left of the paper that had started it all in the box. I had a plan for them, too.
The men transferred the parts of the plantation desk down the narrow path and reassembled it in the restored cabin. I think we convinced them that I'd be working on a book at the desk there.
“I’ll go with the guys and pay them. Be right back,” TJ said.
Finally, I was left alone in the renovated cabin in the middle of the woods by the water. This was the place I’d spent many magical hours as a child. Where I sat in an antique dining room chair just months ago feeling lost. Now, I felt like I’d not only found myself again, but discovered I shared my love of this place with another Emma. I had to tackle one final task to complete before we’d lock the cabin.
I wanted to leave an origami shape in the cabin for the young lovers. Research showed that the butterfly symbolizes a soul set free. Color is always meaningful in origami as well. I found that dark red was often used to represent love and a bond with a special someone. What could be better than a crimson butterfly? I’d practiced folding the butterfly in the final days at rehab. Now, with confidence, I calmly folded a butterfly for Daniel and Emma. Now, it sat on top of the things in the box that TJ carried down to the cabin for me.
TJ soon returned and we looked around the renovated cabin, now solid and watertight. “You did a beautiful job, TJ. I’m so glad you added the window. It frames the view of the Lone Oak perfectly.”
TJ beamed with optimism. “What do we d
o with these things?” He pointed at the box.
“You’ll see.” First, I put the bottle of ink in a cubbyhole. The inkwell and pen went above the short stack of paper on the desk’s writing surface.
“Is that enough paper?” TJ asked.
“Hopefully, Daniel won’t need any.”
“Why?” TJ asked, then he brightened. “Of course, if he is reunited with Emma, he won’t write letters to you anymore.”
And if this doesn’t work, I thought, an angry letter will appear. But I didn’t say anything. I wanted to stay positive that our plan would work.
“And now, for the other vital piece.” I opened a small jewelry box I’d found in the Cottage to keep the miniature safe. “I’m so glad you unearthed this necklace.” I gently laid it on the sheets of paper and whispered a plea for Emma to come to this place to be with Daniel.
TJ and I stood quietly for a few moments. There was nothing else to say. Then we headed out through the door and TJ locked it. It was time for us to go on with our lives.
I led the way down the path back to the Cottage. At the front steps, I picked up my cane, put it on my shoulder like a rifle, and went up the steps, holding on to the rail.
“Wait! You’re walking,” he said in surprise.
I turned back, laughing. “Yes, I have been since I was about a year old.”
“No, I mean you’re walking without the cane.”
“The doctor and the therapist both said I don’t need the support, but it would be nice to have it for the next week or so to build my confidence.”
