Letters in Time, Reiss Susan [read me a book TXT] 📗

"Perfect. I'll send TJ all the information." Again, her hand touched his arm. "Do come, Emma, it will be fun to have new blood. Now, I must run." She called out over her shoulder. “Who knows, maybe we’ll be reading your work soon.”

As we watched her drive away, I hissed at TJ, “Blabbermouth.”

“I have to go, too,” he said.  He sprinted to his truck before I could say anything else.

Boxed in, again.

Chapter Eight

“All wars are follies, very expensive and very mischievous ones: when will mankind become convinced of this, and agree to settle their difficulties by arbitration? Were they to do it, even by the cast of a die, it would be better than by fighting and destroying one another.”

— Benjamin Franklin

My first full day at The Cottage was so busy, what with visitors, changing locks, the tedium of unpacking, and the fear and excitement of finding Daniel’s letter. I made the tortuous climb up the stairs to bed right after dinner. My journal entry would have to wait.

The next morning, the sun streamed in the window at a very early hour, because I’d forgotten to pull the bedroom curtains. I turned over and put a pillow over my head until I remembered that an answer to my letter to Daniel could be waiting on the desk downstairs.  I’d wanted a reason to get up in the morning that wasn’t a medical appointment. Now, I have one, I thought with a sigh.

It felt like it took me hours to write my journal entry, shower and dress, but I had to get ready for the day first. There would be no running upstairs for me to change or get something. At least, not yet.  When I thought I had everything and was ready to start the day, I went to the stairs and mumbled to myself each time I stepped down, Go slowly. Don’t fall.

When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I was winded. It was going to take time to get my strength and stamina back. But there might be a letter waiting for me. Slowly, slowly, I repeated to myself. When I entered the den, I stopped in mid-step.

There, on the top of the stack, was a letter in flowing copperplate handwriting. I moved into the desk chair and reached for the letter.

Dear Emma,  

Have you forgotten your childhood friend so quickly?  Have you thrown away the love I offered you so truly? Have you buried the feelings you told me you would treasure for your whole life?

This war has killed so many young men. Even though I live, is our love and friendship only another casualty?

I did not leave your side by choice. I hope you know that in your heart. When your father told me that he felt he had to stand by his convictions and join the Confederacy, it was a dark day. When he asked me to attend him during the journey to the other side, I could not say no.  

I wanted to stay with you, protect you from the cruel aspects of this war, but no matter what my conviction is, I had to stand with him. After all the things that your father has done for me and my father, it was the right thing to do. You said you agreed with me. You said it brought you comfort that I would be with your father, attending to his needs and protection during this difficult time.

Have you changed your mind? I know it’s been a long time since I’ve been able to write to you, but I am here now. I hope you will accept me into your life again.

Your humble servant,

Daniel

It had happened again. I guess I should have been terrified of such a bizarre happening. Instead, I settled back in the chair to consider the contents of the letter. There was no question in my mind now. I was not the Emma who was the object of Daniel’s affections, but who was she? It didn’t feel right that he was writing to me in such an intimate way. And who was Daniel? Uncle Jack's postscript about the desk kept me calm as I read the letter from a ghost. Because a letter from a ghost was exactly what I held in my hand, I was sure of it.

All good questions to consider, but not without coffee. As I nibbled a slice of cinnamon toast and sipped my second cuppa, I marveled at the difference in my reactions to Daniel’s letters and this incredible situation. Yesterday, I ran around the house screaming—well, screaming in my head—looking for an intruder. This morning, I hurried down the stairs in anticipation of finding a response to my letter.

I looked out the window at the water, sky and majestic oak tree with its limbs spread wide and its green leaves fluttering in the breeze. It was a view that always gave me a sense of security. I am vulnerable, I admitted silently. The important thing is, what are you going to do about it?

The plan for physical therapy would help rebuild my body. What about Daniel? I could tell this Daniel person – or ghost – to Go Away! Would being dismissed make Daniel angry? Could he retaliate in some harmful way? I could have the desk moved back to the garage. I looked at the cubbyholes, slots, and small drawers and liked what I saw. Something about the organization and neatness appealed to me. Besides, if I buried the desk and its ghost under the tarp again, I'd deprive myself of something that might inspire my story. I could feel my lower lip want to jut out in a pout. It