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

case there was a quiz, I realized that I’d missed something important about Daniel’s letters. Hopping up on my crutches, I interrupted Maria’s endless flood of words. “Thank you so much for coming. I’ll get out of your way so you can get your work done.”

I swung myself down the hall to my writing den and closed the door. Sitting at the desk, I laid the letters side by side. Yes, there they were, the clues I’d hoped to find.

In the first letter, he wrote about war: This war has brought such deprivations down on our heads.  And again, in the second letter, he wrote: This war has killed so many young men…join the Confederacy. It was the time of the Civil War.

His reference to my father suggested that Emma was the daughter of the plantation.

His connection to the desk was clear: I have sat here at my father’s desk. His sense of loyalty was strong: After all the things that your father has done for me and my father, it was the right thing to do.

These clues could lead to the identification of my ghost. I had to smile. Yesterday, Daniel was the source of fright. Today, I’d claimed ownership and the relationship between long-ago Emma and Daniel intrigued me.

I turned on my computer, opened my browser to start a search… and brought my fist down on the desk, hard. No connection. Maybe there was a coffee shop on the way to the physical therapy place.

Physical therapy!

My first appointment was today! If I didn't live up to my promise to show up for every appointment and follow the regimen, the doctor would insist I return to Philadelphia. If I deviated from the plan, the insurance company could cut off my coverage. And I wouldn't heal so I could resume my normal life. No, there was no option. I had to go to P.T.

I checked the printed schedule and looked at the clock. The driver Mr. Saffire hired to take me to P.T. appointments was late. I called out to Maria, who rushed in out of breath.

“Yes, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

I smiled as I shook my head. “I’m fine, but I’m going to miss my physical therapy appointment.” I glanced at the clock. “Unless you drive me. Can you?”

“To where?”

“It’s someplace in Easton.” It was the county seat and center for medical services. “Where all the medical offices are, I think.”

Maria stepped back and shook her head slowly in a wide arc. “No, no, ma’am. I can’t do that.”

“You have a car…”

"Yes, but I don't drive everywhere like you people on the Western Shore," she insisted. "I only go certain places. I do not go into downtown Easton where people drive like maniacs. Ever since all those stores came in—what do they call them—oh yeah, big box stores. It's getting to be a regular big city around here. Nope, I'll drive out here on the Bay Hundred and go to my grocery store, but not on those roads where everyone is in such a hurry or in those big busy parking lots with people fighting over spaces. No, ma'am."

“I’ll pay you extra,” I said, hoping she had a price I could afford.

She came over and stood right in front of me with one hand on her hip. “What part of NO didn’t you hear? Now, if you want me to stop bringing in your food and— “

“N-n-no,” I said quickly. I didn’t want to lose her help. “No, I understand. And thank you for all you do.”

"I haven't done much yet. Now, if I can get back to work." She headed out of the room but made a quick turn toward the front door. "But Mr. TJ might take you."

TJ? How did she expect me to contact—

Deep, rich tones floated in from the hallway. “Hello?  Did I hear my name?”

The man had a sixth sense of knowing when to show up at the Cottage. He walked into the writing den. "I hope you don't mind. I honked."

“I’m late for a physical therapy appointment and need a ride. Could you—”

With a sweep of his arm toward the door, he said, “Let’s go.”

I looked down at my loose-fitting top and slacks. Not really what I’d usually wear to go out, but the thought of wrestling my way up the stairs, let alone the time it would take, spurred me into action.

“I’m ready,” I said. “Let me get my wallet with all the insurance cards.”

Maria had dashed out and appeared with it in hand.

“Okay, now we can go,” TJ urged.

I glanced at the desk and saw that the two letters were sitting out so anyone could read them.

“Thank you, Maria. And TJ, I’ll be right with you,” I said, leaning against the desk, trying to hide the letters behind me.

“I thought you said you’re late?” TJ insisted.

“Why don’t you go and start your car.”

“Truck,” he corrected softly. “I have a truck.”

“Fine, whatever. I’ll only be a minute.” It must have been the expression on my face that sent them moving in opposite directions.

Carefully, I stacked the letters and slipped them into a large cubbyhole with a few blank sheets of paper on top, in case someone got curious.

Chapter Nine

House Calls: “I sent for Doctor Matthews… who prescribed rubbing the extremities and down the back and on the stomach with whiskey and repeat it every half hour.” March 10, 1862

“Doctor Matthews came to see Cassie who is sick in bed.” February 9, 1863

—The Willis Family Journals 1847-1951

Edited and Annotated by James Dawson

TJ had to help me get up and into his truck. It wasn’t like a sedan. I had to climb in, but once inside,