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

Panic. Another side effect of the accident that almost killed me. “What can we do?”

“S’cuse me,” the young man who worked with Boss interrupted. He was so thin he looked like he’d blow away in a stiff wind, but he hefted furniture as if it were made of matchsticks. “During our break, I went for a walk and found an old building right over there in the woods.” He pointed toward a path through the trees.

“The old garage,” I said. “I’d forgotten all about it. Do you think it will work?”

"It's dry, empty, and has plenty of room. There’s a lock in the truck we can put on the door.  Out there, I don’t think nobody will bother your things.”

I started to maneuver myself to my feet, looked at the path again, and fell back in the chair. “I wish I could see it.”

The two moving men looked at each other and smiled.

“I think we can make that happen,” Boss said.  “You’ll be fine if we do this.”

He balanced my crutches across my lap and together, the men swooped me up in the air, chair and all. A giggle escaped my lips. This was the way to travel. I floated through the woods like a bird. At the garage, they whisked me inside and placed the chair gently on the concrete floor. The young man was right. It was big and empty and perfect for storage, except for the tall thing standing in the corner, covered by a marine blue tarp.

I pointed. “What is hiding under there?”

Before the words were out of my mouth, they pulled on the tarp and uncovered a treasure. It was a desk, but not just any desk. It was massive, about three feet wide and six feet tall. The dark wood was scratched here and there, and the dull finish was thirsty for some furniture polish. The large writing surface could accommodate a laptop computer and notes. Above that surface was a large door that hid cubbyholes, slots, and shelves for everything from research books to paperclips.

It was perfect.  Just what I needed to put my secret plan into action. I hadn’t breathed a word to anyone about the lifelong dream I wanted to make come true.

I wanted to write a book.

A book for children that would transport them to a different world, far away from the day-to-day routine, and fire their imaginations. I’d spent the last six years teaching kindergarten, so I had a good idea what they would love. Teaching the little ones how to read was so exciting and rewarding. Of course, I didn't have the germ of an idea or characters yet, but I thought if I relaxed here at the Cottage, sat next to the waters of the Chesapeake Bay, miles away from the demands of modern life, the story would come to me.  And this desk could help channel those thoughts and help me get things done.

Boss inspected the desk. “I haven’t seen one of these in years. I think it’s an old plantation desk.”

“A plantation desk? Here in Maryland? Don’t you mean a farmer’s desk?” I asked. “Plantations were down South.”

“This whole area of the Eastern Shore was small farms and plantations,” Boss countered.

 “Uncle Jack probably picked up the desk in an antique auction somewhere,” I said.

“Could be. Or maybe it’s always been here on this land.” Boss gave the desk a little shove. “It’s old and it’s solid.” He pulled out a drawer and showed me the dovetailing in the corners. “It’s well-built. Can’t figure why a good piece like this would be stored in the garage under a tarp.”  He shook his head and sighed. “Well, Miss Emma, do you want to leave it here or—”

“I want it in the house,” I declared quickly. “If it fits. The doors—”

“We’ll make it fit. Don’t you worry,” Boss said with confidence.

Thinking about their long drive back to Philadelphia, I added, “Once we get the extra pieces stored out here and the desk moved in, you gentlemen can be on your way.”

“I hope you’re not leaving.” Another man with a deep voice tinged with a bit of a Southern accent spoke behind me.  “You just got here.”

Still skittish from the accident, I spun around and wobbled. One of my crutches tumbled to the floor. The stranger had scared me and he knew it. His suntanned face was full of regret.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “That’s a bad habit of mine, charging into a conversation like that. Are you all right, Emma?”

My eyes narrowed as I stared at the stranger.  “Who are you?” I challenged.

“Whoa.” He took a step back and held his hands up, palms out, in surrender. “Easy there.” Behind him, a blur of white zoomed to his side and growled. Calmly, the man held out his hand and pointed to the floor. “Ghost. Down.” The large white dog laid down immediately. “Good girl. Friend.”

“How can I be your friend,” I snapped. “if I don’t even know your name? And how do you know me?”

“Well—” He ticked off each point on the fingers of his right hand. “Mr. Saffire, the lawyer in Easton, said that Mr. Jack’s niece was moving into his cottage today. There’s a moving van outside. Two big men are pushing things around. You’re a woman I’ve never seen before. You’re sitting down and supervising these gentlemen while holding on to crutches.” He retrieved the fallen one from the floor. “Ergo, you must be Emma Chase.”

He paused, then said softly, “My condolences, ma’am. Mr. Jack was a wonderful human being. I’m going to miss him. He wanted me to look out for you.”

I realized that this was