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

Maria's delicious chocolate chip cookies. I had a captive audience so I raised the subject that had been occupying my mind.

“I’ve been doing some research about the land around here. I’ve come across some names. I’m trying to figure out how you fit into all the family genealogy connected to Waterwood.”

He took a sip of coffee. “I don’t know why you’d want to know about that. It’s not that interesting.”

“Humor me, would you?” I shrugged my shoulders. “Of course, if you don’t want to talk about your family and land, I guess I can understand.” The way I said the last words suggested that No, I wouldn't understand.

Not entirely convinced, but willing to humor me, he said, "Okay, where do you want me to start?"

I straightened up in the chair. Maybe now I would be able to fill in some of the gaps. “While working in the Maryland Room, I found a reference that this land was originally part of a land grant to your family before the Revolutionary War, right?” He nodded.  “So, let’s fast-forward to the time just before the Civil War.”

He gazed out the window, but I was sure what he saw was a farm with many acres under cultivation that supported many people.  “That was the glory time.  Waterwood was one of the largest plantations in Talbot County, or, for that matter, on the entire Eastern Shore.  Waterwood was self-sustaining, like an island unto itself. There was a lot of visiting and interaction between the families of the other plantations.  I’ve read that they led a very active social life. It was the family in the main house that had the time for those activities. The farm operation required constant attention.  The plantation manager oversaw everything. He consulted with the landowner, my great-great-grandfather, of course, but it was the manager’s responsibility to make sure that things ran smoothly and the land yielded the best crop.”

“Were there slaves here at Waterwood?” I asked.

His eyes clouded as he took a deep breath. “Yes, there were slaves.  Remember, even though this is Maryland, part of the Union, Waterwood is still south of the Mason-Dixon Line. The economy here was based on the same elements as that of the South.

"People around here were deeply divided. Very few were in favor of going to war. They wanted to find a way to maintain their way of life." He hurried on. "I've done a lot of reading about this, and I can say with confidence that my family, my ancestors were caring people. They treated their slaves well. You won't find evidence in journals or diaries about ruthless taskmasters or whippings at Waterwood. The black folks were well-housed and well-fed."

“But they were still slaves,” I interjected. It was more of a statement than a question.

“Yes, I’m afraid so. To his credit, my great-great-grandfather Benjamin Ross made sure that families were never split up. When slaves got to the age when they were too old to work, they stayed right here at Waterwood. They were cared for and lived out their days with their kin.” His intensity made it clear to me that commitment to the family honor had been passed down through the generations.

I closed my eyes and shook my head. “I’m confused. How does the Emma of Waterwood play into your family?”

His forehead crinkled. “Are you sure you want to know about this?”

“Yes!” Realizing that I may have sounded a little too enthusiastic, I repeated my answer in a milder tone. “Yes, please.”

"Okay then. Let me see if I can remember how the family tree works." He rubbed his hand through his hair as if trying to wake up his brain cells. Then he started ticking off points on his fingers. "Emma was the daughter of my great-great-grandfather, Benjamin F. Ross. She was a young woman, about sixteen years old, when the Civil War began. The story of her parents, Benjamin and his wife Elizabeth, has always been a favorite in the family.

"In the early 1840s, Benjamin was a young, educated man from a fairly well-to-do family. The landed gentry here on the Eastern Shore was very social. They went to Baltimore and Philadelphia for gatherings and balls. On the Shore, they visited one plantation or another for weekend events, like a hunt or a dinner, even a ball. If the portrait at the main house is any indication, Benjamin was handsome and sought after by the young ladies and their mothers.

“He avoided the clutches of matrimony and enjoyed his freedom while he learned the workings of Waterwood. That is, until he went to a glittering ball in Philadelphia."

TJ saw the smile that appeared on my face when he said glittering ball.

"Hey, give the guy a break here. It is the way my mother always tells the story. Do you want me to go on or not?"

"I'm sorry. It's just that…never mind." It was the kind of detail I wanted to hear. I had to tamp down my reaction to his romantic telling or I'd never hear the end of the story. "Please continue."

He inspected the expression on my face, suspecting I was making fun of him. After a few moments, he decided to go on. “Now, you have to remember that this is the way my mother always told the story.”

“Got it.  So, what happened at this glittering ball?”

“Well, dashing young Benjamin attended the ball along with everyone who was anyone. There were even people there from New York and that was a big deal back then. Benjamin walked into the ballroom. The heads of all the young ladies—and their mothers—turned his way. All, except one. She was on the far side of the dance floor, surrounded by