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

“May I hand you the other crutch?” he asked carefully.

I hid my burst of frustration as I reached out to accept it. “My lawyer said you’re supposed to be my go-to man for things around the house, is that right?”

“Yes, ma’am, that would be me. I’m your handyman and an active local farmer. Anything you need, let me know and I’ll take care of it.” He pulled an index card out of his shirt pocket. He wasn’t wearing a T-shirt like so many other men did on the Shore. Instead, his pale-green cotton shirt had a buttoned-down collar and long sleeves rolled up his suntanned arms. "I wrote down my name and cell number. I'll put it on the refrigerator door where you can find it when you need it and have reliable phone service," he added as he took off down the hall to the kitchen.

I followed him, swinging my crutches, sometimes hitting the wall. “I should write down my cell number for you.”

“It’s okay, ma’am. Mr. Saffire gave me all your contact information,” he said with a smile.

“He did, did he?” I felt a little exposed. This guy looked nice enough, but…

He must have read my thoughts because he said quickly. “I have your number right here.”

He patted his shirt pocket on his rather broad chest that I couldn’t help but notice. I chuckled to myself that I must be getting better.

“I always have my cell turned on, but I’ll stop by to see if you need anything.”

“Oh, I don’t think that will be necessary. I’ll call you when I want something.” I needed to be clear that I didn’t want neighbors and new friends dropping by. I’d come to the Cottage to do certain things, and I meant to accomplish what I’d set out to do, as always.

“Remember, cell coverage is spotty here. There’s a great signal on Route 50 for people heading to the beach.”

“But down a country lane, coverage isn’t so good?” I said.

“Don’t worry. Mr. Saffire arranged for a landline to be installed in the house. The phone company should be here any day now.”

“There’s no specific time? Like today?”

“Well, I don’t want to speak for the phone company, but there is such a thing as Eastern Shore time.”

I began to nod slowly. “I see. The installer will be here when he or she gets here?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Our conversation petered out. The silence felt awkward. I grasped for the first thing that came to mind. “Your name is TJ? Is that short for Tom Jr. or something?"

“Not exactly.” He laid on a thick Southern drawl. “But my family does have deep roots in the South, Miss Emma.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, something I hadn’t done much lately.

Chapter Three

“I took an old mahogany Bureau to the shop for repairs… I found this inscription on the bottom written in the varnish in a firm large way July 16, 1792 by L. Tarr for James Dawson, Baltimore, MD. We have given the piece to…”

—100 Years of Change on the Eastern Shore: The Willis Family Journals 1847-1951, Edited and Annotated by James Dawson

“That’s better,” TJ said with a big grin. “Maybe we could start over.” He took a step back. “Good morning, Miss Emma.” He made a deep bow from his narrow waist. “Thought I’d drop by and see if you had a good night. I hope this fine morning finds you well.”

  I could feel my smile slowly melt off my face as I remembered the letter from Daniel on the desk. “Of course.  Why wouldn’t I be?” I hoped he couldn’t hear the crack in my voice, but he did.

He turned his head slightly to one side and frowned. “Well, I don’t know, right now you seem jumpy, like a spooked filly that had seen—”

I rushed to interrupt.  “No, no, I’m fine.”

He waited and the silence stretched between us again.

I quickly added, “I slept very well. I always do when I’m here at the Cottage.  Been that way since I was a child.”  If only my voice sounded more convincing.

“What’s got you so…” The rest of his question dangled in the air between us.

This was the moment. I almost blurted out that I’d found a letter from a stranger named Daniel. But something made me pause. What if TJ had written the letter? No, I’d better keep it a secret for now. If he had, I would be smart not to let him know that he’d frightened me so easily. I needed to buy time to figure out what to do.

I pointed to a machine on the counter. “Would you like some coffee? It’s always fresh and perfect every time.”

“I have a machine like that,” he said with pride. “It was a gift. Never would have bought it for myself. Now, I can’t imagine living without it. May I?”

I nodded and sat down. He selected a coffee pod of a dark blend and set the machine to brew. “I really like how it works. I can dash into my office between chores and make myself a mug.  Morning comes pretty early here and coffee is the fuel that keeps me going.”

He made a fresh cup for me and I watched him over the rim of my mug as we sipped our coffee. He was tall, my guess about 6’2”. Under his fresh shirt, his arms and chest were well-developed from working hard on the farm, not hours in the gym. I suspected that if I touched his arm, it would be rock solid. His face suggested gentleness. His hazel eyes, tending to green, reflected the land where he made his living. Could he