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

close my eyes again and snuggle into my pillow. This was the morning of truth: Had Daniel responded? Was he angry about the mention of the miniature? Would TJ believe me?

Life would be so much simpler if I could stay in bed. But curiosity made me swing my feet to the floor. The house was silent except for the usual, random creak. Was TJ still sleeping? Quickly, I pulled on a sweatsuit and made my way downstairs, calling out his name.

Nothing.

I headed straight to the den. I looked at the desk and my stomach clenched. My letter was gone, but there was no reply in its place.

No TJ. No letter.

There was nothing for me to do, but make a cup of coffee, sit on the patio and stare at the Lone Oak. That’s where TJ found me with an empty mug.

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you.” The man was out of breath. His shirt from yesterday was wrinkled. “You were right. I never would have believed it, but it’s all here.” He held up a white piece of paper with the smooth handwriting I’d come to recognize. Daniel had answered our letter.

Dearest Emma,

I read your most recent letter with dismay. Do you not remember what your father told you?

In the high emotion of war and displacement, I can understand why you might not be able to recount the details.

Therefore, I am writing to you with great concern. It is of the utmost importance that you have this information clearly at hand so that you can take care of yourself. I would never forgive myself if any delay on my part put you in danger.

Harken back to the late afternoon that the horse and rider galloped up to the house with news for your father about events at the bank in Easton. As you know, everyone was very nervous at that time. No one knew what would happen between the North and the South or if the Union would survive. Unsettled times are never good for a bank. The rider brought news about a board meeting at your father’s bank. A vote by the board of directors showed a split of six to five in favor of the Confederacy.

My father knew that your father was very nervous about his deposit at the bank and was pacing all night, trying to puzzle out the best thing to do. The next day, he went into town and converted all of his money deposits to gold and silver and brought them home. He had me bring down a strongbox from the attic and he filled it with the precious metals and other valuables he collected from around your house.

Late in the night, the three of us went out to the Lone Oak. By lantern light, your father carefully walked off a complicated pattern, stopped at a spot just beyond the branches, and told me to dig a deep hole. We buried that strongbox together. After we covered it over with dirt and concealed the disturbance with grasses and leaves, he swore us to secrecy and gave us a sacred charge. If anything happened to him, we were to make sure that you, his beloved daughter Emma, had the valuables for your use.

Remember, your father put the strongbox there for you.

If you require it and I am not near at hand, take someone you trust and a shovel to the spot below the limb where we loved to sit and dream. Look to the dawn and walk, counting out the day of your birth. Turn toward the place you loved to play in the mud across the water.

Walk again, counting out your birth month, and pray as we did as children before bed.

I am sorry to be so opaque, but one never knows into whose hands this letter may fall. You and I share a history that began when we were small children.

Knowledge of these places is part of us and can never be forgotten. They are ours alone. No one else can interpret these direct actions and steal what is rightfully yours.

Your mention of the miniature brought a smile to my face. I remember how you cajoled me to sit for you. It was almost painful to watch you struggle with the painting. You had taken only a few lessons when you announced that you wanted to create a miniature of me. When it was finished, you were unhappy with the result, but I thought it was a fair likeness. I rejoice to think that you have it now to remember me.

I want you to know that my whole being yearns to see you. I fear it is not possible right now. I shall content myself with thoughts of your sweet face. As I sit here at my father’s desk, I feel a connection so, here I shall stay, waiting.

As always, your obedient servant,

Daniel

We had our answer about a time long past and today's mystery of the many holes dug around the Lone Oak. There was buried treasure somewhere here at Waterwood. I even had instructions on how to find it if it hadn’t been dug up already. Daniel had encrypted the information in a very basic, but effective way. I had seen the month and day of Emma’s birth on her tombstone only hours earlier at the family cemetery. I understood that the first direction was to the east, but from where? The reference to a limb of the Lone Oak was clear, but which one. Where was her favorite spot to play in the mud? And how did they pray as children? Those words conjured up an old lithograph of a child praying by her