by Reiss Susan
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 be a man who would threaten a woman living on her own with a letter? It was hard for me to believe. Everything and everyone suggested that I could trust him. I opened my mouth, paused, and closed it again.
“Yes?” TJ said.
I didn’t think he was watching me that closely. His extra attention made me uncomfortable again. Maybe his word to describe me was correct: skittish.
“What?” I snapped. “I mean, what?” I repeated in a softer tone.
“It’s just that you looked like you were going to say something.”
“Why would you think that?” I looked away, feeling defensive.
“Well,” he said with a chuckle. “You were sitting there with your mouth open, looking more like a fish gulping air than …” He shrugged. “Maybe it was my imagination.” He put the almost-empty mug down on the counter. “I guess I’d better go and get those new locks if I’m going to get them installed today.” He pushed his hair back off his forehead and settled his hat in place. “And when I come back, I’ll honk my truck horn and knock, so you can come and let me in.”
Feeling a little foolish, but more comfortable with the arrangement, I nodded. “Thank you for coming by this morning,” I said, feeling centered again and eager to get back to my plans for the day.
He moved down the hallway. “And again, I’m sorry about the trouble.” He poked his head into the den. “It looks like you’re settling in.” His back went straight and he charged into the den. “Wow! Did you bring that with you?”
I followed him into my new writing den. I pushed down some growing resentment that this stranger was so comfortable wandering around my house. But TJ had been a great help to Uncle Jack as he got older so it must have come naturally to the man.
Boundaries, I thought. I need to set boundaries.
“I found the desk in the garage. Uncle Jack must have thought it was too big for the room since he liked to watch TV in here."
“I’m not surprised. Nothing goes to waste here on the Shore.” His eyes were bright as he ran his hand over the satiny finish of the writing surface. “What a great place to work!” There were slight indentations from someone’s work long ago, but all in all, it was smooth. “You’ve got all the cubbyholes to hold notes, a flat surface to scribble on and a view of the water. It’s a perfect place to write a story.”
“How do you know I’m thinking about writing a book?” I demanded.
“Um, Mr. Saffire said you were going to try your hand at writing. Kind of a far cry from your old career, isn’t it?”
“What do you mean, my old career?” I was getting agitated.
TJ looked like he would rather be back in the fields than talking to me. “Mr. Saffire said something about …” He seemed to struggle to remember. “Yes, he said you were a kindergarten teacher in Philadelphia.”
“Yes, I was… and I still am.” My hackles were up. Why was I so defensive every time someone mentioned teaching? Did they know something I didn’t know? Was I that afraid that my injury wouldn’t allow me to return to the classroom I loved?
TJ’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Oh, sorry. I was under the impression that you’d resigned and moved down here to the Cottage permanently.”
“I love my job,” I assured him. “I’ve taken extended leave until I finish my rehab.”
“You need to get your body back in shape if you’re going to keep up with kindergarteners,” he said with a bit of admiration I thought.
“Don’t I know it.” I didn’t want to be reminded how much work I still had to do to get ready for the classroom. “I love my job. I love the children.”
“You must miss them.”
I nodded with a soft smile. “You have no idea.” I touched the hollow at my neck for the necklace. I swayed a bit and leaned on the desk for support.
TJ pulled the chair up behind me. I sank into it gratefully. Then spotted the mysterious letter where it had landed on the floor. I didn’t want the inquisitive TJ to see it so, I scooted it under the desk with my foot where I could retrieve it later. “Thanks for your help, but I really don’t need to sit down.”
He shrugged. “Moving takes a lot out of a person and I mean anybody. Might as well rest while you can.” His eyes wandered over the desk. “This desk seems perfect for writing. If you look, you might even find a hidden compartment or two.”
“You seem to know a lot about this desk,” I said.
“I recognize the design. It looks like an original desk used by a plantation manager. He’d work here to keep the books of crops planted, costs, market prices, slaves—bought and sold.”
“Slaves?” My eyes grew wide. “No! Maryland was a Northern state, part of the Union.”
“Officially, yes. In reality, the part of the state east of the Chesapeake Bay had plantations as self-sufficient as they were in the South. They raised everything from corn and wheat to chickens, cattle for meat and dairy, even tobacco. The Eastern Shore had more in common with the rebellious South than the Union North. The landowners had slaves who took care of it all, everything from crops to the owner’s daughter. Who knows what secrets this old desk is keeping?”
His next question caught me off-guard. “What are you going to write?”
It was an innocent question, but my defenses went up again, stronger than ever. “I’m working on several ideas,” I hedged.
“Maybe I can help,” he said, with a smile. “There are—
“I don’t want any help.” Boundaries. “I’m sorry. That was rude. I think I need to see what bubbles to the surface of my imagination.”
He held his hands up in submission. “Okay, then. Don’t want to step on your creative toes.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that.”
He headed toward the hallway and the front door. “Well, I guess I better get to the hardware store and get those new locks. I’ll be back this afternoon if that’s okay.”
I nodded, afraid to open my mouth again. How many times could I bite his head off before he went away?
He paused. “They say tha
t writers need writer friends. There’s a nice group of ladies you might want to meet. Think about it.” As he headed down the hallway, he called out, “And don’t forget to set the deadbolt.”
I heard him close the door. Please, just change my locks so I can keep out unwanted visitors, especially a man named Daniel.
Chapter Four
“I did not visit the place of execution but went from the Easton Gaol to my office feeling sad over the scene. This has been a lovely spring day. The frogs, leather winged bats and spring birds have made their appearance.” March 12, 1875
—The Willis Family Journals 1847-1951
Edited and Annotated by James Dawson
I leaned over and found the letter from Daniel that I’d pushed under the desk. Yes, it was still there, not a product of my painkiller-fueled imagination. Maybe closer inspection would give me a clue to the man’s identity. The words were scratched on in a sheet of my white printer paper in an odd shade of brown ink. The writer hadn’t used a pen with a smooth modern nib. A bell was ringing from a corner of my memory. Had this Daniel used a pen with a metal nib that he had to keep dipping in ink? It all reminded me of the time of Daguerreotypes and ladies in hooped skirts. Plantation days.
That’s ridiculous, I scolded myself. I was about to drop the letter in the wastepaper basket and paused. No, I think I’ll keep it for now. Standing, I reached up and slipped it into the cubbyhole on the top row. I plopped back in the chair, feeling satisfied that I was in charge again. But that feeling didn’t last.
Once again, there was loud knocking at the front door of the Cottage. It didn’t sound like a polite neighbor bringing muffins. Somebody wanted my attention, now.
“I’m coming,” I yelled out as I fumbled with my crutches. As I made my way down the hallway, I realized I hadn’t heard TJ’s truck horn. When I reached the door, I didn’t open it.
“Yes, who is it?” I asked.
“Miss Emma, it’s TJ and a friend.”
When I opened the door, I was surprised to discover his friend was a member of law enforcement.
“Sorry to bother you again. This is Officer Conklin. There’s something he needs to talk to you about.”
I opened the door wide. “Why don’t you come in?”
“No, no need. I just have a few questions for you.” The officer looked young, but something about him suggested that he had seen more, done more, trained for more than I wanted to know.
I moved over to the step to sit down. Who would have thought the stairs to the second floor would be a convenient resting spot. “Hope you don’t mind. Standing tires me out quickly.”
“Of course, ma’am.” He moved into the doorway. “I’m glad you’re here, too, TJ. Saves me a trip to your house.”
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“Has either one of you been over at the Lone Oak, digging around?” He glanced at me and, seeing the crutches, quickly dismissed me as a candidate for a digging expedition. He redirected his attention to TJ.
“No, I haven’t been over to the old tree for a while.” His face filled with concern and his speech took on a bit of a Southern lilt. “Is it okay? Do I need to bring in the tree doctor?”
“No, the tree isn’t the problem,” the officer said. “There are holes dug all around the tree. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Sounds like someone was looking for something,” I suggested.
“More like someones. I figure there had to be at least one other person,” he said.
“Why do you say that?” I asked.
“Because someone hit Kid Billy in the face with a blunt object, maybe a shovel. We found him this morning, lying with his body in one of the holes. He’s in the hospital and it doesn’t look good for the boy.”
I gasped. “How old is he?”
The detective shrugged. “Only seventeen. This is one of life’s cruel jokes.”
I looked at the tree across the creek, out in the middle of nowhere. “How did you find him? I imagine not a lot of people go over there.”
“We got an anonymous call on the Tip Line, probably from somebody who was there or heard someone talking about it afterward.”
“Drugs?” I asked.
The officer looked at me quickly. His eyes narrowed. “Why does everybody from the Western Shore jump to that conclusion. Sure, we have problems here, but it’s not like over there where you’re from.”
“I only meant—”
He folded his arms and spread his feet apart. He was spoiling for a fight I didn’t want. “How do you explain all the holes around the tree? Think they were going to bury the drugs for safekeeping?”
Both TJ and I stared at the officer.
With a great huff born of frustration, he dropped his arms by his sides. “I’m sorry. We don’t normally get this level of violence. If that call hadn’t come in, the kid would have died out there in the field.”
I glanced across the creek again and shuddered. If I’d left the windows open the night before, I might have heard voices, angry ones. If someone hadn’t called it in, I could have been looking at a corpse while I had my morning coffee. Was Daniel involved? A shudder ran through me.
“I’ve got almost nothing to go on,” the officer continued. “Did either of you see anything?”
TJ shook his head. “If it happened late at night, I wouldn’t. I go to bed really early.”
I piped up. “I don’t think it means anything, but I saw a light late last night across the creek. It was there for only a minute then it was gone.”
The officer pounced. “What time did you see it?”
I had to think. “I’m not sure. I’d say around midnight. I saw the light as I was going upstairs.”
“Where did you see it? Can you show me?”
“Sure, I locked the front door and saw the light through one of the living room windows.” I pointed.
The officer and TJ exchanged looks.
“What? Did I see something important?” I wanted to know.
A message passed silently between the two men then the officer said carefully. “No need to jump to conclusions.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. “If you see a light again or anything unusual, you give me a call or call 911, okay?”
I stifled a laugh. “I’m sorry, officer. TJ tells me that I need to rely on smoke signals until the telephone installer comes.”
He looked at TJ. “Dead spot?” My handyman nodded. “Well, maybe I can get them to rush the order along. A person out here alone and in your condition should be able to call for help, if you need it.”
I’d feel better if I had access to the outside world. I should never have cancelled Uncle Jack’s service, an unnecessary expense, but who knew I’d be living here.
The officer said, “Well, I’d better get going, I have other stops to make. Nice meeting you, ma’am. And don’t forget to call if you see or need anything…when you get a phone, that is.”
I thanked him and watched as TJ walked him back to his car.
Even though the officer was trying to speak softly, I heard him say, “She’s a sitting duck out here all alone.”
I bristled and called out. “No, I am not.” To add gravity to my declaration, I got to my feet. Sadly, it took a lot of effort and emphasized how weak I was. I didn’t let that hold me back. “TJ is going to change all the locks today.”
TJ shrugged. “I was on my way to the store when I saw you turn in.”
“I’ll have the only keys,” I announced. “So, no one will be able to get in unless I open the door, sir. And I’m not opening the door for anyone I don’t know.” I gave him a big smile. “Anyway, I need to be here. You know these old houses need care, especially as the weather gets cooler. We don’t want any broken pipes, now do we?”
The officer shook his head slowly. “Ya know, TJ can take care of things like that. Maybe you should go back to where you came from. No disrespect, ma’am.”
“Of course, but I’m not going anywhere. Uncle J
ack left me the Cottage.” I felt my face getting hot with irritation. Did everyone believe they knew what was best for me?
The officer assumed a more conciliatory tone. “What I meant, ma’am, was that you might go back home until we get this figured out, for your own safety.”
“Nice idea, but I can’t go home. I don’t have one to go to.” Both men looked at me. “I sublet my condo. The new tenants wouldn’t appreciate an uninvited guest.”
The officer adjusted his belt with all the gadgets necessary for policing today. “Fine, be careful and lock your doors, at least until we find out what happened and why.”
He got into his car and while he drove down the long lane to the main road, TJ sprinted up my front steps. “Don’t worry. It was probably kids roughhousing.” He flashed me a big plastic smile.
“A shovel in the face sounds like big trouble to me,” I said.
“Well, if you need anything, remember, I live just up the road.”
“Close enough for me to holler, at least until I get my phone?”
He took off his cap, ran his hand through his hair and pulled the cap down tight again. “Tell you what, if you need anything, turn on all your lights. The Cottage should shine like a Christmas tree in the dark. If I see that, I’ll come running. Deal?”
I smiled. “Deal.” Somehow, this handyman had a knack for making me feel better.
Chapter Five
“In Memoriam”
—How to Write Letters
by Professor J. Willis Westlake, 1883
With TJ on his way to get the new locks, I swung myself on my crutches back to the desk and sank into the comfort of the soft leather chair. I willed myself not to look up at the cubbyhole that held the letter.
I’m here to write a book and get strong, not worry myself into a tizzy about a childish prank. My chuckle sounded weak and unconvincing. Despite my best intentions, my eyes wandered toward the letter. I clasped my hands together and squeezed hard to keep me in the here and now. I took a deep breath and took out a small stack of papers that needed attention concerning Uncle Jack’s affairs.