Letters From The Grave

by Jeanie P Johnson

  What drew her attention to the grave in the first place, was not the dogwood tree, but the statue of an angel beside the gravestone, which was barely visible through the ivy, and what ivy did not cover the tombstone was now encroaching about the angel’s feet and shooting its new vines up the skirt of the angel, determined to engulf her as well. Emma knelt and started pulling on the ivy vines and removing them from the tomb stone, so she could read it. As the ivy fell away, Emma caught her breath. She kept staring at the engraving on the stone, which had been protected by the ivy which grew over it.

  EMMA ANNE HARRISON FOSTER

  BORN April 1, 1839

  DIED April 1, 1859 IN CHILD BIRTH

  LOVING WIFE OF DORAN FOSTER

  WHOM THE ANGELS RECLAIMED

  AND HOLD FOR EVERMORE,

  UNTIL HE CAN JOIN HER.

  This was amazing. The woman was born on Emma’s birthday, had her same maiden name, and died on her 20th birthday. It was Emma’s 20th birthday today. This was too much of a coincidence, to have her name, be born on the same day, and died at the age Emma was right now. Was it some sort of omen? Or was there another connection? Was she related to this long-dead woman somehow, considering they both had the same last name? Emma did not know much about her own family history, in spite of the fact that her father was a historian, and encouraged her to do a little genealogy. He claimed she spent so much time at graveyards it should be a natural desire to discover her own dead relatives. For the first time she could ever remember, the fact that this could be a grave of some past relative intrigued her. She continued to pull the ivy away until the whole stone was laid bare, and as she did, she noticed a small lacy brass door at the base of the stone. She saw something inside and decided to see what it was, but the door was firmly stuck closed. It was then that she noticed a small key hole, and realized the door was locked. She peered closer and saw an envelope shoved back in the small cubby hole that the door covered. What was in that envelope, she wondered? She tugged at the door again, but it did not budge.

  Emma decided that instead, she would clear the grave, trim the ivy, do her etching, and maybe later, find out who this Emma Harrison Foster was. She went to her car and pulled out the gardening tools she carried with her for situations like this. She trimmed away the ivy and weeds from around the stone. She often took pictures of the graves she did etchings off of, and because of the dogwood tree, and the angel standing as sentinel beside the grave, she planned to photograph this grave as well. She thought maybe later she would trim the dogwood tree, but right now she just concentrated on the grave, and trimming away the ivy. Emma felt a strange connection to this long ago other Emma who had died in her prime. At least this Emma was able to get married, Emma thought sadly, something she had not managed yet, as thoughts of David invaded her serenity.

  Once she cleared the grave, she got her camera out and took a picture of it, and then got her art supplies and laid a piece of paper over the stone, holding it in place with tape, and then taking charcoal and rubbing it against the paper, picking up the etchings underneath in grand detail. When she finished, she put her art supplies back in the car, and got her trowel and scraped more of the weeds away along the base of the grave marker. As she did so, she loosened a stone that was lying beside the tomb stone. She noticed that it was lying over a small hole, and in that hole was a key. She knew exactly what the key was for. Excitement raced through her body. She would be able to open the brass door and see what was inside, she exclaimed to herself. Emma grasped the key in her hand. It was pretty rusty, but seemed to otherwise be strong. After scraping as much rust off of the key that she could, she put it in the lock hole, but the lock was so corroded it would not turn. She did not want to break the key off inside, so she went to her car for the can of WD40 she kept there, and came back to the grave, and sprayed the fluid into the key hole. After working with the key for a while, it finally turned and clicked. She let out her breath, her hand actually trembling on the key. The hinges were stiff as well, and the door still would not budge, so she sprayed more WD40 on the hinges. After waiting a few minutes to allow the lubricant to do its job, she tried the door again, and it finally opened somewhat stiffly.

  At last the prized object in the form of an envelope was within her grasp, and she pushed her shaking hand into the cubby hole and gently removed the paper, hoping it wasn’t so old that it would crumble in her hands, but apparently the protection of the stone, and the ivy covering the door had kept it from getting damp enough to mold or disintegrate. The paper was stiff, like oil skin, which seemed to preserve it as well. The name on the envelope jumped out at her. The simple name Emma, was penned in eloquent writing, a little smeared from either some dampness or perhaps tears, Emma thought. She turned the envelope over slowly and lifted the flap, tenderly removing the two sheets of paper from inside. Her knees felt weak, so she sat down beside the grave, staring blankly at the paper in her hand, until she finally started to read the contents of the letter.

  April 6, 1859

  My Dearest, Darling, Emma,

  How can I ever explain to you the feelings of my heart at this great moment of loss? Are you truly lost to me forever, or will I somehow be with you in the future eternities of soul? You were my only true love, my soul-mate whom will remain in my heart forever. Your beauty astounded me from the moment I laid eyes on you. Your happy disposition enchanted me the first time you opened your mouth to speak. Your kindness touched me by the very actions you lent towards me and others. Never could I find a mate to replace you, for all your qualities are gifts from the angels, never bestowed upon another. No one can hold a candle to you. No one can outshine your inner reverence and loving attitude, either towards me or others you came into contact with during your short-lived life.

  While I feel like shunning God for taking you from me, I do have to thank Him for allowing me, a mere mortal, to spend even a day with an angel such as yourself. I feel blessed that you were willing to become my wife, to spend the rest of your life with me, even though that life was snuffed out so soon after our vows were made. But perhaps you were not meant for earthly life at this time. Perhaps you were too divine to dwell upon a place such as this earth has become. There are rumors of war, and perhaps God was sparing you some sort of future pain by not allowing you to live through the drudgery that war would bring. If I could join you, I would, but I must remain with our son.

  He is a delightful child. He has your eyes, and every time I look upon his face, yours swims before me in haunting reverie. The memories of you are sweet, while the longing for you is grim. I can hear you singing lullabies to our unborn child, and I am sure he can hear them in his head now that he is born. I wonder if children have a memory of the womb. It would seem generous of God if they did, so those sweet songs of yours could be embedded into his memory, as they are in mine.

  I miss you beyond endurance, but I must stand strong for our son, named as you wished, after your father, Matthew. I know he will grow strong and upright, in a way you could be proud of. It will be my endeavor to raise him such. I have invited my mother to come and live with us, so she can help care for her grandson. It is sad that both of your parents were already dead, and could not see their grandson as my mother is able to do. I only pray you are with them now and all of you can look down and watch his progress beyond the realms of our awareness.

  I hope in some future life, that you and I can meet again, if not in heaven, then in some future life upon this earth. It would be a shame if we could not share each other as we have here on earth already, in some future earth life, so you can raise your own sons and daughters instead of leaving them behind in death. Perhaps in a future time when medicine is more advanced than it is now, and women do not die in childbirth as they seem to do so often nowadays. Maybe in a time when our eternity together is longer than a few short months, we can grow old together and even enjoy our grandchildren of future generations. I only wish it could be.

  Your Loving and devoted husband, Dora
n

  Emma’s hands were shaking even more, after reading the letter. She read it three times before she finally placed it back into the cubby hole, and put the key safely under the rock once again. It had touched her so deeply, that she couldn’t shake the feeling off. She sat for a very long time, just staring at the grave, and the angel standing beside it. Finally, she pulled herself up and got into her car, but even then, she sat and gazed at the grave, thinking of the woman buried there, who had her name and birthday. She thought of the letter, and wondered about the man who had been left behind. It was a single letter, which meant he never felt like leaving another there. She wondered what happened to him and his son. Maybe if she did some research, she could find out, she thought.

  She turned the key to the ignition, and started out of the grave yard, feeling excited and sad at the same time. Everything about the grave and the letter had touched her so deeply, she felt some kindred connection to the Emma Foster lying beneath the headstone. She also felt a strange connection to the man who had written the letter to his dead wife. She shook her head in the breeze created by the movement of the car, as her hair blew about her face, and tried to rid herself of that strange longing that was slowly growing within her. A longing she didn’t quite know what to call. Only that it tugged at her heart in some unexplainable way.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Emma looked across the table at Cassandra. She was trying to think of a way to explain to her all of her confused feelings since she left the grave yard. Cassandra was reading the menu, but Emma could not concentrate on hers. The waitress came to take their order, so as Cassandra relayed what it was she wanted, Emma had to make a rush decision about her own meal. Finally she decided on the Chef Salad, and prawn dinner. The waitress left them and Emma took in her breath.

  “I have been dying to tell you about my experience at the grave yard today,” she began.

  “You had an experience at the grave yard? Didn’t meet any ghosts, did you.”

  “Well sort of, in a freaky sort of way.”

  “I’m all ears, so tell me about it.”

  “I found this really old grave, and you won’t believe it, but the grave belonged to a woman who had my name, was born on my birthday, and died on her 20th birthday.”

  “Wow, is that some kind of omen that you are going to die today?”

  “Not hardly… only I did feel a strange connection to her, but there is more.”

  Cassandra’s eyes widened in anticipation. “So go on. Don’t leave me hanging.”

  “The gravestone had a little door in it, covering a cubby hole. It had a lock, but I finally found the key under a stone, and there was a letter inside the cubby hole. It was written by her husband, addressed to her, and it was so sad, Cassandra. I could feel his pain, and the deep love he felt for her. If only people loved like that today... If I could only find someone who loved me like that, I would be eternally happy.”

  “When was it?”

  “…Back in the 1800’s… 1859 to be exact.”

  “That was just before the Civil War. Men were gallant back then, for sure.”

  “I can’t get the letter out of my mind. It keeps going over and over in my head. He said he wished he could meet her in some future life. Isn’t that romantic? Do you believe we have future lives where we can be with the people we love again?”

  “So now I suppose you are going to try and go out and find him in this life?” Casandra chuckled. “Personally, I don’t believe in reincarnation, but it would be cool if something like that could happen.”

  “No, I wouldn’t even know where to start, and how would I know who was the reincarnation of this person anyway?”

  “And even though you have her name, that does not mean you could be her in this life, either.”

  “Maybe I should see if I can find a Doran Foster listed in the phone book, or something. Only I doubt he would still have that name.”

  “Yeah, and even if he did are you going to call him up and tell him you are his long lost Emma? There is no way to know who in the heck he is in this life, if there is a future life after we die? From what I’ve heard about reincarnation, I don’t think people have the same name in all their reincarnated lives, do you?”

  “Yeah, there is no way to know, and it would be sort of awkward, wouldn’t it, trying to explain it to him? If I can’t remember my past lives, how would he be able to do it? A great pick up line, for sure. ‘Hello, I am Emma Harrison, your reincarnated dead wife from 1859.’ ” They both giggled.

  “I’m going to get the phone book from the pay phone over there.” Cassandra jumped up from her chair and headed towards the pay phone. “You never know. Maybe he does still have the same name. I mean if you are really this dead wife, you still have the same name.”

  Emma laughed. “I’m not going to call some strange person on the off chance he is the reincarnation of Doran Foster,” she assured Cassandra, as her girlfriend seated herself with the phone book, slapping it down on the table between them.

  She started thumbing through the pages, and then stopped, wide eyed. “There is a Doran Foster in here,” she exclaimed, “Doran F. Foster.”

  “I don’t want to hear about it. It is just a fluke.”

  The waitress came with their meal, and Cassandra put the phone book aside. “You may be missing your last chance for everlasting love,” she tittered.

  “He’s probably an old man, or married, or something even if he is reincarnated from back then. Even if he wasn’t, and he was some handsome hunk I could fall in love with, it would be on the rebound, and that is no way to start a new relationship. I just wonder if he is any relationship to that Doran Foster who was married to Emma Harrison.”

  “You could ask him. That would be a good way to get acquainted.”

  Emma wrinkled her nose. “I just wouldn’t have the nerve,” she admitted, stabbing her salad with her fork.

  Cassandra shrugged. “Suit yourself. You are the one who was getting all gooey-eyed over the letter, not me.”

  “It’s just the nostalgia of the past. I wished I had lived back then.”

  “Maybe you did, and you just can’t remember it.”

  “What good is that going to do me?”

  They finished their meal, and left, both going their separate ways, and Emma returned to her little house, thoughts of the letter still knocking around in her head. She tried watching TV, but couldn’t focus on the program, so finally she gave up and went to bed.

  Emma was in the middle of a dream. She could see Doran Foster, bending over her looking sadly down at her, and she realized that she was lying in a coffin, and it was her funeral. He leaned over her to kiss her cheek, and just as he did so, she awoke with a gasp, as if she couldn’t breathe. Her whole body was shaking, and she had to get out of bed to rid herself of the feeling that had seemed so real, as she lay stiffly in a coffin, conscious of all that was going on around her, yet she knew she was dead.

  Why was she obsessing over this, she wondered? Why had the letter affected her so? She paced the floor, as she breathed deeply, trying to calm her nerves. She decided the only way she could get everything out of her head, was if she answered the letter. She would write a letter back to that long ago Doran Foster, and put it in the head stone, and then maybe all these strange feelings would go away. The letter just begged to be answered anyway. She wondered why he had never written another one.

  Emma went to her desk, and got out fancy paper that had roses printed on it, along with a ball point pen. She sat with her hand hovering over the paper, for it seemed like an eternity, before she finally touched the pen to the paper and started writing.

  My Dearest Doran,

  The pen did not move as she sat and stared at the beginning of the letter. What could she say to someone who was mourning the loss of his only true love and wasn’t even alive anymore? If she had been his wife, what would she have written? She started the first line slowly, and then the words seemed to tumble out of her, as though Emma
from 1859 had entered her own body.

  How deep is the love I feel for you? It has always been in my heart from the moment we met, and now in death, I cannot touch you, or feel your caresses, but I am here. I feel the great love you send to me. Your letter saddens me, because I know you will be living your life as half a person, while I am forced to merely hover above and see you suffer. I want to tell you that I am fine and happy, but the part of myself that makes me whole, still remains on earth, while I hover in the ethers beyond your reach, and you remain beyond mine.

  Our time together was so short, barely a blink of the eye in the eternal picture of life. I know, that in some future life we can be together, but how and when that will happen, I know not. I yearn for it to be soon, yet I know you must live out your allotted time on earth and raise our son. Do not grieve, for I am with you still. In every flower, the ones that were my favorite, you can smell and know that I too smell them with you. In the early morning dawn, as the sun barely touches the tops of the trees, and the birds begin to warble to a new day, I will be singing a lullaby to our first born. When the moon is high in the sky, I will be tenderly looking upon your sleeping face, wishing I were there sleeping beside you, listing to your soft breathing, as you dream of me. And it is truly me in the dreams you have, as I visit you in the land of dreams to prolong our connection as long as I possibly can.

  I will comfort you in your darkest days, if you will only stop and feel me near. The breeze upon your face could well be my kiss on your cheek. The sunshine in your hair could be my eyes laughing down at you. The rain is my tears for time lost on this earth without you. I am all around you and will remain so, for as long as you breathe upon this earth. Live your life to the fullest and know that in some future dawn, we shall be together again.

  Lovingly, your wife,

  Emma