Letters From The Grave

by Jeanie P Johnson

  “I think my boyfriend would get upset if I gave it to you,” she informed him.

  “I figured as much, but perhaps in the future, you won’t be with him any longer, and I could call you then.”

  “How would you know?” She asked.

  “I have my ways,” he smiled.

  “But I don’t plan to break up with David. We plan to get married someday.”

  “Do you? That’s a shame,” he said softly.

  “No it’s not. I love him.”

  “Why? Because he is on the football team, and you are the head cheerleader?”

  “No. I have known him for a long time. I trust him, and we get along great.”

  “Like now, when he ignores you so he can visit with his buddies? The reason you get along great, is because you never complain when he is not attentive, I’ll bet.”

  “What do you know? You don’t even know me.”

  “Do you believe he is your soul mate?” Doran asked.

  “Maybe,” she responded.

  “Be sure before you tie the knot,” he stated. The dance was ending, and he could see David coming up to claim his partner back. “It just might be me you end up marrying in the end.”

  She gave him a shocked look.

  “I enjoyed the dance,” he said, before she could respond and then he let go of her and walked across the hall and out the door.

  He wondered if it had been a mistake to come meet her. Now he wanted to see her again, and eventually she would want to know his name, or figure out what it was, if she was really that curious. He couldn’t get over the way she felt in his arms though. His grandfather must be right. She felt good in his arms, like she belonged there, and that had never happened to him, when he had dated other women.

  However, it may have been his grandfather’s suggestion, and his reading all her letters, and sort of falling in love with her through them the same way his great, great grandfather had, that made him think that, he had to admit. Seven years! Something had to happen before that, he told himself, as he climbed into his car, and headed home. Now he would have to keep a close eye on her, to make sure she did not end up marrying David, regardless of what her letters said. He would have to find a way to place doubts in either her head or his, he told himself, if it came to that.

  He remembered that her letter said something about David accusing her of cheating on him, even though she hadn’t. Maybe he would be the one to put that thought in David’s mind, if he could find a way to do it, he thought slyly, as he pulled out of the parking lot and headed home.

  It was then that he started watching Emma from a distance, and the more he saw her, the more he started liking her, but he would be taking a big risk, if he kept finding ways to run into her. Eventually, she would suspect something, he thought, so he stayed his distance for a couple of months.

  Finally he gave into his need to talk to her again, and since he knew that she jogged at the park, he decided to have an accidental meeting with her. He made sure that he was in front of her, when she came around the bend, and stopped abruptly to tie his shoe. As she almost collided with him, he reached out and grabbed her arm.

  “Oh,” she cried in shock. “What do you think you are doing…” She didn’t finish the sentence because she was staring at him. “You’re the guy at the prom, Rumplestilskin, I believe,” she laughed.

  “You still have the name wrong,” he told her. “I was happy you were voted prom queen, and your boyfriend ended up being king.”

  “I didn’t see you there after you stopped dancing with me,” she said.

  “Were you looking for me?” he asked.

  She looked away, appearing embarrassed. “Well, you did mention I would end up marrying you someday. I wanted to ask you why you said that to me. I wondered where you had disappeared to. You dance with me, tell me I am going to marry you someday and then you just leave?”

  “You were taken,” he shrugged. “I was just hoping if things changed…”

  “But didn’t you come with a date?” she asked.

  “No. I came to have a dance with you. Once I accomplished it, I left.”

  Emma just stared at him. “Why? You knew I had a boyfriend,” she murmured. “You are the guy that called me on the phone, aren’t you?”

  “Nope, you got the wrong guy, but it was nice seeing you again,” he said, and turned, jogging in the opposite direction than she was going.

  He glanced over his shoulder, and saw her watching him. Guess that was a bad idea, he scolded himself. I had better not create accidental meetings with her again. Next time she would be sure to remember me and start getting suspicious, thinking I am some kind of stalker. He realized she would be right, but in the future, his stocking would have to remain in secret.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  1979

  “I think this whole thing has been a hoax,” Emma exclaimed to Cassandra, as they sat in the living room of Emma’s house, eating pizza, they had just had delivered. “Someone, whose name is Doran Foster, came to Sal’s studio and asked about my paintings. I even bumped into him, on the way into the studio, but I didn’t know it was him at the time, so I wasn’t paying attention. The thing is, I hadn’t brought my paintings to the studio yet, and he specifically asked about the paintings done with the etchings of Emma and Doran Foster’s tombstone. So how did he know I did those paintings? I had just finished the one of Doran the night before. Only before I left for the studio, I had written a letter to Doran and put it in the tombstone, telling him I was going to take my paintings to Saint Louis, and put them in Sal’s studio. And what do you know? A Doran Foster just happens to get there ahead of me, asking about them!

  “He had to have seen my letter. He must be the one writing to me, and since he is Doran Foster, and probably related to the Doran Foster of 1859, he has decided to play this hoax on me, making me believe I am writing to someone in the past, and claiming I am his soul mate. That’s a strange way to hit on a girl,” she wrinkled her nose, and then sobered again. “He must be some weirdo! I don’t know what his angle is, but I’m not going to write any more letters. He must have seen me go to the grave and retrieve the letter in the tombstone. If he really is Doran Foster, his family probably owns the land and he knows the graveyard is there. He may have even known about the first letter…if it was a first letter written by the original Doran Foster.

  “Only it is out in the middle of nowhere, and there were no other cars around. I didn’t pass any cars going or coming, but maybe he had his car hidden behind the toppled down barn or something, when I first got there. Maybe he has a motor bike or something.”

  “What about the pen that was used and the old paper that looked brand new,” Cassandra wanted to know.

  “There must be some logical explanation, but someone writing to me from the past, is not one of them,” Emma frowned. “I told Sal to get Doran’s address and phone number, so I could call him, and to give him my number and tell him to call me. Of course I doubt he will call me, if he is the one perpetrating this hoax. He wouldn’t want to blow his cover. He told Sal he would pay him any price he asked for my paintings.”

  “If what you say is true, and he knows you are writing to someone who you think comes from the past, he has to be checking the grave. We should camp out there this weekend. Write another letter, and put it in the tombstone. We will hide your car behind the barn, and then go and sleep in the grave yard. We’ll lay down in the tall grass so he won’t see us right off, and if he comes in the night, we will know, because we will see his head lights, and if he comes in the day, we will see his car drive up, and then you can confront him. You usually get an answer to your letter, within a day or so, don’t you?” Emma nodded. “He has to check for a letter from you, before he can write back to you, so it stands to reason he has to come sometime over the weekend,” Cassandra insisted.

  “Maybe you are right. I have to go check for a letter anyway, so when I do, we will just remain there. We’ll pack some food, and cards or so
me game to play together, to keep us occupied, and we’ll stay there and see if he shows up.”

  Emma was starting to feel better about the plan, except for one thing. She had liked the idea that she had contacted someone from the past, and could tell him things about the future. Doran Foster must be laughing his head off, every time she tried to explain things to him like the telephone, or the ball point pen. If she ever caught him, she was just going to slug him, she told herself. It angered her to no end. So much for romance from the past… there was something wrong with someone who played this kind of trick, she thought sadly.

  Instead of pulling in front of the graveyard, Emma pulled her car behind the half standing barn, and the two walked over to the graveyard with their blankets and basket of food, along with her writing materials, and the playing cards.

  Cassandra busied herself laying the blankets down a good distance from the graves, in the deep grass, while Emma checked the cubbyhole for a new letter. She noticed one right away, but instead of feeling elated about receiving it, she felt hurt that none of this was even real.

  Slowly she opened the letter, which was sealed with wax the way all the other letters had been.

  April 14, 1859

  My dear Emma,

  Where should I start? I was thinking that it was a shame that if you are my dead wife reincarnated, you cannot remember anything about our life together. What good is it to live lives together with someone, and then not remember anything about it? If we met in the future, we could not compare notes to convince each other that we were truly meant to be together again. Then I began thinking that maybe if I reminded you of some of the things we did together in my time, you might remember, and perhaps tell me something you remember, so I will know if you are truly my wife that has passed on, or not. So bear with me, while I reminisce of the days when we first met, in order to discover if you remember any of it as well.

  The moment I saw you, I knew you were special. You were wearing a white dress, and I thought you looked like an angel coming up out of the mist. I was driving by in my gig, and you were in a field of daisies picking them. Your arms were full of the flowers, and you were laughing in delight. I had to stop and watch you, because you made such a beautiful picture, with the sun shining behind you, making your hair light up, while making it hard for me to see details of your features.

  I sat there watching you, for quite a while, before you even noticed, and it shocked you so much that you dropped your flowers, so I jumped down from my gig, and retrieved them for you. You were so shy, when I handed them to you, and when my fingers touched yours, it was electrifying.

  Emma stopped reading for a moment. Her thoughts went back to when she had bumped into Doran Foster, without knowing it, and she had felt a strange shock go through her, when his hand brushed hers, and she thought it was static electricity. She took in her breath, but then continued reading.

  It was love at first sight, for me, but it took you some time before you would admit you even cared for me a little. I had to woo you, and plead my case, you were being so stubborn, but in the end it was worth it. Once you realized how much I loved you, and that I would go to the ends of the earth for you, you finally relented, and admitted that you felt just as strongly for me.

  Alas, we had to wait the conventional year before we could wed, and that gave us time to get to know each other better. I wish you could remember the day I kissed you for the first time. I had wanted to kiss you for a very long time, but I was afraid you may slap me if I tried. I suppose I shouldn’t have worried because when I gained the courage to attempt it, you melted into my arms, the way I was hoping you would.

  We had been out on the plantation, and there was a swing hanging from the tree. I was pushing you, and you were laughing as the swing carried you up into the air. You were like a child, and woman all at the same time, and every laugh that fell from your lips made my heart skip a beat. Unexpectedly, you slipped from the swing, and I was so concerned that you had hurt yourself that I fell to my knees beside you in the grass to make sure you were alright, and you just looked up at me and laughed that delightful laugh of yours. I couldn’t help myself, so I leaned my head to yours and captured your lips with mine.

  Your lips tasted of honeysuckle and something mystic that I could not put my finger on, but I wanted my lips to linger on yours forever, and it took me awhile before I forced myself to pull away. For a moment, we merely stared at each other, and then you said, ‘Please don’t stop now,” and I laughed and kissed you again.

  I had to restrain myself from kissing you every moment we were together, after that, and I couldn’t wait until our wedding day when I could have you completely. Please say you remember that day. You always told me you would never forget it, and if you are my Emma, surely you would remember.

  Tell me you remember, my dear Emma,

  Forever yours, Doran

  How could he write this? Emma fumed to herself. What was he trying to prove? What would he expect would happen? Surely he couldn’t come up to her some day and tell her he is the Doran she had been writing to, and he really didn’t live in the past. She would hate him by then, if she hadn’t started to figure this all out now. Or maybe he was planning to show up in the future, and make her think she had met her soul mate.

  She swiped at her angry tears, for having fallen for the hoax in the first place, and actually believed she and this Doran character were meant to be together as soul mates. Then she paused. What about the picture of their wedding day? She did look like the woman in the picture. How had Doran Forster pulled that off, she wondered?

  Maybe he knew how to doctor photographs. After all, she had sent her picture to him first. He could have used that and put her face over the face of the woman in the photo, whoever she was, and then put his face over the man in the photo. Only why was he going to all that trouble, she wondered? Was he so bored or desperate to meet her that he would go to any length to get her to fall in love with him before she ever met him? The thought stunned her. Was she falling in love with a made up character from the past? It was beyond her, but she was going to get to the bottom of it, if it were the last thing she did, she swore to herself.

  “So what did the new letter say?” Cassandra asked as she wandered up to Emma, just as she was putting the letter in her pocket.

  “It was just a bunch of trite about how Doran met his wife. Boy when I catch this character, I am going to give him a piece of my mind. He has his nerve trying to make me think we are supposed to be soul mates or something! He should use his talents writing romance novels, not trying to play tricks on innocent women.”

  “We are sure to catch him,” Cassandra, said, trying to cheer her up. “However, maybe you should write a letter in return, so he will have something to pick up when he comes.”

  Emma wondered what she would say to that letter? Should she pretend she doesn’t know this is all a hoax, or tell him that the gig was up? She couldn’t make up her mind.

  She decided to just make it short and to the point.

  April 12, 1979

  Dear Doran,

  I am still having trouble believing this is real. It doesn’t seem like letters could pass through time and space. Maybe there is no such thing as soul mates, or reincarnation. I have to have some kind of proof before I can believe all of this.

  I am sorry, but I can’t remember anything you told me about you and Emma meeting, so perhaps it never happened to me in the past. Perhaps this is all a coincidence, me having the name of my long ago dead aunt that I had never heard about until my father mentioned her to me and someone in my time having the same name as you.

  I brushed past that person in front of Sal’s Studio today. Sal told me someone by the name of Doran Foster had been asking about my paintings. Oh, am I supposed to believe it was you in my time, because he has the same name as someone who has a gravestone next to Emma Foster, back in the 1800’s? However, if it was you in my time, how did he know I was going to put my paintings in Sal’s
studio? I hadn’t even done it yet when he came into the studio and asked about them?

  Who is really writing to me?

  Emma

  She read the letter to Cassandra, and then put it in the envelope and deposited it inside the cubbyhole, and then she and Cassandra went to the blankets and sat in the deep grass.

  “I just want to wring his neck,” Emma said under her breath.

  “I’ll do it for you,” Cassandra laughed. “Don’t take it so hard. It is all just a practical joke. Laugh it off and be done with it.”

  “Yeah, I’m taking all of this too seriously. Perhaps my father is right. Perhaps I do spend too much time in graveyards.”

  “We should think up some ghost stories to tell while we are here,” Cassandra suggested, making a scary face at Emma.

  “I’m not in the mood for ghost stories. I wonder if Doran Foster knows where I live. He must know if he saw me here. He could have followed me home. I just can’t figure out why he is doing this. If he wanted to meet me, why didn’t he just come up to me when he saw me at the graveyard, and tell me this property belonged to his family, or something?”

  “Probably because you were stupid enough to write a letter to a dead man, pretending you were his dead wife,” Cassandra, pointed out. “Maybe he saw you at the grave yard, and you were so busy, you didn’t notice. Perhaps he did not have enough nerve to come talk to you cause you might think he was spying on you or something. Maybe he was too shy, but saw you found the letter. After you left, he read the letter. Then, later, he saw you put a new letter in the cubbyhole and got the idea to answer it. Maybe he wanted to take advantage of your impulse to write that letter, because he thought you would actually believe the letters came from the past.”

  “But where did he get the paper from the past, and the pen that Doran Foster used back in the 1800’s? The man at the old post card shop said if that paper came from back then, it wouldn’t look that new.”