Letters From The Grave

by Jeanie P Johnson

  “What makes you look so worried?” Mark asked, as Doran entered the drawing room to join the group.

  “It is just the political affair of the states. There are rumors of war, and I was wondering how it was going to affect our lives?”

  “That rumor has been brewing since the 40’s and nothing has happened yet,” Mark chuckled.

  “I hear a new man named Lincoln will be running in the next election. Do you know anything about him?”

  “Only that everything he has ever run for, he has lost, so if he thinks he can win the Presidency, he must be pretty full of himself.”

  “I heard a new party is forming under him, and it will change history,” Doran added.

  “Isn’t four parties enough? The Democrat Party has split up into Northern Democrat Party, the Southern Democrats. Then there is the Constitutional Union Party and the Whigs. If he is trying to start a new party, it is a sure thing he will lose, because it will split up all the votes even more!”

  “Well, I know one thing. He is against slavery, and I think the Whig Party is turning into what they call the Republican Party. I would probably vote for someone who stood against slavery, the same as my family has done for years.”

  “Which doesn’t make you very popular with the other plantation owners, I’ll wager,” Mark smiled. “However, I notice your farm is very successful, and your help looks happy and healthy.”

  “As it should be,” Doran winked.

  “I saw you from the window, writing a letter to my sister, and putting it in that little compartment you made in the headstone. What will you do when the compartment is full?”

  “Actually, it never fills up. Every morning each letter I write is gone. I think the angels take them to heaven to her.”

  “Absurd. Someone is playing a prank on you, taking the letters, so you think they have been delivered.”

  “Wishful thinking on my part, I am sure. Only as long as I believe she gets my letters, who cares?”

  “You are a strange one, Doran. You know I warned my sister from marrying you, but she was smitten, and there was nothing I could do to dissuade her.”

  “…Which makes me grateful she stood her ground. While our time was short, it was the best years of my life. Do you believe in life after death, Mark? Do you think we are with the person we love for eternity, even after we both die?”

  “I would hope so if we truly love each other. Even though in our vows, we are told it only lasts till death do us part, there is always hope. However, I know some men may be grateful their wife died,” he gave a chuckle. “Still since my sister was not that kind of wife to you, you must miss her terribly. She always had wonderful things to say about you in her letters to me.”

  “Well, I am hoping that I will be with her again someday, but until then, I will continue to write to her, as though she is still alive, and just waiting for me to be with her again.”

  “You are such a romantic,” Mark laughed.

  Julia, stood up, and rubbed the small of her back. “I am feeling tired, so I will be going up to bed, but I hope that if I ever die before you, Mark, that you will think to pour your heart out in letters to me.”

  “See what you have started?” Mark laughed to Doran, as he kissed the cheek his wife offered him. “Rest well, sweet, and do not talk about ever dying before I do. We shall die together, in each other’s arms, if God will have it, when we are both too old to care about love letters.”

  “I hope we never get too old to stop caring about things of the heart,” Julia smiled. “For me, I hope this little one shows up soon, it is tiring me out with the waiting.”

  “I’ll help you to your room,” Doran’s mother offered, as she rose to assist Julia.

  The two men were left alone, and for a few minutes, merely sat in silence. Finally, Doran spoke. “I know you think that the chance of war is only a rumor, but I fear the worse,” he said quietly. “I want to get prepared, just in case. I would like you to remain here with us, and help me with the plantation. When the time comes, we will have to pull together. I want to make some food storage, and find a way to protect my assets from the ravage of war.”

  “You are being paranoid, Doran. Even if a war did start, Missouri is a neutral state. Some are for slaves and some are against them. The Governor Stewart will never let the state fight for either side. It would tear the state in two so we probably won’t get involved with the dispute.”

  “We will have to pick one side or the other, and I believe that those against slavery will win out in the end, so that is what I am willing to fight for.”

  “Then you would be fighting against your own family and neighbors because I believe that without slavery the economy of the states will collapse, and there are many more who believe that as well.”

  “I have made it work, on my own plantation without slaves,” Doran pointed out.

  “And you farm differently than other plantations. Most plantation owners either grow cotton, or tobacco, or some other large crop that takes a lot of workers to keep running. Most plantation owners would go broke if they had to pay all their workers. It wouldn’t be sustainable.”

  “On the other hand, the plantation owners block all the competition of other farmers who can’t afford to own slaves. Many farmers are forced to head out west to start a new farming policy, so they can survive. There are still homesteaders heading to Oregon, and California, because the south is being ruled by the rich plantation owners, and regular folk can’t make a living farming here. Slaves are escaping and heading to the north. There is a secret organization helping them escape from the south. And even slaves that have been freed by their owners, are sometimes captured by other slave owners, and forced back into slavery again. It is inhumane, if you ask me!”

  “There have been slaves since the bible days. No sense changing a tradition that the bible supports,” Mark insisted.

  “Just because they had slaves back in the bible days, does not mean it was right, or that God approved of it,” Doran argued.

  “Then why isn’t there a commandment, stating thou shall not have slaves?” Mark laughed.

  “Well, there should be,” Doran grumbled. “Men were not meant to own other men.”

  “Next, you will be saying that men should not own animals either. Where, should the line be drawn concerning owning living things? Do you think the oxen enjoy pulling a plow, or a horse pulling a buggy? Just because it is a burden on them, and not the owner of them, doesn’t mean we should stop using them to further our lives. So it is the same for slaves, as far as I am concerned. They may be human, but they are ignorant. They would never be able to support themselves, if they didn’t have an owner feeding them and showing them what to do. They can’t read, or write. How could they ever make it in the real world on their own?”

  “They can’t read or write, because men in power have made it against the law to teach them. As long as a people cannot read or write, or gain higher learning, they will always be at the mercy of those who can! Those in power know that once slaves learn to read and write and make intelligent choices, that they would raise up against the land owners.”

  “Which is a good reason to keep things just as they are,” Mark insisted.

  “Well, all the same, I think it would be good if our family stuck together, if the war does start. So will you agree to stay?”

  “I think you are worrying about nothing, but I will remain here, just to see what happens. I have nothing holding me, since I merely worked as an accountant in the city and don’t have a large plantation to hold me down. My job is on hold at the moment, and I can write my employer and suggest he find someone to replace me. I will be your accountant if you wish.”

  “That would be a good idea. I want to catalogue all of my valuable property, and discover its worth. If a war does break out, I need to know what things to protect, and what not to worry about. I plan to put my most valuable property in a safe place, if the war does break out, so it will not be pilfered by maraud
ing military men, or those hard up because of the war. You could help me do that, and help with allotting the wages to my workers, and keeping track of the profits and losses.”

  “Certainly, I would be happy to do that for you,” Mark agreed, “but if a war does start, I will be fighting for the south to uphold slavery.”

  Doran frowned. He hoped it never came to that, but Emma insisted that there would be a war and it would tear family and states apart.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  1979

  Emma found a gravestone that caught her attention. It was simple, but pulled at her heart.

  IZAC JONES

  Born a slave July 4 1800

  Died a free man May 5 1850

  She should write Doran and ask him about Izac, she thought to herself. It would be easier than trying to look up his history in the record books, which wasn’t easy to do. Doran probably knew a lot about most of the people who were buried there, she thought, which would make her job of creating them on canvas a lot easier.

  The tombstone was in a separate plot, it seemed, set aside for slaves that died on the plantation. The older tombstones were mere crosses with the name of the slave and the date of their birth and death, chiseled crudely in the wood. Many of the crosses were rotted, and couldn’t even be read. Some graves merely had stones marking them, with nothing written on them. The newer graves seemed to show more respect for the person who died, with actual tombstones marking their grave, as though they were considered people, rather than belongings. Only they were still buried separate from the family members, where Emma and Doran’s graves were.

  Emma gazed across the space from the slave side to the family side, and she thought she saw a shimmer coming from the door of the cubby hole on Emma’s gravestone, as though the sun had reflected off of it, briefly. She stopped what she was doing, and went to investigate. It was then that she saw a new letter inside the stone. Her letter was gone, and now there was a new one to take its place. Emma realized it had happened while she was still in the grave yard, and no one had come there. The thought caused her to tremble, because now she could not accuse someone of trying to play a prank on her. It had to be Doran from the past writing to her after all!

  With eager hands, she pushed the key in the hole and turned it, then retrieved the new letter.

  April 18, 1859

  My Dearest Emma,

  I wonder why you wish me to tell you about my wife’s nineteenth birthday. Your letter seemed urgent. I hope nothing has happened to upset you, because you seem to doubt that I am really writing you from the past. If you are truly remembering the past, then I am pleased, because it tells me that you haven’t forgotten me even through the ethers of time.

  It was only a few weeks before we were to be married, when Emma turned nineteen. Her mother was giving her the birthday party, but we decided to have it at my plantation, as a surprise to her, so the guests could gather without her being aware of it. The weather was pleasant and warm for April. I believe the best season in Missouri is spring and fall, when the humidity and heat has left the air. Emma looked as fresh as a little blue flower in her blue dress and bonnet, which matched the color of her eyes. She walked across the lawn, and then saw us gathering to wish her the best.

  Her cheeks were so pink and excited, and her eyes sparkled, as she laughed in surprise for finding all her family and friends gathered for her pleasure.

  You asked about the gift I gave her, which was a globe with lovers kissing inside. There was a little compartment in the base of the globe, where I put a card for her, but I don’t think she ever even noticed that the bottom could be opened. She merely shook the globe, watching the sparkles fall about the miniature figurines inside, and then she was hugging me, and exclaiming how wonderful the gift was.

  Later, she placed it on the mantle of my parlor, even though she had not married me yet, and it has remained there to this day, where I can look at it and remember that day. The globe will be the last treasure I will hide away, because I could not bear to have it out of my sight, until absolutely necessary.

  Lovingly, Doran

  Emma stared down at the letter in her hand. She had remembered that long ago birthday, and that she had put the glob on a mantle. The thought excited Emma, and she wondered how many other things about her past experience with Doran she would be able to remember? They must be soul mates, she thought firmly, with high hopes, but was the Doran who gave her the very same gift on her own birthday, the same Doran who had given it to her in the past? The card had said, remember our love. Could it be that the Doran of the future remembered her from the past, and was trying to jog her own memory by giving her the same gift he had given her in the past? Only how had he gotten the globe? It must have been handed down in his family. Now she wondered even more about the mysterious Doran who was buying her paintings, and sending her gifts, and yet did not want her to know where he lived, even if he did make sure she knew he was in the area somewhere, and knew about her and that she was doing paintings of him and her from the past.

  How did that Doran know when she was going to take her paintings to the studio? He would only be able to remember events from his past, not events that hadn’t even happened yet, she reasoned. This strange time crossing was starting to become complicated, she thought to herself, as she turned from Emma’s grave, and went back to working in the slave’s plot again.

  Her eyes gazed over at the church, and she remembered how Doran had said he was going to use that building to store his treasures in. He had said something about a place under the floor. She hoped he had done it before the plantation had burned down, but there was no way to discover it, until time passed and he told her if he had been able to protect and then retrieve his belongings or not. If that glob still existed, he must have been able to save his belongings, before he was killed. The man who appraised it claimed it was even expensive back in the day Doran had given it to Emma.

  At least some of his family had survived, since the Fosters still lived in the area, and a Doran Foster was buying her artwork. Doran had mentioned that Emma’s brother had come to stay with him. Her past family had come from this area as well, so he must have remained here to bring on more Harrison’s to follow, and that was how her and her family ended up there.

  Here she had thought that her father’s interest in history had been boring, and now it suddenly seemed exciting to her, when she realized that somehow she had played a small part in the past history of both her family and the Foster family as well. Was it fate causing her to discover the letter of her husband in her past life, so she could find him again in this life? It gave her hope, because she knew now who had given her the globe and why he had given it to her on her nineteenth birthday. The day she had announced her engagement to David, she thought suddenly. She had almost made the mistake of her life, marrying David, and only a few weeks ago she was lamenting over losing him.

  Finally, Emma gathered up her art supplies, and got in her car. It would be time to get ready for work soon, and she had to get back to living in the here and now again. She was going to be late for work, if she didn’t hurry. She needed to put all these thoughts out of her head and focus on her art, and making a living doing the waitress thing, until her art sales could support her.

  Emma grabbed her apron from the hook, as she entered the back kitchen of La Casa, getting prepared to face the crowd for the night. “Well there you are,” Madge, the other waitress said, as Emma started tying her apron strings. “Something came for you. Do you have a new boyfriend, or is it David, trying to make up to you?”

  “What are you talking about?” Emma asked.

  “The flowers! They’re sitting on Mr. Romero’s desk. A card is attached.”

  “Hmmm, maybe David is trying to make up with me, but I haven’t heard from him ever since the breakup.”

  “Maybe he is discovering what a mistake he made, dumping you like that, and accusing you of things you never did.”

  “Yeah, but even if he has
regretted it, I would never get back together with him again. I don’t think he was my soul mate.”

  “But you have known him most of your life. Why do you think he isn’t your soul mate?”

  “He had no problem dumping me, and if he were my real soul mate he would never want to let me go. Only I don’t have a new boyfriend, so he must have sent the flowers.”

  “Which may mean that he is your soul mate, if he is trying to get you back again,” Madge laughed.

  Emma turned and went to her boss’ office. She tapped on the door, but no one was inside, so she pushed the door open and looked in. On Mr. Romero’s desk was a large vase of blue daisies, blue bells, and other blue flowers, that Emma didn’t even know the names of. She pulled the card out and read it.

  To the fresh little blue flower of my life who was there for me in the past, and hopefully will be there for me in the future.

  Lovingly Doran

  Emma almost dropped the card. He knew what she had read in Doran’s letter today. Or was it Doran’s future-self remembering what he had written to her in that letter? He was letting her know that he was there, waiting for her, when the time came, but apparently he didn’t think the time was right yet. He had sent her the globe to remind her that she had a soul mate, even before she ever started writing to Doran of the past, but now he somehow knew that she knew of his existence today. Did he think she recognized him when she had bumped into him, coming out of the studio?

  She remembered how Doran had begged her in one of his letters never to stop writing him even if she did find his future-self in her own time period. Perhaps this was his way of letting her know that she would never meet his future-self, until his past-self had died. That wouldn’t be for five years, she thought. While his future-self seemed to know about her, and that she was writing to his past-self, how did he discover that? Had he been following her to the grave yard without her even knowing it?