Letters in Time Reiss Susan (little red riding hood ebook free txt) 📖

were stepping on its toes. As much as I wanted to find a heart and initials carved into the bark, there was no trace of any man-made mark there. Daniel and his Emma had met at this old tree more than 160 years earlier. Even if he had used his knife to make a mark, the tree would’ve reclaimed its skin by now.

“You look sad?  Are you disappointed?” asked Stephani.

“What?  Oh, no. I was thinking…”

“If you were thinking about treasure, you should share your ideas with me. We could compare notes.” She laughed lightly. “I don’t believe anything is here, but it’s fun to think about.”

“Somebody thinks there is treasure here.” I pointed at the ground. “Check out all the places the police tried to fill in the holes.”

“Have you talked to the police? What did they say?” Stephani wanted to know.

Fascination with crime wasn’t my thing. Normal life was daunting enough. But I humored her. “The detective said some people were out here digging these holes looking—”

“For treasure?” Stephani asked eagerly.

“Well, he didn’t say specifically that they were looking for treasure, but they were looking for something.”

“What else did he say, the detective, I mean?”

“He thinks a fight broke out for some reason. Somebody swung a shovel and a young guy was hit in the face.”

“And…?”

“And he died.  Now, it’s a murder investigation.”

I twisted in my seat so I could get a better look at Stephani. “You don’t know anything about it, do you?” I asked slowly.

“Me?  Why would I?”

I shrugged to ease the sudden tension I felt in the air. “I don’t know. You live close. Maybe you knew the boy who died?”  Maybe your brother knows something.  But I kept that thought to myself.

“I don’t know anything. I think what happened is horrible,” she said with a shudder. Stephani ran her hands up and down her arms as if to warm them. “It’s creepy that those old women lived here. Do you think they knew about a treasure?”

“If they did, I think they would have dug it up and lived better lives.”

“Well, if you have any other thoughts about finding treasure, you will let me know, won’t you? Because it sure doesn’t look like those people found anything, but trouble.”

She looked at her watch. “I’m afraid I have to get going. I don’t want to be late. Do you mind if I take you home now?”

“Ready.” We rode back to the Cottage in silence, which left me alone with my thoughts.

Later, sitting cozy in my writing den, I couldn’t stop staring at the Lone Oak across the creek. I was almost sorry that I’d let Stephani take me over there to look around.  Seeing evidence of treasure hunting and violence unnerved me. I preferred my romantic vision of Emma standing by the tree in a long flowing gown, watching Daniel in his wool shirt and trousers carve their initials into the bark.

Wanting, no, needing to reconnect with the young lovers, I opened the yellow file folder containing Daniel’s original letters.  There would only be blank pages that had once held his beautifully flowing script. I was about to reach into the drawer where I kept the jump drive backup when I saw there was writing on the top page of the stack of paper. A new letter from Daniel had appeared while I was exploring the field and Lone Oak with Stephani.

I settled myself into the large leather chair and read.

Dear Emma,

I perceive that you truly wish to know about our travels. I have never been able to deny you and shall not begin now.

When we turned our horses away from Waterwood, it was the hardest thing I have ever done. I believe the same was true for your father. Our hearts, our lives, even our blood were part of the land there. Politics and a sense of doing what was right drove him toward the Confederacy. It was my duty to accompany him.

While we rode, your father was lost in quiet contemplation. When he did speak aloud, I was not sure if he was speaking to me or arguing with himself. 

It was obvious that he was a man caught in a private conflict. He began by reviewing the reasons why he had walked away from the warm comfort of his home, friends, and, above all, the love of his daughter. You were very much on his mind. He talked about the mess of divided loyalties on the Shore. He could not resolve why people would not be considerate of the positions and concerns of their friends and neighbors. The people of the Shore worked shoulder to shoulder over the years, wrestling sustenance from the land, battling the elements, and celebrating the triumphs together.

The federal arguments had swept us all into the maelstrom. It was confusing, agitating, distressing. For some reason, people couldn’t step away from the political arguments and maintain their friendships. He could not countenance people putting so much energy into hatred and violence, instead of working hard for a compromise that would benefit all.

I listened carefully to all he said. I too could not understand why these things were happening. Even though the arguments did not directly affect me as the young son of a plantation manager, out of loyalty to your father, to Waterwood, and to you, I followed him South.

The memory of those hours and each step southward continues to give me grievous pain. I know I did the right thing by riding with him, but my heart begged me to turn around and gallop, not walk, back to Waterwood and you.

Forgive me, dear Emma, I must pause in my letter writing now. My hand shakes from the memory and from the cold that is seeping into my