A Letter to the Giftmaker - Chapter 4

The young man next to Harriet Anessy was an enigma. Edwin acted like an aristocrat with his language and overinflated ego. He had made it obvious what he thought was the vast difference between his class and hers. His pointed nose was upturned at everyone.

But his looks told a different story. His coat was worn and patched with disparate pieces of gray cloth. His hair was slicked back with yesterday's lard. And despite trying to hide it, he warmed his feet by the radiator, the worn hole in the right sole obvious when he tilted his foot.

And then there was that letter that was so important to him. Why?

The train jostled as it switched onto the main line. Jo, grinning, bounced down the aisle checking tickets. She inclined her head to him, showed him their tickets, and was grateful when he didn't stop to chat. Her mouth was too dry to talk and her stomach twisted itself a bit tighter with each mile the train traveled.

After several minutes, she turned to Edwin. "Thanks."

"For what?" The young man didn't turn back, but stared out the fogged window with those hard eyes the color of flint.

"For buying my ticket." Harriet rung her hands. She had to tell him, before it got worse. "I didn't have the money."

He spun to face her. "You lied?"

She nodded slightly. Her nose tingled, numb. "I figured Jo would let us on for free." She took a shaky breath. "I'm sorry."

He opened his mouth, then stopped. He shook his head as he decided that a reprimand was not worth the effort. He turned away from her and dug the letter from his pocket. His thumb gently rubbed across the smooth parchment. It was a speckled goldish-pink, with an expensive sheen. In his calloused hands, it looked out of place.

Harriet hated the trouble she had caused him with this letter, but she also was angry at him for blaming her. This problem was no more her fault than his. Mostly his, if she was honest. The worst part was the very likely possibility he would ruin her career before it had even started.

In second grade, the class had written letters to another school, one far away on the other coast. Harriet had enjoyed carefully writing each word of her carefully crafted message as though she were a great calligrapher. But then Mrs. Kyne asked her to collect the envelopes.

As each of her classmates handed her their letter, Harriet could feel it. The warmth of their words. The treasured message they had sealed in that paper wrapping with the cheapest of wax seals. All of that entrusted to her.

In the minute it took for her to collect the nineteen letters, she'd grown in love with the idea of being a letter carrier. Of being the person that everyone trusted to deliver their stories, their secrets, their declarations of love and admonishments of failure. Since that day, her life was dedicated to achieving that goal.

An older gentlemen, red hair streaked with gray, leaned over Edwin's chair. "Is that wishpaper?"

"No!" Edwin clutched the parchment to his chest.

"It is! My boy, how did you come upon that?"

"A gift. From my uncle." The answer came a second too late. Harriet knew he was lying.

"What a loving uncle to give you something so precious," the gentleman said, missing or ignoring the lie.

"What's wishpaper?" Harriet asked. She'd heard the adults speak the word in reverent, hushed tones at the mail depot when she was a kid, but they had never explained it to her.

"Wishpaper is magic. You write a wish for someone else, and it instantly comes true."

The carriage seemed to spin around her. "No." She stared at Edwin with his torn hat and ragged clothes. He didn't look like someone who would have access to magic.

The gentleman nodded. "It can grant anything for the writer as well, if you send it to the Giftmaker. But it has to arrive before Christmas."

That's why he was so desperate to get it in the mail. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve. His wishlist had to be there in less than thirty-six hours.

She had sent wishlists to the Giftmaker as a child. A few times she'd been good enough to get a gift back. But this parchment guaranteed a gift?

"I'll give you five hundred crowns," the gentleman said.

It was a ridiculous joke. This stranger was offering more than she would earn in a decade for a piece of paper. But the unwavering eye contact and set of the older man's jaw told another story. He was being serious.

"Not for sale," Edwin said. "If it even was wishpaper, which it's not." Another lie, she could tell from how his eyes darted away.

A woman in a green coat leaned across the aisle. She pushed her face past Harriet's, voice low. "Two thousand crowns."

Edwin's eyes widened for the briefest second, but then he schooled his expression. Harriet tried to do the same, but failed. Her mouth hung open at the absurd sum of money. Enough to live an entire life in moderate comfort.

Edwin glanced away and scratched his chin. He seemed tempted by the offer, but then shook his head. "No, not for sale."

The woman leaned back, mouth flapping but no words coming out. Her trembling hand reached out, briefly, towards the parchment before she pulled it back. She turned away, her shoulder shaking with heavy breaths.

Murmurs spread through the carriage, and several passengers made excuses to walk past their seats, but no one else talked to Edwin. He returned to the fogged window, beyond which gray trees flashed past.

After fifteen minutes of silence, Harriet had to ask. She took a deep breath. "What did you wish for?"

Edwin grunted a refusal. The message was clear: she wasn't even worth words.

"I would wish to be a letter carrier." Her stomach fluttered briefly at the thought. "I've wanted to be one since I was a kid."

He turned to her, eyes wide. "You're joking, right? You could have anything! Mountains of gold, endless food, servants and palaces and eternal fame!"

She swallowed hard. In light of all of those, her dream was pathetic. "Which of those did you wish for?"

He huffed and stuffed the letter back into his pocket. "If this were wishpaper, I certainly wouldn't share what I wrote with a commoner."

His shoes slammed against the wooden floor as he quickly stood and pushed past her into the aisle. In a moment, he stomped down the aisle and disappeared through the door at the back of the carriage.