A Letter to the Giftmaker - Chapter 10

Harriet followed behind Edwin, feeling very much like a duckling following its mother. Her hands were stuffed in her coat pockets, both because they were cold and because she was unsure what else to do with them. Here she was, far from home, all due to her own mistake. A mistake that might cost her her dream job before she even started it.

Lost in thought, she ran into Edwin when he stopped. "Sorry!"

Edwin grunted. "It's fine." He was looking in the window of a bakery at fresh loaves of bread.

Harriet's stomach grumbled at the smell wafting out the door. "Mmm. We should get some."

"No money," Edwin said.

She lowered her chin. "Oh, yeah. Me either."

He pulled out his letter, looked at it, and stepped into the bakery. She followed, still uncertain where else she would go. He had provided a room, and she still had to make up for his letter missing the pick-up.

"Maybe..." Edwin looked at the bread and then at the parchment.

"I don't need anything," Harriet said. "But maybe we should thank Jo for his help?"

"I can't waste more of this on just some bread."

She leaned in to whisper. "I could distract the baker while you–"

"No!" Edwin recoiled. "How could you even think about that?"

Her skin tingled and her hunger disappeared into a tight knot in her stomach. She lowered her head. "You're right. That was wrong of me."

Edwin nodded and turned to the door. "Don't follow me." He stomped out of the bakery.

She was a decent person. She'd never stolen before. Why had she suggested that? The truthful answer was that she was hungry and worried and not thinking reasonably.

The baker, a large egg-shaped man with a wide mustache, came out of the kitchen. "Anything for you, miss?"

She shook her head. "I... left my money at home."

As she stepped towards the door, the baker cleared his throat. "Heard you and your friend talking."

Her cheeks burned. She spun around, hands clasped in front of her. "Please, I wasn't going to steal anything. Don't call the constable!"

The baker smiled. It was wide and friendly, and for a moment it reminded her of her grandfather's smile. "You're a good lass. I don't doubt your morals. I was going to offer you some work in exchange for a cookie."

He gestured to a display of large, golden brown molasses cookies. Warm and gooey, with soft cracks and that warm, spicy smell of Christmas. Her stomach rumbled as she imagined the earthy, caramel mixed with the tangs of ginger.

"No. Don't know how useful I'd be."

"Well, give it a shot." The baker's smile was as warm as his cookies. "I've got some bags of sugar and flour in the alley that just got delivered. Haul 'em into the storage closet, could you?"

"I'm not very strong." She rubbed at her thin arms.

"You've got more strength than you know, lass. You can do it."

Harriet nodded and headed out the back door into the dark alley. It was chilly damp, but the smells from the bakery drifted out to fill the cramped space. At the far end, beyond stacked barrels and crates, she could see the twinkling lights of the square.

Her fingers wrapped around the coarse burlap bag. She leaned back and yanked the bag up. A spike of pain shot up her bag and she stumbled forward, the bag slamming back down to the ground.

I'm useless, she thought, leaning against the frosty bricks and breathing heavily. I can't even do this simple thing.

The twinkling lights caught her eye, like fireflies dancing deep in a cave. Their beauty, and the hunger for a cookie, whipped her forward like a carriage horse. She took a deep breath, bent her knees, gathered the burlap in her fist, and lifted.

She swayed slightly, but did not fall this time. The coarse fabric scraped at her hand as she waddled inside. The uneven floor grabbed at the bag, the doorframe smacked her shoulder, but she kept moving. After a minute, she finally let it fall onto the floor of the storage room.

A small smile spread across her face. She had done it. The baker was right!

Feeling new energy welling up within her, she strode back out into the alley. She rubbed her hands together to get the tingles out, grabbed the next bag, and lifted it with a grunt.

The next three bags each went faster than the last. By the time she got to the flour sacks, she had a routine down. Bend her knees. Wrap the burlap up and grab it. Lift and shuffle inside. Watch the fifth board inside, it had splinters that snatched at the bags.

She should tell him. Both of them. If she could go back, she would have told him at the train station. Maybe even at the postbox. But the best she could do now was admit the truth when they were back together.

As she hauled the last sack of flour in, Edwin entered the shop. "Ah, there you are."

She felt chilled at his look. The bag hit the floor with a whump and she crossed her arms. "Edwin, I was just..." She blushed.

"Working, yes, I see." He pursed his lips, his flinty eyes judging her. "You are a laborer, after all."

She squeezed her eyes shut. He was right.

"Jo's outside The Chiming Bell, the tavern at the north end of the square." He smirked. "Meet us when you're done."

He swaggered off, his threadbare coat flowing behind him with the same pomp as a king.

She let out a ragged sigh, not realizing she'd been holding it in. Steeling herself, she dragged the final sack of flour the rest of the way to the storage room. As she set it down, a friendly booming laugh filled the small space.

"I knew you could do it!" The baker's eyes gleamed even in the dim light. "And you thought you couldn't."

Harriet nodded. "You said I could have a cookie?"

He smiled knowingly. "Follow me." Out at the display case, he placed three large molasses cookies into a paper bag. "Here."

"You said one." She shuffled her feet.

"Never met someone who wanted fewer cookies." He laughed again. "You can share the other two with your friends."

She reached out and reluctantly took the bag. The warmth from the cookies spread into her fingers. "Thanks."

"Have a merry Christmas!"

She scurried out the door and back into the square, her precious reward clutched tightly to her chest.