A Letter to the Giftmaker - Chapter 11

When Harriet finally joined them outside the tavern in the square, Edwin was both relieved–because it meant that Jo would stop his incessant yammering–and guilty. They were both hungry, but she was the one brave enough to go and find work.

He looked at the bag of baked goods she had clutched to her chest and for a brief moment considered grabbing it away. He held back his shaking hand. She had worked and been rewarded for it. Meanwhile, he had moped around the square until it was time to join Jo for a meager meal at the dorms.

"I'm paying for dinner," Edwin said.

Harriet's mouth fell open and she took an involuntary step backwards. Jo's eyes widened. They both stared at him like he'd turned into a haddock.

"Are you sure?" Jo asked. "There is gruel back at the dorms. I'm sure they'll be enough for you two to also have some."

You're both here for me, so the least I can do is feed you. That's what he wanted to say. Instead, he furrowed his eyebrows. "Gruel is below a person of my class. We shall eat in the tavern."

Before that little, selfish voice at the back of his head could speak up, he twirled on his worn shoe and marched into the warm tavern. Laughter settled on the fireplace and soft conversation swirled around the lanterns. The meaty smell of the simmering stew coiled and beckoned them across the well-worn wooden floor.

"Hey, looking for dinner?" A middle-aged woman stepped up to them as she wiped her hands on her apron. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun and she had a wide, caring smile.

Edwin nodded. "Uh, Mrs...?"

"Lorelle. But you can call me Carol."

"Carol, my companions and I are currently without money. I was wondering if I could offer a trade?"

She tilted her head and chewed on the corner of her lip. "I don't usually accept outside workers."

"Not work," Edwin said quickly. "Though I'd be glad to do that." He glanced at Harriet. Was he guilty or mad?

"What then?"

He pulled the parchment from his pocket. His thumb ran over the rectangular hole where some of his dreams had already been cut away. He took a deep breath to steel himself. Stealing was not an option and he owed Harriet and Jo a decent meal.

"I will give you a line from my letter."

Carol looked down at the shiny letter and her eyes widened. Her voice was breathy. "Is that wishpaper?"

He nodded. "I'll give this line." He pointed to the third line down: 'A feast every evening.'

"I'll never have to cook again." Her eyes probed him. "Why?"

"I am hungry and need food." He kept it about himself, to avoid the uncomfortable feelings of responsibility.

"But that wish would feed you for life."

"Only once the Giftmaker receives this letter. Right now, we're hungry." He winced. Why had he brought them into it?

Carol's eyes swept over Harriet and Jo with the same thoroughness her broom swept the floor. Edwin could tell she was examining their clothes and posture, the same she'd done to him.

"You all do look hungry. Maybe I could offer credit?"

"No!" He would not be in debt to anyone. "I mean, what if we don't return. Take the scrap of paper, I insist."

She smiled more broadly, her happiness infectious. He felt his own lips widening and curling up. "You are most kind."

He carefully ripped the strip from the paper. The sound of each small tear stabbed at his heart. He held back a whimper as the scrap came free. He quickly wrote 'For Mrs. Carol Lorelle' at the end of the wish and handed it to her.

Carol stared at the scrap in her hands for several seconds before her eyes refocused on the tavern. She turned and rushed into the kitchen. Only a moment later, she burst back out. "It worked!"

Her shout caught the attention of the crowd. The conversations faded to murmurs. The laughter drifted to the floor. Dozens of eyes stared at them.

"This young man just gave me a wish!" Carol waved the scrap of parchment above her head, fluttering it back and forth. "Tonight, dinner is free for everyone!"

The crowd cheered. Mugs clinked and the conversations resumed at a louder pitch. Several people came up to shake his hand. A large man whose head nearly scraped the ceiling slapped him on the back so hard he was breathless for a minute.

Carol turned to Edwin as the crowd settled back at their tables. "Thank you so much. You are a generous young man."

He felt his cheeks burning and he looked down at his shoes. "It was nothing, Mrs. Lorelle." She would not be praising him if she knew how selfish he actually was.

"Nonsense! It takes a good heart to share something this valuable."

"I still have most of the letter." He said it partly to deflect her praise and partly to mollify his own anxiety about losing another piece.

"You and your friends are welcome here any time for a free meal."

"Thank you." It felt good to say those words again.

Harriet weaved through the chattering crowd and pressed a goblet of spiced wine into Edwin's hand. "Here, you've got to try this."

Jo popped up on the other side of him and raised his own goblet. "To Edwin!"

"To Edwin!" A hundred voices, bellowing and squawking and lilting, joined in the chorus. The friendly cheer seemed to linger around him like a thick woolen coat, shutting out the cold loneliness for a moment.

He lifted the cool ceramic goblet to his lips and drank. The warmth of the wine slid down his throat and warmed his belly. His tongue sparked with the woody cinnamon, licorice of anise, and spicy kick of ginger. Once he swallowed, the deep, almost bitter, spice of cloves lingered in his mouth. It tasted of friendship and community and Christmas.

He found himself leaning back in the chair and smiling as Jo told a story about a lost cat on the train. There was no rush for anything, just his calm heartbeat and slow breaths. The worry about his letter popped up, like a rat from a garbage can, but he ignored it. He wanted to be here, laughing and talking and smiling, forever.

To be where everything felt safe.