A Letter to the Giftmaker - Chapter 13

The rosy twinges of sunrise were just barely coloring the clouds above the houses as Edwin slipped across the square. The lights were dark, the shops shuttered, and the sidewalks empty. Pulling his threadbare coat up around his neck, both for the warmth and the secrecy, he hurried down the main road towards the post office.

Jo and Harriet were still back at the inn, hopefully asleep. He was used to waking this early from when he worked at Pittman's Grocery. By the time they woke up, he would hopefully be rid of this letter and ready to spend Christmas Eve relaxing.

He ignored the front doors, knowing they were still locked, and hurried around to the alleyway. Red carriages lined the side, waiting for the horses to be brought from the stables across the street. He slid between the closest carriage and the stone wall of the post office.

The windows were small and high, but he thought he might be able to fit through one. He stepped onto the running board of the carriage and was level with the window. His fingers splayed out across the cold glass. Circles of fog spread out across the pane.

He pushed gently. No movement. He pushed harder. The window barely budged. He pulled his cold fingers back, tucking them under his armpits. He cursed under his breath. The window won't work.

His eyes narrowed as he stared at the offending pane of glass that kept him from his goal. He rubbed at his tense jaw. This wouldn't work, he had to find a different way in.

A roll of deep laughter echoed off the stone as someone rounded the corner and entered the alley. "Nearly dropped the poor thing when it licked her nose."

His fingers curled and hands clenched at the sound. His empty belly rolled like a squash dropped down a flight of stairs. He needed to hide, now.

A woman laughed. "My kids keep asking, but I know I'll end up walking it."

Everything was brighter and louder. He could hear the swooshing of the woman's coat, the faint clink of the keys in the man's hand, and the pounding beat of his own heart.

He leapt off the running board. The end of the alley was only twenty feet to his right, but they could probably see it. Three carriages to his right was an employee entrance. That has to be where they were going. If they looked to the side, he'd be completely visible.

He grabbed the wooden frame and slid under the carriage. Wet snow slid up his back. He had to bite his tongue to stop himself from yelping. He pulled his knees to his chest and laid still.

The conversation continued as their footsteps crunched closer and closer. A jingle of keys, metal sliding, and the creak of a wooden door.

"Anyway, I told him–"

The door shut, cutting off her sentence. Edwin slowly let out his breath in a soft hiss. His mouth was dry as he tried to swallow. They almost saw him. But they didn't.

He slid through the slush, ignoring how it soaked into his clothes and made his arm hair bristle. He stood up and checked around. The alley was empty again.

The post office would open in a few hours. He should come back, like a responsible person, and wait in line. But he was so close. And it would mean trusting someone else.

He swallowed and headed for the back door. The metal handle was cold beneath his hands. Too bad he hadn't borrowed Harriet's new gloves. His chest rose as he took a deep breath, then pulled.

The door opened without even a squeak from the hinge. Inside, a maze of thin, dark hallways stretched off deeper into the building. He stepped inside and shut the door. Now, to find the sorting room.

At dinner the night before, he had managed to get Harriet to describe how the post office operated. He knew if he could get the letter to the sorting room, the workers would put it in the right bag for the Giftmaker. Unless he delivered it himself, that was the most reliable way.

The challenge turned out to be easy, as every corner had a wooden plaque with room names and arrows. Walking quickly, and hoping the building was still mostly empty, he found his way to the sorting room.

Two rows of desks ran along the center of the dim room. All around the outside were tables topped with shelves. The shelves were divided into cubbies, and each cubby was labeled–D19, H12, K04. Some had letters and parcels from the previous day, but most were empty.

He quickly counted down the room. Twenty-two tables on each side and six on each end. Each table had five shelves with five cubbies.

His breaths came quicker, the extra air making the large room spin around him. Bright white sparks flickered across his vision. They stayed even when he squeezed his eyes shut and leaned against the nearest desk.

Over a thousand possible cubbies and no clear addresses, just these meaningless labels. Were they towns? Routes? Houses?

Light spilled into the room as a door opened behind him. Edwin spun, his letter still clutched to his chest. A tall man with short hair and a long beard glared at him.

"What are you doing here?"

"I..." Edwin's voice squeaked. He swallowed. "I just need to drop off my letter." As if to prove his point, he held out the letter.

"And you couldn't wait until we opened?" The corners of his mouth twitched up slightly.

"I need to make sure it gets to the Giftmaker today. It's wishpaper."

The man's slight smile faded into his beard. He cleared his throat. "I've got bad news, son. You're at the wrong post office."