A Letter to the Giftmaker - Chapter 14

Edwin grasped at the nearest table, but his legs were jelly and he slid down onto the worn wooden floor. The edges of his vision darkened and everything spun around him. His breaths came quick, but it still felt like he was drowning.

"Wrong post office?" His voice was high and tight.

The large man knelt down slowly. A large, meaty hand rested on Edwin's shoulder. "Sorry lad."

"No... no, I got a train ticket. I came here. It's the closest town. I... I..." He squeezed his eyes shut as the weight of the building pressed down on him.

"Breath, lad. Slowly." The man's voice rumbled in Edwin's chest.

Ignoring the spinning, collapsing room around him, he breathed. He could hear the raggedness from his clenched throat. Feel his shoulder shake with each rough, scraping breath. But he continued to breathe.

Slowly, the world around him stopped moving. He opened his eyes, the salt from his tears making the corners stick for a moment. The large man still knelt there, bushy eyebrows drawn together with concern.

"I didn't come here to cause trouble," Edwin said weakly.

"I can see that, lad." The man stood and offered his hand. "Why don't we talk in my office?"

Edwin accepted the thick, calloused hand that dwarfed his own. His legs wobbled dangerously beneath him, but kept him standing. "You're a security guard?"

The soft, deep laugh rolled out like a distant roll of thunder. "I'm the postmaster. Postmaster Michael Baxter, but you can call me Micky."

They walked through the maze of halls. Workers were arriving and quickly hurrying to their stations. Postmaster Baxter swept through the halls and into a crowded office. He dropped into an old chair, flakes of dark red leather flaking off, and gestured to a smaller, wooden chair across the desk.

Edwin sat and folded his hand on his lap. Would there be a large fine? Would he be going to jail? Was the postmaster going to torture him?

"So, a letter for the Giftmaker?" Postmaster Baxter leaned forward, eyes peering at the glossy parchment still clutched in Edwin's hand.

"Yes. I brought it with me, I didn't steal it."

The postmaster held his hand out. "May I?"

Edwin handed the letter over. It looked like it was in a windstorm from how much his hand was shaking. Was the postmaster going to tear it up?

Instead, he ran a thick, meaty finger gently over the surface. "It's been a while since I've seen a wishpaper. You are very lucky."

"I was trying to get it to the sorting room, so it could get to the Giftmaker." He swallowed hard. "But you said this is the wrong place?"

The postmaster nodded. "There is a closer depot, specifically for the Giftmaker, in Flaike. If you took the train, it would've been the stop right before Whitbury."

In his head, Edwin vaguely remembered a tiny platform nestled in a pine forest. "So, I have to get there?"

"The train's mail would've been sorted last night. The last carriage to the Giftmaker is leaving at eight."

The clock on the desk, nearly hidden by various piles of papers, showed it was nearly seven thirty. Even with all the money in the world, he wouldn't make it on time. His heart pounded loudly in his ears.

"Dammit! I should've asked back in the city." He ground his teeth together. "No, Harriet should have told me. This is her fault."

"Harriet?" The postmaster asked.

"She's one of your apprentices." His knuckles cracked as he squeezed his fist tight. "Back in the city, she tried to take my letter. Made me miss the pickup."

He grabbed a pen, which looked comically small in his large hand, and started to write a note. "I shall inform that office so she may be disciplined."

There was a stab of cold at his heart, dissipating the heat of his anger. "Discipline?"

Postmaster Baxter nodded. "Fined and fired, if this was her fault."

"Wait!" The shout came before he even thought about it. "I mean, she was there, but... but maybe it was partially my fault. Don't fire her, she's trying to fix it."

Why had he said that? It was clearly all her fault. She should take the blame.

"Very well." He set the pen down. "Would you like us to deliver your letter after Christmas?"

"I can't wait until next year..." Edwin rung his hands. A million ideas raced through his head, each more foolish than the last.

"My staff doesn't head that way, but if you have a postal worker with you–"

"Apprentice."

"If you have an apprentice with you, they could deliver by hand." Postmaster Baxter quickly drew a series of lines out on a scrap of paper. "Here's directions to the Giftmaker's estate. It's at least twenty miles, but you could make it before sundown if you hurry."

Edwin grabbed the paper. The lines blurred as he felt tears in his eyes. Maybe this could still work. No, it had to. He would do this.

"Thank you." His voice was thick.

"You're welcome, lad." The postmaster held out the letter. "Good luck."

"We're going with you." Jo looked at Harriet. "Right?"

Harriet nodded stiffly. "We're in this together. Twenty miles isn't that far."

A warm ball settled in Edwin's stomach and radiated through his body. He'd told them he was going alone. Insisted, even. But he had hoped they'd join him.

"Thank you." The words felt right as he said them. He shook his head, tightening his growing smile into a focused look. "We should get going."

Jo smiled brightly and even Harriet allowed herself a brief grin. A few minutes later, the room keys were in Mary Kite's hand and they were trudging down the main road out of Whitbury. Ahead, the landscape fell off into rolling fields covered in thick blankets of bright snow.