A Letter to the Giftmaker - Chapter 16

Edwin kept glancing up at the sky. Thin clouds drifted above like ice chunks in a river and the sun was almost directly overhead already. Midday, and he had no idea how far they had walked or how far they had left to go.

Harriet had ignored him when he asked and had moved further ahead, obviously still mad at them for making a snowman. Jo had guesses, but those changed every minute from a mile to forty miles. Edwin had the scrawled map, but he didn't know how much it was to scale.

His stomach rumbled again. They should have brought food, but he had no money and was in a hurry to leave that morning.

Jo cleared his throat. "You hungry too?"

Edwin clenched his fists. He should have planned better, now Jo was suffering too. "Yeah."

"Maybe we could ask at that farmhouse?" He pointed to a two-story wooden house sat along the road ahead. Berms of snow, no doubt the result of a now hidden fence, surrounded the pale blue building, making it look like a robin's egg in a nest.

Edwin nodded. "Harriet, we're going to stop for lunch."

She turned, her eyes darting from him to the house and then back. "Okay."

He trudged through the snow, making it to a worn path between the house and the nearby barn. Ignoring the soggy sock in his right shoe, he knocked on the door.

A short, broad-shouldered man opened the door. His wide, brown eyes danced between the three of them. "Can I help you?"

"Do you have any food you could share with us?" Edwin played with the hem of his coat. "Even just a heel of bread?"

The farmer beamed. "Come in, come in." He motioned them all into the house. "Take off your coats. We were just about to sit down to lunch. Pammy, grab three more chairs!"

As Edwin untied his shoes and hung his coat on a peg, a young girl pushed a stool past him and into a neighboring room. Walking in, he saw the family of five, now crowded at one end of a small dining table, with two chairs and a stool at the close end.

"Have a seat." The farmer gestured with his fork. "You must be hungry, travelers."

Edwin's stomach growled as the rich, meaty smell of a roasted ham hit his nostrils, followed by the warm smell of fresh bread and earthy sweetness of roasted vegetables.

"This is too much," Harriet said. "This must be your Christmas Eve supper."

"There's plenty for us all," the farmer's wife said. "Please, I insist."

Edwin hesitated for a moment before sitting down on the stool. As hungry as he was, he was taking food from this family. Food he had not earned. He cut himself a tiny sliver of ham and took a single carrot.

"I'm Silas Kolton, and this is my wife, Corinne." He looked between them. "Traveling home?"

Jo shook his head. "No, we're heading to the Giftmaker's." He bit into a hunk of ham.

"What Jo means," Edwin quickly added, "is that Harriet is a letter carrier and has a delivery to make."

Harriet shifted slightly at his words. "Yeah..."

Corinne narrowed her eyes. "Giftmaker? You might be lost."

"Lost?" Edwin felt his heart begin to pound. He knew this would happen. "Can you help us? We were coming from Whitbury, but–"

"Oh, that explains it," Silas said. "People usually come from Flaike. No, you're on the right path, then."

Edwin's whole body sagged in his chair as he sighed. "Thank you."

"You're almost halfway there," Corinne said. "It's about twelve more miles."

"We can make it," he said.

"Might be dark by the time you get there, but yeah, it's doable," Silas said. "Especially with how far you've already made it today."

Feeling almost giddy, Edwin quickly ate his slice of ham.

Corinne cut another, larger slice. "Here, have another."

"No, I couldn't."

"You need your energy." She ignored his protests and plopped the hunk of meat onto his plate.

"Thanks."

He missed having friends and family around. As they ate, Jo excitedly explained their journey to the three kids. Pammy, the youngest, stared at him with her mouth open in awe. It reminded him of his own younger sisters.

"And what's your life like?" Jo asked.

"Well, this winter's not been too bad," Silas said. "But the chicken coop is getting drafty and we need to build a new barn in the next few years."

"Drafty?" Harriet hadn't spoken for the whole meal.

Silas nodded. "Poor chickens. I'd re-caulk it, but tar was expensive this year."

Corinne patted her husband's shoulder. "You treat those animals like they're your friends."

"They are my friends!"

The family chuckled and Silas nodded along. This was clearly a long-running joke amongst them.

"It's nice you care so much about your animals," Jo said.

"Of course! They're my responsibility." Silas lifted his chin. "That's why I'll find a way to get a new barn, somehow."

"What sort of barn?" Jo asked.

Silas was off, spending the next ten minutes explaining his perfect barn to everyone. During that time, someone, probably Corinne, replaced the dinner with a plate of fresh cookies. Edwin protested to her, but eventually relented and took a few. They were soft and chewy and reminded him of his mother's. He swallowed the cookie hard, fighting back tears.

"We should really get going," Edwin said before Jo could start another story. "But we are extremely grateful that you shared this meal with us."

"No problem, Edwin," Silas said. "Let me see you out."

As the others pulled their shoes on, Edwin turned away. He pulled out the letter and scanned down until he found a good line. 'A good home for all my friends and family.' His fingers gripped the slippery parchment, and he pulled it apart.

He was too eager, though, and the rip went past the line. No! He grit his teeth as he felt the rip like it was his own heart tearing. His fingers trembled, tense and frozen.

It was just a blank margin. He took a slow breath. The rest of the letter was still intact. He stuffed the extra scrap into his pocket and pulled out the pen to add Silas' name.

"Edwin?" Silas asked behind him.

He felt his face warm. Had the farmer seen? "Yes?"

The farmer held out an old, black lantern. "Here. Just in case you don't make it before nightfall."

"Thanks." Edwin took the lantern and held out the torn piece of parchment. "And this is for you."

"What is it?" Silas froze as his fingers touched it. He shivered. "Wishpaper?"

Edwin nodded. "Now all your chicken friends have a good home."

Silas wiped a tear from his eye. "I... I can't repay you."

"No, no," Edwin said, "this is my thanks, for the meal."

"You are too kind." Silas smiled broadly. "Good luck on your journey."

Edwin nodded happily. A warm glow grew inside him until he felt like a lantern himself. He felt like humming as he stepped outside into a cold he barely noticed. As they continued down the road, he wondered at how giving up something so precious could feel so good.