Yours Truly, Thomas

by Rachel Fordham

  Dinah didn’t say anything, but Penny could hear her laughing softly.

  An older man with spectacles approached the counter. He wore a dingy white shirt with a black vest that he pulled on the sides of as he stepped closer. “Can I help you?”

  “We need to locate Clara Finley. We know she lives in Alexandria.” Penny put the letter on the counter. “See here? There’s no street listed. Have you any information on her?”

  “Where’d you get that?” His relaxed features became tense. “I sent that on to the dead letter office. You shouldn’t have that.” He reached out his hand, palm up.

  Penny stepped back, bumping into Dinah, who steadied her.

  “We work there,” Dinah said in her usual composed way, “in the dead letter office. It’s our job to research and return letters. We’ve seen so many come through for Clara Finley that we thought we’d come here and try to figure out why they aren’t being delivered. It’s an unconventional approach, but I assure you our motives are pure.”

  The man pulled back his hand and slapped it on the counter. “They aren’t wanted. That’s why them letters didn’t make it.” He put a finger in the air and pointed toward the door. “They won’t do any good being delivered. Go on. Take that letter and leave. Do with it whatever it is you do with letters that have no homes. Burn it, tear it to pieces, but don’t bring it back here.”

  With a racing heart, Penny started to leave. Over her shoulder, she asked, “Why aren’t they wanted?”

  “They don’t need no reminders.” The man spit out each word slowly but with venom. “Go on. The letters went to the dead letter office for a reason. Let them die.”

  “But—”

  “Come on,” Dinah whispered under her breath. “Don’t stir up trouble. It’s not worth it.”

  Shaking and near tears, Penny allowed Dinah to lead her away. This time the chime of the bell above the door held no appeal as they walked out of the post office.

  “I don’t understand. Thomas is heartbroken. I thought it was my job to tell Clara so she could go to him or at the very least write to him.” Penny shook her head. “I believed doing so was important.”

  “It’s early yet. Let’s ask someone if they know the Finleys.” Dinah’s features were expressionless. Her down-to-business sensibilities had kicked in. At times Dinah’s demeanor was exasperating and at other times, like the present, Penny was utterly grateful for her friend’s level head.

  “All right,” Penny managed to say despite her still-churning innards.

  “Getting upset will not help us find her. You’re so good at looking for clues and putting pieces together. That’s what we have to do now. We’ll find another way.”

  “Very well. I’ll ask someone.” She glanced up and down the street. “Ummm . . . who should I ask?”

  Dinah grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the large mercantile. “Let’s step into this store and ask someone. Honestly, there are days when I wonder how you have such high return rates at the office.”

  “There it is. Over there,” Dinah said as she pointed toward a three-story mansion. After being directed to the correct street by the men in the mercantile, they’d had to stop and ask three other strangers before they found someone who could tell them exactly which house was the Finleys’.

  “Was your home like this one when you had money?” Dinah asked as they walked.

  “The style was different. Mine had columns and balconies. This one, with its iron railings and steep roofs, is very different. But I’d say the size is about the same. There are days when I hardly believe I lived in a home so large.” Penny could almost feel the deep sorrow and shame she had felt when she walked away from her childhood home for the last time. She’d loved her home. More than that, though, the solemn faces of the onlookers had wounded her. Penny cleared her throat, trying to make the knot that was stuck in it go away. “Now twenty of my apartments could fit inside my old home.”

  “Try to remember what it was like being the daughter of a wealthy man. I have a feeling these people are like the people you sashayed with in your early years. I’ve no experience with the front doors of these houses.” Dinah’s pace had slowed. “The only way my people ever got inside was through the back door so they could sweep the floors and do the wash.”

  Penny felt her heart race again. She wasn’t like these people, not now. Dinah was like a sister, not a servant, to her. “We’re here to deliver a letter. That’s all. They won’t care a thing about how much money we’ve got in the jars under our beds.”

  “You’re the one who believes Thomas is aching for his sweet Clara. You get to knock.” Dinah slowed her pace even more, making it practically impossible for Penny to do anything but lead the way or stand there gaping like a fool.

  “I’m going to knock on the door, hand them the letter, and go,” she said as she stepped closer and closer to the front door. Two steps more and she was to it, the brass knocker, with its ornate flourishes, mere inches from her hand.

  “Be brave,” Dinah cheered her on from a few paces back. “Just knock. Don’t overthink it.”

  I am brave. Penny raised and dropped the knocker. A few moments dragged slowly on before she heard footsteps on the other side of the door.

  “Can I help you?” a woman in a simple servant’s uniform asked after opening the door.

  “We’re looking for Clara Finley.” Penny’s voice was steady. “We need to speak to her. It’s important. We were told she lives here.”

  “Clara?” The woman shook her head.

  “Do you know her?”

  “I . . . I can’t.” She leaned closer and whispered, “I can’t help you.”

  “Perhaps you can tell us where we can find her. How can we reach her?”

  “Why are you looking for her?” The woman glanced over her shoulder. “What are you doing here?”

  “We’ve a letter for her from a man named Thomas.” Penny felt her resolve weakening. She took a step back. Maybe this is all a mistake. “We wanted to help. He seems heartbroken. We thought Clara needed to know.”

  “No one wants the letter,” the woman said. “Take it away from here. It’ll only cause trouble. Clara can’t read it now and no one else wants it.”

  “What do you mean?” Penny’s voice quavered. “Why can’t she read it?”

  “Clara . . . She’s dead. The whole family is grieving. Oscar, her father, more than anyone. You can’t come in here. Go.”

  Penny, struggling to make sense of what she’d just heard, stared at the woman. “Dead?”

  “Yes. There was a fire—I can’t . . .” She glanced over her shoulder again. “It’s not wise for me to talk about it. Just take your letter and go.”

  “Is someone there?” a voice called from inside.

  “These women are at the wrong house. They’re leaving now.” Then softly she said, “Go. And don’t come back. It won’t do any good.”

  7

  Dead. How could it be?

  “I wanted to help him.” Penny wiped at her eyes. “I wanted to ease his pain.”

  Dinah put a hand on her arm. “I may not have your romantic side, but I too thought we’d be able to put that letter in her hand. I’m very sorry it didn’t go as you’d dreamed. I wish you could have given Thomas his happy ending.”

  “I’m only sorry for Thomas and Clara, not myself.” Penny pulled the letter from her pocket. “I didn’t want this one to die. I wonder if he lived near here too. Can you imagine? The two of them probably strolled these perfect streets. Just look around us. It’s like a fairy tale. The trees, the homes. I picture Thomas and Clara as a handsome couple. Young and in love. And now they’ll never be together again.”

  “You’ve read his letters. You know they quarreled. Perhaps you’ve imagined it better than it truly was. He could have been a bad man, or old and after a young thing with a fortune.”

  “I suppose we’ll never know now.” She looked back once more at the Finley home. “I don’t think Thomas is a bad m
an. It’s strange though. Why would someone with all this head west?”

  “Open land. A fresh start,” Dinah said. “Maybe he liked new places like your father did. Or perhaps he wasn’t from this part of town. He could have been someone who worked in her home. Or perhaps their parents didn’t approve of their relationship, so he left. It could be he was trying to do the right thing and found it was harder than he thought it’d be.”

  “A difference in financial standing is not enough to justify ending a loving union.” None of this was right. The story didn’t add up, but she could think of no way to unravel it. “I don’t think that was it at all. I think it was something different. I just don’t know what.” She swallowed, trying to fight the lump in her throat. “It doesn’t matter now anyway. Clara can never go to him.” The weight of her own words pressed against her. Her chest pounded beneath the pressure as she looked away. “Poor Thomas. This loss will be such a blow to him.”

  Dinah put a hand behind Penny’s elbow. “We better head back now.”

  Penny didn’t want to. She wanted to keep her feet planted on Alexandria soil until she had made peace with it all. Then perhaps she could close the book on Thomas and Clara. But the mystery would stay just that—a mystery. “I’m sorry you came all this way and we didn’t even deliver the letter.”

  “Don’t be. It was a lovely idea.”

  Penny sat up in her bed and lit a candle. “Honey, are you awake?”

  Honey’s hairy face poked above the side of the bed. Her dark eyes glistened in the candlelight. Penny moved toward her and scratched her ears. Her fingers combed through the dog’s long fur.

  “She’s dead,” Penny whispered. A tear trickled down her face, landing on her nightdress. “Clara’s dead, Dinah has a beau she doesn’t know if she loves, and soon I’ll be Uncle Clyde’s prisoner. Nothing is right.”

  A soft whimper came from Honey. Penny cooed at her. “Don’t you be sad too. One of us has to be brave. Somehow it’ll be right again, won’t it? Father told me if I leapt when I felt compelled to leap, my feet would land on solid ground.” She kissed Honey’s head. “But how does one know where to leap or how to leap? I’d go anywhere, if I only knew where.”

  Dear, sweet Honeysuckle did not answer, so Penny sent her questions heavenward, pleading silently for some sort of divine intervention. There had to be a solution. Softly, she whispered her heart’s desires, her woes, and her heartaches.

  For several minutes, she mulled the situation over. But when no immediate answers came, she crossed the floor, sat at her rickety desk, and composed a letter to Thomas. Someone had to tell him about Clara’s death. And though it tore her heart to do so, she knew he deserved to know the truth.

  Dear Thomas,

  Providence has placed your letters to Clara into my hands. I work in the dead letter office in Washington, DC. It’s a crowded office full of boxes, bins, and letters. I’d paint you a beautiful picture of it with my words, but in truth, it’s a rather dull building. A large room lined with desks and overcrowded with lost mail. Sometimes the oddest and most bizarre things come through the mail, but normally we receive letters. Thousands and thousands of letters pass through our hands. Yours fell into mine.

  When I read your words, I made it my mission to place them in Clara’s hands. I wanted her to know you ached for her. I wanted it so badly that I went all the way to Alexandria. I stood on her doorstep, only to learn a tragic accident had taken your Clara’s life. I do not wish to be the bearer of such news. I only write it now because I know you yearn for her and life has lost many of its charms without her beside you. I hope knowing she will neither write nor come to you will at least allow you to gently close that door and perhaps someday open another. I hope with time you will carve a new path for your life and have a bright future.

  I too have suffered loss. Not the loss of a beau, as I’ve never had one to lose, but the loss of a parent. I know the emptiness when you awake and realize the one you wish to see is not anywhere within reach. I know the feeling of wanting to be near someone you hold dear and not being able to. I ache for my father in that way. The hurt is real. The anguish is deep. I am sorry for your pain.

  I hope your new home is a place where joy can find its way back into your life. My father firmly believed that if we are here on this earth, then we still have work to do. He believed we have a purpose even when we cannot see it. He was full of wisdom, and though at times I’ve struggled to heed his words, I do believe them. You ought to as well. Before my father passed, I promised him I’d go on with my life and find joy and purpose. I want those things and I hope you do too. I hope you find not only the work you are here to accomplish but also the joy you are here to experience.

  Know someone out there is praying for you.

  Your friend in loss

  Penny almost wrote her name but stopped herself. She knew the rules at the dead letter office. Already she’d broken one of them by taking a letter outside the building. Writing Thomas about the contents of his letters was another offense. He couldn’t know she was the one who had written him. She folded the letter and tucked it away. Somehow she would track down Thomas’s address and mail it to him.

  8

  My exquisite Julianna,

  I miss the sweet smell of your hair. I long for the touch of your lips. You are like the first flower of spring, radiant and vibrant. My eyes want to drink you in. The love I have for you seeps from me. It oozes and gushes all for you.

  Penny rolled her eyes.

  “Why did Roland save me this one? I only wanted him to save ones from Thomas. Although I doubt there will ever be another from him. I plan to mail my letter as soon as I can figure out where the old Dawson place is. Once he knows about Clara, he’ll have no reason to write.” Penny shook the letter she was holding. “I don’t want this one.”

  Dinah leaned away from her desk. “You’ve always wanted the love letters. I’m sure Roland thought you’d like that one. The prose is . . . descriptive.”

  “This may as well be a letter from a debt collector. It’s equally appealing to me.” Penny sank back in her chair.

  “You’ve always found them entertaining.”

  “I suppose Thomas’s letters have ruined all others for me. I know I must tell him about Clara, but it does make me a bit blue knowing I’ll likely never read his words again.” She tapped her fingers on the desk. “I liked having something to look forward to.”

  “You mean, besides moving in with Uncle Clyde.”

  “You’re horrible. You know I’m dreading it.”

  Dinah leaned closer. “Perhaps a few more letters from Thomas will come through before he receives yours. He seems to write often.”

  “I hope so. I keep hoping his new farm will be a fresh start for him. I’d love to read a letter that is optimistic before they stop altogether. Otherwise, I’ll always wonder what happened to him.” Penny let out a terse laugh. “I’m not sure why I care so much.”

  “If he doesn’t write, that could be a good sign too. Maybe he’s begun courting someone new. Or lost himself to his farming.”

  “Or it could mean he is not well and is so distraught he doesn’t know how to go on.” Penny groaned. “I want to know so badly.”

  “You said he sounded more hopeful in his last letter and he’s settling down.” Dinah fanned the letters she was holding in the air. “I have to get back to this stack of mail. I have one with one thousand dollars in it. That’s my largest sum yet. It’s bound for a college I’ve never even heard of. I think it’ll be a day of querying for me. And you have to get the illustrious Julianna her letter.”

  “Exquisite.”

  Dinah laughed. “Pardon me. Exquisite Julianna. How did he close the letter?”

  “‘My heart and soul belong to no other. Yours both day and night, Percy.’” Penny laughed. “I bet Percy uses too much wax on his mustache and always has food stuck in his teeth.”

  “Perhaps Julianna likes mustache wax.” Dinah giggled.

>   “If that is the case, I better get his letter to her.”

  Once she had sent Percy’s letter to Julianna, Penny stole away to the resources room and found a map of the routes west.

  “Need help?” Roland stood beside her. “I have to look at the maps too.”

  “I’m trying to find a town on the routes in farm country out west. I don’t know too much, only that the man lives on a piece of land formerly owned by a Dawson family.” Penny pushed her hair out of her face. “I also know it’s far enough west that wagon trains pass through, though not frequently.”

  “You looking for where that Thomas fellow lives?”

  “I need to get a letter to him.” Penny shuffled her feet back and forth on the tile floor. “It’s important.”

  “What else do you know?”

  “That’s all.” Penny scrunched up her face in thought. “Actually, it’s not. I do know the town has a yellow boardinghouse and a man named Abraham owns the town’s store. But there are no registries that list the color of buildings.”

  He tipped his head and grunted. “Maybe someday there will be a registry for paint colors. If it’s a small town, there won’t be many stores. You could look up registered businesses. If you find an Abraham who owns a store and a boardinghouse listed, you might have found the right place. I suppose then you could contact the land office and see if there was a recent sale of property by a Dawson.” Roland pushed up his spectacles. Then he reached around her. “Excuse me. I need a map of South Carolina.”

  Penny stepped aside. “Roland, you’re a genius. I’m going to find him now!”

  “It wasn’t so hard.” He leaned in close to his map and studied the fine print. “It’s our job.”