Page 25 of Because I Could Not Stop for Death

In either case, I stood in the post office at the age of twenty without a single family member walking the earth... that I knew of. I shook the thought tickling the back of my brain from my head. I had no family; no family that mattered, anyway.

Emily cleared her throat. “To answer your earlier question, I am here to post a letter to my young Norcross cousins. I do like to entertain the girls with my verse.” She handed Mr.Milner the letter.

He accepted it and studied the address. “I know it will be a treat for the girls to receive it. You must be their favorite cousin with the number of letters you send them.”

“I enjoy sending them lines to brighten the days. They are sweet girls.”

Mr.Milner nodded. “Austin said you wrote quite often. You must have more letters that should be mailed.”

“Yes,” Emily said, and there was something in her voice that made it clear she would prefer to leave the conversation at that.

Mr.Milner tapped the back of the letter on his desk. “Well, you can rest assured that the United States Postal Service will deliver this letter and its verses inside with the utmost care.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Emily replied.

“I have another reason I’m glad you are here, Willa,” Mr.Milner said as he stamped the corner of Emily’s letter and set it in a basket to be sorted later. “I have a piece of mail for you. I have been holding on to it because Mrs.Patten told me that you were no longer working for her, but being Mrs.Patten, she would not tell me where you’d gone. I should have known that you would move up and work for a family like the Dickinsons.” He nodded at Emily. “You have a good worker here.”

Emily nodded. “We know that. We’re happy to have her in our home. Miss O’Brien says that she works twice as hard as the last girl that we had in the position. That girl only lasted a week.”

I couldn’t help but smile at their comments. It wasn’t often that I received such praise. It wasn’t often that I received any praise, in fact.

“Let me go grab that piece of mail.” Mr.Milner stepped behind the partition to the back of the post office.

I had the package in my cloak pocket that Jeremiah said was from my brother, and now, I would be given a letter too. I didn’t know the last time I had received so many things.

Emily looked at me. “Were you expecting something in the mail?”

I shook my head. “No, there is no one to write me. Every time I came and collected the mail for the boardinghouse, there was nothing for me. The only person who might have written me was my brother. There was no reason for that since we lived in the same town and saw each other often.”

“There is always a reason to write,” Emily said. “Words fall differently on the page than they do from the lips. There is more control, more thought, and more possibility.”

I frowned. I had never thought of writing in that way. I remembered the first day I worked at the Dickinson home and spied Emily feverishly writing at her tiny desk in her room. It was clear she took the act quite seriously. But what would come of it? Could a woman really be a writer? And support herself doing it? Could a man, for the matter? Other than a man who was already rich?

“Here we are,” Mr.Milner said as he reappeared from the back of the post office. He had a plain brown envelope in his hand. He held it out to me.

My name, the name of the boardinghouse, and the boardinghouse address were all written in clear, plain printing across the middle of the envelope in dark black ink. I didn’t recognize the writing, and there was no return address.

Emily watched me curiously. Perhaps she wanted me to open my piece of mystery mail right then and there, but I wasn’t about to do that. We had learned so much about Henry that day that we hadn’t known before. If there were any more surprises to be known, I would like to learn about them when I was alone.

When I tucked the letter back in my pocket, Emily gave a slight nod. I knew she must be curious about it. She was one of the most curious people I had ever met. She reminded me of Henry in that way. He always wanted to know and learn more. He loved secrets and learning all he could about everyone around him. It was a behavior that got him into trouble on more than one occasion. I couldn’t help but wonder if it might have gotten him killed as well.

Suddenly, my skin felt very hot as the reality of my brother’s death settled over me again. Emily chatted with Mr.Milner, but I couldn’t hear them. My ears were ringing.

“I’ll be outside,” I managed to say, and I stumbled out of the post office.

Chapter Ten

In the cold early February air, I was able to breathe again. I bent slightly at the waist and let my breath move in and out of my body. It seemed to me that grief took a physical toll. This wasn’t my first loss. I had known this physiological fact from my mother’s death, but this loss of Henry was somehow worse.

Carlo walked over to me as if he sensed I needed his warmth and support. He sat on my feet, and I welcomed the weight on my boots.

To my left, a group of old war soldiers sat on the benches beside the post office. It seemed to me that they were there every time I came to the post office, no matter the time of year. It was cold today, but they didn’t appear to mind the chill and snow as they were bundled up in coats, hats, and scarves. One of them wore the brightest pair of yellow mittens that I had ever seen, and the vibrant color popped out against the gray landscape around us.

As they usually did, they spoke of the Revolution, the War of 1812, and things that happened decades ago or good times that had long passed. There was nothing that could change their minds that days gone by were better than the present and the future yet to come.

“There is no unity now,” said one of the old soldiers. “The young people don’t understand how hard it was to give them the comforts of today.”

“Some would not agree that there are comforts. The country is boiling and might erupt,” another man in spectacles said.

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