One More Letter
By seven o’clock on Christmas Eve, Tessa had hidden the envelope in four different places.
The kitchen drawer had seemed too ordinary. Under Caleb’s pillow had seemed too easy to miss. Inside his stocking had been a good idea until she remembered they weren’t opening stockings until morning.
Now it rested between the branches of their Christmas tree, beside the little wooden ornament he’d carved for her.
She stepped back to inspect it.
Too obvious.
She stepped closer.
Not obvious enough.
Behind her, the front door opened.
“Tessa?”
She spun around so fast her elbow caught a branch. The envelope dropped into the tree.
Caleb stood in the doorway with snow on his shoulders and a foil-covered dish in his hands.
“What are you doing?”
“Adjusting things.”
His gaze traveled from her face to the tree.
“Did it do something wrong?”
“The lower branches are uneven.”
“They were uneven when we cut it down.”
“And you said they gave it character.”
“They do.”
“You say that about the loose cabinet hinge.”
“That hinge has tremendous character.”
She laughed, and some of the nervous energy in her chest loosened.
Caleb nudged the door shut with his boot. The warm kitchen light caught his wedding ring as he set the dish on the counter, and Tessa found herself looking at it, the way she still did sometimes.
Eight months of marriage, and that small gold band could still stop her in the middle of a thought.
“Jo sent dinner,” he said. “She gave me instructions.”
“Of course she did.”
“Heat it at three-fifty. Don’t leave it uncovered. Don’t pretend cookies count as vegetables.”
“That last one was for you.”
“She made direct eye contact.”
He shrugged out of his coat, hung it beside hers, and came over to kiss her.
It was supposed to be a quick kiss. It became something softer, his cold hands settling at her waist while she leaned into his familiar warmth.
“Hi,” he murmured.
“Hi.”
“You look tired.”
“So do you.”
“I carried a dollhouse up three flights of stairs.”
“I corrected the word public in a headline before it went to print.”
Caleb considered that.
“You win.”
“By one very important letter.”
He laughed against her forehead.
Outside, a truck passed slowly along Cedar Street. Their front windows reflected the Christmas tree, turning the glass into a second room full of light.
“Everything delivered?” she asked.
“Everything delivered.”
“No missing packages?”
“None.”
“No last-minute emergencies?”
“Lily handled a furnace call. Devon found the missing grocery cards. Mae persuaded someone to accept help without making it sound like help.”
“A normal Christmas Eve, then.”
“More or less.”
He glanced toward the tree again.
“Except for whatever you’re doing over there.”
Tessa drew back.
“Nothing.”
Caleb’s eyebrows rose.
She sighed.
“I have a present for you.”
“We said tomorrow morning.”
“This one’s different.”
His expression changed just enough to make her heart begin racing again.
“Different how?”
She turned toward the tree.
“First, I have to retrieve it.”
The envelope had slipped into the deepest part of the branches.
Naturally.
Tessa crouched beside the tree and reached through the needles.
“Would you like assistance?” Caleb asked.
“No. This is a carefully planned romantic moment.”
“I can see that.”
“Don’t make fun of me.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
A dry needle slid down her sleeve.
She withdrew her hand, shook it, and tried again.
Caleb sat on the edge of the sofa, elbows on his knees, watching with the patient expression he usually reserved for children explaining complicated projects.
“You could tell me where it is.”
“That would ruin the presentation.”
“Tessa, you’re halfway inside a spruce.”
“Fir.”
“My mistake.”
She finally caught the corner of the envelope and pulled it free.
There was a smudge of sap along one edge.
She stared at it.
Then she began to laugh.
Caleb stood immediately.
“What?”
“I rehearsed this.”
“How many times?”
“I’m not answering that.”
“Were the rehearsals better?”
“The envelope stayed where I put it.”
He took her hand and helped her up.
For a moment, she stood there looking at him.
His hair was still damp from the snow. There was a tiny tear at the cuff of his sweater she’d been meaning to mend. He had probably forgotten lunch again, although these days someone usually caught him before he could forget dinner.
He was her husband.
And she was about to change his life.
She pressed the envelope into his hand.
On the front, in her neatest handwriting, she’d written:
For Caleb Mitchell.
Beneath it:
One more letter.
He smiled.
“Did we miss somebody?”
“Not exactly.”
He slid his finger under the flap.
Tessa watched him unfold the paper.
The smile lingered as he read the first line.
Then it disappeared.
His eyes moved down the page.
Stopped.
Went back to the beginning.
“Tessa.”
She nodded before he could ask.
His gaze lifted to hers.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
He looked down again.
The letter was short. She’d spent two days trying to make it longer and finally realized there was nothing else she needed to say.
Dear Dad,
I won’t need anything from the Mistletoe Mail program this Christmas.
Next Christmas, I might need help reaching the mailbox.
Mom says you’re very good at helping.
I’ll see you in August.
Love,
Your smallest delivery partner.
Caleb sat down.
Not gracefully. More as though his knees had quietly withdrawn their support.
Tessa lowered herself beside him.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
She had imagined tears. Laughter. Perhaps a stunned question followed by a kiss.
She hadn’t imagined him staring at the paper as though he’d forgotten how to read.
“Caleb?”
He let out a breath.
Then another.
“We’re having a baby?”
She smiled, though her eyes had begun to sting.
“We’re having a baby.”
His hand covered his mouth.
“Oh.”
It was such a small word.
She had never heard it hold so much.
He turned to her, and she saw the tears before he tried to blink them away.
“You’re sure?”
“The test was quite emphatic.”
“Have you—do we need—”
He stopped, looked at the letter, then looked back at her.
She laughed softly.
“I have an appointment scheduled. It’s early. There’s a lot we don’t know yet.”
“All right.”
His hand found hers.
“All right.”
“You can say something other than ‘all right.'”
“I’m trying.”
She waited.
He lowered his eyes to their joined hands.
“I’m happy,” he said, his voice rough. “I need you to know that first.”
“I do.”
“And I’m terrified.”
Her shoulders eased.
“Good. Me too.”
He gave a startled laugh.
“You are?”
“Caleb, I’ve spent the last hour worrying about how to hand you an envelope. I suspect parenting may present a few challenges.”
He laughed again, then drew her against him.
She tucked her face into his shoulder.
For a little while, they stayed that way.
The refrigerator hummed. Somewhere in the kitchen, the oven clicked as it heated. Ordinary sounds in a house that no longer felt quite the same.
“August,” Caleb said eventually.
“Approximately.”
He leaned back enough to look at her.
“I’ve never built a crib.”
Tessa blinked.
“That’s your first practical concern?”
“It’s the first one I can do something about.”
“We could buy one.”
“We could.”
“You don’t have to make every single thing.”
“I know.”
She studied him.
He looked down at the letter again, brushing his thumb over the fold.
“My dad kept a pencil mark on the kitchen doorframe,” he said. “Every birthday. He’d make me stand straight, then accuse me of getting taller just to make him feel old.”
Tessa smiled.
“Were you?”
“Absolutely.”
His smile softened.
“I wish he could know.”
She moved closer and rested her hand against his cheek.
“I wish that too.”
Caleb closed his eyes for a moment.
When he opened them, he glanced toward the kitchen doorway.
“We can do that here.”
“The pencil marks?”
“Unless you object to me writing on the woodwork.”
“I’m a newspaper editor. I support accurate recordkeeping.”
“Good.”
He kissed her palm.
“And I’m going to make mistakes.”
“Yes.”
She said it gently, but without hesitation.
His gaze returned to hers.
“So will I,” she added. “We’ll apologize. We’ll ask questions. We’ll call people who know more than we do.”
“Mae.”
“Frequently.”
“Jo.”
“Whenever the question involves food.”
“Sometimes when it doesn’t.”
“Especially then.”
He smiled, but she could still see the worry beneath it.
She squeezed his hand.
“You won’t have to figure everything out by yourself.”
“I know.”
This time, she believed he did.
They were sitting on the kitchen floor discussing whether the spare room needed painting when someone knocked on the front door.
Caleb looked toward the hallway.
“Did we invite anyone?”
“No.”
The knock came again.
Then Mae’s voice.
“I can see your truck, Caleb. And Jo says if you’ve burned that casserole, she wants the dish back before you confess.”
Tessa closed her eyes.
Caleb began laughing.
“We could pretend we’re not here,” she whispered.
“She helped raise me. She knows every hiding place.”
He stood and offered her his hand.
By the time he opened the door, Mae was holding a plate of cookies and wearing an expression of mild impatience.
“I’m not staying,” she announced. “I only brought these because Jo forgot to put them in your bag, and apparently I’m the town’s evening courier now.”
Then she looked at
Caleb, then at
Tessa, then back at Caleb.
Her eyes narrowed.
“What happened?”
“Nothing,” Tessa said.
Mae glanced down.
Caleb still held the letter.
“Oh, honey.”
The impatience vanished.
Tessa felt her mouth curve into a helpless smile.
“We were going to tell you tomorrow.”
Mae set the cookies on the nearest table with remarkable speed.
“Am I going to need to sit down?”
“Possibly,” Caleb said.
Tessa nodded.
Mae pressed both hands to her chest.
For once, she seemed unable to speak.
Then she pulled Tessa into a hug so careful and fierce that Tessa nearly started crying again.
Caleb stood beside them, smiling.
“Well,” Mae said at last, drawing back and wiping beneath one eye. “I suppose this means I should stop telling you the spare room would make a lovely office.”
“You have mentioned it,” Tessa said.
“I was being subtle.”
Caleb laughed.
Mae held out her hand for the letter.
He gave it to her.
She read it once,
slowly, then folded it along its original crease and returned it to him.
“Keep that,” she said. “You’ll want it.”
“We will.”
“And tell Jo yourselves. I refuse to be responsible for whatever noise she makes.”
“Tomorrow morning,” Tessa promised.
Mae nodded, collected herself, then pointed toward the kitchen.
“Now eat your dinner.”
Later, after the casserole and after Mae had finally gone home, Caleb found a piece of ribbon in the wrapping supplies.
Tessa watched him punch a small hole in the corner of the envelope.
“What are you doing?”
“Fixing the presentation.”
He threaded the ribbon through and tied it securely to a branch beside the wooden ornament.
This time, the envelope stayed.
Tessa slipped her arms around his waist.
He covered her hands with his.
For a moment, they looked at the tree together.
Their first ornament.
Their wedding photograph in a little silver frame.
One more letter.
“Next Christmas,” Caleb said quietly.
Tessa rested her cheek against his back.
“Next Christmas.”
He turned in her arms and kissed her, slowly, before resting his forehead against hers.
Outside, snow settled along Cedar Street. Somewhere nearby, a car door closed, followed by laughter and the sound of people calling goodnight.
Caleb drew her toward the sofa.
“Come here.”
She curled beside him beneath the blanket, his arm warm around her shoulders.
After a while, his hand settled lightly over hers against her stomach.
“Is this okay?”
She remembered flour in Jo’s kitchen, his voice asking the same careful question before their almost-kiss.
She looked up at him.
“Yes.”
He smiled, then glanced toward the letter in the tree.
“Merry Christmas, little one.”
Tessa leaned into him, laughing through sudden tears.
And for once, she left every word exactly as it was.
If you haven’t read Mistletoe Mail, you can buy it at Amazon, or read it in Kindle Unlimited.