Letters to Hank

Chapter One

Scout stared at the forced smiles plastered onto the porcelain faces of dusty dolls in the Mid-American Antique Mall. They all wore dresses of some sort, two appearing to have been intricately handmade with loose threads fraying the hem. He watched them with a careful eye as if he meant to catch them the moment they awoke from their enslaved, counterfeit slumber.

"These are giving me the creeps," he muttered.

His best friend since middle school, Rose, laughed. "Scared, are you?" She dug through a plastic bin of old postcards with a sign taped to the front that read POSTCARDS: 4 for $1.

"No, I'm not scared." Scout carefully touched the copper braids of a doll with a snarl on his face. "But they sure do look weird."

"Not as weird as you."

"Har har, you're so funny," he replied flatly, unamused by her jest insult. "What's so important about those old things? I'm starving."

Rose picked up a card and held it out to him. "This one was mailed to someone named Lucille in 1944." The postcard, once white, was stained by the fingerprints of time with a yellow tint. "These are real letters sent by real people almost one hundred years ago. It's like I can feel the heart behind it."

Scout tossed the old postcard back into the bin. "Sounds like you're hungry, too. Come on. I would die for a burger about now."

"There are several in here addressed to someone named Hank." She kept digging, pulling out cards as she went. "I wonder who he could be."

Scout tugged at the hood of her black sweatshirt. "I'll bet he's the cook at the burger joint. Come on."

"Scout—"

He stood tall as his stomach growled. "We've been in here for over an hour. It's just one, big garage sale where people get rid of the stuff they don't want anymore."

"But who's Hank?" Rose revealed another postcard and added it to her growing stack. "To Hank... Love, Hazel."

"Rose, he's probably just some ordinary guy and those are love letters from his wife."

"That can't be," she said slowly. "Why would his wife travel all around the world and leave her husband?"

"Maybe he worked a nine to five job and she was a secret millionaire."

Rose glared at him and shook her head. She studied a card from Munich and read it aloud, stuttering as she attempted to read the illegible handwriting:

Sent 7/2

7/1 6/5/PM

Hank—

There is so much to see here. The bus steps are tall and make my knees hurt, but I'm managing. Saw all these in Munich yesterday. It's a big city. Went to Hofbräuhaus last night—massive crowds and teenagers dancing and drinking. Saw Hitler's hideaway today and where the Sound of Music was filmed. Headed to see Glockenspiel now. Tomorrow night we'll see Verona and have dinner and a show.

Love, Hazel

Rose studied the penmanship and the stamp in the corner. "Scout, these are real postcards from a real person."

Scout sighed and barred his arms over his chest. "And my hunger is real. Let's go."

"I'm going to get them."

"And do what with them? Go to Munich and figure out who this Hazel was?"

Rose smiled as she clutched nearly a dozen postcards to her chest. "Maybe not go to Munich, but certainly try to find Hank."

One burger and a cup of vanilla frozen custard topped with toffee later, Rose held the letters firmly in her hands as Scout pulled into her driveway. She'd read them repeatedly the who ride home, attempting to decipher the messages written in blue ink.

"Nice chat," Scout muttered as he pushed his 2001 Chevrolet truck into park. The vehicle groaned and creaked as the gears shifted.

"Sorry. It's just that—" Her eyes danced over the cards, the stamps, the signatures. "This Hank was a real person, and he and Hazel had to have had a good relationship."

Scout shook his head as he stared at Rose. "That's going to eat you alive, isn't it?"

"No." Rose hesitated. "But I've got to do a little bit of research."

"Don't stay up too late digging through the phone book."

Rose giggled. "I'll try not to." She reached for his hand with a warm smile. "Thank you for today."

Scout melted beneath the weight of her crystal blue gaze. The setting sun tossed ribbons of copper into her dark hair. "You bet."

"I'll see you tomorrow." Rose clambered out of the truck. Once by her front door, she turned to wave goodbye.

Throwing the truck into reverse, Scout waved back and didn't leave until the door closed behind Rose.

***

Rose sat cross-legged on her bed, the postcards sprawled out in front of her. One was dated in 1965, one from 1995. A few were never sent, and some had German stamps in the corner. All of them were addressed to one person:

Henry Gordon

90872 Foremann Rd.

St. Louis, MO.

She shook her head as she read over the letters. The postcards had been sent from all over the globe: Alaska, Switzerland, Canada, Washington D.C., Germany, Austria, Colorado, Hawaii. Someone named Hazel had seen what seemed like half the planet, and with each new trip, she sent a card home to no one other than Hank.

"Who was Hank?" Rose muttered to herself.

She pulled out her laptop and ran a search for the man. Much to her dismay, nothing arose at his name. Her bottom lip between her teeth, she searched again and again, each time finding nothing more than a name with two parents, a birthday, and a date of death. After several minutes, Rose held her breath as she typed Hazel Gordon in the search bar and hit Enter.

Several sites appeared with Hazel's name as the heading. After digging through several, her heart stopped as she stared at her screen.

Hazel Ruth Gordon Kroyer

90872 Foremann Rd.

St. Louis, MO.

She gnawed at her thumbnail, pondering the relationship between Hank and Hazel. Though Hank had little to his name, Hazel had two parents, three siblings, a husband, and a son. Likewise, she was born in 1908 and died in 1986.

Hank was born a year before her in 1909 and died over forty years prior to her in 1944.

Rose shook her head. Nothing was aligning with anything. This Hazel that traveled the world and wrote home lived with Hank, yet had a life completely separate from his. Frustrated, Rose closed her laptop, stacked the cards, and tried to sleep. All throughout the night, she dreamed of Hank and Hazel and their peculiar relationship.