The Memory Keeper

Chapter 15

The door to the post office jingled closed behind Natalie. She frowned, wind caught in her hair, the letter dangling between her fingers. The woman inside had been very rude to her.

"I am sorry, but there is nothing I can do without an address." She scowled behind her enormous glasses and handed the letter back.

Natalie had pressed her hands to the desk. "But I know you must have a list of addresses, in your book keeping, or some place! I really must have this letter sent as soon as possible."

With no luck, she had finally just left.

Then she remembered Peter telling her where he lived. Between Coldton and Stagwood, where she and her parents had lived together at one point, too. That area was not very large. All she would have to do is knock on a few doors, asking for Peter Sheinfeld, and someone would surely point her to the right house. After closing up her office, she ran for the train station to find a cab.

Two days ago, she and Piper had been two of the very few people who stood on the platform the day the train started up again, buttoned in coats and waving as Colette boarded it for Cape Colette. The queen mind weaver had smiled out the window, and deep down, Natalie was glad to be freed of her crystal gaze.

But now, the platform was teeming with people, all milling about, coats pulled tight, either in a rush or looking lost. Merchants shouted until they had sweat swiveling down their faces. It had been a while since they had a crowd this large, and had to compete with each other. Someone fell to their knees in front of Natalie and started scrubbing at her leather shoe with some foul smelling oil. "Best in town, my lady," the man said. "Your shoe will look like you just purchased it from the finest shop in Coldton." He continued rambling on, and Natalie did not have it in her heart to just walk away. Until he held out his hand asking for a large amount of money she refused to give him. "I am pretty sure my shoe is stained now," she said, and ran away when he tried to stop her, shouting names and claiming she had stolen from him.

That was one thing she hated about this area. She had to be careful of scams and pick-pocketing. Merchants here were also known to sell fakes meant to look like the real thing, like resin cameos or leather parasols. They tried to sell real art of well-known starlets, but with fake signatures, and Natalie's least favorite, one she had fallen into once and never again, stale bread and old milk.

She waved down a carriage, and the driver jumped off his seat and rushed to open the door for her. "Where to, miss? he asked in a sing-song accent." She climbed in, a little out of breath, holding up the letter. "I need to get this letter to someone I think I might be in love with."

***

When the carriage rattled over the road between Stagwood and downtown Coldton, Natalie had the driver stop. She asked if he would wait, and after a hesitant look, said he would wait no longer than ten minutes. She climbed out after paying him and ran down the street, leaves scuffling around her feet. She clutched the letter in her hand. The tops of the houses rose over the iron fences. It had all been quite simple. The idea. The drive. But it had not occurred to her until now that she was not ready to come back here, possibly pass the house she and her parents used to live in. The memories would haunt her.

She rounded the corner and stepped over a half-frozen puddle, houses facing each other on either side of the street, each unique and intricate, like wedding cakes. The mailboxes usually had last names engraved on the sides. All she had to do was look for Sheinfeld and slip the letter in.

On her way down the brick road, crevices filled with moss, she looked around. The willow trees shook their sprays in the wind, sunlight breaking in patches between them.