Before The Snow Falls | Holiday Novella

The Historian

Ithaca, New York

2019

I was somewhat disappointed that the next letter had also been from Felix. Where was the reply from Nora? I double-checked the dates at the top of the letters, and sure enough, Felix had sent a second note less than a week after he'd sent the first one.

But, overall, I wasn't complaining. I was pretty sure I could spend days reading letters written by this Felix guy. The way he wrote about Nora—like he was desperate for her—it gave me little flutters in my stomach. This shit was like the nineteenth-century version of a Hallmark Christmas movie. 

Oh, God. Was I falling for a dead guy that probably wore tights, powdered wigs, and those little heels with the buckles?

Wait. No, that wasn't right. Powdered wigs and tights were more like some Marie Antoinette business. I watched that movie not too long ago, and the men paraded around with those tight little curls and bows. Pretty sure that wasn't the same era as these letters. Or the same country.

My inept knowledge of history reminded me of Hale, and I checked my phone to see how long it'd been since he texted me that he was on his way. 12 minutes. 

I didn't live that far from him. Admittedly, I planned it that way. After graduating college, I received offers from multiple accounting firms but had picked the one in Ithaca partly so I could stay close to my best friend. Hale had been working in the library at Cornell University for the past year. He was hoping to one day work in the rare book and manuscript collection there, but for now, he was making do with the...ya know, regular books.

The two of us had always been together: through grade school and through undergraduate at Boston College. When Hale found out that I was moving to Ithaca, he asked if I wanted to rent the spare bedroom at his place. But I had said no.

For me, there'd always been something more with Hale—something I knew he didn't understand or feel himself. And I was okay with that. Truly, I was.

But I didn't think I could handle watching him parade other women around our shared living space. Even though Hale was a complete nerd, finding girls to date had never been a problem for him. Hale did not look like a nerd.

With a sigh that was likely over-dramatic, I unfolded myself from my armchair and tread across my living room to the connecting kitchen. I grabbed my Christmas mug, which had a very corny depiction of Rudolph, and poured myself a cup of coffee. It was still early afternoon—not late enough yet that I would regret the caffeine intake.

My mom had announced this morning that she wanted me to stay for Sunday night dinner. But it was supposed to snow today, and I hadn't wanted to risk driving in a dark snow globe. Instead, I left right after breakfast.

There was just something about having Sundays all to myself. Well, and now Hale, too.

But he didn't count.

I took one, long sip of my coffee before the knock on the door sounded, and I strode across my small apartment to open it. Hale was standing in the doorway with a breathless grin on his dimpled face. He looked like he'd just rolled out of bed, but it was in that kind of tousled-hair, casually attractive sort of way.  He was wearing sweatpants that were fitted enough to hint at the muscles underneath, and I saw his favorite Cornell University sweatshirt peaking through the open zipper on his coat.

I stared down at my own attire. I didn't make the casual look work like he did, but that was alright. My black leggings, wool socks, and over-sized sweatshirt were comfortable. And my hair was somewhat presentable, the soft, raven-colored curls hitting just above my collarbone.

"Hey," I greeted, gesturing for him to come inside.

"Hey, you," Hale replied and threw off his excess winter layers before running a hand through his unruly brown hair.

"So," he said after tossing his tennis shoes in the corner. "Let's see the goods." He rubbed his hands together eagerly. Apparently, all I had to do to get Hale to come over more was find long-lost historical artifacts. 

Laughing a little, I replied, "Over here," and brought him to the living room.

I sank back into my armchair and watched as Hale's eyes grew wide at the letters on my coffee table. Sipping my coffee to hide the grin on my face, I peered over the edge of my mug at him. The hot drink cascaded down my throat, warming me from the inside.

I don't know if I had ever seen Hale look this giddy before. He'd settled onto the edge of my worn leather couch, surveying the letters with open-mouthed astonishment.

Without looking up at me, he asked, "And these were just sitting in your parent's garage?"

"Yep," I said. "Believe it or not, they were inside those ornaments." I pointed to the open box of tree decorations on my kitchen table.

Hale looked torn between going to look at the ornaments and staying with the letters, even though they were barely ten feet apart since the rooms in my small apartment all ran into one another. But the ornaments won over his curiosity, and Hale crossed the room to gingerly inspect the artifacts with an awed expression.

"Have you asked your parents about this?"

I shook my head. "Not yet. I wanted to finish reading the letters first. I can't imagine that my mom knows about them. Otherwise, there would be no way that they'd be in the box with this other crap." I gestured to the other decorations lying about the table. "And if my mom doesn't know about them, she will undoubtedly ask a million questions when she finds out."

"Understandably," Hale said, nodding. "It is fascinating, really. Ornaments weren't even a thing in America until 1880, but the queen introduced them to the English forty years earlier."

"This is why I texted you," I said with a smirk.

Hale wasn't listening to me anymore, instead mumbling to himself under his breath. He'd barely even looked at me since he had arrived, his eyes never leaving the little piece of history that I'd uncovered in my apartment. Carefully picking up the first two letters from Felix, I brought them over to him.

"The letters are between some fancy guy from England and a lady in New York. Basically, she left him, and he wants to know why. Here, read these." I handed them to him before sitting back down while he surveyed their contents.

His dark blue eyes moved quickly across the words. He read so fast that I wondered how he even comprehended anything.

Hale and I had very different minds. Mine was made for numbers and equations; I liked things that had concrete answers and minimal guesswork. Hale, on the other hand, would devour some old book from the 15th century in a day. Words were like food to him. And it barely mattered what they said. Not to mention, he would randomly spit out hypothetical questions that he knew there were no answers to. It drove me crazy.

I think he knew it drove me crazy.

Finally, Hale glanced up.

"This dude has it bad."

"Do you think so?" I couldn't help but ask as I curled into a tighter ball on the couch. "Or is it that he just can't handle being jilted like that?"

Hale shook his head, coming to sit next to me. "I don't know." He lifted last the letter, reading from it once more.

"I know we are meant to be friends, but I no longer find the description adequate."

A small smile played on Hale's face before his head tilted to the side in contemplation. "It doesn't sound like he just wants to know why she left. It sounds like he wants her to come back to England." He twisted to face me. "Is the next one from her?" he asked, an eager look in his eyes.

"Why, yes," I said, grinning. "It is."

"Well then," Hale replied. "What are we waiting for? Let's read it."