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A Christmas Stamp (O Little Town of Christmas)

By Cynthia Hickey

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Noel, Missouri, 1932

Lillian Tipton, or Lilly as she insisted on being called, sprayed one last dash of hairspray on her freshly curled bangs. She patted the ends of her curled hair before tying on a bright scarlet scarf that matched her lipstick, and then thundered down the stairs and out the front door. A blast of November air reminded her she’d forgotten her coat. She turned back with a sigh, grabbed the forest green coat from the rack near the door, and dashed back outside before her mother gave her yet another lecture on the dangers of a young lady riding a bicycle.
Her first day as a switchboard operator, and she was going to be late. The town of Noel, Missouri had been so excited to get telephone lines, and now that most of the folks owned a telephone, they’d designated a corner of the post office to a switchboard. Lilly had the day shift. Her first real job!
Still living with her parents on the outskirts of town, work was too far to walk. Lilly dragged her heavy bicycle from the shed and set off down the dirt road as fast as her legs could pump. Dodging rocks the size of her fist, the realization she shouldn’t have taken so much time with her hair nagged at her. She’d only wanted to look her best for the first day.
She waved at Mrs. Nelson, her family’s closest neighbor, and sped past.
“Lawd, girl, you’re going to crash!” The old woman’s warning followed Lilly like a premonition.
The front wheel of the bicycle wobbled in a rut, then righted itself. Lilly grinned at her near escape and continued into town, hoping, praying, she’d put enough hairspray in her hair to hold it in place under her scarf. She skid to a stop in front of the post office and locked her bike with a chain to a tree. She’d made it with two minutes to spare.
“Cutting it close, Miss Tipton.” Her boss, Mrs. Rogers, pursed her lips and stood by while Lilly slid her card into the time clock.
“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” Lilly hung up her coat and purse, gave her hair another pat, and tied her scarf around her neck. She put on her headphones and flicked the switch right on time.
The girl who handled the night shift, Annie Borrows, grinned and removed her headset. “Have fun.” She stood and clocked out, tossing a jaunty wave in Lilly’s direction.
Gracious, a girl could learn everything there was to learn about the residents of Noel, if she had the nosy mind to stay online. Lilly clicked off the most recent caller and settled back in her chair. The caller had wasted no time after being connected with her friend to regale the physical attributes of the town’s handsome postman. Lilly placed her cool hands to her overly warm face. Such language.
The postman did seem to cut a fine figure from what she could see when he stopped his truck in front of her mailbox, but she’d never gotten a close look at the man. Last time she saw him, he’d seemed a bit…old. Curiosity piqued by what she’d heard, she vowed to take a better look at the first opportunity.
The morning sped by. Mrs. Rogers relieved Lilly for her thirty minute lunch with a stern reminder not to be a minute late.
“I won’t.” Lilly grabbed her coat and purse and dashed outside and down the street to the sandwich shop where her best friend Marsha Smith worked. Marsha’s parents had owned Noel Deli for as long as Lilly could remember. A bell over the door gave a jaunty jingle as she stepped inside.
“How’s the working woman’s first day?” Marsha grinned from behind the sandwich counter.
Lilly perched on a stool. “Great. Busy. Informative.” She plunked her purse on the counter. “Ham and Swiss, please. I only have…” she glanced at the clock on the wall, “twenty-two minutes.”
“We’ll talk fast. Be right back.” She whirled and dashed through an arch to the kitchen, returning with the makings of Lilly’s sandwich. “Don’t’ tell my daddy I’m doing this. He says it’s unprofessional to make the food in front of the customer.”
“Mum’s the word.” Lilly glanced up to watch her break tick away at the speed of sound.
Marsha set the sandwich on a plate, slid it in front of Lilly, and poured them both a cup of coffee. “I’m so glad your break is after the normal lunch rush. I’d never be able to hear all about your day.”
“Did we get a new postman? Because, the telephone wires are on fire about how handsome he is.”
“Didn’t you hear?” Marsha leaned on the counter. “Old Man Roth retired. I haven’t seen the new guy, but he’s local from what I’ve heard. Graduated a few years ahead of us. He was the star quarterback, I think.” She scrunched up her nose. “Yes. Calvin Monroe.”
Lilly shrugged and dug in her purse for money. “To be honest, I’m getting tired of hearing about him.” She smiled and held out the coins.
“Put that away. Us working gals have to stick together.” Marsha grinned. “See you at lunch tomorrow.”
“You’re the greatest.” Lilly slid off the stool, grabbed her things, and dashed across the street and into the post office with one minute to spare.
~
Calvin stepped back as a slip of a girl raced past him and into the post office, leaving a faint hint of rose water in her wake. The new telephonist? No matter. He still had half the town’s mail to deliver and Mrs. Lincoln was missing a package. He didn’t dare head back out without checking the back storage for the elusive thing.
After searching behind every box and in every crate, he found a large envelope addressed to Mrs. Lincoln. Not necessarily the package she’d made it out to be, but it had to be what she wanted. He carried it outside to his truck and headed to the rural homes.
After a short time in St. Louis at college on a football scholarship, he’d come home with a minor leg injury and major self pity. Definitely not the fanfare a returning football local hero should receive.
It wasn’t until his father and brother drowned when their fishing boat sank on the lake, a short time after Calvin’s return, and his mother sank into despair, that Calvin pulled his head out of the abyss he’d fallen into. Ma needed him. So, he did what needed to be done.
The postman job was exactly what he needed. Solitary, good pay, and it enabled him to drive home at a moment’s notice if Ma needed him. With almost every home in Neol now owning a telephone, word spread quickly with everyone knowing everyone’s business.
He stopped in front of Mrs. Rogers’s house, and instead of slipping the letter in the mailbox, chose to deliver it personally. The curtains at the front window twitched.
Shaking his head, he marched up the driveway and rapped on the front door. Seconds later, Mrs. Rogers peered out of a two-inch opening.
“You found it?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He held it out to her.
“Great.” She snatched the envelope, then slammed the door.
“You’re welcome,” he muttered.
His next stop was home to make sure Ma had eaten the bowl of soup he’d prepared. One glance in the fridge told him she hadn’t. He sighed and knocked on her bedroom door.
“Ma? I’m coming in.” He pushed the door open and frowned at the sight of his mother still under the quilt and in her nightgown. “It’s afternoon, Ma.”
“Leave me alone.” She swatted at his hand as he pulled down the covers. “Let me die like everyone else.”
“You still have a living family member.” He scooped her in his arms and carried her to the sunshine-filled kitchen. “Sit. I’ll heat up the soup I left you.”
“Eat it yourself.”
He sat her in a chair and draped a threadbare sweater around her shoulders. “I have to get back to work. I need your cooperation and your promise.”
“Very well.” She crossed her arms, her once pretty face drawn with sharp angles and deep lines. “I’ll eat the soup. Now go. You can’t afford to lose your job.”
“Promise?” He set the warm soup in front of her. It would most likely be cold before she ate it.
“I said so, didn’t I?”
He planted a kiss on her cheek and hurried out the door, praying she would follow through with eating. The happy woman he’d once known was nothing more than a faded shadow of herself, and it ripped at his heart constantly to see her that way. He’d failed his father’s and brother’s memory.
Heart heavy, he finished his deliveries as a light rain began to fall. Perfect timing. Other than bitter cold, rain was the next worst thing to deliver mail in. Before he reached town, the rain fell harder, decreasing his visibility. The rear tires slid as he made a turn.
A figure on a bicycle darted past him.
The rider fell.
Calvin slammed on his break and thrust the truck into park. Shoving open the door, he stepped into the downpour. “Hey! You all right?”
The girl he’d seen at the post office stared up at him through a mud-covered face.

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