Christmas Eve, 1864
The postmaster handed Eliza the letter the day before Christmas. It had sat in the box for a week, waiting for her, he said. “I’d have sent it along, but nobody was going out your way. I figured you’d be in for the oranges. I set two aside for you, the best two.” The man operated the post office out of his general store.
The oranges were the reason Eliza had hitched old Sabra to the wagon and driven into town. She had a sack of corn in the back to trade, a steep price for two oranges, but it couldn’t