Mail Order Annie
Copyright© 2025 by DFL Runner
Chapter 4
>> Trigger warning: childhood sexual abuse <<
Over the past several days, Harry had taken to occupying his midday respite from the general store with a walk down the street to the train depot and back. He would not allow himself to acknowledge the reason for this, except for those few moments he was walking past the postal station and slowed to give the young boy behind the counter time to see him and to hail him in case a letter was waiting for him. He felt silly doing it, as if he were once again seventeen years old, walking past the furniture warehouse hoping for a glimpse of Ella.
Nor would he allow himself to acknowledge the brief flashes of anxiety and disappointment when he did not hear his name called, nor the dismay that briefly passed over him the day his name was called out, but it was to receive a letter from his sister.
Friday, April 11, might have appeared to be an ordinary day in Fargo. However, there was an understood, if unspoken, awareness that tonight would be different from most other nights. Miss Cora’s house was closed to the townspeople this night. It was the first night of Passover, and so the house would instead be opened for Rabbi Mendel to conduct a Seder for anyone who wished to attend. Both the rabbi and his Christian counterpart, Reverend Joshua Allard, had invited their respective flocks. After all, the Last Supper had been a Seder, and this was Good Friday as well.
Under most circumstances, Cora took pleasure in the discomfort that could be seen in the eyes of her regular clients when they encountered her in other settings. On this night, however, out of respect for both the rabbi and the reverend, she chose to excuse herself. “I leave this house and these ladies in your care and protection,” she said to both men and to their wives.
She took a portion of the meal that had been prepared for this evening – some lamb, a few hard-boiled eggs, even a small flask of wine – and put it into a basket. On her way into town, she paused at the train depot and called on the postmaster. “Do you have anything for me?”
“No ma’am,” the young man said. The manner in which he addressed her was the same as the manner in which most townspeople addressed her – politely, but never quite making eye contact with her or engaging with her beyond basic necessity.
She could not have said what prompted her followup question, but it passed her lips before she was able to think much about it: “I am delivering some food to Mr. Crane. Do you have anything that I may bring to him?”
He paused. “As it happens, yes.”
Cora’s body stilled – in fact, time itself seemed to stand still – when she took the envelope in her hand and saw the name of the sender: Miss Annie Halsey, Scranton, Pennsylvania.
After a moment, she resumed her journey toward Harry’s home. But a short distance away, Cora paused. She looked at the basket with the letter inside, then looked above toward the sky.
“I don’t know if I have any right to ask anything of you. But please ... don’t hurt him.”
She rapped her knuckles against the rough plank door, loudly enough to ensure it was heard through the pelt hung against the inside of the door for insulation.
Harry opened the door, smiling, and admitted her. “Hello, Cora,” he said, kissing her cheek as she entered, the relative warmth from his stove surrounding her.
She smiled back at him. “I admit I was a bit surprised that you didn’t join the others at the house this evening.”
Harry shrugged and sighed. “Asher used to say that how we meet with God is sometimes more important than where we meet with Him. I am feeling a bit melancholy this evening and needed to meet with Him alone for a bit. I received a letter from my sister yesterday. She told me that Asher has gone to be with Martin. I am happy for them both, but I am still mourning him. He was there for me during the most devastating days of my life. I’m not certain that I would have survived without him.”
Cora patted the basket she had brought with her. “I come with some of the food that was prepared for the rabbi this evening. He was good enough to offer a blessing over it before I left. I think Asher might approve – food to remind you where you have been, and to give you the hope of where your God wants to take you.”
Wringing her hands a bit, Cora said, “On that subject...” She pulled the letter out of the basket. “From your Miss Halsey.”
Harry started to reach for it, but his hand paused in the air between them.
Earlier in the week he had come to the house to mend a dress for Julia, who had been with Cora almost since the beginning. She had made herself available to entertain a man who recently arrived in town, but the man seemed to delight in the illusion of power and had attempted to tear the dress off her. He was not as successful as he might have hoped. After all, Martin had taught Harry that his work should reflect the pride he took in it. A dress made by his hand was well able to withstand such an assault.
As to the man, Cora had taken her pistol – which she only rarely brandished – and told the customer in no uncertain terms that he was no longer welcome at the house. She further implied that if he were to return, she would use it ... and she would aim for a particular vital organ.
As was his custom, Harry had gone to Cora’s room for a short visit after his labor was completed. He spoke of the letter he had received from Annie, and of the response that he had sent. He admitted to feeling anxious about whether she would reply back, and if so, what she might say.
But now, in this moment, Cora could see that Harry had withheld the depth of his anxiety. His hand remained suspended in the air, wanting to reach for the letter and yet afraid to do so. His breathing had grown shallow and his hand began to tremble.
Cora pulled a chair over and opened the letter. As she read it, she realized she would need to amend her spontaneous prayer from earlier ... not only for protection against Harry being hurt, but also against Annie being hurt.
Cora regarded him. “You are terrified.” It was not a question.
Harry chuckled inwardly. Cora was at least Martin’s, and Isaac’s, equal in seeing through his armor into his heart and his soul. “Yes,” he said quietly. “I want to believe in this, to hope for this. And yet ... I feel as if I have had enough pain in my life for five men, and I want to avoid more.”
Cora skimmed over the letter again, then looked up at him and simply said, “So does she.”
As the words hung heavy over the room, Cora turned to the basket. She did not look at him as she started removing the food and began talking to him.
“You are unique among the men who come to our home,” she started. “Most men see the finished work of art that we present each night. You see behind the façade. In truth, you help us build that façade. The men look at us and see the beautiful gowns we wear for them. That we take off for them. But you help us create that illusion by making those gowns for us. You are unique in that you get to see us as we are, not who we show ourselves to be.
“I am forty years old,” she started. “From the time I was barely a woman, more men have passed through my life than I am able to count. I have trusted three of them. Three. In twenty-five years.” She spared him a glance as she set the food out on plates. “Do you know how I made the rabbi’s acquaintance?”
Harry shook his head.
Cora paused to take a bite of the roasted lamb. “My mother died giving birth to my younger sister. My father was a good man, but he was wholly unprepared to raise two girls alone. When I was eight years old, the pastor of our church died, and the elders called a young man to assume his position.”