Will Cora solve her next Havenford mystery?

Welcome back to “The Havenford Mysteries” series by local author R.A. Coscia. Main character Cora has moved on from the holidays and found a new mystery to deal with in "The Cookie Tin Letters." Enjoy installment three, "Sugar Cookies."

It’s Saturday night. The sun has just set, and Aunt Mae is putting on her coat to leave the house. She grabs her purse off the kitchen table, grazing her hand on the letters and recipes Cora has sprawled across much of the table’s surface. Aunt Mae squints at the written memories.

“Cora, my love,” she says. “You are spending an awful amount of time with your nose buried in someone else’s dust-covered romance.”

Cora looks up from the letters and smiles.

“Don’t you think it would be better to find your own love story?”

“I will consider the idea, Aunt Mae,” Cora says, “after you first tell me about how romance has shaped your life.” She winks.

Aunt Mae is a fiercely independent woman, and Cora has never known her to have had so much as a date.

Aunt Mae laughs. “Fine, but I will stand firm on friendships. You should get out more and make some friends your own age. Look at me, still going to my monthly card game. Don’t wait up for me; it’s rummy this month.”

“I love you, Aunt Mae,” Cora says as she opens the door.

Aunt Mae looks back over her shoulder with a warm smile. “I love you too, dear.”

Cora listens as Aunt Mae’s car crunches down the gravel farm drive, then refocuses on the letters.

One hour later, surrounded by darkness and candlelight, Cora feels like she has reached the pinnacle of a good novel. X and O have been courting for weeks, and they are finally preparing to tell their parents about their love. They are young but are dedicated to the future they believe they can build together. X has even confided in the local priest, who has encouraged their courtship become a marriage.

Cora has just finished reading a letter from X, agreeing to plan a dinner with both families where they will make their announcement. As she reaches for the next item, a recipe, she realizes she has reached the bottom of the tin.

“Oh no,” Cora whispers. She peers into the tin to check for anything else.

There is just one recipe and two letters left. Reluctantly, she picks up the recipe card on top.

She reads the recipe title, Sugar Cookies, and places the card back down. Her hand hovers over the second-to-last letter. She knows, deep in her gut, this won’t be the ending she was hoping for.

What would be the best way to honor the end of all this? she wonders.

Her hand drifts back to the sugar cookie recipe.

SUGAR COOKIES

1 cup butter, creamed

1 cup, granulated sugar

2 eggs

1 teaspoon vanilla (if available)

3 cups flour

1 teaspoon baking powder

½ teaspoon salt

Cream butter and sugar until light. Beat in eggs and vanilla. Sift dry ingredients together and stir into mixture. Roll dough thin, cut into desired shapes, and bake in a moderate oven until just set and lightly colored.

Best shared with someone you love and plan to spend the rest of your life with.

Cora stares at the recipe, the weight of what the last letters might say pressing on her chest. She wants to put off reading them indefinitely.

“Well,” she murmurs, “Mom always said I was the best procrastinator she ever met. Come on, O. Let’s go make some cookies.”

She rummages through the kitchen, gathering ingredients and corralling them onto the counter. In Aunt Mae’s old box of cookie cutters, she finds a heart-shaped one resting right on top.

“Perfect,” Cora mumbles.

A quick internet search tells her a “moderate oven” means about 350 F and that creaming butter is best done with a mixer rather than by hand. As she fumbles her way through the recipe, Cora can’t help but imagine O easily gliding through it, full of anticipation and hope, love and family filling her thoughts.

Cora hopes the last letter will be happy. If she’s lucky, maybe it will even reveal who the authors are. She doesn’t take her eyes off the cookies as they bake. After sliding them into the oven, she dims the lights again. The house grows quiet, heavy with memories, Cora’s and X’s and O’s.

When the cookies are done and cooled and the kitchen is cleaned, Cora sits at the table with a plate of cookies and the final letters.

O,

My love, it is with the deepest sadness I write to tell you I won’t be able to meet you as planned. Father informed me just this morning he has found work outside of the state. He says our home remains barely habitable — the walls still moist to the touch, the air filled with a foul odor on hot days. We spent most of today packing what few belongings we have. My heart aches. It feels like I am drowning while surrounded by air. I told Mother the cookies are for Father Francis. I will leave them with him and tell him they are for you. My love, please wait for me. I will find the courage to tell my father about us and our plans, and I know he will see them as we do. I will come back to you. We will have our life together as planned. I will return, and we will live in love. Please, wait.

X

Cora’s heart clenches. Her eyes threaten tears. Instead of telling their families of their plans, X and O have been torn apart. The cookie in Cora’s mouth tastes far too sweet for this moment, a painful contrast.

Her phone dings, pulling her from the past into the present. A text from Hannah.

Come to the museum tomorrow. I didn’t find the identities of X and O, but I have some information you may find helpful.

Cora types back quickly. Great, thank you! See you at 10? The exclamation point feels disconnected from her mood, but she doesn’t want Hannah to think she’s upset.

A thumbs-up emoji appears in reply.

Cora takes a deep breath and turns back to the final letter. Letting the air out slowly, she begins to read.

X,

I would wait for you for all eternity. Distance is temporary; our plans are eternal. I have no fear that we will not be reunited. I am always yours.

O

Cora sits quietly, staring into the candle flame, breaking a sugar cookie into pieces. She had hoped for clues, names, places, something concrete. Instead, she has found what may be the heartbreaking end of a young love story.

How could she walk away without knowing what happened? How could she ever know what happened if she didn’t even know who X and O were? Cora decides she can’t let the negative consume her. Hannah will be able to help. This is not the end of this quest.

The back door clicks open, and Aunt Mae steps inside.

“Cora, my dear,” she asks gently, “are you crying?”

Cora manages a weak smile and holds up the plate of cookies. “Would you like a sugar cookie?” she asks. “They’re best shared with someone you love.”