Excerpt for Love Letters From Heaven by , available in its entirety at Smashwords

Love Letters From Heaven


Mario V. Farina

Copyright 2018 Mario V. Farina

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

All Rights Reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means,

Electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information

Storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission of the author.

Correspondence may be directed to:

Mario V. Farina


"Dear, what are you doing? I asked. All those papers on the floor!"

"Oh, hello darling, I just wanted to be reminded of something. When we met, you used to write such lovely love letters to me. I just wanted to see a few." Laura looked so cute sitting on the floor. I sat beside her.

"Honey, that's my desk you were looking in. That’s all business stuff. You wouldn't find love letters there. Look at all those papers! Notes about coming events, names and addresses of people, notes about business meetings, not a love letter and sight."

"You're right darling, I was looking in the wrong places! And all of those papers don't give good examples of your handwriting anyway. What you wrote in them was probably hastily done. I remember your handwriting. In your love letters, it was beautiful. Yes, I should have looked in the closet where I put all those envelopes tied with a blue ribbon."

"That doesn't sound like you, dear," I commented. "Was there a gap in your thinking mechanism?"

"No," she said. "Just a little carelessness. I'll try again tomorrow."

"What brought up all this business about love letters at this time?" I said. "Something happened?"

"No, not really. Just some random thoughts I was having."

"Come on, dear. Fess up. There must've been something!"

"Oh, I would feel so much of a fool if I told you. It doesn't make any sense."

"Let me be the judge of that," I suggested.

"It started about a week ago," she said. "There was a letter mailed directly to me. It was a love letter. Handwritten. It was signed, Henry. He said he had been dreaming of me and didn't feel he could live without me. He said he wanted to meet me, but gave no further information about how to do that. There was no more."

"Did you think I might have written it? Is that the reason you were looking for a sample of my handwriting?"

"The handwriting was so much like yours, darling. I thought you might be playing a joke. I didn't mention it to you, because I just couldn't believe you would do anything like that!"

"Despite that, you've still been checking?"

"Yes, just wanted to erase the possibility that it might be true. I know for sure now that this was nothing you would ever even think of doing. Absolutely and utterly impossible."

"You're right!" I said. "I think the best thing to do about it now is to just forget it."

"I'd like to forget it, but there were more letters, Dave. Each getting stronger than the last. I resisted it, but I wanted to look at a sample of your writing just one more time to make sure it wasn't you before I mentioned it to you."

"I wish you had, honey," I said. "Do you have one I could look at?"

"Yes," she said. "I have one with me. The others are in my desk drawer, under my recipe papers." She moved a few sheets of paper that were lying on the floor, selected one, and handed it to me. The handwriting was in blue ink. It was as Laura had said. Just a few simple words declaring love, no threats, no identification, just a signature, Henry.

I stared at the words inside the letter. The handwriting was beautiful. Much like that of a woman's, I thought. "Much like that of a woman's," I repeated in my mind. It looked very much like that of my sister, Millie's, handwriting! Could it be? It was late. I couldn't call her now. I tried to resist, but couldn't. I did dial her number!

When the handset came alive, Millie's voice was at the other end, "Hello."

"Millie," I began. "I don't know how to ask you. Laura has received some love letters that purport being from someone named Henry. I saw one. It had beautiful handwriting. Before I go to the police with this, I thought it was only right that I should ask you. Please don't be angry with me. I love Laura very much, and I'm only doing this to check out everything I could think of. Have you been writing any letters to her?"

"No, Dave, I haven't," she said. "Don't worry about having asked me. I would have done the same thing. I'm not offended. Those letters, do they sound sincere?"

"Yes, Millie. The worst thing of it is that I don't know who wrote them, or what was the purpose. The individual said he wanted to meet her, but gave no details about how."

"What was Laura's reaction?"

"She thought I might have been the writer. She said she thought I may have been trying to play a joke, but maybe there was more to it than that."

"How have you been treating Laura, Davie? Could it be she was hoping that the letter might have actually come from you?"

"I suppose it's possible! Anything is possible!"

"Does she have reason to believe you haven't been treating her well?"

"I think I'm curt at times. Maybe a little sarcastic. Maybe a little harsh, but, overall, I think I'm good to her."

"Is it possible you've been ignoring her?"

"I suppose it's possible! Anything is possible!"

"Do you think it could be that the person who wrote those letters might know that she yearns for love letters from you? And wanted to do something to make her happier?"

"We've been married seven years, Millie," I said. "The time for love letters ended a long time ago."

"You're wrong, Davie! she said. There is no end time for love letters. I would suggest you resume sending them, and actually signing your name. For her, a love letter from you could be a love letter from heaven!"

I was silent for several moments. She was patient and didn't interrupt my thoughts.

"Millie, I think this conversation with you has caused a change in me. I understand what you're saying. I'm ashamed for what I just said. I know you're right. I'm almost sorry that it wasn't you who did send the Henry letters."

"How do you know it wasn't me?" she asked with a smile in her voice.

"OK," I said. "Let's leave it a mystery as to who wrote those letters, but I'll take the advice you've just given me now."

We hung up.

Laura had left the room when my conversation with Millie had begun. While I was ruminating over the conversation I had had with Millie, she reentered the room.

"Dearest," I said, "the mystery has been solved. I recognized the handwriting on the letter that you showed me. I thought it might be Millie's writing, and indeed it was! She told me something about our relationship that woke me up. You're going to find me a changed person from now on!"

"I'm so glad you told me this, darling," she replied. "Now that I know who it was that was sending the letters, and what her purpose was, I'm not scared anymore. I did think we were slowly drifting apart. I'm glad that that trend is being reversed!"

This all happened 22 years ago. Since that day, I wrote so many love letters to her that her large desk drawer is overflowing with them. But there is an epilogue that goes with this story.

I received a handwritten letter addressed to me today. There was no return address on the envelope, but it was signed Henry Mason. It said, Mr. Merrill, a long time ago, I worked with your wife in the office of Smithson Products. I fell in love with your wife, Laura, and actually wrote her letters telling her so. But I never had the courage to tell her in person. I wish I had. My life could have been different. I did marry a wonderful woman eventually, and we've had a good life together, but my greatest love, over the years, has always been with Laura. You are a very lucky man, and I wouldn't try to change this for the world. I just thought it was time I told you this so you could appreciate what you have.

Download this book for your ebook reader.
(Pages 1-5 show above.)