"who?" Luan asked, as confused as the rest of her family.
Albert continued, "He was the postman in town. A man about twenty years younger than me, bald and with a brown beard, was very average indeed. Whenever he came to the booth to receive or deliver mail, he looked down upon us, and we did not understand why until his superiors found out he was stealing mail."
The Loud family and Clyde eat while listening to Albert's story.
"Yes, that bastard has stolen four years' worth of mail from some people in town, all of whom are cripples."
"Then it is because of this postman that we have not received a single letter from you these years?" asked Rita.
"Yeah, he thought we blind people just doodled in his words," replied Lincoln as he ate a chicken leg his father had served him. "In the area, a girl in a wheelchair had no checks coming in and none of her letters had been mailed, and a deaf man had been waiting for a letter from his grandson for months. When they found out, they sent the letters and delivered the mail to their rightful owners."
"And it's all thanks to that sneaky boy over here." Albert said, patting Lincoln on the back.
"Thanks Lincoln? How?" Lola and Lana asked excitedly.
Albert drank some wine and began counting: "Well, this all happened six months before we got back."
-Albert and Lincoln flashback-
In Alberta, Canada, in a forest, in a two-story cottage, young Lincoln was on the front steps as always, waiting for the mail. The boy had not heard from his family for more than two years, and as usual, he was waiting for the mailman's truck. The noise was palpable. His hearing became sharper thanks to the silence of the woods near the town where he lived with his grandfather, and at last the sound of the engine reached his ears. With excitement, he walked to the mailbox, looking at his precious letters.
"Hi, Mr. Jacob, Do you have something for me?" Lincoln asked excitedly.
The postman looked at him with disapproval and replied as gracefully as possible, "I'm sorry, boy, today there is nothing, just the usual electric and gas bills and one or another booklet."
Lincoln was disappointed. "What? Again? It's been almost two and a half years now that I haven't heard from my family."
Gaston made a face of sly complacency and replied, "Perhaps they are too busy to answer. Or perhaps they are not interested in a young man who only gets in the way of the world." He whispered the latter so as not to hear him get into his truck. What he did not count on was that the boy now had very sharp ears and had heard those terrible words.
Lincoln entered the house and sat down at the table while his grandfather was cooking some pies. The grandfather saw his grandson and did not hesitate to ask.
"What's up, boy?"
Lincoln tapped his finger on the table; two years ago he had acquired the habit, and for those who already knew him, both in town and at school, they knew it was a sign that he was thinking.
"You know, Grandpa, a moment ago the postman came."
Albert made breakfast for both of them. "Great, and have they arrived?" he asked hopefully.
"No, not today either," replied Lincoln.
"Again? What could be so important that they have not written to us for more than two years?"
"That's what I wanted to tell you. I think Mr. Jacob is lying to us."
Albert stopped eating. "Wait, do you think he's stealing our mail?"
"I don't know, Grandpa, but we should go check the post office just in case."
The town was relatively close to the forest, and in about thirty minutes they came to Snowy Pines, a simple town of about five hundred and fifty with several houses and a high street where there are local shops, coffee shops, and restaurants. Ordinary prep, another high school Lincoln attended, plus the usual public services: a police station, a hospital, and a funeral home that Lucy definitely wants to go to, even though the fire station is incredible, despite being a place that snows all year round. However, they were always there when called, including at a park with games and a fair.
and finally a post office; since it is technically a city with a small population, the postal service only requires one person. Shipments that required leaving the city were handled by the state postal service.
Two albinos went to the latter in search of answers.
Grandpa Albert and Lincoln entered and saw Gaston putting stamps on some letters when he noticed the old man and the blind boy approaching the table.
"Oh, it's Albert and his grandson Lincoln. What can I do for you today?"
Albert decided he would be the one to speak and left Lincoln on some chairs in the waiting area. The old man approached the table. "I apologize, Gaston, but my grandson is worried about not having received any letters from his family in these years. He wondered, Do you think the mail can be lost or given to someone else?"
Gaston seriously looked at Albert and replied, "This is international shipping, Albert. If you don't receive it because it's lost or sent somewhere else, you should go to the Alberta post office to complain. I only deliver the mail here, in this town, and nothing else; what goes out or enters depends on them.
Albert noticed that cold look and continued to press him with questions, always looking him in the eye for any sign of lies, a trick he learned in the Navy when he had to interrogate prisoners.
"Ah." His hands started to sweat, but he hid them behind the counter. "I'm sorry, Albert; if I knew someone, I would have already asked him to give me a position over there."
"Working in such a small town must be very ungrateful for me to say that. Since there were very few places to drop off the mail, I imagined it would be easy."
Grandpa Albert kept trapping Gaston with his own words, but the Canadian didn't give up.
"Yeah, well, you know, sometimes you want to go to more places, and after twenty years of delivering mail in the same area, it gets boring seeing the same places over and over again."
while Lincoln, even from where he was sitting, could hear Gaston's heart beating at a rapid pace. The boy got up and walked up close to his grandfather, keeping his head lowered. "It sure is." Lincoln said as he turned to where his grandfather and Gaston were that even though he was handicapped and his eyes were covered with his hair, Gaston could feel those dull eyes piercing his soul and charging at him, "especially with Lots of disabled people."