Mrs. Cole

After dinner, Nelson and Tom walked down the street. They had changed out of their travel clothes and into the everyday clothes from the wardrobe—identical beige wool sweaters, identical jeans, and identical sneakers. The last rays of the setting sun fell over them, adding a touch of gold to their faces.

They stopped in front of the alley where they had been robbed before. Around the winter solstice, the sun hung at its lowest angle over London. The sinking sun stretched their shadows long. Nelson stood in the middle of the long street, while Tom stood at the mouth of the alley—Nelson's shadow, edged in gold, stood upon the empty golden street, while Tom's vanished into the depths of the dark alley.

"Did we ever pose like this?"

Tom held a stack of photographs. As he walked, he lowered his head and flipped through them one by one. He pulled one out and handed it to Nelson.

Nelson took the photograph. In the black-and-white picture, he and Tom were dressed formally, sitting shoulder to shoulder on a small sofa. Jonas braced both hands on the arms of the sofa and leaned down, and the three of them grinned at the camera. At the edge of the frame, a slender waving hand made a V sign. Before long, Jonas straightened up and walked out of the picture, while Bella skipped brightly into the frame and took Jonas's place—Bella had taken this photograph. Their hair colors were impossible to make out in black and white. Nelson's seemed slightly darker, while Tom's seemed slightly lighter. They looked like a pair of real brothers.

Bella had fussed over them for a long time, like a little girl who had gotten a new toy she loved. She could not put down the camera Nelson had brought back. Compared to the cameras currently popular on the market, this little magical thing produced photographs the moment it was used, eliminating the wait for a film reel to become pictures. More conveniently, it did not need replacement film reels; it seemed to hold an endless supply of photographic paper. Still, while speed and portability might be the eternal trend in product development, going into a photography studio with one's beloved, striking a pose, holding the other person's hand amid the flashbulbs, and then waiting at home for the photographs to be developed was an exceptionally precious kind of romance.

"Probably. Auntie took so many that I can't really remember." The camera hung around Nelson's neck. Before they left, Bella had told them to take plenty of pictures with their old friends... But Nelson only spent part of his time at the orphanage. And Tom? When had he ever made any good friends in a place like this? "Still, it turned out pretty well. We can go to Diagon Alley later and let me make a few copies..."

When Tom ignored him, Nelson turned to look and found him flipping through the stack of photos again. He could only whistle and catch up, casually swinging the cloth bag in his hand.

"Don't swing it!" Tom turned around and raised his eyebrows at Nelson.

"I know, I know. After all, Tom's chocolate is inside." This time, Nelson gave him no chance to interrupt. Like an underground rapper, he rattled off the whole line that would leave Tom embarrassed and furious. And Tom's reaction was exactly as expected—he turned and strode away without a word, both ears and his entire neck nearly turning red.

One walked while the other gave chase, and soon they arrived at the entrance of the run-down orphanage in London's West End.

Staring at the iron gate, its peeling paint revealing blotches of rust beneath, Nelson and Tom stopped. Through the gaps in the gate, Nelson carefully studied the place where he had grown up for the first time. Compared to the warm and happy stack of photographs in Tom's hands, the scene in this little courtyard looked more like a black-and-white picture.

A solitary gray little building stood in the fairly large courtyard. Two sickly-looking pine trees stood by its inconspicuous entrance, with several faded streamers hanging from their branches. Nelson had seen them every Christmas for several years running. The courtyard was bare. Only a few swings made from nailed-together planks creaked as they swayed in the wind beneath rusting iron frames. The orphanage had neither enough funding to repair the ground nor enough staff to plant and care for anything here. There was not a single child in the courtyard; it should have been dinner time. Nelson saw a small face peeking out from the corner of the third-floor window that had once belonged to his room. The moment their eyes met, it quickly ducked back inside.

"Found him." Nelson smiled and nudged Tom in the ribs with his elbow.

Tom followed his gaze upward and fixed his eyes on the window. The little face poked out again, much more cautious this time, revealing only a Newsboy Cap and a pair of black eyes beneath its brim. "It's actually your room." As he spoke, Tom curled his lips and gave the boy a perfect throat-slitting gesture. The boy instantly ducked back inside and did not appear again.

"Gentlemen," an old, withered-looking man ran out from the gatehouse upon seeing them. He glanced at the small door set into the large iron gate. "The gate isn't locked. How did you—"

He looked at Nelson and Tom's faces, and his words abruptly stopped. "You are? Nelson?" He looked at Nelson in confusion, then shifted his gaze to Tom and asked uncertainly, "Tom?"

"Yes, Mr. Barton." Nelson raised a hand, while Tom nodded beside him.

A complex flood of emotions erupted across the old man's face—surprise, joy, disbelief, relief, and more. "Come in! Come in!" He pushed open the small iron door, grabbed both of their hands, and pulled them inside. Once they were facing the gate, he let go and jogged toward the little building, turning back to shout at them as he went, "Come in! Come in!"

Mr. Barton was a respectable old man. He lived alone in an old tenement building on the block beside the orphanage. It was said that he had once been an Allies officer. During World War I, his newly married son had been struck by a stray bullet before his eyes, and his pregnant daughter-in-law had been unable to bear the blow. One foggy night, she vanished without a trace...

After the war ended, he donated all his possessions to the orphanage next to his home and came here to work as its gatekeeper. Though he had a bad temper and a foul mouth, he treated every child as though they were his own grandchildren. He had practically emptied his savings to help these children who had lost their families however he could. Sometimes, when Mrs. Cole was busy, she would ask him to look after the children. Yet he never spoke to them about the war. If anyone pressed him, he would say, "You should strive to be good people, instead of taking an interest in a butcher like me."

He was a pitiful old man who had suffered deeply from war. Yet just as he said, every stray bullet on the battlefield could create a shattered family. Had the Lee-Enfield that once accompanied him not taken other lives as well? The souls slain by blind bullets might have been fathers, sons, or husbands.

"Wars may have right and wrong, and soldiers may commit sins, but children are innocent." One day, Nelson had been sitting on the roof reading a book about World War I by moonlight when Mr. Barton laboriously climbed up and sat beside him to smoke. He grinned as he ruffled Nelson's hair. "Before I became an officer, I was a sharpshooter. Later, I realized being a soldier was no better than being a doctor."

Watching his back as he ran with a limp, calling Mrs. Cole's name, Nelson patted Tom on the back with reddened eyes. Tom had his eyes closed and his face raised toward the sky. The old man who had watched them grow up was truly old now.

Barton led them to Mrs. Cole's office. She had already poured hot tea inside. Declining the invitation of all three, he returned to his post.

"What did you come back for?" Mrs. Cole frowned at them as she clattered a spoon around in her teacup. The old tea leaves, already full of fragments, were stirred into even smaller pieces. "I didn't take you in so you could come back."

Tom and Nelson had long been accustomed to Mrs. Cole's severity. They listened quietly to her reprimand, looking at the thin woman who had still possessed a head of black hair a few months ago. After three months apart, she had grown even thinner. Her cheekbones stood out sharply beneath her graying hair and pale face. She stopped stirring her tea and stared at them solemnly.

Then her brow suddenly relaxed, and she smiled at them. "Tom, Nal, you've both grown quite a bit taller."

"Mrs. Cole, how have you and the orphanage been these past months?" Nelson relaxed and lifted his teacup in greeting.

"I'm the same as ever." Mrs. Cole gave a self-mocking smile. "The orphanage has been much busier than in the first half of the year. There have been more and more homeless children these past two years... Not long after you left, the police brought over a group of children. Your room was empty for only two days before someone moved in. Some of the older children even have to squeeze two people into one room. There might be vacant rooms anywhere, but never in an orphanage."

"Is it really that crowded?" Tom asked.

"Yes. The other orphanages in London aren't likely doing any better than we are. You're grown now, so you should understand. Although the newspapers are full of peace and prosperity, there's..." Mrs. Cole shook her head helplessly, then smiled at Tom. "Oh, right, Tom. The children loved your chocolate. Many of them had never eaten chocolate in their lives..."

She suddenly choked up, lowered her head, pulled a handkerchief from her dress, and wiped her eyes.

"I'm sorry, I just..."

"I understand, Mrs. Cole." Tom rarely did not wear his usual icy expression, nor did he blush in embarrassment over the chocolate. Instead, he stood and patted Mrs. Cole's shoulder, comforting her softly.

"You are both good children." Mrs. Cole calmed herself, lowered her red-rimmed eyes, and lifted her teacup. "Though I love every child here as I would my own, I hope even more that they can all leave this place like you did, and never come back."