Love in a photograph

1

It's the kind of cold that makes the air hard to breathe, makes the lungs ache with every breath but you keep breathing anyway, because breathing's the only thing you still know how to do with your brain frozen nearly solid and your fingertips so cold they're blue. Breathe and keep your head down, tucked into your coat if you've got a collar big enough, burrow deeper into the cloth coat your mother wrapped you up in before you left the house and focus on the way your toes point inward toward each other, the sound of the horses' hooves against the frozen road, the frustrated whinny they let out every time the wind blows again, somehow even harder than last time, and makes every living thing in its path wish for shelter and a warm, all encompassing hug from trusted arms.

Or maybe that's just Harry, his curly head tucked into his own coat and nuzzled under Gemma's arm, her slim frame doing little to keep Harry's bones from chattering all together. It's the kind of cold that goes way beyond teeth chattering; no, it's full blown bone chattering, his whole body trembling like the surface of the pond on their family farm on a breezy day in summer. Oh, how Harry wishes it was summer now, that he were running down this path in canvas shoes and trousers made of breezy cotton, picked from the very plants in his backyard. Instead he presses closer to Gemma, trying to find any morsel of warmth he can steal for himself.

It's Saturday today, or else they wouldn't be outside at all. Even a miserable Nebraska December cannot keep the Styles children in the house on a bright Saturday morning, not when there's adventures to be had in town. They're not allowed to go to Hastings on any day except for Saturdays, and even then they're meant to keep it short, pop in for a visit at the drugstore on West 3rd Street and head home immediately after. Hastings is no place for two young children to spend much time all on their own according to their father, and had Gemma not had a friend in the shop owner's son, they wouldn't be allowed to go at all.

The horses seem to know all on their own to slow to a stop along a certain stretch of sidewalk, and when Harry looks up from Gemma's armpit he finds they're parked right in front of Troy's. He springs from the carriage and bolts as quickly as his small legs will take him up and over the curb, pulling hard on the heavy door to the store while Gemma tethers the horses to the lamppost. Harry takes his time wandering down the first aisle of the store, perusing the collection of sweets, until quick footsteps come bounding down the stairs at the back of the store.

Harry pokes his head around the shelving unit and grins, catching sight of the other boy before he's seen himself. The other boy is a bit taller, a bit more mature, though he's still a child as well, as much as he likes to deny it. He'll be 10 in a few weeks, the same age as Gemma. Gemma just turned 10 the other day, and Harry will turn 8 the following February, but to his absolute dismay he's still a baby in their eyes.

"Ah, Harry, there you are," the boy grins, skipping over to where Harry is still peeking around the candy aisle. "I thought I heard your little feet come in."

"Nonsense," Harry says, looking down at his feet. "You can't tell size just by hearing, can you? How'd you know my feet weren't big feet?"

"They are big feet," the other boy says, "for your age, anyway. You're growing up, Harry, aren't you?"

"Yes!" Harry beams. "Soon I'll be just as big as you and Gems, you'll see."

"Come to the back with me, I've got something to show you," the boy says, grinning at Harry with all of his crooked little teeth. "My dad just gave it to me this morning, says it's an early birthday present."

Harry follows him behind the checkout counter and through the door, into the small storage room where they keep all the extra stock for the store. He takes his seat on the stairs that lead up to the apartment and the other boy sits down one step below him, so Harry can see over his shoulder.