Love in a photograph

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The winter isn't quite as harsh this year as it was last year, and Harry keeps up his correspondence with Louis. Their letters ebb and flow with the weather but remain otherwise steady, and as time passes, Harry is itching to get back to Boston.

Gemma will be absolutely fine here, and Harry thinks he knew that all along, deep down. Gemma is a natural when it comes to the farm, knows exactly what to do, when to do it, and where to do it. She hasn't had a single crop fail since she took over the farm, and it's not because of luck. She doesn't need Harry here, and Harry doesn't need to be here; he needs to be in Boston, where he feels like he really belongs.

Christmas comes and goes, and Harry sends Louis a whole crate of preserves from the farm, along with a note to save some for Harry. Louis sends some sweets from the store for both Harry and Gemma and a couple of postcards that Harry sticks up on the wall in the kitchen. 1919 comes peacefully, Harry sharing a bottle of whiskey with Gemma by the fire and telling her all of the things he can't wait to do once he gets back to Boston.

Louis sends a letter the last week of January with some alarming news, the handwriting messy and quick, his words hasty.

Harry,

This week has been horrible. I don't know if the news made it all the way to Nebraska, but if it didn't, I'll give you the short version.

A holding tank full of molasses burst the other day in the north end, and the city is a mess. They say that more than twenty people are dead, some of them children, and more than 150 people are injured. It's absolutely horrid, Harry. It's causing havoc all over the city. The clean up processes are just spreading it around, so they have to clean it up with salt water, which takes ages and makes the whole city smell like low tide and gingerbread, and the ground is always sticky. Some of the people that were killed or injured were regulars of the store, and I just feel awful. Remember that old Italian guy who came in for bread when his stock was running low? He lost his daughter. She was on lunch break from school and got caught in the tidal wave. None of it seems real, like it could actually have happened in real life.

It's been helping business, somewhat. I've been donating a lot to the clean up crews and the rescue teams, but they also come in all the time looking to buy this and that. Of course, foot traffic in the north end is all but halted, and it pretty much includes downtown, here. Commercial Street is shut down, of course, but everything down to Faneuil Hall is a mess. Downtown crossing is mostly safe, but you can smell it for miles.

I so wish you were here for this, Harry. They say it's the biggest tragedy Boston has ever seen. I feel so helpless, and I know you would make this easier. I can't wait for fall, when you come back.

Love, Louis

He's included a couple of newspaper clippings and photographs of the city covered in molasses, bubbling brown oozing through the streets. It's hard to imagine people being caught in it, dying in it. Harry can't imagine how terrible Louis must feel, having to witness it all firsthand.

The love has become sort of a permanent fixture in their letters, which Harry quite enjoys. He does love Louis; he's his best friend, and he definitely always will be. Harry's given it a lot of thought, especially in the past two years, and he can't imagine his life without Louis in it. He's aching to be there with him right now, helping through this mess and making it easier for him, like Louis said.

He decides he wants to head back to the city a bit earlier than August, so he can settle back into the apartment and the routine before classes start. Really, he just can't wait much longer to see Louis again, but that feels a bit too pathetic to admit to anyone except himself.

Gemma buys him the train ticket for his birthday, even though he's not leaving until nearly the end of July. The trains won't be running in such cold weather, anyway, and Gemma wants to keep Harry for one last Independence Day celebration before he leaves. She's got a dream of setting off fireworks over the farm, and Harry supposes he wouldn't mind seeing it, either.

He keeps writing Louis throughout the winter and into the spring, but he never mentions when exactly he's coming back, and Louis never asks. Louis is probably too afraid to ask for fear that Harry will push it back another year, but Harry wants to be able to surprise him. He thinks it'll make Louis's day if Harry just walks into the store one day in July, like he did his first September in the city. Maybe it's a bit soft of him, but he wants to see the look on Louis's face when Harry comes back to him.

The months drag along, and then finally it's mid summer, and Harry's packing up his bags and loading them into Gemma's car. Gemma drives him up to Hastings to catch the train and Harry hugs her the longest goodbye of his life, and then he's off, excitement bubbling in his gut the whole day and a half to Boston.