The Train

Aesop once said that no act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted. Some people are kind because they seek something in return, while others hope that those they help will, in turn, extend kindness to others. True kindness, however, is selfless and expects nothing in return, creating a ripple effect that can inspire others. Each small gesture has the power to brighten someone’s day and foster a sense of community and connection. Ultimately, kindness transforms not only the recipient but also the giver, enriching both lives in profound ways.

The year was 1876. Alexander Graham Bell had just invented the telephone, and England had recently adopted a railway system. In the bustling town of Leicester, a young boy watched the men laboring on the railroad, their hands calloused and faces smeared with dirt. He had never been on a train, but the rhythmic clanging of metal against metal and the distant whistle of steam engines filled the air, creating a symphony of progress that both excited and intimidated him.

For three months, he had been working at his father’s haberdashery as a door-to-door salesperson, and oh, how he regretted it. That day, hardly anyone wanted to buy from him, and he felt the weight of their judgment on his ugly face. The sharp crack of his father’s whip echoed in his ears. As he wandered the streets, he noticed a group of miners taking a break. They laughed and shared stories, their camaraderie evident in the way they clapped each other on the back. The boy approached them and asked, "Would you like to buy some hats, kind sirs?"

The men were puzzled.

"What did you say, boy?" one asked.

The boy repeated what he had said.

"Um, no," replied another miner.

The boy didn’t want to pressure them into making the opposite decision, so he walked away and continued about his business. Other people were no better. If he knocked on their door, they would simply ignore him. Once, a young girl, around six years of age, answered and screamed before shutting the door in his face. Two little boys followed him, chanting, “Hats for sale! Hats for sale! Look at the ugly boy with the ugly tale!” Each rejection felt like a weight on his shoulders, pressing him down further into the cobblestone streets of Leicester. He glanced at the shop windows, where well-dressed customers browsed with ease, their laughter ringing out like music.

Ten shillings was all Eliza had in her piggy bank. Oh no, she thought. Eliza counted it two extra times. She could have sworn she had more, but her mother must have taken it to purchase to purchase the flour and sugar for the week. Eliza sighed, her heart sinking as she imagined the warm, sweet smell of freshly baked bread that would fill their small home, a luxury they could rarely afford. She was saving up to buy a new watch for her father as a birthday present. As she sat on the edge of her bed, the piggy bank clutched tightly in her hands, Eliza’s mind raced with possibilities. Maybe I can earn some money by helping the neighbors with their chores, she though with a flicker of hope. She went downstairs to the parlor, which had peeling brown walls and was furnished with a couple of brown couches. Eliza looked through the cushions but had no luck.

She dressed out of her pajamas and put on a green dress, socks, hat, and shoes. She walked outside and a blast of cold wind blew through her light brown hair. Eliza went up to the white door of Mrs. Hayes' house and knocked. Mrs. Hayes was an old woman with white hair and blue eyes. She opened the door, and Eliza saw that she had on a white nightgown.

"Hello, Eliza!" said Mrs. Hayes. "How are you today, lovely?"

"Hello, Mrs. Hayes," she replied. "I'm sorry if I woke you, but I am need of money,"

"Where are your parents?" asked Mrs. Hayes. "At work, I presume?"

Eliza nodded her head.

"Well, I think I can help you," said Mrs. Hayes. "But come on in first. It looks like rain,"

Eliza complied, closing the door behind her. She followed the old woman into the dining room, which featured light green walls and a large mahogany table flanked by twelve chairs. Two gas-lit lamps illuminated the table, casting a warm glow over the room. Mrs. Hayes gestured for her to sit down, which she did. Eliza's eyes fell on a portrait of the Crucifixion on the wall in front of her. Her mother often referred to it as, "the greatest act of kindness humanity has ever known," Eliza liked that, because it was true. Oh, how she desired to be like her Lord, Jesus Christ.

Mrs. Hayes came back in with a tray of tea and crumpets. She set it down in front of Eliza before she herself sat down.

"Eat child," she said. "You look pale, and I don't mean pale as in beautiful. I mean pale as in you have tuberculosis,"

Eliza did as she was told.

"Now, tell me," said Mrs. Hayes. "Why do you need money?"

"I just need ten more shillings," Eliza said after sipping the tea. "My daddy is turning forty-two next week, Mrs. Hayes, and yesterday, as I was walking home from school, I happened to see the most beautiful, yet expensive watch in the whole world in the shop window of a Macy's department store. I was too tired to check it last night, and when I checked it this morning, I discovered that I only have ten shillings. I'm thirteen, so I believe I am old enough to work before I go to a poorhouse. Can I please do anything for you?"

Mrs. Hayes sat there and thought silently for a moment.

"I'm sorry to say no, dear," said Mrs. Hayes. "There is nothing you can do for me, but I know a man who is looking for a new salesperson at a Cadbury shop in Leicester,"

“How much are they paying?”

“I don’t know, Eliza,” said Mrs. Hayes. “Now, it you will please excuse me, I am going to get ready and take you there,”

At that, Mrs. Hayes went into the foyer and up the stairs. She came back down a minute later in a purple dress, black boots, umbrella, and top hat. She motioned for Eliza to join her, and as soon as she took her by the hand, they were out the door.

They were in Leicester in no time at all. The streets were lined with people bustling in and out of shops and bakeries. Eliza could smell the warm, inviting scent of freshly baked bread wafting through the air. Children played in the cobblestone streets, their laughter mingling with the chatter of adults discussing the day’s news. Her heart raced with excitement as she took in the lively atmosphere. They stopped at a local confectionery shop, where the sign above the door read “Cadbury”. Mrs. Hayes greeted the owner with a warm handshake, her friendly demeanor instantly putting Eliza at ease. The owner turned to Eliza and asked her a few questions about her experience and what she hoped to bring to the shop. Though Eliza felt a flutter of nerves, she answered each question with determination, hoping to impress him and secure the position.

After a brief conversation, Mrs. Hayes smiled encouragingly at Eliza, and they left the shop. Days later, Eliza’s parents received a letter in the mail. With trembling hands, she opened it, her heart pounding in her chest. The letter confirmed that she had gotten the job! Eliza’s eyes sparkled with joy as she realized that her hard work and courage had paid off. She was to start later that afternoon. When the time came, she pulled her hair into a bun, and wore a red dress, pants, and shoes.

Eliza’s first day on the job was slower than she had hoped. As she walked the familiar streets, her basket filled with colorful candies, she approached door after door, but the responses were often polite yet dismissive. “Not today, dear,” many would say, their voices tinged with kindness but lacking the enthusiasm she longed for. I'm lucky, Eliza thought. Other women usually can't get jobs like this. With each rejection, she held onto the belief that her perseverance would pay off, and she was grateful for the chance to contribute to her family, even if it was just a small step toward independence.

But no money came.

When Eliza told her boss, he said, "I'm giving you one more chance, girl. You will come to work tomorrow morning and sell some candies or you'll be sacked,"

Eliza stood frozen in the dim light of the shop, her boss’s words echoing in her mind like a relentless drumbeat. The ultimatum hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Her heart raced, each thud a reminder of the stakes. What if she failed? The thought twisted in her stomach, a knot of anxiety tightening with every passing second. The sweet scent of chocolate that once brought her joy now felt like a cruel reminder of her inadequacy. Outside, the laughter of children playing felt like a distant world, one she longed to be part of but feared she would never reach.

She could almost hear her parents’ disappointed voices, the weight of their expectations pressing down on her. But amidst the despair, a flicker of determination sparked within her. She would not let this be the end. Tomorrow, she would return, basket in hand, ready to face whatever came her way. She would prove to herself—and to them—that she was capable of more than they knew.

She just had to change something about herself. Make herself more preppy. She went to her friend, Hannah Pippinstock's, house. Hannah presented herself in a green, silk dress and matching brocade. White gloves covered her hands. Eliza took notice of how her blonde hair hung down to her butt cheeks and felt a little jealous because her hair only came down to her shoulders. Not to mention the fact that her dress was made of pure cotton.

"Hello," said Hannah.

"Hi," said Eliza.

Hannah walked down the steps of her house until she reached the sidewalk. As they walked down the road, Eliza told her about her trouble. After five minutes of silence, Hannah said, "Well, maybe you need to look more presentable like me. Wear more makeup. Buy and wear expensive clothes, jewelry, and handbags,"

Eliza’s heart sank as she looked at Hannah, the embodiment of everything she wished to be. The thought of transforming herself into someone more ‘presentable’ felt like a daunting task, one that seemed to mock her humble beginnings.

"But I can't afford that!" Eliza replied. "My daddy is a factory worker, and Mum is only a scullery maid for the Higgins family. You know that I am an only child, Hannah, so I do not have any disposable income,"

Hannah paused, her brow furrowing slightly. “But you could ask your parents for a little extra money, right? Just this once?”

Eliza’s heart ached at the thought. Her parents were already stretched thin, working tirelessly to provide for her. The idea of burdening them with another request felt selfish. “I can’t do that to them,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “They work so hard just to keep food on the table. I don’t want to add to their worries,”

Hannah looked at her, a mix of concern and confusion in her eyes. “I just want you to succeed, Eliza. You have to stand out if you want to sell those candies. People notice what you wear, you know?”

Eliza nodded, but the weight of her friend’s words pressed heavily on her chest. As they continued walking, the vibrant colors of the market stalls seemed to mock her drab cotton dress. The laughter of well-dressed children playing nearby echoed in her ears, a stark reminder of the world she longed to be part of.

"Maybe I need a larger assemblage," said Eliza. "Like Leicester Station,"

Hannah's eyes widened.

"Forget everything I said," she spoke. "You are right, Eliza. Go on! It is only two o'clock, and the station is usually crowded at this time,"

With that, Eliza took off, not caring if her dress and shoes got filthy as she ran through rain and mud puddles.

Eliza's stand stood in the bustling square, calling out, “Lollies! Lollies! Chocolate! Caramel! Hazelnuts! Buy and eat until your teeth come out!” The grandeur of Leicester Station loomed behind her, its brick walls towering high, white-tiled floors gleaming, and blue doors leading to destinations unknown. Despite her enthusiasm, her earnings were meager: just a penny for a chocolate bar and twenty-five cents for bulk purchases. As she waved her basket of colorful candies, the sweet aroma mingled with the sounds of laughter and chatter, drawing the attention of passersby. With each hopeful glance from a potential customer, her heart raced, fueled by the dream of making enough to help her family and prove her worth.

An officer came up to her. He was tall and skinny with black hair tucked under his blue cap.

"Hello," she said, smiling. "What would you like?"

"First off, I will have licorice," said the officer. "Second, do you have papers to be 'ere?"

"No," said Eliza as she handed him the licorice.

"Then I'm afraid I'm going to have to shut you down," said the officer.

"Shut it down?" said Eliza. "No. Please, sir. I will be sacked, and my father will-,"

Before she could finish her sentence, the officer handed her some money and walked away. Tears welled up in Eliza's eyes. If she was having no luck with selling candy today, who knows how tomorrow would be? She packed up her sweets and the money, ready to head home when she heard a child scream: "You could earn a few pounds with a face like that!" She turned around to see a boy taunting another boy, who was seated on the bench near the track, whose face she could not see.

Eliza walked over and asked the boy who was standing, "Are you talking about yourself?"

The boy stuck out his tongue and left. Eliza sat next to his victim, and after putting her money and candy in her lap, buried her face in her hands.

"Thank you," the boy said.

"Do not mention it," Eliza replied, her voice muddled.

"Why are you so upset?" he asked.

Eliza lifted her head up and wanted to say, "Because I cannot afford a fancy watch for my father's birthday, and I might get sacked," but she only managed to get the word "Because-" out before her eyes widened in horror at the boy's deformed face. He wore a stained shirt, hat, pants, and worn-out shoes. Slinged on his left shoulder was a bag of men's watches and wedding bands. He took his hat off, revealing his short brown hair. For a moment, Eliza's blue eyes stared into the boy's brown eyes. She wanted to scream at the sight of his face, but chose to not humiliate him further.

"Hello," she said with a smile. "I'm Eliza. What's your name?"

The boy gave it. Eliza could not make out what he was saying, so she asked him politely if he could say it again. The second time was much more clearer.

"I love that name," she said. "In fact, I love all biblical names,"

"I do, too," the boy replied. "I also like your name. My little sister's middle name is Eliza,"

"Oh!" Eliza said, interested. "Where is she? Maybe we can tell your family about how that boy bullied you,"

"We can't," said the boy.

"And why not?"

"Well, for one thing, my sister is not here," the boy answered. "My family is at home, and I dread going there, because my stepmother and step-siblings despise me,"

"Oh, come on, (boy's name), nobody can hate their sibling or son,"

"But they do,"

Eliza's heart broke. The boy spoke nicely, despite his speech impediment, and seemed polite. She decided to change the conversation.

"Are you from here?" she asked.

The boy was silent.

"I am sorry if that was personal," Eliza said quickly. "It's just you sound like you're from around here,"

"I don't mind!" the boy answered. "I like it when people ask about me as long as the conversation is not directed from its topic. That, and no one really likes to speak with me. I've lived in Leicester for the first fourteen years of my life, and if God wills it, I will die here,"

He turned his body more to face her, wheezing softly. Why does this have to be so difficult? he thought, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. Eliza’s gaze fell upon his arms, where bruises bloomed like dark flowers against his pale skin. Deep purples and sickly greens marred the delicate surface, each mark a painful reminder of the harsh world he navigated daily. They were tender to the touch, and she could almost feel the weight of his struggles pressing down on her heart. It was as if the bruises were not just injuries but scars of a life lived in the shadows, where kindness was a rare commodity and laughter often drowned out by the weight of judgment. The contrast between his youthful innocence and the harsh reality of his existence struck her deeply, igniting a fierce desire to reach out and offer him the compassion he so desperately needed.

“Are those—?” she began, her voice trembling.

“The consequences of me not making my own living?” he interjected.

Eliza’s heart ached at his response. She wanted to cry, but her father had told her that young ladies don’t cry in public. Neither do men. Yet, in that moment, she felt the weight of their shared youth pressing down on them, the unspoken truth that they were still just children navigating a harsh world. The boy never once spoke harshly to her for asking personal questions, much less ignored them. Instead, he met her gaze with a quiet understanding, as if he recognized the fragility of their circumstances and the strength it took to confront them.

"What do you mean by that, (boy's name)?" she asked.

"Never mind," he said.

"What?"

"I said never mind,"

"Have you told anyone?"

"No,"

"And why not?"

"Because I do not want my father to go to prison," the boy said. "Have I considered going to the police? Yes, but in spite of everything, I love my father. Please believe me when I tell you, Eliza, that I ran away twice this past year and he found me every single time,"

Eliza felt terrible. Suddenly all of her struggles didn't matter. She had personally hoped that the boy would not answer her, because she wanted to talk about her own class struggles. Better not bring him down any further, she thought. Not after how polite he's been to me.

"You're a candy seller, I see," the boy said. "I saw how the officer shut your booth down,"

"Oh, it's alright," Eliza lied. "After all, I wanted to work there for a short period of time,"

They were silent for around ten minutes before she added, "Anyhow, if you live here in Leicester, why are you taking the train?"

"I'm also a salesperson," he answered, tilting his head very slightly in the direction of his bag. "You know, men's clothing, jewelry, things like that. You have seen my face, Eliza. Sometimes my legs get exhausted, so I have to sit somewhere, except the sidewalk, because it's too hard and there are always people and wild beasts walking on it. So I sit wherever I can. I could not walk the entire twenty minutes to my house, so I decided to take the train, but that is bad because I made only a handful of sales today, and won't have any money to show Father and Emma,"

“Emma?”

“My stepmother,”

"You are so considerate, (boy's name)," said Eliza. "I like you,"

"I like you, too, Eliza," said the boy.

Eliza turned and leaned her head back on the edge of the bench. The boy examined her and wished that he could that, too. He was Baptist, and knowing that jealousy is a great sin, silently prayed that feeling to go away. He wondered where dreams go. Did they fade like the colors of the sunset, slipping away into the darkness, or did they linger in the hearts of those brave enough to chase them? As he watched Eliza’s peaceful expression, he felt a flicker of hope ignite within him, a quiet resolve to hold onto his own dreams, no matter how distant they seemed.

"I saw how that child was treating you," said Eliza. "That is why I came over. Well, that, and you looked like you needed a friend,"

"Friend," the boy repeated.

"Yes, a friend," said Eliza, a smile creeping on her face once more.

"I've never had a friend before," the boy spoke. "I don't want to lose any either. Eliza, please don't think badly of me. I do not know why I look this way, and I was not complaining about my life. I was just talking,”

“Oh, I know that,” said Eliza. “You weren’t venting, and you didn’t say a harsh word about your father,”

The two were silent again. People started to stare at the boy, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Some whispered and pointed while others giggled at the prospect of a beautiful girl conversing with a deformed boy. Eliza knew this, too, although she couldn’t see it. She sat up.

“I still refuse to tell you why I started working,” said Eliza. “However, I will say this. The world is messed up, (boy’s name). You know that. I’m sick of it!”

The boy put his left hand on her shoulder.

“‘Tis true, but remember,” he said, “there’s a lot of good people, like you and me, in the world, too. I believe that there are ripples. The Bible says that our words have power, so I believe that all deeds, benevolent and malicious, create a ripple in the universe. Then there’s the idea that we will rewarded by God, but I do not be good for that reason,”

She realized he was right. While good deeds are mot always rewarded here on Earth, they are known to impact other people.

“Why are you so unconcerned about what others think about you?” Eliza asked.

“I must admit that I care a little in the sense that I want people to know I’m civilized,” the boy replied.

“Why do you think he created me as a woman who can only sell candy?”

The boy bit his lip.

“Eliza, I just met you,” he said, “but I can already tell that God has bigger plans for you. Besides, you are not just a street vendor. You are a smart, kind, beautiful young woman,”

Eliza touched her chest. No one had told her those things apart from her mother and grandmother. To think she thought she was ugly that whole time!

“Thank you,” was her reply. “You are all of those things, too, except you’re a male,”

“Thank you,” the boy said, a half-smile appearing on his lips.

The boy closed his eyes. He remembered a poem his mother (God rest her soul.) recited once. He felt it was appropriate to cantillate it right then.

“‘Tis true my form is something odd,

but blaming me is blaming God.

Could I create myself anew,

I would not fail in pleasing you.

If I could reach from pole to pole,

Or grasp the ocean with a span,

I would be measured by the soul,

The mind’s the standard of the man.”

“That’s beautiful,” said Eliza, wiping tears from her eyes. “Did you come up with that yourself?”

“No,” the boy replied, shaking his head. “It’s called “False Greatness” and it was written years ago by Isaac Watts, who also wrote the hymns “Joy to the World” and “When I Survey the Wondrous Cross”,”

“Tell you what,” said Eliza. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a chocolate bar. “I’ll give you this sweet if you give me one of your watches,”

The boy was silent.

"Why are you being so kind to a stranger like me?" he asked.

“I’m not doing this out of obligation,” she said. “I’m doing this because you had a terrible day, and I want to cheer you up,”

“Alright, but I don’t have any money,” said the boy.

“That’s alright,” said Eliza. “Neither do I,”

The boy reached into his bag and took out a gold watch. Eliza unwrapped the chocolate bar and they swapped their items. The train rolled up in front of them. The red doors opened, and Eliza heard a voice shout, “All aboard!” The boy searched through his bag until he found his ticket. He got up and walked to the entrance along with numerous other people. Eliza watched on in amazement.

“Goodbye, Eliza,” the boy said. “Thank you so much for everything,”

“No, thank you, (boy’s name),” she said. “And may God’s love be with you!”

Eliza woke up, in her day clothes, from a nap to the sound of someone rapping on her door. Her bed was large with green and white floral-printed sheets and pillows. She tucked a gray hair behind her right ear and looked at the clock on the adjacent wall, which read 4:00 in the afternoon. She had almost forgotten about the funeral. She got up and opened the door to find her husband, William Lawrence, on the other side wearing a black suit and tie. His brown hair was slick back and his eyes were red.

“Are you ready?” he asked. “The funeral’s in an hour,”

“Almost,” said Eliza.

She closed the door and pulled out a black dress from her suitcase. Her thoughts were far from the deceased, however. Eliza often thought about the boy, and how she never saw him again after that encounter. She told him her address, and the next day, he sent her a letter, detailing how he finally got the courage to leave his father and stepmother and was living with an aunt, uncle, and their two children after his father had beaten him badly when he accidentally spilled a jug of water on his stepmother's lap during dinner. They continued to correspond in this way for five straight months before the letters stopped coming. Eliza often wondered where he was, and what he would say if he saw her again. She wanted to tell him that she gave his watch to her father, immigrated to the United States of America in 1880, and worked as a nurse at the local hospital. She also wanted to tell him how Hannah introduced her to William, the son of a prominent businessman, during a party that England's most richest and poorest men and women attended. They had a daughter, Addie, in 1899, and a son, Joseph, in 1902. Both of them had successful careers, were married, and had children of their own. Eliza wished he could have met them.

When she was done putting on her dress and makeup, Eliza met William and the children in the car. I hate funerals, she thought, but I’m doing this for love. William’s cousin, Frederick, died at the age of seventy from peritonitis, and although they weren’t close to him or his family, William and his wife felt like they had to go as most of the family, who they hadn't seen in a long time, were going to be there. William jumped into the driver’s seat and they drove off.

Eliza couldn’t take her eyes off of the fresh blankets of snow and ice that coated the ground. Children who were bundled up in their winter coats, hats, and gloves, ran out of their houses to play in it. Two women (sisters maybe?) sat on the front porch, sipping their coffee. They waved as they passed by. Eliza smiled and waved back.

St. Peter’s Church was packed with hundreds, probably thousands, of people. Its beautiful white steeples were basking in the sunlight of noonday, and Eliza could barely make out the Bible stories on stained glass windows from the outside. She and her children walked up the concrete staircase while William stayed behind and talked to family members and friends. As they reached the heavy wooden doors, Eliza took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle around her like a heavy cloak. She glanced back at her children, their innocent faces reflecting a mix of curiosity and confusion, and steeled herself for the solemnity that awaited inside. With a gentle push, she opened the door, stepping into the hushed reverence of the church, where the flickering candles and soft murmurs of prayer and distance conversations enveloped her. As she stepped further into the sanctuary, the scent of polished wood and fresh flowers filled her senses, she thought once again of the boy and wondered if he was still alive.

She noticed three women sitting in the front pulpit. The crying one in the middle wore a black, sparkly dress, hat, and veil, which made Eliza believe she was Frederick's wife. The other two women tried to comfort her. One of the women wore a beige dress and white gloves while the third had on a red dress and black boots. Eliza joined them.

"Hello," she said. "You ladies don't know me, but I'm William's wife, Eliza,"

The woman stopped weeping and looked at her.

"I just wanted to say that I am sorry for your loss," Eliza continued. "Frederick was a good man,"

"Thank you," the woman said.

The other women turned to look at her, too.

"He still is a good man," said the one in the beige dress. "I say that because we know that Frederick is with God and all of our friends who passed away,"

"Oh, so you were a friend of his?"

"Yes,"

She stuck her hand out and introduced herself as Madge Kendal. Eliza shook it, excitedly, because Madge was a famous stage actress. “I’ve seen you perform in ‘The Belle’s Stratagem’!” Eliza exclaimed, her eyes wide with admiration. The thrill of meeting someone so celebrated sent a rush of energy through her, and she felt as if she were standing in the presence of a living legend. “Your portrayal of Letitia was simply enchanting! I never imagined I would meet you in person,” As Madge smiled warmly, Eliza’s heart raced, and she couldn’t help but wonder how she and Frederick met.

"And these two," said Madge, "are Frederick's wife, Ann, and their daughter, Mrs. Enid Radcliffe,"

"How lovely to meet you all!" said Eliza.

William and the children joined them.

"Why, hello William, Addie, and Joseph!" said Enid. "How are you all?"

"Hello, Enid," said William. "Hello, Ann. Hello, Mrs. Kendal. I'm sorry to hear about Frederick,"

"Thank you," Ann replied quietly.

"I hear he was involved in the Great War," said William. "Is that true?"

"Yes, sir," replied Enid.

"Was he a soldier during the Great War?" asked Joseph.

"No," Madge said. "He served as an advisor to the British War Office to report on medical care to troops in France through the Red Cross,"

"Before that, he served as Consulting Surgeon in Africa during the Boer War," said Ann.

"Wow!" Addie and Joseph said in unison.

"Then there was him," said Enid.

Madge and Ann looked at her in shock. Eliza inspected them with furrowed eyebrows, her mouth slightly agape. Confusion quickly turned into concern when Ann began to cry into Madge's shoulder. Madge patted her on the head like a mother would comfort her child. Enid gave Eliza a guilty look. It was as if she knew she was not allowed to mention the man Frederick most likely impacted either through surgery or some other act of kindness but decided to go against her mother.

"What do you mean, Enid?" Eliza asked.

"I can't say anything more," was Enid's response.

"It's alright, Enid," Addie assured her. "Everyone makes mistakes. That's how we learn,"

At that, Ann jolted up from her seat beside Madge, turned to Addie, and said, seething, "That's not true. Some men commit evil atrocities without remorse, and sometimes bring others down the same path,"

"The ripple," whispered Eliza.

"Did you say something?" Madge inquired her.

All of the people around them suddenly went quiet as an old man with white hair and blue eyes walked up to his place behind the altar. A couple of nuns lit candles on a nearby stand, their movements graceful and deliberate, the flickering flames casting a warm glow that danced across the stone walls of the church. The air was thick with anticipation, and the faint scent of incense wafted through the space, mingling with the coolness of the stone. The congregation shifted in their seats, some bowing their heads in prayer, while others exchanged quiet glances, their expressions a mix of reverence and curiosity.

“Hi everybody,” the man said. "For those of you who don't know me, my name is Thomas Hardy. Frederick was a dear friend of mine. I will try to say this speech without bursting into tears,"

The nuns finished lighting the last candle before returning to the congregation, their faces illuminated by the soft glow. Eliza leaned closer to William. Someday one of us will attend the other's funeral, she thought. She looked at the women, whose eyes glistened with tears. She wanted to comfort everyone in the congregation, but knew it was impossible. Thomas pulled a sheet of paper out of the right pocket of his pants. All eyes watched him in anticipation.

"Frederick Treves was not only a great doctor, but also a great husband, father, grandfather, great-grandfather, and friend," he said. "I could go into his many accomplishments, which include saving the life of great George our King while he was Prince of Wales, but we must remember that people must not be recalled for their deeds. They should be remembered for who they were in life. It is these personal connections and the warmth he shared that truly define his legacy, reminding us that the essence of a person lies not in their accolades, but in the love and kindness they imparted to others. I could go on with all of his good deeds, but I'm going to mention only one," He reached into his other pocket and pulled out a small paper. "This is a letter from one of his patients whose name I forget,"

He cleared his throat again and looked down at the letter.

"Dear Mr. Treves,

Thank you for everything. I took pleasure in meeting both your wife and Alexandra, the Princess of Wales. I can tell she will make a great Queen of England one day. You may not have been able to heal my body, but you healed my spirit. I will always be grateful for how you took me under my wing six years ago, because you saw me as a person. And remember:

Tis true my form is something odd,

but blaming me is blaming God.

Could I create myself anew,

I would not fail in pleasing you.

If I could reach from pole to pole,

Or grasp the ocean with a span,

I would be measured by the soul,

The mind’s the standard of the man."

Thomas was silent for a moment before saying, "That's all I have written for you good people,"

With that, he returned to his seat.

Everyone was silent as Thomas’ words hung in the air. Eliza could not believe it. It was the same poem the boy recited to her forty-seven years prior. Maybe it’s just a coincidence, she thought. But what if it wasn’t? As Thomas finished the last line, Eliza’s heart raced. Memories flooded back— the boy's earnest face, the way his eyes sparkled with hope as he shared his dreams with her. “’Tis true my form is something odd, but blaming me is blaming God…” His voice echoed in her mind, a haunting reminder of their connection.

She turned to Ann and asked, “Who was the author of that letter, Ann?”

“Oh, a dear friend of ours,” Ann replied, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness.

“And what was this friend’s name?” Eliza pressed, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Why do you want to know?” Ann asked, her brow furrowing in concern.

“Please, Ann,” Eliza insisted, her voice trembling slightly. "It's important to me,"

She then began to recount the story of how she had met a remarkable young man in her youth, addressing William and the children as well. At first, neither Madge, Enid, nor Ann seemed particularly interested, but everything changed when Eliza started to describe the boy’s appearance. A flicker of recognition crossed their faces, revealing that they knew exactly who she was talking about, yet none of them had the courage to share what had happened to him after their encounter. Enid’s eyes widened, and Eliza sensed that her horror stemmed not just from the boy’s appearance but from a deeper understanding. Madge shifted uncomfortably in her seat, while tears welled in Ann’s eyes as Eliza spoke of the boy’s kindness and gentle nature.

"Romeo...," Madge whispered.

"Pardon?" said Eliza.

Madge's eyes met hers.

"I told him he was Romeo from Romeo and Juliet," Madge explained. "I remember how I came to him in the London Hospital after reading about him in the paper. He sobbed when he saw me, because in his words, he wasn't used to being in the company of beautiful women such as myself. He then shook and kissed my hand after I gave him a signed photograph,"

"Oh, please give me a name, Madge!" Eliza pleaded. "I have often wondered where life took him after our last outing. How can I forget him? His dream was to be loved and accepted by people, and I can tell that you, Enid, Ann, and Frederick made it come true!"

“His name was Joseph,” said Enid, her voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking his name aloud would somehow bring him back. “Mind you, I said ‘was’,” she continued, her gaze dropping to the floor, the weight of the truth heavy in the air. “He... he passed away not long after that,” she added, her voice cracking.

Eliza felt a chill run down her spine at the finality of Enid’s words. Memories flooded her mind—Joseph’s laughter, the way his eyes sparkled with hope, and the dreams he shared with them during their time together. She remembered his vibrant spirit, and how he loved to make her laugh. He was fine when she met him, so how could he have passed away so young? It could not have been because of his face.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"You know what she meant," said Ann. "He's been dead for over thirty years,"

"Now, wait a minute, Enid," said William. "'Joseph' is a very popular name. Maybe you have gotten the two of them mixed up,"

"You may be right, William," was her response.

Ann reached into her pocket and pulled out a small portrait, its edges worn and frayed. The moment she revealed it, a hush fell over the group, as if the air itself held its breath in anticipation. Eliza’s heart raced, torn between the desire to see the image and the fear of what it might evoke. I will not take it, she thought resolutely. I might not be happy with the results. However, while kindness is a powerful thing, curiosity is an insatiable force. It tugged at her, whispering that perhaps this portrait held a piece of the boy that she had longed to remember. She glanced at Ann, whose eyes shimmered with a mix of nostalgia and sorrow, and felt a pang of empathy. What memories does this portrait hold for her?

She snatched the portrait from Ann’s hand and turned it over. Sure enough, it was the boy—now a man. He sat in a chair, dressed in a suit that seemed to contrast sharply with the distortion of his features, which had only become more pronounced with time. Eliza couldn’t discern if his bold eyes were focused on the photographer or if they were gazing at something else entirely in the room. One thing was certain: He was beautiful. As she studied the image, a wave of emotions washed over her—nostalgia, sadness, and an overwhelming sense of admiration. The suit, though slightly worn, hinted at a dignity that transcended his physical appearance, suggesting that he had embraced his identity with grace. Eliza’s heart ached at the thought of the struggles he must have faced, yet here he was, captured in a moment that radiated strength and resilience. The background of the portrait was blurred, but Eliza could make out hints of a warm, inviting space, perhaps a room filled with laughter and conversation. It made her wonder about the life he had led, the friendships he had forged, and the dreams he had chased. She imagined him sitting there, sharing stories and laughter, his spirit shining through despite the challenges he faced.

"It's lovely," said Eliza as she mopped the tears from her eyes with her sleeve. "Let me rephrase that. He was lovely,"

"Inside and out," said Madge.

“Frederick didn’t have favorite patients,” said Ann. “But he, Joseph—not your son—was different. There was something about him that drew people in, a light that shone through even the darkest moments. I suspect it was the Holy Spirit. Frederick often said that Joseph had a way of making everyone feel seen and valued, as if he could sense their struggles and offer comfort just by being himself,"

Ann paused, her gaze drifting to the portrait still clutched in Eliza’s hands. "The only family member he talked about when he was living- yes, living- in the London Hospital was his mother, Mary Jane. I am not surprised considering how his father treated him after she passed. He often spoke of you, too, Eliza. He loved that you were the only person to show him a shred of decency that one day,"

"How did you and your husband meet him?" Eliza asked.

"Frederick met him through a man named Tom Norman," said Ann. "I guess that the reason why he stopped writing to you is because he moved out of his aunt and uncle's house because he didn't want to be a financial burden on them. For a short time, Joseph went to a workhouse. I don't know when he met Tom, but they became fast friends. Sometime after that, he came to the hospital, looking for someone- anyone- to... to...,"

Ann broke down into tears.

"You can see what good that did him health-wise!" she said. "Yet he stayed there for three months before he, for some unknown reason, went back to work for Tom. To make a long story short, he came back to us after living in Belgium for a brief period. Then, not long after that, he got ill, and-,"

"And that's how he died?" interrupted Eliza.

Ann didn't answer her, because at that moment, people began to rise from their pulpits and walk out of the church to the graveyard. Madge, William, Ann, Enid, and the children joined them. Eliza knew the answer was "no", but at the same time, she wanted to believe it.

But she knew one thing.

Her kindness changed his whole day.