TMIAP Chapter 2

The building, converted from an old school, was cold and drafty. Which meant it was on the outskirts of the capital, with many children but insufficient staff.

Still, it looked rather presentable on days when patrons visited. The children hung flowers cut from fabric scraps on the building and wore ribbons in their hair made from hand-knitting.

Aristocrats and nouveau riche would pat these children's heads once, then depart wrapped in the delusion that they'd become splendid people, leaving money behind.

And once in a blue moon, someone would take a child away.

Most wanted young maids or playmates for their own children rather than adoption. It resembled collecting pets.

Nevertheless, it was what the orphanage children desperately desired. Anywhere would be better than that orphanage.

Those who took children always stated the same conditions.

A clever, well-behaved child. And young besides.

Monica met the first two conditions but wasn't young. When Monica was dragged to the orphanage, she was already eight. People preferred children too young to know better.

Nevertheless, Monica's opportunity came.

One of the quasi-noble families sponsoring the orphanage wanted to adopt a child.

The man who visited the director's office said his wife had been unable to have children since a miscarriage twelve years prior and was always grieving.

"Twelve years old. I'd like a clever, well-behaved child. A boy would be difficult... A girl would be good."

The director naturally recommended Monica.

Monica was perceptive and clever. At twelve, she was already caring for children much younger than herself.

She woke at dawn to wash in cold water, then roused the children sleeping in beds beside hers one by one to wash their faces. She'd learned her letters quickly and even taught the other children.

The director would find it rather regrettable, but far better than sending an inadequate child only to have her returned after the adoption failed.

Besides:

"Black hair would be good... It would look dignified without much adornment."

Monica had black hair. The director smiled broadly and answered.

"I have just such a child!"

"Really? Excellent."

"Yes, her name is Monica..."

But by unfortunate coincidence, another child had been hiding near the director's office at that time.

Lizzie.

Lizzie Orphen.

By chance that day, the two had been cleaning the room across from the director's office, so they heard every word the director and gentleman exchanged.

Their eyes met.

"..."

Monica saw clearly in that moment the envy and sadness swirling in Lizzie's gray eyes.

Lizzie was Monica's age and had the same black hair.

But unlike clever, quick Monica, her movements were clumsy and slow.

She'd barely learned her letters with Monica's help and lacked the knack to do other tasks well. So she always admired and envied Monica.

"Lucky you..."

After saying that and closing her mouth sullenly, Lizzie came to Monica's bed suddenly one night several days later.

In the night when all the children slept, Lizzie knelt beside Monica's bed, grasped Monica's hand, and whispered through tears.

"Monica, please. Can't you give that position to me?"

Lizzie pleaded desperately.

Monica hesitated. Honestly, she didn't want to yield. More than anything, even if Monica yielded, it didn't seem likely to work.

So Monica answered haltingly.

"I don't think the director would allow it even if I gave it up..."

But desperate Lizzie clutched at Monica's skirt hem almost lunging forward.

The threadbare orphanage nightgown was sturdy enough that Monica had never once imagined it might tear.

But in that moment, Monica felt afraid her nightgown might actually rip.

Lizzie wailed as she clung.

"I'll! I'll manage it somehow! Some way!"

"How?"

"There's a carriage coming tomorrow to fetch you. You just need to look away for a moment. My brooch you always wanted! I'll give it to you!"

Lizzie's brooch. Monica's eyes wavered.

The brooch that had been with Lizzie when she was abandoned was worthless costume jewelry to adults, but to children it was as tempting as oatmeal with honey.

A tiny brooch with a round insignia inside imitation gems.

That brooch scattered pink beams across the white orphanage walls when sunlight hit it, and Monica had always coveted it.

Whenever orphanage children wanted to see that light, Lizzie would always act superior, then grudgingly produce the brooch for just a moment as if doing them a favor.

"If you just play with the brooch for a bit, I'll get on that carriage. Please. Please?"

Could it really work out so easily?

"You're clever and pretty. I get scolded by the director every day... I'll never have another chance. Because I'm a stupid, useless girl! But you'll have other good opportunities, won't you!"

A stupid, useless girl.

Words the orphanage director always said to Lizzie. If she could return to that time, Monica swore she'd grab her past self and throw those words back.

But Monica of that time wavered. Lizzie chanted through sobs.

"Everyone likes you, but not me. I'm ugly and stupid. I wish I could be even half as good as you..."

Praise poured unilaterally by a peer, admiration—even when the purpose showed clearly in such crude words, young children were weak to such things.

Really? Will I be adopted again quickly because I'm pretty and clever? She'll have a hard time, won't she? Fragmentary, vague thoughts filled young Monica's mind.

Moreover, she felt sorry for Lizzie, who would be left alone to be scolded every day if Monica was adopted.

Whenever scolded by the director, Lizzie would clutch her dirty apron tight, and because of that, the wrinkles in that apron never smoothed out.

Lizzie's cheeks, which had been plump as if holding candy, had grown quite hollow in just a few days.

So Monica hid in the attic early the next morning, just as Lizzie had suggested. She clutched Lizzie's pink brooch in her hand.

Approaching the window and holding the brooch up to the sunlight, pink beams reflected on the wall. Beautiful, sparkling light.

But strangely, she felt no particular emotion.

Suddenly Monica opened the attic dormer and looked down.

Monica still remembered the view from that dormer.

The director was nearly going mad when Monica couldn't be found despite that aristocratic family's magnificent carriage arriving early in the morning.

Then Lizzie quickly put on the best dress and stuck her head out before the director. Still clutching her skirt.

The director hesitated a moment, then grabbed the hesitating child's shoulder and thrust her before the man standing by the carriage.

Lizzie boarded that carriage without looking back. That day Monica was beaten by the director until her leg nearly broke.

"You made a fool of me! Stupid girl! Did you think there'd be a next time?"

Monica, who'd cried herself to sleep, looked at the bruises on her leg the next morning and cried harder still. Those bruises must have lasted a month.

Monica's hope that parents to adopt her would appear gradually transformed into hoping Lizzie might return.

She even dreamed that one day the man in that fine hat would suddenly appear again and say, 'We made a mistake. The girl we want is Monica.'

But the director had been right. There was no next time for Monica.

Though the director had been furious at the two cunning girls, if someone else had wanted Monica, she would have sent her for adoption.

But no more families appeared wanting a girl past twelve.

Nor did Lizzie return. Not until eighteen-year-old Monica left the orphanage as if fleeing.

"Sigh."

Monica exhaled.

Thinking back now, perhaps the truly clever child had been Lizzie. Wasn't that so?

'She seemed clumsy but was quick when it mattered.'

Too late for such thoughts now, though. Monica wiped the bridge of her nose.

In early summer weather, a taffeta dress covering the wrists felt somewhat warm.

But it was the only good dress Monica owned.

She'd need to wear this dress tomorrow too, so she had to walk carefully.

La Spezia's commercial district, unlike the capital, remained unpaved, and dirt dust rose hazily with each step.

Mistress Oraingne had mentioned the child Monica would teach was a boy.

The second child and youngest in a family that had only one eldest daughter before. Sickly from childhood, requiring someone who could care for him constantly and handle emergencies.

The title was merely third-class Honorable, but the family had tremendous wealth, and the lady of that house treasured that son as if he might go out if squeezed or fly away if blown upon.

Even the servants brought into the house would be dismissed immediately if they showed the slightest sign of illness, for fear of infecting the son—that told the story well enough.

'Catching a cold would be disastrous.'

La Spezia's most famous attractions were the swimming competitions held at sea, and the lake nearby, she'd heard.

Connected to the sea yet mysteriously freshwater, the lake was apparently full of boating parties in summer.

If she were attending an aristocratic young master, she'd thought she might manage a surreptitious visit, but it seemed that dream was impossible.

"...Hm?"

Thinking that far, Monica's eyes widened. The surrounding scenery had grown unfamiliar.

She'd intended to return to the inn near La Spezia Station originally...

"The harbor?"

When she came to her senses, she was walking among sailors.

Monica's mouth fell open.

The wind carried the thick scent of salt. Amid the stinging sunlight and salty breeze, several large sailing ships stood at anchor in the distance, showing off their tall masts.

The dusty streets had vanished; the ground Monica now walked was rough stone. Light-colored canvas tents stained with water flapped here and there, and sun-blackened sailors moved busily around them.

"Move, move!"

"Hey! You swindler!"

"This voyage's compensation..."

Men in fine hats, laborers with rolled-up sleeves, young boys pulling pack animals, street vendors attracting attention with parrots and such—all manner of rabble.

Only then did she recall what Mistress Oraingne had said.

"La Spezia Station wasn't used during the war, so the area in front is chaotic. People get lost all the time. The streets are terribly confusing."

She'd heard the harbor was right near the station. Lost in thought and walking alone, she'd apparently drifted all the way to the harbor.

Monica looked around anxiously. Harbors were decidedly not good places for ladies to walk.

"Excuse me, but to La Spezia Station..."

"What? Move!"

She wanted to ask directions, but the busy people wouldn't give Monica the time.

A sailor carrying a large crate glared at Monica. Monica shrank back unnecessarily and stepped to one side of the path.

Fortunately, when she searched the streets carefully, she spotted the tip of the clock tower in front of the station she'd seen when arriving in La Spezia, far in the distance.

'If I just get there, I'll manage somehow.'

From the front of the station, she should be able to find her way well enough. Monica sighed and turned in that direction. That was when it happened.

"Oh dear."

As soon as she turned, something blocked her vision.

Before she could even gasp in surprise, Monica bumped her forehead against it.

"Ah."

Whether fortunate or not, Monica immediately realized it was someone's chest.

Of course, that was partly because whoever she'd bumped into had grasped her shoulders at once.

A firm chest beneath soft fabric, a strong scent mingling with the salt smell.

The hand gripping Monica's arm released her with surprising lightness. Monica lifted her head in a daze.

"Are you all right, miss?"

She felt dizzy. Whether it was the afternoon sunlight illuminating the harbor that sparkled so, or the golden hair of the young man who'd caught her, she couldn't tell.

Remarkably beautiful blue eyes were looking down at Monica. Monica's mouth opened slightly.

"...Sol?"

The man's face blurred.