The snow was thick on the ground, and still falling, threatening to blanket the city in a heavy cottony layer, dampening every sound. It was oddly quiet, hauntingly so, and the streets were deserted. The windows of home, large and small, were lit by candles, and festive trees were visible if you looked hard enough. Wreaths, and holly, and mistletoe, all frosted with a fresh layer of snow made the normally filthy, gritty city seem, for once, almost inviting, almost like a place worth sticking around in.
Except, of course, if you were out in those streets, late at night, running to make it back to the lodging house before the door was locked for the night. He had a stitch in his side already, his fingers threatening to break off with the cold, his jacket doing absolutely nothing to keep him warm, and yet his exertions had left his face flushed, breathing in quick gasps as he tried to dodge hazards nearly hidden in the snow.
It was up to his knees already, and if it didn't stop soon, it would be up to his waist. By morning, when he and the others would have to force their way out of the building they all lived in, it would be taller than some of the younger boys. Selling, in the morning, Christmas Eve morning, was not going to be an easy task that year- a shame, really, since people were less apt to demand change for their nickels and dimes on a day like Christmas Eve.
And he could use those spare coins. He hadn't finished putting together little gifts for his friends yet. Most of what he gave were trinkets and small odds and ends he'd spent the year gathering, with Christmas in mind. But some of them deserved something a bit more, penny candy, or new, shiny marbles, or even a picture card, or a penny dreadful or two. And there were so many new faces this year, so many new friends, he knew he had to find the right gift for everyone, so everyone would feel welcome.
He wasn't sure why it was his job to do that sort of thing, but it was. The Duane St lodging house newsies didn't really have a leader, not since Indian O'Riley had left to get a grown up job in a butcher shop, and nobody had really wanted to try to take his place, but he was sort of their de facto leader, if it came down to it. He looked after the new kids, taught them how to sell, tried to keep them on as straight and narrow as lying, cheating newsies could be.
There had been a time, of course, when he wouldn't have done it, wouldn't have taken the responsibility on. He had other things to worry about, back then. His mother, and his little sister. His father could look after himself, but little Rosie, and ma were his job. And when ma took sick, and left them, and John got himself arrested in a botched robbery, the care of Rosie fell to him.
And no one could dare say he wasn't a good older brother, that he hadn't tried to take care of her. No one could dare say that. But they could dare say that Rosie had grown up to be more like their father than he was. And by the time he was ten, he started taking the rap for her, swinging in and out of the Boys House of Refuge on petty theft charges. Once or twice, of course, it was honestly him. Stealing food wasn't a horrible crime, if you asked him, and he'd done it, to ensure he and his sister ate. But time and time again, he let his sister hide while he took the fall for the things she did. Until, finally, he didn't anymore. He let her get arrested. And that time, it was bad. It would be years before he saw his sister again, and he knew it. And he felt guilty about it, but there it was.
He dealt with it by being the best older brother he could be for the other newsies. Indian had just left them around the time Rosie got locked up, and there was a void that needed filling. He wouldn't call himself their leader, he didn't feel he was their leader, but he was everyone's big brother, the one you could look up to, depend on, who would help you out if you needed it.
And that was why he needed to make sure he got each and every one of them something. It wasn't easy, and there were a lot of newsies, not to mention a handful of newsgirls who might actually physically harm him if they thought they were being ignored, and he tried to make every little trinket mean something. A cigar for Race, marbles for Boots, shoelaces for Mush, a picture card of a tropical island for Skittery, so on, and so forth. He tried his best, he did. But he was only 14, and it was a lot of weight on his shoulders.
Still, they were his family. His replacement family. And he had to look after them better than he'd looked after his mother, and his sister. No one else was going to, they were all on their own.
And he was running very, very late. He could see Kloppman looking through the door into the growing snowstorm as he rounded the corner, knowing the old man was about to lock up for the night, waving frantically to stop him.
As he skidded, literally, nearly sliding across the floor into the lobby, he grinned, recklessly at the old man who was like a grandfather to them all. "Happy Christmas Eve eve, Kloppy!"
"Happy Christmas Eve eve, Cowboy. Where the hell've you been, anyway?" Kloppman tried to mask his smile with a stern shake of the head, firmly closing the door, and scowling at the puddles of slush now forming on his lobby floor.
"Last minute shoppin." Shrugging, he pushed the hat from his head, sneezing as loose snow fell into his face, shedding his jacket at the same time. "I had to get a few more things for the stockings."
There were stockings strung along the stairwell leading up to the boys bunk room, each with a name pinned to it, and while it might seem like it was tempting fate a bit to have them out like that, heaven protect the boy who touched a stocking before Christmas morning, or tried to steal from them. All of the wrath of god, and Kloppman, would come down on him like a ton of bricks.
"You're a good kid, Sullivan. But it's late, and you've got to be up early. Get to bed." Out of all of the boys, Kloppman did seem to have a special, soft spot in his heart for the little boy in the cowboy hat.
"I know, I know. I'll see you on Christmas Eve!" With a grin that could light up a room, and melt hearts from a mile away, he dodged upstairs, leaving a trail of footprints in his wake, desperate for it to be Christmas, to see the looks on everyone's faces when they went through their stockings.