Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies. However, I do own The Catholic in Question, for anyone that's curious.
Author's Notes: One of those "must-jot-down-the-first-nagging-sentence-this-SECOND" fics, and everything fell into place from there. Mad love to Vinyl, who read it over for me and gave me the title ("Guilty" in Latin). Feedback is very much appreciated.
Scelestus
Sarah is in love with a Catholic. If her family knew, they would disown her.
Nights, when the sun sets, she sneaks away to see her love.
"Sarah?" Ester asked as Sarah cracked the door open slowly. "Where are you going?"
"To see Ruth Rosenthal, Mama." Sarah's lies were beginning to become effortless. "She has the flu."
"Tell her I wish her well, dear, and if you're late, make sure someone walks you home."
"Yes, Mama. I will."
The door shut behind her, leaving silence and darkness.
Only after nightfall, though, is her love released from studies, so the initial falsehoods of sick friends and forgotten shawls had to change. They instead became dinners with schoolmates or studying with friends, maybe even a walk with Jack every so often -- just as long as David was out with other newsies and did not hear of it.
"What's your name, anyway?"
She still thinks fondly of their first meeting, a conversation early in the morning before religious studies, leading quickly to their first forbidden tryst.
"Sarah Jacobs. Yours?"
The Irish name and slight lilt in the voice set off warning bells within her.
"And you live here?"
A nod. Sarah was immediately fascinated by this, and she made the warning bells go silent.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Yes, if you want."
"What's it like living there…?"
The sun is lowering in the sky; she should go. "Mama!" Sarah calls as she rummages around the tenement. "Mama, have you seen my shawl?"
"On your bed, dear," Ester yells back from the bedroom. "Are you going out?"
"For a little, Mama."
"Sarah, you're going out too much these days," her mother scolds. Sarah freezes for a moment and then says the first thing that comes to her mind.
"It's Mrs. Hynes, Mama," she explains, drawing her newly-found shawl tightly around her shoulders. "She needs an errand run, and she asked me. You know she can't do it herself, with her bad hip…"
"It's nothing terrible," was the reply. "Prayer, meditation, fasting…but people take care of you. It's like a family."
Sarah nodded, thinking that it must be like David's newsboy life he talks about.
"Where do you live?" A question that caught Sarah by surprise.
"Waxman Street," she replied. "Why?"
"Is it far?"
"It's only a fifteen minute walk."
Ester sighs. "Yes, Sarah, I know, but still...can't it be done tomorrow?"
"She said it was important, though."
"Sarah Elizabeth Ja--"
"I won't be long, I promise!" she begs. "Don't think of it as me asking. Think of it as Mrs. Hynes asking!"
"After tonight, Sarah," Ester warns. "You can go tonight, but after tonight I want you staying in more."
"Fine, Mama, thank you!" She's so relieved, and she kisses her mother on the cheek before she waltzes out the door. "I'll send Mrs. Hynes your best!"
They had planned to walk to Waxman Street together, but instead Sarah was being shown the Church, and before she knew it, they were in a box confessional together, their lips dangerously close.
"Wait…" she cautioned. "Before we do this, I just think you should know something."
"What is it?"
"I'm…I'm not Catholic," Sarah admitted.
A brief silence.
"What are you, then?"
"Jewish."
"Oh, well then, don't worry." Assurance punctuated with a gentle, encouraging kiss. "It's the same God either way." A sly smile. "After all, I should know."
Sarah waits outside the seminary nervously as the sun's reflection on the glass of a shop window shines in her eyes. And she lets it blind her, hoping that maybe if she can't see, no one else can see her standing there.
"Sarah?"
She snaps her head to the side at the sound of her name. She has to blink a few times, rapidly, to make the sunspots go away.
"Sarah, come here!"
A little girl no older than Les dashes past Sarah, whose skirt ruffles in response to the draft the girl creates, and into the arms of an older woman.
"Gramma!" she exclaims.
"Come along, dear," the old woman says, taking the child's hand. "How was your Latin lesson?"
They're out of earshot before Sarah can hear just how the Latin lesson went. She exhales and lets her eyelids lower.
"Have you been waiting long?" asks a husky voice in her ear.
She nearly jumped three feet in the air.
"God in Heaven!" she exclaims, clutching her hand to her chest, thoughts of who can see them suddenly forgotten.
"Who in where?" her lover corrects, raising an eyebrow. Sarah breaks a small smile and apologizes.
"I'm free for a couple hours," she continues, not adding the reason she used. "But my mother was furious with me."
"You need to tell her the truth instead of making up excuses."
She doesn't ask how it's so evident that she's giving her mother excuses. Instead, Sarah demands, "Tell her what? They'd disown me if I told them."
"But you're lying to them…remember, 'Honor thy father and they mother.'"
"You don't have anyone to answer to, so you don't know how hard it is, Wil--"
She is cut off by the child who had the Latin lesson, the one who shares her name, who suddenly reappears from around a corner.
"Sister Wilhelmina!" the little girl cries. "I left an' I forgot my rosary. D'ya have it?"
"I knew you'd be back." Wilhelmina smiles and pulls the beaded chain from the pocket of her habit. Gently, she places it in the girl's hand. "Now, remember, your next lesson is Saturday afternoon, before Vigil. Be on time, and be careful, because it's starting to get dark."
"Yes, Sister," the girl chirps. "But 'member: poyius sero quam numquam." With a grin, she dashes off again, and Wilhelmina's laugh is melodious.
"What did she say?" Sarah asks.
"'Better late than never'."
"What a cute little girl. She reminds me of Les."
"She's my favorite pupil," she smiles. "But let's not change the subject. We can talk on the walk home."
Sarah nods, and they walk side-by-side back to the convent, conversation coming in spouts and bursts instead of streams. Any observer would guess the companions to be innocent, but both know that every step is a step deeper into a guilty act.
Author's Notes: One of those "must-jot-down-the-first-nagging-sentence-this-SECOND" fics, and everything fell into place from there. Mad love to Vinyl, who read it over for me and gave me the title ("Guilty" in Latin). Feedback is very much appreciated.
Scelestus
Sarah is in love with a Catholic. If her family knew, they would disown her.
Nights, when the sun sets, she sneaks away to see her love.
"Sarah?" Ester asked as Sarah cracked the door open slowly. "Where are you going?"
"To see Ruth Rosenthal, Mama." Sarah's lies were beginning to become effortless. "She has the flu."
"Tell her I wish her well, dear, and if you're late, make sure someone walks you home."
"Yes, Mama. I will."
The door shut behind her, leaving silence and darkness.
Only after nightfall, though, is her love released from studies, so the initial falsehoods of sick friends and forgotten shawls had to change. They instead became dinners with schoolmates or studying with friends, maybe even a walk with Jack every so often -- just as long as David was out with other newsies and did not hear of it.
"What's your name, anyway?"
She still thinks fondly of their first meeting, a conversation early in the morning before religious studies, leading quickly to their first forbidden tryst.
"Sarah Jacobs. Yours?"
The Irish name and slight lilt in the voice set off warning bells within her.
"And you live here?"
A nod. Sarah was immediately fascinated by this, and she made the warning bells go silent.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Yes, if you want."
"What's it like living there…?"
The sun is lowering in the sky; she should go. "Mama!" Sarah calls as she rummages around the tenement. "Mama, have you seen my shawl?"
"On your bed, dear," Ester yells back from the bedroom. "Are you going out?"
"For a little, Mama."
"Sarah, you're going out too much these days," her mother scolds. Sarah freezes for a moment and then says the first thing that comes to her mind.
"It's Mrs. Hynes, Mama," she explains, drawing her newly-found shawl tightly around her shoulders. "She needs an errand run, and she asked me. You know she can't do it herself, with her bad hip…"
"It's nothing terrible," was the reply. "Prayer, meditation, fasting…but people take care of you. It's like a family."
Sarah nodded, thinking that it must be like David's newsboy life he talks about.
"Where do you live?" A question that caught Sarah by surprise.
"Waxman Street," she replied. "Why?"
"Is it far?"
"It's only a fifteen minute walk."
Ester sighs. "Yes, Sarah, I know, but still...can't it be done tomorrow?"
"She said it was important, though."
"Sarah Elizabeth Ja--"
"I won't be long, I promise!" she begs. "Don't think of it as me asking. Think of it as Mrs. Hynes asking!"
"After tonight, Sarah," Ester warns. "You can go tonight, but after tonight I want you staying in more."
"Fine, Mama, thank you!" She's so relieved, and she kisses her mother on the cheek before she waltzes out the door. "I'll send Mrs. Hynes your best!"
They had planned to walk to Waxman Street together, but instead Sarah was being shown the Church, and before she knew it, they were in a box confessional together, their lips dangerously close.
"Wait…" she cautioned. "Before we do this, I just think you should know something."
"What is it?"
"I'm…I'm not Catholic," Sarah admitted.
A brief silence.
"What are you, then?"
"Jewish."
"Oh, well then, don't worry." Assurance punctuated with a gentle, encouraging kiss. "It's the same God either way." A sly smile. "After all, I should know."
Sarah waits outside the seminary nervously as the sun's reflection on the glass of a shop window shines in her eyes. And she lets it blind her, hoping that maybe if she can't see, no one else can see her standing there.
"Sarah?"
She snaps her head to the side at the sound of her name. She has to blink a few times, rapidly, to make the sunspots go away.
"Sarah, come here!"
A little girl no older than Les dashes past Sarah, whose skirt ruffles in response to the draft the girl creates, and into the arms of an older woman.
"Gramma!" she exclaims.
"Come along, dear," the old woman says, taking the child's hand. "How was your Latin lesson?"
They're out of earshot before Sarah can hear just how the Latin lesson went. She exhales and lets her eyelids lower.
"Have you been waiting long?" asks a husky voice in her ear.
She nearly jumped three feet in the air.
"God in Heaven!" she exclaims, clutching her hand to her chest, thoughts of who can see them suddenly forgotten.
"Who in where?" her lover corrects, raising an eyebrow. Sarah breaks a small smile and apologizes.
"I'm free for a couple hours," she continues, not adding the reason she used. "But my mother was furious with me."
"You need to tell her the truth instead of making up excuses."
She doesn't ask how it's so evident that she's giving her mother excuses. Instead, Sarah demands, "Tell her what? They'd disown me if I told them."
"But you're lying to them…remember, 'Honor thy father and they mother.'"
"You don't have anyone to answer to, so you don't know how hard it is, Wil--"
She is cut off by the child who had the Latin lesson, the one who shares her name, who suddenly reappears from around a corner.
"Sister Wilhelmina!" the little girl cries. "I left an' I forgot my rosary. D'ya have it?"
"I knew you'd be back." Wilhelmina smiles and pulls the beaded chain from the pocket of her habit. Gently, she places it in the girl's hand. "Now, remember, your next lesson is Saturday afternoon, before Vigil. Be on time, and be careful, because it's starting to get dark."
"Yes, Sister," the girl chirps. "But 'member: poyius sero quam numquam." With a grin, she dashes off again, and Wilhelmina's laugh is melodious.
"What did she say?" Sarah asks.
"'Better late than never'."
"What a cute little girl. She reminds me of Les."
"She's my favorite pupil," she smiles. "But let's not change the subject. We can talk on the walk home."
Sarah nods, and they walk side-by-side back to the convent, conversation coming in spouts and bursts instead of streams. Any observer would guess the companions to be innocent, but both know that every step is a step deeper into a guilty act.