Story Disclaimer: I do not own the Newsies.
Hello! I'm officially back with an official story. I'm trying out a couple things, such as not having the story completely written out before posting, using first person, and finally giving in to writing a female OC. In other words, bear with me and my mistakes.
This story is basically my take on a lot of things you see in the movie. What they are, you can figure out. So read, enjoy, and possibly review? I'm going to try and get the next chapter out pretty quick, since the prologue isn't much.
"You've come to the wrong place, Ma'am," said the tall, thin mistress of the orphanage to the pathetic looking woman that stood on her doorstep. This was the third time this winter that Mrs. Lana had to say no to some poor woman holding a babe in her arms.
"What do ya mean? This is an orphanage, ain't it?" protested the flushed young woman. Mrs. Lana smiled with forced sympathy.
"Yes, but we're full for the winter. Sorry."
The door shut in the woman's face, leaving her in the bitter cold. She knocked again and again, but no one answered. The baby in her arms started crying. She knew the baby was hungry. But she hadn't the money to feed herself, much less the child.
Disappointed and not knowing what to do now, she turned and walked back down the path. She kept her head down and pulled the baby closer to her breast as the tart winds whipped around her skirts and stung her skin.
She started singing then. She sung quietly as she walked down away from the orphanage, through the bustling crowds that were doing last-minute Christmas shopping, past her favorite bakery that she never visited but always smelled, down the street that ran along the river's edge, and finally, she sang while she stumbled down a sloping, worn path and walked slowly under the big Brooklyn bridge. There was large area of dead grass and dirty sand that could technically be called a shore to the river. Here resided a group of people who were homeless and poor, yet happy in their shelter from the snow and sleeting rain. A big fire was burning in half of a metal trash can. Three or four people were huddled around, their rag-wrapped hands outstretched towards the heat.
"Is that my Christmas turkey, Sandra?" called out one of them at the woman's appearance. She joined them by the fire with a sad smile.
"No, just the baby," she said, handing the crying infant to another one of them. This woman, a middle-aged woman with bags under her blue eyes, took the baby tenderly and sighed while cradling it.
"I tried, Missy. I really did. I went to probably three orphanages. All were full," Sandra said guiltily.
"S'alright. I appreciate it," replied the apparent mother of the child. Her voice was tired.
"The poor children are just looking for some place to stay for the winter. Not their fault that there's so many of them without parents," said the person to Missy's left. This was Henry, a man just on the brink of gray hair and memory loss.
"Oh," cried Missy suddenly, "I don't want my child to be another without parents! I don't want her to live on the streets or in an orphanage."
She buried her head in the baby's stomach and the group around the fire heard her soft sobs and sniffles. Miriam, the last person who sat around the fire, finally looked up from her mountain of rags and tattered blankets. She was only a twelve year old girl who was Sandra's closest friend. They had found the shelter under the bridge together. She looked at Missy with pity swimming in her eyes and made a move towards the woman and her baby.
"Don't worry, Missy. We'll find her a home," she said in her quiet, muffled way of talking. Sandra and her both wrapped their arms around Missy. Henry grunted.
"A home? The baby hasn't even got a name," he said, frowning and looking at the fire's flames.
"Has so!" Missy protested, her head jerking up. Her eyes flashed and the two girls un-attached themselves. They all waited in silence for the decision they had waited two months to hear.
"It's- it's...it's going to be..." Missy fumbled for words as she thought of all her relatives and ancestors. Suddenly she remembered her great aunt who she had visited as a child. Missy had thought her aunt had had the prettiest name in the world.
Taking in a breath, Missy announced, "Her name is Charlotte. Charlotte Faye O'Neil."
There was still a silence as every looked at the baby and then contemplated this new name. For two months, the four of them had been calling the baby just 'the baby'. They knew there would be parting with the child soon, so no one wanted to get too attached.
Henry was nodding. "I like it. I've known a lot of good Charlotte's. But O'Neil isn't your last name, nor hers."
Missy just shrugged and said, "Her father doesn't deserve to know her, so I don't want her finding him."
No one argued with her, instead they went on to say how much they liked the name. Charlotte was feminine, yet it hinted at quality of courage and strength. And it didn't sound like it belonged to someone who was born under a bridge or whose only daily consumption was a bowlful of thin broth and a slice sour bread.
Later that evening, Missy and her child Charlotte settled between the bodies of Sandra and Miriam. The winds had died down and only the night chill remained. Following her nightly habit, Missy began to sing softly to her child. Singing was a thing that the bridge dwellers enjoyed the most. All four had beautiful voices that they loved to blend. It was what brought them together in the first place. Before Missy's child had been born, they would form a quartet and hit the streets. Collecting tips was their only way to make money. Henry was the rich baritone of the group, and a sort of father figure to them all. Miriam and Missy sang with high, sweet voices while Sandra complimented their voices and added flavor to the blend with her own deep voice. They had continued a little while without Missy, but soon winter hit and they all came down with sore, scratchy throats and nasty coughs. As Christmas came around the corner faster than expected, the three forced themselves out of the bridge shelter and into the streets of Manhattan, eager for any who passed by to toss them a coin for their carols. Missy had never gotten better from her cold, flu, or whatever sickness had struck her in the earlier winter months. As time wore on, they knew she was dying. Time and time again they had tried to get the baby away from her and give it to someone who wasn't sick and would live to raise the child, but every effort had failed. Plus Missy was stubborn and didn't want her child left on a doorstep or given to just anyone, so their options were few.
As Missy lay there singing and with her sleeping child at her breast, she gazed at the river's surface as the moon tinted the color of mud brown with it's white rays, making the river appear richer and luxurious than it really was. It during these nights when reality become fantasy that Missy dared to dream and hope. She wanted to live to see Christmas morning when Henry's eyes would light up after she scraped together enough of her money to finally purchase that turkey, or at least that turkey leg. She wanted to see her child take her first steps and speak her first word. She wanted to continue singing with her friends and have someone spot her talent and gave her a job on Broadway. She wanted... Missy sighed as a bewildered Canada goose flapped noisily towards the water and broke the surface of the peaceful, moon-beam tinted waters. As a harsh wind whipped through, Missy stopped her singing, nestled her head against her makeshift pillow, and closed her eyes. Dreaming was pointless. Her best bet was a place in Heaven.
xoxoxoxoxxoxoxoxoxxoxoxoxox
Missy rose early the next morning. She was half blinded with sleep as she stumbled on the shore in the rising darkness, Charlotte still in her arms. She grabbed her only treasured possession, a perfume bottle still half full, and an envelope that held a two-page letter. Then she slowly made her way up the slope and onto the streets. After five minutes of walking, she was exhausted. Her body was growing weak and her breathing was heavy. People already getting ready for another day brushed past her, sometimes bumping her shoulder or hip, causing Missy to fall back or forward before regaining her composure and continuing. Charlotte awoke soon and began crying. By then, Missy was ready to drop in the middle of the wide sidewalk for a rest. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest and she kept brushing her hair out of her face, only to have the bangs fall right back in front of her eyes. Eventually she gave up trying and collapsed on a bench in front of a bookstore.
"Oh my baby, my baby," she mumbled to the crying infant, rocking her upper body back and forth. "Please don't cry. These nice people are looking are me strangely. Oh God, where am I to go? Who am I to ask?"
Indeed, the people were looking at her strangely. Especially one man. Missy noticed the way he had stopped looking at the bookstore's window front and kept glancing at her and Charlotte. Every time Missy caught him looking, he quickly glanced away. It made Missy nervous. He was young and dressed no better than herself.
"What?" she finally asked loudly, startling the young man. He pulled at his cap nervously and approached her, even going so far as to sit on the bench next to her.
"Well, uhm. You'se part of that singing group, right?" he asked, his words rushed and tripping over each other.
"'Course I am," Missy said, slightly disappointed he didn't notice her weary state or crying baby.
"Me girl, Meggie," he continued, "she's starting this theater a little ways from here. She's lookin' for singers and performers and I remember she mentioned your name."
Missy stared at him with disbelief. Someone in this big old city knew her name? Knew she sang? Her nose twitched in excitement. Then she laughed. Charlotte cried louder at shaking of her mother's frame.
"Look," Missy said as her laugh died out and she leaned back smiling bitterly, "I got this kid to take care of. I'm getting old. I'm dying. I can't sing."
A shadow of disappointment flickered across the young man's face, but he asked, "If you're dying, and sorry that you are, whose gonna take care of the baby?"
Missy heaved her shoulders up and down. "I dunno. That's what I'm tryin' to figure out."
The two sit in silence on the bench, both trying to think of some solution. The wind whisked by them, breathing not a little lightly on their red faces, as did the people who rushed by on the street. Soon they heard the calls of the newsboys and the hawking of vendor owners arise, creating the distinct sound of street rabble.
"Well, how 'bout this. I'll take your baby to Meggie. She'll want it-"
"Her."
"-her, I'm sure. She loves kids, and babies, and has taken a few in before."
Missy sat up a little straighter. "You means ta say, she'll raise my child? What about you? Are you gonna be some sorta father?"
He pursed his lips and thought about this. "Well sure. I plan on marrying Meggie sometime next year. We's already engaged."
Missy involuntarily let out a squeal of delight and she felt her spirits rise from the rock a foot or two. "Oh, may God almighty bless your soul! You don't know how much I appreciate this! Here, here. Her names Charlotte. Got that?" Missy handed the young man her daughter and he took her into his arms with ease as he nodded. "Charlotte Faye O'Neil. I wrote it in the letter. The letter! Oh- and the perfume!" Missy fumbled for both in her pockets. She stuffed these in the folds of her daughter's wraps. "Give her these when she's 12. Not a day before or after. And please, tell her about me before that. I don't want some shock on her birthday or nothing. And-"
"Ma'am?" the young man interrupted with a smile, "I don't know nothing about you, 'cept that you sing."
Missy bit her bottom lip and nodded. "Right, of course not. Well you know how I look and all that. The rest is in the letter."
"Does she have a father?"
"No. No father," she said and rose. She didn't want to think what else she was forgetting. The letter would explain a lot. "I gotta get back. They'll be wonderin' where I am."
He nodded with understanding and watched her leave. She turned after a couple steps and looked at the young man who held her crying daughter. Tears gathered in her own eyes as she realized what she was doing.
"What's your name?" she asked, staring down at her daughter for the last time. Charlotte Faye O'Neil...
"Henry," he said.
"Oh, God must have mercy on me," she mumbled through her sniffles. She bent down and hugged the man. Then she kissed the chapped, red cheek of her daughter while blessing her in a language the young man guessed was Hebrew. Then she was gone. She left the street and walked out of the man's sight slowly, her body failing her little by little.
xoxoxoxoxxoxoxoxoxxoxoxoxox
Two days later, back under the bridge, lay Missy by the fireside. Her closest and most loved friends surrounded her, tears trailing down their faces. Henry held her in his lap, as a father would his own daughter. Miriam and Sandra each held a frail hand. They were all murmuring sweet nothings as they watched the light slowly fade from her eyes and the heat leave her body.
Missy broke their string of words. "Henry, Sandra, and dear, dear Miriam, blessings to you all. I loved you like a family and together, we have made it through hard times. I hate to leave you all now, but I don't regret leaving this awful city and damned world," she sucked in a breath before continuing, "I go knowing my baby girl Charlotte is safe, and perhaps I'll watch over her in another form, but Miriam, dear sweet Miriam, please, every now and then, visit that theater where Meggie lives and check in on her. Make sure she's alright and getting enough to eat. Tell her her mother loves her and always will."
Missy let her head fall back into Henry's lap, her breathing growing sharper. Miriam clutched her friend's hand tightly.
"I promise I'll do all that you say, Missy. Rest in peace, please!" she said chokingly. Missy nodded.
A little while longer the four remained there, until four become three and they had the sick job of finding a suitable place to bury their friend.
That night was December 24'th, the night Charlotte Faye O'Neil became a motherless child.
xoxoxoxoxxoxoxoxoxxoxoxoxox
"What am I suppose to do with her, Henry? I'm trying to start up a theater! I don't have time to raise a child!" Meggie hissed to her fiancée as they both stood staring down at the sleeping baby.
"Well shoah ya do, Megs. You've always been real good at multi-tasking," he said, his hands in his pocket and a big smile on his face, feeling the fatherly love coursing through him already, "I'll help ya, don't worry."
"You?! You don't know squat about children. The only thing you've ever raised was a dog!"
"And a really fine dog it was, too," he retorted. Meggie sighed and crossed her arms against her stomach. She moved to the stove as the kettle started screaming. She quickly silenced it before the baby awoke. In her head, as she poured the tea in two cups, she kept repeating the baby's name. It was a good name, very pretty and elegant. The poor mother who had to give her away was an excellent singer, Meggie knew that from having watched her group in the street multiple times. Perhaps this baby would be a fine investment. If Charlotte inherited her mother's dark beauty and talent, Meggie could turn her into something great. Soon the wheels in Meggie's head began churning. She could teach Charlotte how to play the piano, how to sing properly, she could send the girl to school when she was older, she could learn about Shakespeare and the old great plays Meggie loved. Meggie would be doing Charlotte a huge favor by not only keeping her off the streets, but by educating her and giving her a life far better than most girls in her position. That is, if her theater took off. Meggie let some honey drip into Henry's cup.
"I guess it could work," she said slowly, sitting down at a small table with Henry. He smiled at her and took his cup.
"But," she warned, "you're gonna have to start working. I want to send her to school."
Henry shrugged. "I was already planning on looking into a job at the bookstore. I saw a sign in the window, they need help."
"Oh, the bookstore," Meggie said in a dreamy sigh, "That had always been my dream job when I was a kid. But I was stuck with waiting on tables and doing dishes."
"Yeah, but look where you are now. You're in contract for a theater!"
Meggie took a sip of her tea and nodded. She had come a long way; from the small acts in the theater on Fifth Street to managing to find someone to invest in her own show business. She had a lot of plans for her theater. She wanted big plays, operas, and musicals to fill her stage. She would find the best actors, singers, and musicians. Her theater would be the classy place for the rich folk to go on a Friday evening, the place that charged too much for a ticket.
Meggie glanced over at the baby, thinking how grand a life the girl would have growing up in the midst of it.
"So whadda ya think, Meggie? Did I do right takin' in this baby?" Henry asked, following her gaze.
"Sure ya did. She's gonna be a great kid, I just know it," Meggie replied with a smile. Henry settled back in his chair, looking visibly relieved.
"But we's gotta get married sooner then, Meggie, or else people will think we had Charlotte outta wedlock," he said seriously. Meggie looked over at him. He seemed to be thinking more about this than she was. That's what Meggie liked about Henry. He was strong and steady and had a good head on his shoulders. He would make a good father for little Charlotte.
Meggie nodded. "Sure. I'll talk to my mother about it."
That would be alright, Meggie said to herself, it would save a lot of explaining. Henry said that the mother requested her daughter to know that she was adopted, so they couldn't pretend that Charlotte was their daughter. This was disappointing, but Meggie hoped to have her own child someday with Henry. Till then, Charlotte would be that child. So Meggie, then and there while sipping her orange tea, decided with Henry that they would love Charlotte Faye O'Neil as their own and give her the best that they could. And after that day, Meggie's motherly nature began to show itself and she truly found herself falling in love with the baby with dark curls.