Medda knew she was in trouble; the child she carried was out-of-wedlock. The bastard child of a married man, and the vaudeville was no place to raise a child, Francis ducked in every night after the show, he tried to assure her everything would be all right that the baby. Their baby would be healthy and happy, but Medda had a hard time believing him.
"Francis, I can't raise a baby like this!" Medda cried one night her arms wrapped around her bulging belly. She was nine months along and didn't perform anymore; she didn't even leave her home much these days trying to keep the whole pregnancy under wraps as best she could, lest her lover's wife were to find out. Medda loved her child, but she knew she couldn't keep it. "You're going to have to take it. It's the only way!"
"And what am I gonna tell Delilah?" Francis asked,
"I don't know," Medda sighed, "Tell her you found it abandoned on the streets and in need of a home!" Francis looked saddened, and hugged her close.
"I love ya, Medda," he whispered, the baby inside her kicked as if in agreement. Medda smiled and rubbed her belly, Francis must have felt it as well because he lit up and said, "It looks like the little guy agrees with me." Medda laughed and kissed her lover tenderly, the baby kicked again.
"I swear this kid kicks like he's spurring a horse!" Medda winced as she rubbed the slight pain away. Francis chuckled and kissed Medda's cheek,
"I'll see ya sometime next week, Med." Medda bid her lover goodbye with a heavy heart.
"All right, kid. Time for bed!" Medda said rubbing her belly, before drifting off into a not so peaceful sleep.
Medda woke with a start hours later, not quiet sure what had awoken her, and was about to fall back asleep when a sharp pain ripped through her abdomen. Medda gasped and hugged her belly, something was wrong. Medda stumbled from her bed fear gripping her, luckily, one of her show girls Elsa lived next door and had told Medda that if she needed anything just to bang on the wall that separated their apartments. Another sharp pain ripped through Medda as she slapped her open palm against the wall. A moment later the door to Medda's apartment opened,
"Medda?"
"In here!" Elsa came rushing in looking frantic, "I think the baby's coming!" Medda said, Elsa's eyes widened and she helped Medda to the bed, before running around like a lunatic fetching hot water and fresh towels. Whatever they would need for the birth. Medda screamed as her water broke, it was really happening! She lay there for what felt like an eternity although it was probably only a few hours. She wondered if she was even going to make it. She wondered if she would die here, and if her baby would die with her. Soon, the pressure became too great, and Medda began to bear down. She propped herself up against the headboard of her bed to brace herself and pushed, eyes closed, breath held, with every ounce of strength she could muster. A cry soon broke the silence and she fell back, sobbing. Elsa picked the baby up, cleaning both the child and Medda up as best she could before wrapping the babe up in a warm towel and handing Medda the baby.
"It's a boy," Elsa smiled warmly, "a healthy, beautiful little boy." Tears of joy beaded at the corners of Medda's eyes. It was a boy, a boy with a brown mat of hair and bright blue eyes. He stared up at Medda for a moment, melting his mother's heart with his crystal blue gaze. Elsa was right he was beautiful; he was the most beautiful child Medda had ever seen. Gently she fed her son, nuzzling the soft brown downy on her son's head, drinking in the unique scent of newborn. "What are you going to call him?" Elsa asked, Medda didn't really know, she had never thought of baby names, nor had she discussed it with Francis. The baby finished eating and Medda lovingly cleaned them both up. Gently Medda shifted so she could see her son clearly, looking at his serene little face only one name came to mind.
"Hi, Jack," Medda cooed softly, the child looked up at the sound of the name as if even now, not even an hour old he knew the name was his. Just then the baby's tiny hand escaped his makeshift blanket and wrapped around Medda's finger, squeezing it with that spectacular strength newborns seem to possess. Medda managed a watery smile and gently kissed her son's tiny fingers. Elsa smiled a little, as she watched Medda interact with Jack. Medda was practically crying as she talked to her son. It was beautiful, but all beautiful things must come to an end. Jack was with Medda for only a week, finally his father came and Medda surrendered her son. Elsa tried to comfort her but Medda was heartbroken, fortune would have it though that this would not be the last time Medda saw Jack.
The years passed, and whenever Francis came to visit he usually brought Jack with him. Delilah had renamed the boy Francis after his father, and while Medda loved the man dearly she refused to call the boy by such. She always called him Jack or Kelly, which was his middle name. One afternoon when Francis had brought Jack along to see Medda's show, the then four-year old rushed down the stairs of the balcony and into Medda's arms,
"Medda!" The adorable little boy cried as his arms wrapped around her neck.
"Oh Kelly. Where ya been, kid? Oh, I missed you this week!" Jack just giggled, Medda held Jack on her hip as Francis came down the stairs slowly. He looked ragged and tired, not at all like the man she'd once known. As he drew closer she could smell the whiskey on his breath, Medda's eyes widened in horror and she held Jack a little tighter. Whatever had happened, Delilah had driven him to drink. And now here he was. Drunk. In front of their son, Jack buried his face into Medda's neck, frightened. Jack had always been a bright child, something Medda had always been proud of. But now she was horrified, Jack was smart; he knew what was going on. That meant this was not the first time this had happened, "Toby?" Medda called her stage manager over, "Could you take Jack to the back room for a minute?" Jack whimpered pathetically and clung tighter to Medda then before, "I'll be there in a moment, I just need to speak with your father." Medda whispered soothingly as she rubbed the child's back.
"Be careful, Medda. He's real mean when he's like this," Jack whispered back as Medda set him down and pressed his hand into Toby's. Medda felt sick to her stomach, once Jack was safely out of the room Medda turned to Francis with a look of distain on her face.
"Did you hurt him?" Medda asked the big brute of a man looked at her dumbly. "Answer me damn it! Did you put your hands on him!" Medda shouted,
"What's it to ya?" Francis slurred, Medda looked at him repulsed.
"Look at yourself, you disgust me! Get out of my theatre now!" Medda spat before going to join Jack and Toby in the other room never turning her back on Francis. When she joined Jack he ran to her and she held him tightly,
"Oh, sweetie," Medda whispered close to tears, "Did he hurt you, Jackie?" Jack nodded against Medda's collarbone and burst into tears.
"Oh, baby. Oh, honey." Medda whispered as she rubbed Jack's back, Toby quietly slipped out and allowed Medda to be alone with her son. Jack just sobbed into Medda, he was such a small child, only a little boy. He didn't deserve to know the horrors of a drunken father. But he did, and Medda's heart broke for him,
"He hurts Mama too." Jack sniffed; Medda's heart broke again but for a different reason this time.
"Well don't you worry, Sweetie. You can stay with me tonight." Medda assured him,
"Really?" Jack asked hopefully,
"Yep. You'll always have a home with me, Jack." Medda smiled, Jack dried his eyes and looked at Medda quizzically.
"Medda, why do ya call me Jack? Mama calls me Francis or Frankie, why don't you?" Medda bit her lip; she wanted to tell him the truth so badly it hurt. But destroying everything he knew like that would hurt him badly.
"I've always called you Jack, ever since you were a tiny little baby. That's our little secret though all right?" Jack's eyes grew wide with excitement and he nodded vigorously. Medda chuckled and kissed her son's cheek, "C'mon, handsome. Let's go home and get some rest okay?" Medda said as she carried Jack out of the theatre.
And then when Jack was seven, disaster struck. Medda had just finished her show when she saw Francis hurrying towards her; she hadn't spoken to Francis since she'd found out he beat on Jack in drunken rages three years ago.
"Medda, we need to talk" Francis said urgently,
"I don't want to talk to you, go away!" Medda spat,
"Please, Medda it's important!" Francis hissed.
"What could be so important that-"
"Medda, she's dead!" Medda froze,
"What?"
"Delilah's dead, I killed her." Francis whispered
"Oh my God," Medda felt sick to here the news.
"It was an accident, Medda I was drunk I didn't know what I was doing!"
"Where's Jack?" Medda asked,
"We were fighting, and she pissed me off, I was drunk, Med."
" Francis, where is Jack?" Medda cried frantic, Francis didn't answer for a beat, "Francis, tell me where he is!" Medda shouted,
"I don't know!" The poor man cried, "he was there, he saw me do it. And then he ran away!" Medda felt ill,
"I got to find him," Medda said as she hurried away. Francis shouted after her,
"Medda, you'll tell them it's an accident right? Medda!" She found Jack huddled in an alley not too far from her apartment. He looked scared out of his mind,
"Jack?"
"Medda!" He ran to her, the oversized cowboy hat she'd just given him for his seventh birthday bouncing against his back, Medda hugged him tightly, relief flooding her veins where fear and adrenalin had once been. Jack was shaking like a leaf caught in a storm. And Medda's heart broke for him,
"It's going to be okay, Jack," she whispered, "It's going to be okay."
Medda would soon find out it was nearly impossible to protect a boy who became a newsie. It was a dark and stormy night about three years later when Medda answered to find Jack soaked to the skin outside her apartment door. Jack recounted to her his arrest and how he had been treated in The Refuge. Medda could barely stand to hear it. Jack told her he was going to change his name, the kid was only ten years old and yet he already felt the need to look out for himself. That broke Medda's heart more than anything.
One day, seven years later, Medda heard voices coming from a prop room back stage. Suspicious she went to investigate,
"What's going on down there? Out! Out! Out!" Medda hissed into the dark shadows.
"You wouldn't kick me out without a kiss goodbye, wouldja, Medda?" Medda's heart leapt in her chest, it had been months since she'd seen her son. Her sweet son who stayed away for weeks at a time, just as his father had. Her son who was so much older than seven or ten years old, now seventeen, practically a man. And all she could say as she hugged him fiercely was,
"Oh Kelly. Where ya been, kid? Oh, I miss seeing you up in the balcony."
"Hanging on your every word." Jack said kissing her hand, ever the charmer like his father before him. He escorted her down the stairs like a gentleman and said, "So, Medda."
"Yes," Medda replied
"This is David and Les."
"Hello." Medda greeted the two boys at the foot of the stair.
"And this is the greatest star of the vaudeville stage today, Miss Medda Larkson, the Swedish Meadowlark." Jack said introducing her to his friends,
"Welcome, gentlemen." Medda said in her thick Swedish accent.
"Medda also owns the joint." Jack explained, Medda then spotted the younger of the two boys, such a small thing that reminded her fondly of when Jack had been a boy.
"Oh, what do we have here? Oh, aren't you the cutest little thing there ever was? Yes you are." Medda cooed, the boy coughed,
"Buy me last pape, lady?" He said weakly,
"Oh, you are good." Medda laughed, "Oh yes, this kid is really good. Speaking as one professional to another, I'd say you have a great future."
"So, is it alright if we stay here for a little while, Medda? Just until a little problem outside goes away." Jack asked,
"Sure, stay as long as you like." Medda said, knowing full well she'd let him stay forever if it kept her son safe. At that moment Toby was passing by, and Medda called out to him. "Toby, just give my guests whatever they want." And then Medda hurried onto the stage to perform. Only a few days later did Jack burst in shouting,
"We're on strike, Medda! Medda! We're on strike!"
After the strike Jack came to visit as much as he could, even bringing along his sweetheart Sarah once in a great while. One day it was just the two of them alone in the theatre when Jack asked,
"Medda, do you have the second of May off?"
"I do, why?" Medda asked, Jack blushed,
"Because that's the day Sarah wants to get married," Medda's heart stopped for a second.
"Come again?"
"I asked her last night, and she said yes." Medda couldn't contain herself she hugged Jack tightly and started to cry as she told him how proud of him she was. And when May second came around Medda cried when Jack and Sarah said 'I do'.
The years passed, Jack and Sarah had three daughters and a son. Wars raged and subsided, and styles changed. And Medda got older, one day Jack came to see her after work.
"Hey, Medda!" He called; there was no answer, "Medda?" He found her lying in her bed with a letter in her hand, when Jack couldn't rouse her he checked her pulse, there was none. Medda Larkson had passed away in her sleep, at the age of sixty-eight. She was buried in a nice cemetery in up state New York and everyone who had known her, mourned her. But none more than Jack who only had the letter she'd left him on a whim explaining the entire story. The others had all lost a friend and a kind face. Jack had lost his mother.
I started writing this to back up my thing about Medda being Jack's mother and ended up giving myself feels. please review!