Hello all! This is my first FanFiction story, so please review so I can improve. Thank you, enjoy!
Disclaimer: if you remember it from the movie, it's Disney's
Cora stared out at the grand Statue of Liberty and the knot of fear and grief threatened to explode. Her mother would never see the symbol of hope and freedom that she had been dreaming of. Her father would never find a job as a journalist as he had wished, and her little sister, Evelyn would never learn her letters in a proper school.
Cora and her family had started their journey together from their home in Liverpool to the famed New York City at the urging of her uncle who had gone before them and sent back money for their passage. But after the scarlet fever tore through the ship, Cora was on her own to find her uncle in the bustling city.
Now two months after they had received the letter, Cora was standing at the bow of the Lucille, looking around her at America. How am I ever going to find one man in the midst of thousands? She wondered to herself. The letter that held the address for her Uncle Augustus Linsworth was crumpled in the bottom of her bag, the key to her future.
The ship was getting close to shore and the light was draining from the sky. The cool fall wind flicked one of Cora's ebony curls against her face, and she pushed it behind her ear, looking around. Nearly all of the passengers were on deck, taking in the glorious sight of a new start. Only a third of the original seafarers remained. Many had tears streaming down there face at the thought of the loved ones at the bottom of the sea, the ones who would never see this city.
A preacher who had traveled on the ship held a quick meeting on deck. Cora knew it would have upset her mother, but she refused to listen. If God is the God I was taught about, then why did he let my family die? Isn't he supposed to be loving? Why did he allow so much suffering? What did we do to deserve this? She silenced her inward ranting and wiped a stray tear from her cheek. She must stay calm and in control. She had work to do.
Merely half of an hour later the ramp extended across the water to the shore. The passengers, clinging to all they owned, drifted into the hectic sea of the docks of New York. Cora grabbed her only bag and called up all her courage and street smarts she had gained from living in Liverpool, and set of to find her uncle.
Knowing that docks were a treacherous place for bewildered immigrants, especially as it was growing dark, Cora bypassed the workers and drunks, the pubs and the bars, and entered the city.
She knew what she was looking for. She had seen the type in Liverpool, a well lit cafe or restaurant that was filled with customers. That was a safe place to ask for directions.
After walking a few blocks she found the right sort of establishment and ducked inside. The sign above the door read Tibby's in bold red paint.
The place was packed. Long tables filled most of the space and nearly fifty boys sat around them. Several families or couples were seated in the surrounding booths. A jovial man behind the counter hailed her. "Hello miss!" he said with a genuine smile, "how may I help you?"
Several of the boys had noticed her and nudged their friends and whispered. Not in a mean way, just in curiosity, but it still made Cora uneasy. She looked back to the friendly man. "Um, yes, I just arrived from Liverpool and was wondering if you could help me find my uncle."
His eyes twinkled humorously as he said "now that would depend on who you are, who your uncle is, and where he is. Would you mind filling me in?"
Cora laughed nervously and pulled out the letter from her bag. Skipping to the last questions, she responded "his name is Augustus Linsworth and it says here he lives at 347 Livingston St."
The man rubbed his chin with thick, but clean fingers. "Well, I don't know any Linsworth, but I do know where Livingston St. is. That be in Brooklyn."
Cora pulled on a loose curl nervously. She didn't know where Brooklyn was, but the stares of the boys were making her uncomfortable. "Thank you sir, I will head that way then." and she picked up her bag which she had set at her feet and made to leave.
"Here now," the man stopped her with a wave of his hand. "I bet you have no clue where Brooklyn is. If you wait just a second, I can get one of these fellows to escort you."
Cora tried to protest, but it was too late, the man cupped his hands around his mouth and said in a loud, deep voice. "Are there any Brooklyn newsies here this evening?"
After a mortifying pause, a young man whose cap was low over his eyes raised his hand casually. "Yah, Tibbs. I'm 'ere. What about it?"
"Aah! Of course, how could I forget I had the famed Spot Conlon here tonight."
By now all of the boys were listening. Cora wanted to hide. There were newsies in Liverpool. She knew the type. They were thieves and liars and all around not pleasant. How come such a friendly man lets these vagabonds dine here? Surely he cares about his reputation!
Cora's mind snapped back in time to hear the boy's response. "Yah, I was thinking that myself." He pushed his chair back, balancing on two chair legs and his own feet. "Now, what's it ya need?"
"This here little lady is looking for her uncle," Mr. Tibby motioned to me. "He lives on Livingston, and so I reckoned you could escort her there. It being in your area and all."
Spot turned to Cora and she felt her face grow hot with humiliation and indignation. I would never ask a newsie for help back in Liverpool! Why should here be any different? But she knew why, because she had no home to go to, she was a stranger in this land, and she needed help.
The newsie seemed to be waiting for her to speak, so she gathered her courage and looked him right in the eyes and said, "I would be ever so grateful if you could help me." Her voice carried strong and true.
Spot's eyebrows went up and he nodded his head. "Okay, I'll get ya there. But let me finish my card game 'ere." He cocked his head as if to invite her over. Cora glanced nervously at Mr. Tibby, but when he nodded encouragingly, she went to sit in the offered seat.
Cora sat ramrod straight with her hands grasping the handles of her bag in her lap. She was near the end of one of the long tables. She quietly observed the boys around her. They were joking and laughing together, sharing food and swapping stories of their exploits that were most definitely not true. All this comradeship puzzled Cora. The newsies in Liverpool frequently fought and never shared, they worked alone in a 'looking out for number one' kind of way. The newsies she found around her acted more like friends, no, like family. At that thought her chest ached, but before she could fight of the wave of grief that had been threatening to break since the day her family died, Spot spoke.
"So, introductions." He drawled in a heavy accent. "I be Spot Conlon, King of Brooklyn. This 'ere is Pickle, another Brooklyn newsie" He pointed his thumb at a thin, slightly older looking boy next to him. Pickle, Cora thought, I wonder how he got that name. But she didn't have time to ask.
"Now on your right there is Jack Kelly," Spot continued, "the leader of Manhattan, he improved the workin' conditions for all us newsies, but we don't let that go to his head."
Several of the newsies chuckled and Jack held out his hand and said "nice to meet ya." Not wanting to appear rude, Cora loosened her grip on her bag and shook his hand. Her small, thin fingers nearly disappeared.
Spot continued, "on the other side of you is Racetrack, but everybody calls him Race." Race nodded and went back to contemplating his cards. "These other boys have names too, but they aren't all that important." Several groans and a "thanks a lot Spot" followed that comment, but it was all said in good humor. Cora removed her death-like grip on her bag and let it rest between her feet. "and now what's your name?"
"Cora,"she whispered. Then louder, "my name is Cora."
Jack smiled at her. "Nice accent Cora!"
The newsies still engaged in the conversation laughed. Cora looked at them, half worried, half offended. "What? Have you never heard an English accent before?"
Jack responded, "not that often, no. While many come through here from Europe, most keep on going till they hit a place with more room." He smirked "if only I could join them." Cora gave a puzzled look and he answered her unspoken question. "I want to go to Santa Fe. Always have."
While the two were talking the card game had obviously ended. Spot and Pickle each slid a coin across the worn table to Race, to apparent winner. Nobody looked surprised.
"Good game Race," Spot said, standing up. He turned to Jack "Thanks Jacky boy, see you 'round." They each spit into their palms and shook. Cora grimaced and reminded herself not to shake hands with these boys ever again. Although in a few hours, she would probably have no need of seeing any of them ever again. Spot called across the tables. "Brooklyn, we're headed out!" about a dozen boys stood, slapping backs, shaking hands, laughing, and joking. The young man turned to her. "Miss Cora," and he motioned to the door.
Cora rose, and followed the swaggering Spot Conlon out of the diner, saying a quick "thank you" to Mr. Tibby on her way out. Now to find her uncle