I still don't own any of it, and I realize that posting such a disclaimer makes me really fandom old.
Sarah had asked sweetly, with her best manners, if the new baby would please be a sister. David was still a beautiful child, eyes big and old, hair a dark halo of curls, and that was a point of pride for her; but a girl baby would be an even greater triumph. They could call her Deborah or Miriam or Leah, and Sarah would embroider her dresses with flowers and trim them with ribbons. How proud she would be to push her little sister in the pram, neighbors and strangers alike stopping to coo over the baby, so darling, and her lovely older sister, such a dependable young lady.
When the baby arrived Mama had been relieved and Papa proud and Sarah disappointed. Instead of the wished-for sister, porcelain-skinned and rosebud-lipped, she'd been handed another brother, his whole face screwed up and blotchy red. He was a far cry from the cherubic infant she'd been hoping for. Love at first sight it was not. Baby Les squalled and screamed, far more than she remembered David doing, for though he was a fussy child, he'd never cried much. When he was two months old it seemed Les started crying one day and didn't stop. No one slept well. Papa was gone all day, and she was supposed to watch David while Mama took care of the baby; they spent long hours outside, as far as they could get from the sound of their little brother's wails.
One afternoon, when listening from the stairs revealed that he'd quieted for a while, they slipped inside. Sarah peeked around the doorway; Les was asleep in his cot, but Mama was not in sight. With a hissed warning at David not to wake the baby, she crept toward the bedroom. Her mama lay on the bed, sobbing quietly, cries muffled against the quilt; while Sarah watched her shoulders heave a cold feeling settled itself around her heart. When she trusted her legs to move again she backed away, curling up in a corner of the kitchen, far from the baby and her crying mother both. Papa had come home soon after and found them that way: Les grizzling to be fed, David watching him wide-eyed, Sarah with her arms crossed over her head, and Mama asleep, eyes puffy and reddened.
That evening, after they'd all been fed, Mama had gathered Sarah and David close. In the low light of the oil lamp she'd been paler than usual, and the cold feeling filled Sarah's chest and squeezed her heart. She wished Mama would put the baby down, wished they could go back to being happy the way they'd been before he'd been born.
"One day," she murmured, "you will do great things."
"Even Les?" David asked, expression doubtful as he looked at the little bundle in her arms.
Mama nodded. "You will be kind, and strong, and brave. Be good to those who are weak, and watch out for each other. And always remember that I love you."
"We love you, too, Mama," Sarah said.
That night, when they'd been tucked into bed, Sarah considered what Mama had said. She was usually right. If she could still love Les, despite all his crying, the least Sarah could do was try. And maybe one day they really would be as great as she'd foretold, even Les.
It simply wasn't probable that all of the newsboys were only children, for all that none of them seemed to be related to each other, or anyone else, for that matter. Family wasn't a subject easily broached, though, especially not after the truth about the Sullivans was revealed; so, for once master of his curiosity, David kept his mouth shut and his ears open. Eventually he learned that Jake was the oldest of four and every Sunday delivered a share of his earnings to his family's apartment, crowded even without him, and that Dutchy sometimes got letters from an aunt and uncle out in Pennsylvania, and that Swifty had a sister who worked over on Pell Street. He was satisfied by knowing that his supposition had been right; but sometimes he still worried about the others, whose families seemed deficient at best or absent at worst.
When Mush came in one evening, arm looped around a limping Race, it was hard to tell whose blood was on his hands. Racetrack's lip was split, an eye swollen shut, and his knuckles raw and red; Mush looked much better, though the scrape across his cheek needed cleaning lest it get infected. Before David could so much as stand to fetch the first aid kit Blink was at the front door, slipping his arm under Race's to take his weight. "This what happens when I let you two bums go out without me?" he joked, the grin not reaching his eyes.
"Should've come along, Kid." Race's words sounded a little breathless as they moved toward the settee. "I could've taken your money, too." He smirked and then collapsed onto the chair with a grunt, hands patting at his sides as he settled. David was worried he had busted a rib until Race produced his pocket watch, a box of matches, and finally a small, clinking drawstring bag. This last elicited a satisfied sigh, and Race shut his eyes.
"Yeah, and I wouldn't've soaked you for it." Blink had straightened; now he reached out and took Mush's chin in his hand, turning his head to survey the damage. Then, his expression lightened with relief, he chucked Mush under the chin. "Good thing you were there."
Mush rolled his eyes. "Sure. But they didn't soak him for winning; they soaked him for getting fresh with Majewski's sweetheart."
"You moron," Blink said, disgusted and fond. "How many times I gotta tell you? You stick to the gambling and leave the flirting to me. Dave, get the iodine, will ya?"
"And get me a cigar!" Race called after him, and David had to laugh.
He returned with water, iodine, and clean rags (but no cigar), and one less worry on his mind.
Tumbler listened to most of the older boys sometimes, but he listened to Skittery best of all. Just now, Snoddy had told them to get ready for lights out and Tumbler pretended he hadn't heard him; but when Skittery stuck his head in and told them to put the game away, he'd immediately started clearing up.
"Why d'you let Skittery tell you what to do?"
"Why do you let Dave?"
"I have to listen to him," Les grumbled. "He's my big brother."
Tumbler shrugged, still scooping up his jacks. "And Skitts is mine."
Les considered this, looking from the doorway where the older boy had been and back to his friend. They both had dark hair and eyes, but that was pretty much the extent of the resemblance. "He's not really, though, is he?"
He failed to notice the dangerous glint in Tumbler's eye. "And Jack ain't really yours, either."
But he was. There was still a faint pink mark where Jack had pressed the point of his pocketknife to Les' thumb, and he hadn't cried even as the blood welled up. He'd probably hurt Jack more when it had been his turn to make the cut in Jack's thumb, but of course Cowboy hadn't so much as winced. Then he'd pressed their thumbs together and said that this made them blood brothers, and that he'd always be there for Les, no matter what. Les had said the same thing, and added that even if Jack and Sarah stopped courting he'd still be friends with him, because they were brothers now. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that," Jack had replied, looking a little pained, "but thanks."
"He is!" Les said now.
"Is not."
"Is so!"
"Is not!"
At that Les sprang forward, knocking Tumbler backwards and onto the floor. They rolled around, scuffling on the wooden floor, coming perilously close to falling down the stairs. As he tried to dodge Tumbler's blows Les heard a steady tread on the stairs below.
"Hey! What is this?" Wrinkled hands dragged them apart none too gently. Kloppman stood between them, frowning, a hand on each boy's shoulder. "What's the problem here?"
"He said Jack isn't my brother!" He felt okay admitting it; some of the boys would've laughed and made him feel like a baby, but he didn't think Kloppman would.
"Well, he said Skitts isn't my brother!"
Kloppman shook his head. "You're both right, how about that?" Les stared up at him, feeling betrayed; Tumbler glared. "Real brothers have the same mothers and fathers, you know that. That's why David and Les are brothers, because they've got the same parents."
"Ha!" Tumbler said, sticking his tongue out. "You're stuck with Dave for your brother."
"I'm sure David is a very good brother," Kloppman placated. "But just because you weren't born into the same family doesn't mean you can't be brothers. Sometimes you know it, in here." He released Les' shoulder to tap his own chest, over his heart. "Sometimes you go through something with another fellow and it makes you different, and you know that guy ain't never gonna give up on you, no matter what happens, and you ain't never gonna give up on him. And that's as good as being born brothers."
It was like what Jack had promised, and what David did for him every day. It'd felt rotten when Tumbler said Jack wasn't his brother—it'd felt like he wasn't good enough to be friends with Jack—and he'd only known Jack a little while. Tumbler had known Skittery much longer. He'd probably felt rotten when Les had said they weren't real brothers. Les dropped his gaze, shame filling him.
"And," Kloppman went on, "it's okay if you fight with your brothers, so long as you make up when you're done." He let them both go with a significant look, then turned and headed into the bunkroom.
The two boys stared at each other for a moment. Tumbler looked a little red in the face, probably from their wrestling, and a little sad, and Les felt even worse. "'m sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have said that about you and Skitts." He stuck out his hand.
Tumbler looked at him for another minute. "I'm sorry, too." He spat in his hand and shook Les', and they shared a tentative grin.
Skittery appeared in the bunkroom door. "Hey, kid, get in here. It's time for lights out." Tumbler nodded at Les and headed toward the door; Skittery reached down to ruffle his hair as he passed, and Tumbler turned and hugged him, briefly but fiercely, before continuing on. A smile lit Skittery's face. "G'night, kid."
"Skittery? Can you tell my brother that it's time to go home?"
"Which one?" Skittery asked over his shoulder.
Les rubbed his forefinger over the pink spot on his thumb and smiled. "Both of them."