Sweet Raptured Life
Aelia O'Hession
A/N: Just some basic information to keep in mind as you read. The story is starting after the strike, so about September-ish. The Orphanage is completely of my own creation. No such Orphanage ever existed in New York City in 1899. I do not own Newsies, and do not make any money off of what I present here.
Chapter 1: The Beginning
A young girl of about four years old with a head of strawberry blond hair and bright sea blue eyes wandered the lonely New York City streets. She had just barely escaped a fire that completely destroyed the apartment building where she had lived. As far as her four year old mind could understand, she was the only survivor of the entire blazing building. Her whole family; mother, father and baby sister were dead. Oddly enough, she felt no remorse or grief at this loss. Perhaps she was simply too young to understand or to become attached to her family.
A crisp fall breeze fluttered around the girl who now stood under a streetlight, clutching her sole possession; a small rag doll. Across the street, a door opened revealing an elderly woman. "Child, what are you doing?"
The little girl simply looked at the elderly woman helplessly.
With realization, the elderly woman softened. "Do you have no home?" The girl mutely nodded her head. "Come, you may live here now. I am Madame Whitefield. Welcome to the High Street Orphanage." She took the girls hand. "Do you have a name little one?"
The child shook her head. "Not one I know..." she squeaked out.
"Well," Madame Whitefield said decisively. "I shall have to give you one then. From now on, you shall be called Kitten, Kit for short, because you are sweet like a newborn kitten. Does that suit you?"
The little nodded her head. Thus, Kitten's life at the High Street Orphanage, Manhattan, New York City, began.
"Fiona, tell me anudder story 'bout da old knights, please?"
Fiona, a girl of about sixteen looked at her beggar. "Kit, yous hoid all da stories dat I know."
"Den tell me da one 'bout King Arthur again." At seven years old, Kitten was a persistent little thing, always delighting in a good story. Placing herself at Fiona's feet, clutching her small rag doll named Gwen in honor of Queen Gwenevere of Fiona's tales. Earnestly, she awaited Fiona's tale to begin.
Before Fiona could begin, Madame Whitefield walked in. "Enough; there'll be plenty of time for stores later. Kit, you must come for lessons now."
Reluctant to leave a good story behind, Kit got up and dubiously followed Madame; only after leaving Gwen in the care of Fiona. Since her arrival three years ago, Madame had begun teaching Kit how to read, write, do mathematics, and various in sundry things. As Madame had put it once, "None of my girls will go uneducated as long as I am Mistress of this orphanage."
Though Madame Whitefield imposed rules, they were not as strict as one thought. The girls were allowed to play as long as they finished their chores and did their school work. When they went out, they were to stay out of trouble and come home by curfew. Madame stressed the importance of the girls learning the ways of the streets on their own. She encouraged them to learn from their mistakes and to try new things. But never did the girls step inside a school classroom. The world was their classroom; learning to read from Fiona on city curbs with a paper, finding out where to stay away from and other such things. With all of this, no one knew where these girls were from; whether it be an alley, orphanage or townhouse.
Now, seated across from Madame Whitefield, Kit prepared for today's lesson.
"Kit, penmanship is today." Before Kit could groan in protest, Madame held up a hand. "It's tedious I know. I hated doing it when I was your age too, but look at my handwriting now." Indeed, as Kit looked at Madame's writing, she saw the graceful curves and loops. "You need to get better. I'll have you copy old records over so that they can be put in the files. Once your handwriting improves, I'll have you write records out for me, as my eyesight is beginning to fail."
"But why me?"
"Someday I'll be gone and someone will need to know how this place runs."
"Wha' 'bout Fiona?"
"By the time I'm gone, Fiona will be away from here. Possibly married even. Now, enough of this." Madame produced a blank ledger and old records for Kit to start copying.
For the next several years, Kit grew up in the happy environment of the High Street Orphanage. She had to grow out of childhood quickly because the older girls were beginning to leave. Before Fiona left, she made sure that Kit had every single one of her stories committed to memory. Kit wept when Fiona left, but was comforted by the fact that Fiona said that she was not leaving the city and would try and write. After Fiona, Kit was the eldest. Now her responsibilities expanded to caring for the young girls just as Fiona had done. She continued doing records and a wide range of household work, as Madame grew older.
Despite all the work Kit now had to do at the age of ten, she never once complained or lost her inner child. It shone through when she told the girls the same stories of knights, Kings, Queens and chivalry that Fiona had told her so long ago. Her inner child came out when Kit made a game of household chores so that they would get done faster. She even took them out into the city for their street education as Missy had done so often. It was an awful lot to ask of a ten year old.
Though there was an air of happiness, a dark cloud loomed in the shadows. Madame Whitefield was growing ill, and only Kitten knew at this point. Everyday she got worse, despite Kit's best efforts to cure her.
Late one night, when the doctor was visiting and Kit sat by Madame's bedside, she spoke her final thoughts.
"Kitten, come close child. You always were a sweet one. All these years you've been like a granddaughter to me. It's a shame I never got around to adopting you. All those times you could have run away and you never did..." Madame gave a sharp cough that brought up blood.
"Madame, please don't talk anymore..." Kit whispered as she stoked Madame's hand. That same white, slightly gnarled with age hand that had patiently taught her how to write with the same curves and loops, read and do mathematics.
"No, listen to me. I must say this. You must hear this because you have been her the longest of the remaining girls. A new Mistress will be here in a few days. Help her learn our ways. I pray that she will be kind to you all. Keep the girls in line and give them my love... don't forget me..." Another sharp cough came. "Farewell my dear Kitten..." and Madame Bridget Whitefield breathed her last.
There was nothing that could describe Kit's sorrow and despair. Looking at the small calendar, she noticed the date; June 21st, Midsummer. Then a harsh realization hit Kit hard in the face; today was her twelfth birthday. Oh what a cruel gift to loose the one person who ever cared for you in your entire life. Gravely, she went out to the sitting room where all the orphanage girls sat, awaiting the news.
Trying her hardest not to cry or let her voice crack, Kit addressed them all. "Madame has died. She gives you all her love and hopes that we will never forget her." Kit spoke plainly, feeling it would shame Madame's good memory to flit around the truth or soften the blow with flowery words. Madame had taught Kit that the best thing is to speak simply and tell the truth. Better to know the painful truth than live in a sugary lie.
Surprisingly, the girls took it rather well. They too were students of Madame, though they had not experienced all the wisdom she knew. Now it was Kit's turn to impart that sacred wisdom. There was no doubt that like Kit, they would all go off to their private corners and weep. But for now, their strength held.
"Wha' do we's do now?" asked a girl named Tricks. She was four years younger than Kitten, but had a level head. Despite all of the practical jokes and tricks she played on everyone.
"Stay strong an' wait fer da new Mistress," Kit replied.
Who knew that such young girls could command themselves like young women? That was due to Madame Whitefield's teaching. It was augmented by the fact that they were not confined to the Orphanage like some other Orphanage kids they knew.
1.1.1.
It was the third day of Madame Ashworth's rule at the High Street Orphanage. Every morning at breakfast, she insisted in having attendance taken.
"Jessica Avery?"
"Heah."
"Rachel Collins?"
Ticks lifted her head of brown hair. "Yeah?"
Madame's head snapped towards Tricks' "You will respond with 'Here' just like the rest of us."
"Heah," Tricks muttered.
"Melody Edwards?"
A small ten year old named Song lifted her head of auburn curls and stared at Madame Ashworth with bright emerald eyes. "Heah" she practically sang. Her voice was perfect for singing.
Several more names were read off before she called "Ellen Jones?"
Sun jumped up, her blond hair glowing. Her hazel eyes glistened with merriment as she proudly announced, "Heah"
"Erin Jones?"
Sun's twin sister Moon tilted her head almost sarcastically. "Heah," she said dryly. One could have sworn that they were not twins. The fourteen year old twins looked nothing alike. The only thing that was similar between them was their birthday, mother and father. Moon's hair was raven black and straight as anything. Her grey eyes always held a dreamy look to them.
Madame Ashworth's rolled her eyes before reading off the next name, "Kitten Knight?"
Kit merely waved a hand before burying her nose in today's paper. Before Madame had awoken, Kit had gone out and bought it from a Newsie.
Madame Ashworth's piercing voice interrupted Kit's reading. "Young lady, would you kindly vocalize your presence?"
Ignoring Madame, Kit kept her nose in the paper. Distantly, she heard the scrape of chair legs on the wooden floor as Madame rose from her seat at the head of the table and walked towards her.
"Kindly follow me to my office," she demanded before grabbing Kit's ear.
The girls watched in mute terror as Madame dragged Kit away.
"Oh wha's she gonna do?" Song trilled nervously.
As was her duty as the next oldest, Tricks brought order to the group. "Hush; yous may as well eat 'er ya won't be eaten 'til supper."
"But, wha' 'bout Kit?" Sun begged.
"She'll be a'ight. She's a tough one. Don' yous ferget how long she's been heah."
Humbled, everyone stopped worrying. They all went back to eat their breakfast. Each wrestled with thoughts, but kept them silent.
Meanwhile, Madame was dealing with Kit in her office.
"I can't believe the blatant disrespect that you showed out there! Even now you stand there with cold, hard eyes. I am Mistress here and you will do as I say. Things are going to start changing around here, and you have yourself to blame. Firstly, there will be no more of your little romps around the city with the girls. Secondly, your little story telling will end along with those silly games you play. You will work for and obey me because I am the Mistress of this orphanage!"
Kit stared at Madame Ashworth for a moment, selecting a few choice words to share. Deliberately, she dropped the low class accent in favor of the more educated speech the former Mistress had taught her. "You will never be half the Mistress Madame Whitefield was. You besmirch her good memory with your filth! Right now, while you stand there imposing new rules, you are depraving this orphanage of the very ideals that it was founded upon. It is a safe-house for homeless girls so they don't have to live in the streets and become ignorant fools! An ignorant fool like yourself!"
Madame Ashworth narrowed her dark eyes. "Shut your mouth you ungrateful, sniveling wretch! Our next order of business is to remove this bold and independent streak of yours." From her desk drawer she removed a leather whip with little metal barbs on it. "Now, remove your shirt and stand facing the wall. That's a good girl."
While the whip bit into Kit's back, the whole orphanage could hear Madame's triumphant laugh, coupled with Kit's soft whimpers of pain. "Here's how Kit got her last name," girls whispered in corners. "The old Mistress knew that Kit was strong as the knights of the tales that are told. Never will she admit how much she hurts, it's not her way." Soon, the floor was drenched in Kit's bright, warm blood. Kit's knees buckled beneath her from fatigue and she passed out in the pool of warm blood. Madame stood over Kit's body, laughing.
1.1.1.
"Ahhhhhh!" Kit's eyes flew open as she awoke.
In the bunk beside her, Tricks asked sleepily, "Kit, wha's wrong?"
"I's jus' relived me first few yeahs here at da Orphanage. Madame Whitefield's death, Madame Ashworth's first week heah, and da foist time she beat me."
"Wha' a lovely dream. It's alright now. Now get back ta sleep." Without any further comments, Tricks rolled over and fell asleep again. For the rest of the night, Kit slept fitfully, fervently wishing that one day she could be free of this living nightmare.