Ever-present Disclaimer
: If I owned "Newsies," come come, would I really be writing on FanFiction.net?The newsies (the real ones, anyway – Racetrack, Kid, etc. etc.) owned themselves.
All others are owned by Disney (alas …).
Jill is mine.
The "Newsies" DVD is mine also.
I will try to update often, with all my typing skill of a good 5 words a minute (and God knows, my typos need to be forgiven as well).
Here we go …
PART ONE: JUST ONE
ONE
HER FIRST IMPRESSION WAS THAT HE LOOKED BIG AND EXCEEDINGLY DULL-WITTED.
"S'cuse me, Miss," he said in a voice that was decidedly not lush or soothingly deep, and she noticed when he removed his hat how white his knuckles were as he gripped it.
His eyes were intensely dark as she met them with her own blue gaze. "Can I help you?" she said lightly, although for the last few minutes her insides had been twisting with dread at the unfamiliarity of the scene. The worn hat in her hands, the reality of the threads and felt-like material, kept her firmly rooted in her sanity.
"You seem lost," and he was almost choking with the fear of this confounded stranger before him, she noticed. "I know the area well … maybes I can direct you someplace?"
She wanted to throw up when she glanced around, taking in the sights of the room. Oh God, she thought desperately, this can't be happening, this is not possible, this is not real. But she held her composure as she lifted her chin and said, "I'm sorry, I'm not from around here, and I didn't see the sign as I came in … what is this place?" All the while she could hardly breathe with the sick feeling in her gut.
The muscles in his face relaxed a bit. "Why, this is Irving Hall, and the best vaudeville show in the hemisphere!" A small smile came over his features.
Putting a hand discretely to her stomach as if to hold her entrails in her body, she felt the sickness now threaten to overwhelm her. Ah, God, no. No, this was not happening.
"You look faint, Miss," the boy said and his worried eyes felt as if they were burning through her. "Should I call for someone?"
She inhaled deeply and still she held her composure. "I'm fine, I'm fine, no, just dizzy for a moment." It was not totally a lie.
"Where you from, Miss?" the boy asked politely. The worry had not left his eyes and she felt that if he gave her any pity she would strangle him.
"Excuse me?"
"Where you from, if it ain't disrespecting ya, Miss?" he repeated softly.
"Pittsburgh," she answered. "I'm sorry, I'm Jill." With that she reached out her hand and they exchanged a greeting.
"Mush," he replied, giving his own name. "From New York, as ya see."
She could feel the warmth of this palm and her own hand shook a little with her growing fear. Pointing to a pile of newspapers on the seat, she asked, "What do you have there, Mush?"
For the first time she sensed a faint note of pride in his ever-bolder voice. "Pape, Miss. Latest edition."
"How much?"
"A penny, Miss." he answered and although the reply struck a bolt of fear in her heart she dug around for spare change in her pocket. No penny, but there was a shiny new nickel and she gave it to him.
"Keep the change," she told him and shivered as her fingers brushed him.
He seemed truly grateful. "Thanks, Miss." went the words with a deeply sincere tone and he pocketed it immediately. When he handed it to her, she looked at the date.
September seventh, eighteen ninety-nine.
Yeah
.She did not read it then but rolled it up to carry with her. And she still had the hat. Looking around, she felt so very out of place, so lost and alone and confused that she wanted to break down into tears.
Mush seemed to sense her despair and courteously he said, "I'll walk you to where ya need ta go." And although she wanted to resent him because he was giant and clumsy and dull, she found herself glad to be in the company of the respectful boy.
But she wanted to keep her dignity intact and after a moment of comfortable silence she asked as they walked, "I've never been to New York before, Mush. Tell me, where's a good place to stay? My aunt is not arrived yet, back from London, and I have to put myself up."
He motioned in the general direction with the hand that held his hat. "There's a good place on the harbour … stiff price but for a few nights it would be nice, if you'd like that."
"Do you know the name of it?"
"Think it's da Ellis Inn, something like that. Good place. I sell my papes around there." he said amiably, seemingly glad to be of some help. She nodded. "Is that what you do for a living, you sell papers?"
He put his hand and hat over his heart as if reciting some kind of pledge. "Been sellin' for eight years, no lies, Miss. After the strike we's got our fair wages back."
"Ah, the Strike," she said, "Yes, I've read about that."
"It was big news when it happened," he said and the firm note of pride resurfaced. "We made history, I 'spect. All your papes printed the news, then, too?"
He had misunderstood her, but the confusion would be too difficult to clear up with the proper explanation. No, she thought, it was a dark turn in the basement of the museum that led me to the story, but she said aloud, "A column or two, yes."
" 'A penny is to us the same as it is to Mr. Pulitzer,' that's what our Kid-Blink said, he did." he told her and the pride was growing even yet. "Tough job, but a fine one, now that we's got our wages back." And he was too respectful to pry into her personal affairs.
Well, that's fine
, she thought sourly. It would be difficult to say anything and not confuse him further. God, this still cannot be happening, open your eyes, she urged herself but when she tried to run that violent shudder through her head as she did with some of the more terrible nightmares, nothing happened. Oh well, she thought, some nightmares are like that. When I wake in the morning it will all be gone.No, it won't
, laughed a cold voice deep inside her head but she closed it out.This is impossible, this does not happen, not ever.
The weight of her purse felt real and solid on her arm. She dared not show Mush what resided within the small plaid space: wallet with new paycheck, tiny lovable cell phone; all things of her time.
God, now that I think the word, it seems more impossible than ever.
In the city all filled with muted, quiet clothing colors she suddenly felt uncomfortably out of place with a red shirt and denim pants. Her blonde hair hung free and unrestrained and tan and red tennis shoes walked grudgingly along beneath her. She did not look proper, not at all, and she had the alarming thought, We'll have to remedy that. But Mush seemed to be waiting politely for her to speak again.
"You can put your hat back on."
"Oh, but that wouldn't be proper manners, Miss," he said, sounding so grave that she laughed.
"Well, where I come from, I'm not used to proper manners." she smiled at him.
"Pittsburgh that bad?" he asked sympathetically. With his careful words she was getting the feel of his personality.
"Not bad, but not great, either. It's very different," she said truthfully.
He nodded in what seemed to be understanding, his intense brooding chocolate eyes showing a full range of emotions. Yes, very different, she found herself thinking.
"Always wanted to visit Pittsburgh," he said, "but never found the heart to leave New York."
"You've lived here all your life?"
"At least since I can remember," he said and she heard a new emotion … perhaps it was that of sadness. He did not speak again, and she did not press. He had been too kind to be bothered further.
All around her there could be heard the sounds of the city – horse hooves, the chatter of gathered crowds, the calling of worried parents to their children … the sounds of everyday life. They were, for the most part, familiar to her, except for those sounds which were of another time: the horses, the wagons, the stones of the cobbled streets. From one storefront she even thought she heard the music of a ragtime band, and the sounds at once delighted her. For a moment the fear was gone. But of course it did return.
"Is this Inn much further?" she asked, then instantly regretted her thoughtless words. Now Mush would think he was bad company. "It was a long trip from Pittsburgh."
"Just a block or two. I hope you'll like it. When will your aunt arrive?" he asked politely.
"A day or two, very soon," she lied. Then, more sincerely, she said, "I appreciate your help. It is kind of you, if I haven't said that already."
"No, Miss, you haven't, but don't think nothin' of it." he smiled as if in reassurance. "It's what's right for me ta do."
"People don't always do what's right, though," she said to him. "But it was very good of you to help a stranger out."
"Don't think nothin' of it," he repeated, tips of his ears pleasantly red. "I ain't one to leave a person stranded. There's a short-cut we can take," he said suddenly. "But it's down an alley, and I don't know if it's proper for ya. Would it make you feel uncomfortable, Miss?"
"You can call me Jill, and no, that would be fine. I ain't one to pretend I'm dainty and helpless." she said coyly.
"I dunno if this is a place fit fer ladies –"
"Then I won't call myself one," she interrupted. Her comfort level with Mush had grown greatly and she found herself glad of his seemingly mindless chatter – it turned her own thoughts from her growing sense of panic.
And for the first time, she allowed herself to consider that, in some way, this situation just might, just may, be true.
"So what's Pittsburgh like, if it ain't pryin' too much?" he asked as they skirted through the alley.
She considered. "Loud, and not tremendously clean. I don't live in the actual city, just a little distance away."
"Ah, Miss, I'm sorry then," he said and she sensed the immediate regret which had sprung up. "The harbour's one a'da noisiest parts a'da city."
She smiled. "No, that's fine. I never said I disliked the noise. It's not going to bother me."
"And if you buy a pape tomorrow, you might get the chance a'meetin' some a'da guys."
"Your friends?" she asked pleasantly.
"Yup," he said proudly, and his smile shone. "Best bunch a'guys you ever wanna meet. Not one a'them that isn't great."
"Do they sell papers for a living as well?"
"All of us who live at da Lodgin' House. I'd take ya there," he said in confidence, "but that really ain't no proper place fer a lady!" His eyes widened with his words.
For once she did not argue. If I'm dreaming, she thought, then at least I'm going to end it nice and quietly. She had no qualm about guys, and no problem being around them, but she wasn't quite as sure that they'd have no problem with her. And maybe it was better that she didn't find out, either. She did not want to wake up angry.
"How expensive is expensive?" she asked, remembering earlier conversation.
"About fifty cents a night," he said and blushed. "Bein' a newsie sho' is grand, but it don't pay so good."
She smiled sympathetically. Her father had just lost his job and things were worse than anyone really knew. "It's alright, I understand."
Again, he was too polite to pry. He simply nodded. "But it'll hold for a night or two. Good place. It's clean and it feeds."
She smiled one last time. "You want me to steal you some breakfast tomorrow, Mush?"
He returned the smile and it was almost ashamedly shy, but very glad. "Yes, Ma'am, and I'll be sellin' my papes down on the harbour!"
She collapsed on the goosefeather mattress, exhausted now both in body and in mind. The sounds of the outside floated in through her open window but she made no attempt to block them out.
No, this cannot be real, this cannot be real.
She looked around at the furniture and at her purse. Next to it sat the crumpled hat.
No, that can't be true. That can't happen …
But she remembered certain flashes of things, of the museum, of trying to find her way out of the long dark corridors of the basement. Then came the things that the curators never put on display, those things that were part of a dark, forcefully forgotten history .. the Strike …
Her brows furrowed as she looked at the hat.
Wondering, wondering …
God, she had only been lost, what sort of crime was that? And the hat, she had only touched it but for a moment, moved that a newsboy had died in it, protecting his fellow strikers, so said the dusty card next to it.
The hat.
Sweet Jesus no.
But it seemed more plausible now, when she really truly considered it, that something once looked upon with so much emotion and so much tenderness had more attached to it than dust.
It had a part of him attached to it, she thought with a pain suddenly striking her heart. No, that was crazy thinking.
She looked at the hat.
Still wondering, still wondering …
No, best go to sleep and have fun with the dream upon her dreamed awakening in the dreamed morning, if it went so far as that. She should really buy something to wear that suited the times, and something to eat as well. Fifty cents, that was laughable – with the paycheck in her purse she could stay here for over a year and not even break a sweat … would it come to that, however?
No
, she said grumpily in her own mind and rolled over to extinguish the kerosene lamp on the nightstand.