The storm brought more cold and snow blowing into the lodge house, and some of the boys' bunks shook with coughing. Mush, Specs, and Albert quieted, their throats soothed by the nun's soup and Mush's cough drops, but Jack wheezed late into the night.
The morning bell rang when it was still dark and grey. A blanket of dirty snow covered the already-busy streets, and a still, crisp chill seeped into every crevice of the lodgehouse.
"Rise and shine!" Race called down the row of bunk beds.
"Oh! I hate walking in snow." Crutchie supported his weak leg with both hands, swinging it heavily, stiffly over the side of his bunk. The stiff joints and slippery surfaces made walking dangerous for Crutchie in the winter.
Tommy Boy gave him a hand getting up as he passed by. Most of the boys slowly emerged from their blanket cocoons to wash their faces in cold water, throw on as many layers of clothing as they had, and hover by the stove until they had to leave.
"Jack?" Henry climbed down from his top bunk and noticed the leader below him still in bed. "Jack, you awake?"
Jack sat up slowly. His head was heavy and his throat burned. Everything ached. "Mmmph."he mumbled. "Yeah...don't feel good."
Crutchie paused as he passed by. Jack's face was flushed, his green eyes glassy and bloodshot. He coughed into his fist. "Ya look real rough, Jack." Crutchie said.
"I'll be okay." Jack said automatically. "Just a cold."
"We'll cover you for a day or so, Jack." Specs said.
"No." He said. "More of us there is, the faster we'll sell out."
He hung onto the bunk as he stood up and slowly started pulling on clothes. He hurt from head to toe and he hadn't even hit the streets yet. Deep coughs rumbled in his chest. All the boys, in various stages of getting ready, turned to stare at Jack with wide eyes.
"Aw, hell no!" Tommy Boy's voice echoed through the washroom. He marched into the bedroom and right up to Jack, who was still trying to catch his breath. "Listen here you lying punk!" Tommy was a head shorter than Jack, but he put his hand on Jack's shoulder and pushed him down until he was sitting on the bed. "You said all last night you was fine and you ain't fine! You ain't going nowhere today. Ya hear that? Remember all them headlines a few years ago about that Russian flu? Ya wanna end up a damn headline cause ya died of stubbornness? Do ya, Kelly?"
Jack rubbed his eyes."I don't want y'all worrying about me." He said hoarsely. "It's my job to take care of you."
"No you numbskull." Tommy tossed another blanket at him while he talked. "We's takes care of each other. Yous might be the leader 'round here but ya ain't invincible. You our brother. And brothers gotta look out for brothers."
The circulation bell clanged up the block. The door open and shut downstairs as the others left to buy their papes. Crutchie eased himself onto the bunk next to Jack's. "I can't get out today." He said, shaking his head. "Them streets is too dang slick."
"Don't fall, kid." Jack said. He laid back down.
"I gonna put some more coal on an go get my papes." Tommy said. He pulled on his coat and buttoned it up. "Crutch, you makes sure he stays put in that bed."
" got it Tommy." Crutchie said.
"Y'all need me." Jack mumbled. He couldn't decide if he was hot or cold.
"Yeah, we do." Crutchie said. "But we need ya alive and well. Trust the others. Theys okay without us. Now go to sleep."
Jack nodded. He rolled over and fell back into a restless doze.
Xxxxxxxxxxxx
Jack startled awake. He bolted straight up in bed—thunk! The top of his head hit Henry's bunk above him. "Uh!" He cried.
"Hey, hey." Crutchie said. He was sitting on the floor a few bunks down. "Easy there, Sleeping Beauty."
"Hot." Jack grunted. He shoved his blankets to the floor. He still felt sticky. His hair was stuck to his face, his clothes were stuck to his skin, his skin was stuck to his bones, and his lungs were stuck together like wallpaper glue.
Crutchie crawled across the floor. The cold weather sometimes made his legs too stiff to walk on. "You says you hot?" He said. "You da only one. It's just about zero outside, and not a whole lot warmer in here."
Jack felt less shaky than he did that morning, but that was the only marginal improvement. "What time is it?" He asked.
"Almost noon." Crutchie said. He handed Jack a cup of water and Jack glupped it down.
"Sorry I ain't real good company." Jack said. He ran his hand down his face.
"S'okay." Crutchie smiled. He pointed to where he'd been sitting. Tommy's cards now formed an elaborate house. "Ya was talking an awful lot in your sleep. Remember any of it?"
"No." Jack said. He wondered if something he'd been dreaming had woken him so suddenly. "What was I saying?"
"Didn't catch a lot of it." Crutchie said. He used his arms to hoist himself up and sit on the foot of Jack's bed. "Something about some street dogs. And about selling papes."
"Nothing too shameful, then." He said. He coughed again and it took him a minute to catch his breath.
"Sounds like the Christmas plague. A month late." Crutchie said. Jack nodded.
"You all still went and sold papes, though. You and Race three years in a row." He leaned back against his pillow.
"We ain't smart." Crutchie said. "It ain't no picnic."
"You ain't weak." /span/p
Quit ya whining, Jack Kelly." Crutchie leaned down to grab Jack's blanket he'd thrown on the floor and pulled it into his lap. "You da strongest guy I know. Shoot, you're human." Jack sighed, which made him cough again. They were quiet for a while.
Jack?" Crutchie said. "'Member last summer, when you was talking about Santa Fe? Do ya ever wish you'd gone?"
Jack closed his eyes again. Clay buildings. Miles and miles of open red desert. Or maybe it was brown. He always saw reds and orange when he thought of Santa Fe. Orange and red and fresh air and freedom. But here...here in New York he had Katherine. He has his brothers and his art""Not unless theys got the cure for the Christmas plague out there." He said. Crutchie smiled.
"Can't wait to get back to cartoonin' again, though. Three months and I out." Jack shook his head. "Them big shots can find all the cash to keep their pocketbooks happy, but can't find a dime to support a kid telling the truth."
"Some things don't change." Crutchie said.
Jack nodded. He was too tired and too sick to think about running away. To think about being nearly 18 and still stuck selling papes on cold, dirty streets. To think about how his boys—a group that even since the strike seemed to grow hungrier and larger by the day—would get on without him, especially the littlest boys. don't do this. He told himself. No dreaming. No dwelling. Not now.
He broke out coughing again. "Hey kid?" He said. "Is there some more water?" /
"Sure, Jack." Crutchie said. "But, I, uh, I dunno if I can get down the stairs right now. I can try though."
"No, no." Jack said. He stood up slowly. "Last thing we need is yous hurt and me sick with nobody around." He stumbled downstairs, refilled the water pitcher, and stirred the fire. Cold wind still blew through all the cracks, but the storm had stopped and there was some sunshine. He hoped the others weren't too cold. Not that his hoping did them any good.
Xxxxx
i thought this would be the last chapter but this one ended up long! I'm an absolute sucker for big tough cocky guys like jack/Jeremy being made so vulnerable. I remembered after I started writing that post-strike Jack isn't a newsie anymore, so I wrote that in. I thought about rewriting it pre-strike, but this way we get all the characters from the show. And it's so much more heartbreaking to think of Jack's shot at something better (the cartoon job) being ripped away again.
Anyways excuse any typos. I'm moving and doing this on my phone. R&R ❤️ -Em
