Disclaimer: Disney owns Newsies and all the wonderful characters from the movie.

One.
What If There's a Ghost?

May 1892

The Richardson's home sat comfortably in the middle of a quiet neighborhood in Astoria, Long Island City. The homes were impeccable, pristine - a reflection of the neighborhood's clean and safe reputation. This was the type of place where everyone knew each other's names, and smiled and waved at each other in greeting. This was where idealism ruled, where the wealthy resided: Ivy Street. But the impressive houses were not as peaceful as they appeared. They were blinds obstructing the truths of the people within. At least, that was the case with the Richardsons.

The family held a high position in society. Mr. Richardson was a well-known lawyer who was fairly influential in the business of politics. He was, regrettably for Ellie and the other household servants, very disagreeable when crossed. Mrs. Richardson was cold, remote, and only concerned with her appearance and position in society. She care only about the family reputation, taking considerable care as to how their family was viewed in society, and was ruthless when things did not go her way. This was the truth under their disguise as prestigious members of Ivy Street. To their neighbors, Mr. Richardson was a confident, self-assured man. Mrs. Richardson was an orderly, prim-and-proper woman. Their only daughter, Francesca Richardson, was the adored princess of the city. Parents of sons came asking for an audience with the Richardsons, hoping to secure a position with the family so that their son will be remembered when little Francesca came of age.

"I'm going to get you for that," Ellie snarled. She stood with her arms away from her body, looking down at her soaked clothes.

Francesca Richardson clasped her small hands around the now empty bucket.

"You can't," she teased. "You'll be in so much trouble."

"I don't care," Ellie cried, stamping her foot and simultaneously trying to wring excess water from her hair.

The two nine year olds stood glaring at one another in a face-off. They were near physical foils: Francesca with her laughing, glimmering green eyes and short brown curls, and Ellie with her flashing brown eyes and long brown-black, braided hair.

Ellie tossed her hair over her shoulder. She clenched her fists and when Francesca stuck her tongue out at her, she lunged.

Francesca jumped, tossing the bucket into the air, and took off running, squealing with delight.

The two girls ran around the backyard, shrieking madly, taking turns chasing after one another. Francesca suddenly came running towards Ellie, dragging a bucket by her side, water spilling over the rim.

Ellie yelped at the prospect of being drenched again and raced towards the lowest tree in the yard. She clamored up the trunk, reaching for the low branches, until she reached a secure position above the ground.

"Hey, that's not fair!" Francesca yelled, panting breathlessly.

Ellie stuck out her tongue in response.

Francesca stomped away defiantly. Ellie smiled, knowing that her opponent had surrendered. She grabbed onto the tree trunk as she slowly descended from its tops. Removing the leaves and twigs that had caught on her hair, she was just about to walk back into the house when the back door flung open and Agnes, the head of the servants in the house, stood in the opening.

"Mr. Richardson's waiting for his afternoon paper," Agnes said, her voice warning.

Ellie gasped. She'd been too preoccupied with battling Francesca that she forgot to fetch the day's paper.

"I'll be right back!" Ellie called. She was already out of the backyard, heading to the street through the path on the side of the house.

She did not have to travel far. From Ivy Street, she made a right and ran for several blocks until she found him. The young newsboy was standing at his usual spot, waving a newspaper wildly in the air and shouting headlines at the top of his lungs. She approached him, out of breath, gasping for air.

"Hi," she managed in between huffs, gulping for air.

The shorter newsboy turned towards her, startled. He gulped and looked down at the ground, blushing.

"Can I get the afternoon paper?" Ellie asked once she regained her breath.

"Uh… yeah, sure," he stuttered, still not meeting her eyes. He extended his hand stiffly, holding a paper towards her.

"Thanks," Ellie said and searched her dress pockets for money. She looked at him, and their eyes met for a brief moment before she squeezed her own shut, gritting her teeth.

"I'm going to be in so much trouble," she muttered to herself. Ellie smiled weakly. "Forgot my money," she explained apologetically. She lifted her hand, asking him to wait. "I'll be right back." She began to turn around to head towards the Richardson's home, when the newsboy stopped her.

"Wait! I mean… here. This one's on me," he said cautiously. "Here," he offered again, giving her the paper.

Ellie took the paper slowly, wondering whether or not she could trust the free offer. He looked up at her earnestly, still blushing fiercely. "I owe you one," she said with a nod, deciding that the boy was harmless. "Thanks."

The boy watched as she sprinted away. When she disappeared around the corner, he kicked the ground and chastised himself. Everyday she bought papers from him and everyday he wanted to ask for her name. And everyday he chickened out.

Tomorrow, he thought to himself. Tomorrow he would ask for sure.

"Ellie, if you keep this up, you'll get kicked out of this house for good. And then what'll you do? You'll have nowhere to go, no one to turn to. You're going to be on your own and it's a frightening world out there. You're lucky all they did was confine you to household duties."

They were inside their room, getting ready to turn in for the night. The servant's quarter was sparsely furnished; there was one bunk bed, one regular bed, and one dresser. A sink occupied a corner of the room with an unpolished mirror hanging over it.

Ellie glanced up from the floor at Agnes. "But, I was with Francesca -"

"No buts. And especially no 'Francesca's.' You know how Mrs. Richardson is. No mistakes from now on, is that understood?"

"Yes, Agnes."

"Now go to bed."

"Yes, Agnes."

Ellie climbed up to her top bunk and slipped under the covers. That was the third lecture she received that day. The first lecture came from Mr. Richardson because of the late paper, then from Mrs. Richardson because of Mr. Richardson's late paper and the cold soup at dinner, and from Agnes because of the late paper, the cold soup and Ellie's complaints about Francesca.

Agnes switched off the light and the room flickered away into darkness. Anne, the other house servant who occupied the bottom half of the bunk, was already asleep by the sound of her soft, steady breathing. Ellie heard Agnes getting into bed, the single mattress creaking from under her weight. A rustling of the blanket and a heavy sigh indicated that Agnes, too, would fall asleep in a few minutes.

Ellie waited until her eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room. She turned onto her side, wondering if the world really was as frightening and dangerous as Agnes constantly described.

"Hey, wake up."

"No, I don't want to," came a muffled answer.

She shook Ellie's shoulder. "Wake up!" she hissed.

Ellie lifted one eyelid and was met with shock: Francesca was standing by her bed. Francesca was standing on the ladder of the bunk in her nightdress, gripping onto the side of the post. Ellie rubbed her eyes and squinted at the clock; it was too dim to make out the time. It was still dark by the scene outside the window and the moon was still relatively high in the sky.

Francesca, shaking from anxiety, bit her lip. "Come on."

"What do you want?" Ellie whispered groggily.

"I think there's something in my room."

Ellie gasped, her eyes opening wide. "How do you know?"

"I heard something," answered Francesca. "Come on, help me find what it is," she urged, pulling at Ellie's arm.

Ellie moved to climb down the bunk ladder when she stopped suddenly. She fixed an angry stare in Francesca's direction.

"Find it yourself," Ellie said, her voice still hushed. "You're going to get me into trouble again."

Francesca planted both hands on her hips. "I can't find it myself!" she whispered back.

"Tough luck," said Ellie, utilizing one of Agnes' favorite phrases. "I'm never going to help you with anything again. Every time you make me do something, I always get in trouble."

Francesca's shoulders slackened and she pressed her palms together, twiddling her fingers. "But… w-what if there's a monster in my room?"

Ellie gave the girl a skeptical frown. "Monsters? How old do you think I am – seven?"

"What if there's a ghost?" Francesca asked frantically.

She froze, slowly turning her head and looking Francesca directly in the eyes. "A… a ghost?"

The other girl nodded vigorously, her short bob springing with her movement.

Soon the two girls were out in the hallway, creeping past Francesca's parents' bedroom and down to the end of the corridor. Aside from the occasional creak of the floorboards, the house remained eerily silent. When the two reached Francesca's room, they hesitated, simultaneously looking at each other. The door was already open a crack; Ellie pushed it open gently. Francesca poked her head up from behind Ellie, looking over the servant's shoulder.

"Do you see anything?" Francesca whispered.

"I don't see any – can people see ghosts?" Ellie asked suddenly.

Francesca breathed in sharply. "I… I don't know."

The two stared at each other for two seconds before running hysterically towards Francesca's large canopy bed. But as soon as the girls reached the safe haven, Francesca spun around abruptly and held a hand up to Ellie's face.

"Wait," she said. "You have to stay in the chair." She ran across the room and dragged a chair up next to the bed.

"Are you kidding?" Ellie asked, astounded. "You made me get out of bed for this? Am I supposed to be your – your…" she struggled for the right word. "Your bodyguard?"

"It's better for us to stick together if the ghost comes again," Francesca said matter-of-factly, rushing into bed and dipping under the covers.

Ellie pouted stubbornly, plopping onto the cushioned seat and drawing her knees up to her chest. She wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her head on her knees, but the tension in her body remained. Fear kept her alert for some time as Ellie imagined all the different ways in which a ghost could make its presence known. But lethargy took over eventually, and Ellie soon fell into an uncomfortable, yet strangely deep sleep.

"Just what do you think you're doing here?"

Mrs. Richardson stood in the doorway to Francesca's room, motionless, hands on either side of the doorway. She was already fully adorned in a deep green dress, her dark brown hair pinned tightly into a low bun. A look of horror and disbelief crossed her smooth face as she spied the intruder in her daughter's room.

Ellie slowly lifted her head, still half-asleep with only a vague realization of where she was. She sat sideways – her legs were curled beneath her, her arms were flung over the back of the chair. Upon hearing Mrs. Richardson's snappish voice, however, Ellie broke away from the bit of sleep she had been clinging to and leapt up from the chair, only to waver slightly from the fact that her right foot was asleep.

Ellie grimaced from the numb and pin-like pain in her foot. "Yes, madam?" she managed, though her voice came out squeaking.

"I said," Mrs. Richardson said, her voice low and ominous, "What are you doing in my daughter's room?"

"I… last night, Francesca asked me to help her…" Ellie sputtered.

"Francesca asked you?"

"Yes. She said she thought there was a ghost -"

"A ghost?" Mrs. Richardson paused. She marched into the room, stopping in the middle, and crossed her arms in front of her chest. "A ghost," she repeated. "Well, why don't we ask Francesca," she said, her attention switching to the bed behind Ellie.

For some reason, Ellie had expected Francesca to still be asleep. But she was wrong. She was sitting up straight, her hands folded tightly in her lap, her head tilted downwards. Ellie pleaded with her eyes, but Francesca did not look up.

"Well?" Mrs. Richardson prodded.

Francesca swallowed. "I don't… know what she's talking about, Mother."

Ellie's heart sunk. At the same time, her fist curled at her side as she stared hard at Francesca for a moment before turning her back to the bed and to Mrs. Richardson. The mother's lips were twisted into a sardonic smile. Though she had just woken up only a few minutes before, Ellie mustered enough sense to stand up straight and lower her head in a servile manner.

"Aren't you the little liar," she said icily to Ellie. "I don't know what you were thinking, but one more incident like this and you can pack whatever little you have and get out. I won't stand for any sort of deception in this house. Is that clear?"

"Yes, madam."

"Get started on your duties. Remember that you are not allowed out of this house for one month. Remind Anne that she is to pick up the day's papers for Mr. Richardson."

Ellie stood rooted to the spot, waiting for more instructions.

But there were none. "Get to work," she snapped.

Ellie scurried out of the room.

Mrs. Richardson waited until the young servant was out of the room and down the hall before turning her wintergreen eyes to her daughter. Francesca felt her mother's cold eyes on her and sunk her head deeper, trying with all her might to avoid the petrifying fury emanating from their depths. Her mother stood for just a few moments longer, wordlessly, before turning around and walking out, her skirts rustling over the floor. Only when she heard the door close did Francesca finally lift her head and exhale the fear that had held her nerves taut.