Chapter 2

It was a rainy day, and what was left of our family walked down the gangplank of the ship we had voyaged across the Atlantic in. I had turned four a few days after we had set sail. We were jostled along with the crowd to the health check points we had to get through to be able to enter from Castle Garden to the heart of New York its self. We all passed with flying colors. We were assigned a tenement in Brooklyn along with one of the families my father knew from Ireland. They were a nice family with six children, all of whom I got along with fairly well. I was running around in the streets with my brother and the children of the Finnegan family, whom I also considered my brothers, when I tripped and fell over something—or rather someone. He was a small boy, maybe a couple of years older than me, with brown hair and red suspenders on. His eyes were the loveliest shade of blue.

"Hey! Whaddya think youse is doin'? Ise was sleepin' dere!" I stood rooted to the spot I was in, looking down at this thin, spirited boy.

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I was just playing tag with my brothers over-" I trailed off as I noticed I was now the only child from my group left on the street. "Well, my brothers, who apparently disappeared." I finished.

"Well next' time, watch wheah youse is goin'! Name's Michael. Michael Conlon. But most people call me Spots." He spit in his hand and stuck it out. I looked at in disgust and shook his fingers warily.

"Rosie. Rosie O' Reilly." We smiled at each other.

"Well, Rosie, do youse have room for one moah tah play wid yoah bruddahs who apparently 'disappeahed'."

"I believe there should be. Keegan! Seamus! Cael! Emmett! Aiden! Where are you?" They all popped out of various hiding places, aware of the fact that if I yelled their names under normal circumstances it was time to go inside for supper or to finish chores for the day.

"Yes? Time to go in yet?" They asked in unison, like a rowdy bunch of brothers, which they practically were.

"No, I just wanted you to meet my new friend Michael. He's gonna play tag with us now!" A chorus of whoops and hollers were let out at this. 'Another friend to play with! The more the merrier!' They were thinking. "Michael, this is Seamus, Cael, Aiden, Emmett, and Keegan." I said pointing to each one respectively.

"Let's not play tag anymore!" shouted Aiden. "Let's play hide and seek!"

"Yeah!" we all yelled joyously. This was our favorite game to play, especially since when we did, other children would join in and make the game bigger. You didn't know when the last person was found, because almost every kid in the neighborhood would end up playing.

"What's dat?" Michael asked. I just stared incredulously. My brothers all launched into simultaneous explanations, belting out instructions, none of which Michael could hear or understand.

"Just follow me. We can hide together." I said and he confusedly stared after me as I ran off into an abandoned alley way.

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I fell off the couch just then, and was awakened from my wondrous dream of remembrance. I picked myself up from the floor and went to go check on the boys. They were all still sound asleep in their beds. Of course, it was only about 5 in the morning, so I just let them be. They were a comical sight, with some of them half falling off their beds; others were twisted under the blankets until they looked like they had wrapped themselves up in cocoons. I changed into more appropriate clothing for the day, seeing as I was still in my dress from last night. Ah, there we go. Into my newsies clothes; so much bettah dan dat heavy thing. I then set about straightening up what I could around the floor, putting what belonged to the boys in their trunks, such as pants, shirts, suspenders and hats. If it was something such as shoes, it would go under the bed. Within a half hour the floor was clean and I looked back on my work in contentment. Now it was off to the market place to purchase food for breakfast. I pried open the floorboard in which I stashed my hard earned money. Five dollars ought to do it. I grabbed the basket off the floor near the door in the kitchen and set off out the front door. Women who were already up and about, opening their shops for the day looked at me in disgrace, most likely because I wasn't wearing the most respectable clothes for a lady."Mornin' ma'am." I'd say with a grin, not letting their judgmental stares get to me. Men on the other hand were just plain rude, especially boys my age who would get in my way or push me around. It was because of boys like these that I ended up in the wrong part of Brooklyn, towards Williamsburg. "Hiya toots." They'd call out and wolf whistle. I avoided eye contact with any of them while I tried to remember which way I came from so I could get out of there. I somehow ended up in a dead ended alley, cornered by three newsboys twice my size.

"Back off or Ise sweah Ise'll soak youse!"

"Ooh-hoo-hoo." One of them sneered. "Looks like we've got a feisty one on our hand dis mornin' boys!" He shouted as they leered at me. One of them grabbed the basket I was holding and flung it down just as the biggest one of them grabbed my arm.

"Let go or Ise sweah-"

"Or youse sweah wha—" I cut him off as I swung my fist back and sent it flying at his face, making him topple over and hit the ground hard. Didn't they know who I was? Basically Queen of Brooklyn, the girl of the most respected and famous newsie in all of New York, and probably everywhere else? People should have learned not to mess with me by now.

"Why you little—!" another of them shouted at me. He punched me in the stomach and I doubled over. Another one punched me in the face—that was going to leave a nice shiner. The third one kicked me in the shin and again in the gut, and then tried to grab me in both of his arms. I ducked and grabbed my basket. I couldn't leave all that food just lying there for the rats. I scrambled up off the ground and ran as fast as I could. Now this was a full on chase. I rounded corner after corner, barely glancing back over my shoulder to see if I was safe or not. Once, before I was safe, the one I escaped from grabbed my ankle as I flew past cart after cart in the market place. I hit the ground so hard that my jaw clashed with the cobblestones and made me see stars. Miraculously, I ended up back on my feet, where I kicked the man, who was still lying on the ground, in a hurtful place, which made him crumple up into a ball and cry like a baby. I picked up my feet and ran like the wind, back into the lodging house, where I collided with Blink, who was there for some reason, probably on a mission for Jack.

"Whoa dere Rosie, watch wheah youse goin'." He commented jokingly, using my real name—I had no clue anybody but Spot called me that anymore—until he saw my face. "Hey what happened tah youse? Ahe youse okay? Spot! Race! Guys come ovah heah! Rosie's hoit real bad!"

I rolled my eyes because I wasn't hurting all that bad. It was mainly my ribs from the fall I took. Spot and the others scrambled into the room, nearly colliding with each other as they stopped dead in their tracks at the sight of me.

"No, no, no, no, no! Trous! She cannot be hoit. Wese need her 'round heah!" Spot wailed as I collapsed and watched everyone gather around me. "Rosie!"

"Ise—fi…ne." I stuttered with much difficulty. Wow, I guess Ise hoit woise dan I thought.

"Look fellas! Dere's somethin' stuck heah!" Shouted Race in his heavily accented voice. He pulled it out and I felt a sharp pain stab at my side.

"What is it?" Jack asked incredulously.

"I—I dunno. It looks like a knife made outta a rock. Like it was meant tah hoit somebody."

"Well somebody call da doctah! Wese ain't gots all day tah stand around heah and debate about what's in her side! Flash! Get ya butt ovah heah now!" He said as my vision faded in and out. A ten year old boy appeared at the scene. "Ise need ya tah go an' look foah da closest doctah. Preferably doctah Cahhaht (Carheart)!" He sped off. The last thing I remember is everyone's worried faces staring down at me and Spots voice saying: "Rosie, don't leave. Ya can't leave me heah alone!"

"Don' worry Spot. Ise won' letcha down." I managed to get out as I saw him smile sadly at my words before everything went black.

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I kept fading in and out over the period of the next—however many days I was out for. During the periods in which I was not semi-conscious, my mind was thinking about the last few day I had with my family. All my mind would replay was the horrible fights I had with my mother in the final few days before the fire hit. There was much pushing and shoving—mostly on my part. I remember the hurtful words I'd said to her. I couldn't get them out of my head.

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"Why won't you believe me?" I shouted at her. She was yelling at me for something I couldn't even remember. No response. "I swear it's not my fault!" I said in my Irish accent. She was now taking books of mine, for something I couldn't remember doing. It probably had something to do with the way I was acting right now. I lunged at her and tried to get whatever she had of mine out of her hands. I hit her uselessly, considering I was seven and didn't have any strength whatsoever, and she would shove me back. "Give it back!" I screamed.

"Not until you tell me you're sorry." I calmed down a bit. This had been going on for quite a while and I was getting tired of it, even though I didn't want to stop until I won. There goes my Irish temper again acting up. Scratch that, it was just me acting up. I felt terrible about the things I'd said to her and that I'd hit her, although I wasn't sorry for whatever it was we were fighting about.

"You're right. I'm sorry. I'm sorry if I hurt you earlier. I didn't mean to."

"Tell me that like you mean it, not just because you have to so you can get these back." She said.

"And people wonder why I never say sorry when I'm told to. It's because I know people won't believe me even if I truly am sorry." I mumbled under my breath. This fight was probably about some bad mark or another that I'd gotten in school (because it had just recently started again) and my momma had heard about it; probably from snarky little Rory (who had just recently started her first year of school). That little twit told momma everything! Why did she have to tattle on every little thing that I did? I just didn't get it.

"Go sit on your bed and don't talk. I have to make dinner." She commanded. I had been crying while all this was happening, so my eyes were stinging and red once I woke up for dinner.

"Heya Papa." I said in my mix of Irish/New York accent I'd just started using. It got Spot to laugh almost every day that we hung out. Of course it wasn't really appropriate for me to be hanging out with Spot everyday now was it? But nothing was going to come of it. Right? Papa chuckled.

"Hi Rosie." He said as he took his turn eating. We had to either find some place to eat on the floor, somewhere around the apartment, or eat at the table in pairs. Tonight it was mine and Papas turn to eat together at the table. Our conversation was a nice touch to the day considering the fight momma and I had earlier.

I was out playing with Spot and a couple of his friends. It was time for me to go home now as I had lessons to finish from school and chores to do before it got dark and was time for dinner. Spot and I were making pleasant conversation on the way back. We kept ignoring the curious and judgmental stares from people. Spot and I being friends wasn't scandalous just yet, as we had another good five years or so before I was of courting age; but I could understand, what with me in a nice dress (momma made me always wear a very nice school appropriate dress, as she was a seamstress) and Spot in his usual dingy attire of too small pants, loose shirts and red suspenders. Spot dropped me off, bid me adieu, and ran home to where ever it was he stayed. He wouldn't take my parents offer to stay here with us.

It was later on in the night and I had just finished the last of my lessons. Mrs. Finnegan was cooking dinner tonight, and I was tired so I took a little cat nap. I woke up to the sounds of screams and shouts—and lots of heat. I squinted through the haziness, coughing occasionally. My lips were chapped and my throat was screaming for water. I couldn't see any signs of life so I maneuvered my way through the small apartment, over half knitted piles of things and debris from daily life. A chunk of ceiling fell in front of me and I screamed, just narrowly avoiding it. I heard a cough come from somewhere near and ran to it. It was Papa.

"Papa! Where are the others? Do you need help? Come on let's get out of here." I told him urgently, dragging his arm across my shoulders and attempting to help him stand.

"No, Rosie, there's no time. I can't find the others, so you need to get out of here before it's too late. Thank God for keeping you safe while you slept. I love you sweet girl. Go live your life." I backed away from him, eyes brimming with water.

I shook my head. "No, papa. I'm not leaving you. Come with me." I said my hoarse voice cracking.

He coughed weakly. "No, Rosie, I'm sorry I can't come. You can't lift me and I'm too weak to walk by myself. Just go and try to get help." I ran out of the doorway just in time for it to collapse right behind me. I couldn't believe my papa was losing a chance at the rest of his life.

"PAPA!" I screamed. Now there was no way for any of them to get out. I had a sinking feeling that if help did come, people were still going to die. Namely, almost all of the people in this building. I didn't hesitate any longer, I turned and ran, tears streaming down my face the whole time. I got to the streets to find mass chaos. No one was paying me any attention. I whirled around, and watched helplessly as the building was engulfed even more, as the flames kept growing bigger. The dinging of fire truck bells sounded in the distance. It was too late. No one could do anything now except watch.

"Momma!" I shouted. "Papa! Rory! Aiden! Find a way to get outta there before it—" I was cut off by a huge roaring noise as the fire swelled again. A face appeared at our window. It was momma. We made eye contact and she looked down at me in anguish. She knew what was coming. I looked away as I heard a deafening crashing sound. I crumpled to the ground in a heap of sobs, beating my fists into the cobblestones, aware of the scene I was making and that people were staring. "NO! No! No, no, no, no, no!" I shouted each time my fist hit the road. All those things I said. I never told her I was sorry this morning before I left. I never told her I loved her one last time. I never told any of them a million things I wanted to tell them. How mad I was at them for not getting out in time, how I wished I could see them again—I knew it was all over and that they were all gone. Forever. But why? Why did God have to do this to me? How could He have let this happen? My baby sister, the one who I'd always fight with, even though I loved her to death. Why did she have to be gone? My tears dripped to the ground, my hair stuck to my face as I was sweating from the heat of the fire. I probably looked like a mad woman. I didn't care. I screamed all of their names over and over. I cursed at them and wished them dead. Too late. I thought to myself. "No! Momma! Papa! WHY?" I shouted to the Heavens, "WHY DID YOU TAKE THEM? CAN'T YOU SEE I STILL NEED THEM?" I didn't understand. I heard somebody calling my name softly and jerked back enough to see their face. Spot; all 17 years of him, not the 9 year old version I was used to back then.


Spot's POV

We somehow managed to move Trousers to her bed, under the careful eye of Dr. Carheart. She was a nice woman, and not the most trusted doctor around considering she was a girl doctor—and apparently they were no good. However, I trusted her, as I'd seen her treat many of my friends after they'd been soaked either by the Delancey's or someone from another borough in the state who thought they were tough enough to try to beat us.

"Will she be a'right, Doc? Wha's gonna happen? What' can Ise do tah help? Do youse need any help?"

"Mr. Conlon, would you please calm down. I cannot answer any of those questions at the present, and bugging me about Ms. O' Reilly will not help her case. Please leave me to my work." She said as she ushered me out of the room. No one was allowed in there except for her personnel or anyone she needed in there—which was not any of us. We needed news, and we were dying to get it. For once in my life, being a newsie did not come in handy when I needed this fresh bit of news. Doc Carheart came out a few hours later with dried blood on her front. She had obviously washed her hands clean before she came to tell us what we'd all been anticipating.

"I have some good news, and some bad news. Which would you like to hear first?" No response came from us. We honestly didn't care at this point, we were just glad for any tidbit of information. "Why don't I start with the bad news first, then? Now, this is some of the best bad news I've ever delivered before so… Due to the piece of rock Mr. Higgins so carelessly pulled out, she may not be able to sit, stand or eat in these next few days. Fluids she cannot live without, so when she wakes up make sure she drinks plenty of water. She may not be able to drink comfortably either. Some of this—discomfort she may have, the broken ribs can take the credit for. These take months to heal, so treat her with care. The good news. Well, her jaw is still fully intact, although she will have a black eye and bruises along her jawbone. She's responding well to the fluids we ran through her Intravenous fluid tube—this is a very new discovery, and we are thankful that it worked. I hope you will all treat her well, and that she gets plenty of sleep and rest. Now, I shall be going, I have another patient to attend to." She swept out of the room with her nurses following her. That was an earful, but it's good to know she should be alright. I practically ran to her side, as no one was denying me entrance anymore. She looked horrible. There was this weird tube-y thing attached to her arm somehow, and her face was all cut up. She had the makings of a shiner on her face. The blankets were askew, probably because Trousers had somehow managed to attempt to kick off the blankets, even with being injured. I kept constant vigil at her bedside. I had Sprite run errands for me, and Doubt became virtually my maid, as she was sent running back and forth between here and the kitchen with various tasks.


Castle Garden Immigration Depot was located on the edge of Manhattan. Congress closed it down in 1890 and supplied funding for the new immigration station, Ellis Island. During construction, the Barge Office in the Battery was used as a checkpoint for filtering immigrants.