Chapter Two
Ten Years Later

September 3, 1910

Sam had awoken refreshed and ready to start the day, which was an unlikely feeling for someone who typically worked two jobs. It probably had a lot to do with the newsies reunion being held at Irving Hall that evening. His stomach was all jittery with nerves and excitement. He was definitely feeling a lot better about the idea of being reunited with old friends. He had only kept in touch with a few of the boys whom he had called family during his teenage years, so it would be interesting to see where they had all ended up in their lives.

After running a couple of errands and futzing around the apartment for most of the morning, Sam decided to head over to Irving Hall and help with the set up for the evening's festivities. It was a gorgeous fall day in the city, not a cloud over head. The streets were overrun by pedestrians on their way to and from designated destinations – nothing out of the ordinary for the nation's largest metropolitan area. The smells varied from block to block as he passed vendors on the street corners, hollering that their product was the very finest in New York.

Turning the corner to where the old vaudeville theatre sat, Sam stood the distance and let the beauty of the building soak in. How was it possible that so many memories were attached to one building? Nearly every inch of Manhattan was covered with old memories, but Irving Hall seemed to hold a special place in every former newsies' heart. It might have been because this was where they had rallied against Pulitzer and Hearst; where they then celebrated the victory of the strike. It might also have been because it was the one place where they had been able to go for an evening of entertainment and frivolity. The fondness for the old theatre may also be linked to the exuberant former owner, Medda Larkson, who was a beauty on the inside and out. She had been a lady full of joy and passion, who simply adored the young workers of New York City; she was one of the few adult figures whom the newsboys had admired and respected.

He crossed the street and entered through a backdoor in the alleyway. He stood inside for a moment, listening for any sounds that might indicate the whereabouts of any inhabitants. It was just his luck that seconds later something fell with the impact of a sledgehammer to glass and was quickly followed by a loud, shouting voice. Sam had to take a step backwards to get out of the way as two children scampered passed him with fear-lit eyes as wide as saucers. With mild amusement he walked the narrow passageway that lead to the auditorium of the theatre. Hunched over a pile of shattered glass, cursing up and down, was his old friend and co-owner of the fine establishment, Anthony Higgins.

"You better not let Graziella catch you swearin' in front of the kids like that, Race," Sam said with a grin as the short Italian man spun around. "She'll have yer neck."

"If I told 'em once, I told 'em a thousand times," he replied exasperatedly, rubbing the back of his neck. "No runnin' in the auditorium when we've got the tables set up. They just don't ever listen."

"Well, if ya didn't have so many of 'em, you'd be able to keep track of 'em better," Sam replied with a grin.

"Watch it," Racetrack said warningly, but then broke into a grin and extended his hand to Sam. "Glad ya dropped by, Skitts."

Sam grinned at the use of his old nickname and shook Racetrack's hand. "Well, by the looks of it you could use the help."

The two men turned at the sound of pattering footstep. A small boy, who was the double of his father, hurried toward them.

"I got the broom, dad!" he announced and tried to hand it off to Racetrack. The older Higgins looked down on his son with an air of disbelief.

"Oh no, Tony, you're old enough to clean up yer own mess."

"But, dad-" he whined, trying on the puppy-dog eyes.

"No buts, young man. I told you not run around in here. Rosie will help you clean up when she gets back," Racetrack added, looking across the room for his oldest daughter. He yelled loudly, "Rosalie Maria Josephine Higgins!"

"She had to use the bathroom," Tony replied grumpily as he began to push the broken pieces of glass around the floor.

"How am I supposed to get Sophia down for her nap with all this noise?" interrupted the shrill and irritated voice of Racetrack wife, Graziella, as she stepped between one of the nearby curtained archways, a baby perched on her hip. She eyeballed her son, who coward under her gaze. "Anthony Michael Higgins Junior you will march yerself upstairs and finish your times tables when you've cleaned up. I will have no more nonsense until the naps are over!"

The boy looked mutinous, but nodded solemnly.

Turning, she smiled pleasantly at Skittery who had taken a step away during the family moment, "Hi there, Skittery. Come to help, did you?"

"Sure did, Ella. What's left to do?" he said, returning the smile. Racetrack was making eyes at him, trying to keep him from getting into the thick of things, but he was too late and Graziella started rattling off the list of things that still needed doing.

About two hours later after moving furniture and stage equipment, stocking the bars, and even washing dishes, they managed to get away from the direction of Graziella. Racetrack and Skittery snuck out to the alleyway for a well-deserved break.

"I tried to warn ya, Skitts," Racetrack said with a smirk.

Skittery shrugged. "Ah, well. I came over to help, didn't I?"

Racetrack nodded silently for a moment and then asked, "Lookin' forward to this thing?"

"Yeah, I suppose so. It'll be interesting," he replied quietly, trying to seem indifferent on the subject. "Who do ya think'll show?"

"If Jack doesn't come, I'll kill him," Racetrack joked, laughing; Skittery chuckled. "Actually, I ain't even sure who all will show. Graziella wanted to send word out, but seeing as I haven't exactly kept up with everyone it was nearly impossible. We're just gonna have to wait and see – should be a good night though."

"Yeah," Skittery agreed. "It's been a long time since I've seen most of them."

"Me too."

"Well, I think I'm gonna head home and put on something a little nicer," Skittery said quickly, hoping to avoid any awkward questions.

Racetrack pulled out his pocket-watch to check the time and nodded. "Sounds good – I should probably do likewise. Hey, thanks for the help, Skitts."

"Yeah, no problem. See ya later, Race."

Showered and refreshed an hour or so later, Skittery retraced his steps back to Irving Hall. Turning onto the street, he paused for a moment and drew in a deep breath. His insides squirmed with excitement and anticipation. This was it.

Caught up in the emotion and reverie, Skittery nearly jumped out of his skin when someone tapped him on the shoulder. He whirled around, heart beating wildly. Standing there with that all too familiar smile on his face was Specs, bowler hat and all. The years had hardly aged the former newsboy. The sight of an old friend launched him back in time and he suddenly felt sixteen again.

"Sorry, Skittery," Specs said with a smirk as Skittery scowled and clutched at his heart. "I didn't mean to sneak up on ya."

Skittery's scowl was short lived and he smiled, shaking his head as if the fright had been nothing. His heart still pattered rapidly. "Yeah, it's all right, Specs. Like old times, ya know?"

Specs chuckled, looking past Skittery at Irving Hall.

"It really is." He sighed contently and then refocused on Skittery, patting him on the back. "So how ya been, Skitts? Yer lookin' good."

Skittery gave a small, crooked understanding smile. "Doin' a lot better than the last time ya saw me. I'm workin' a couple jobs. They keep me busy; there ain't much time for anything else. How 'bout you, huh? What're you into these days?"

They started toward the theatre entrance and Specs replied, "I'm really glad to hear that you're doin' well, Skittery. I'm living in New Jersey and actually workin' in the newspaper business – overseeing the printing and distribution for the local paper. It ain't a bad job."

There was a pause in their conversation before Specs asked, "So which of the fellas do you think will show up to this party?"

Skittery shrugged, pulling the door open. "It's you, me, Race, and Tumbler as far as I know."

"You can count me in that number too!" interjected a boisterous voice from behind them. They turned to see the glowing face of Nicolette Porter, better known to them as Inky. Hovering beside her was a tall and nervous looking man, eyeballing the building hesitantly.

"Inky Porter!" Specs said cheerfully, greeting her with a friendly hug.

"Ya look great, Ink," Skittery added, giving her the once over.

Inky rolled her eyes, but smiled embarrassedly. "You boys are too much. I feel more like a hot air balloon that's about to pop any second. Speaking of popping, I need a bathroom!"

"After you then," Skittery replied, holding the door wide for her.

"By the way, fellas, I'd like you to meet my husband, Connor. It's been years since anyone's called me Inky Porter. I go by Lettie Garrett now, but of course you all can still call me Inky. Oh dear, the toilet beckons." She made a face and then waddled hurriedly down the hall.

"Good to meet ya, Connor. I'm Sam Evans, but everyone 'round here calls me Skittery."

The two men shook hands and Specs introduced himself, "I'm Thomas Warder, but they call me Specs. Congratulations to you and Inky."

The man remained tight lipped and nodded curtly in response. Specs and Skittery exchanged a look.

"We should go inside and get a good table," Specs suggested motioning toward the archway that would take them into the auditorium.

"I'm going to wait here for Lettie," Inky's husband replied quickly, glancing down the abandoned hall in direction she had gone.

Skittery shrugged indifferently; glad to be rid of the grumpy man. Specs voiced his thoughts when they cleared a distance,

"Same old Inky, huh? I wonder how she ended up with that old stick in the mud."

Skittery shrugged. "I'm sure we'll be wonderin' how most people ended up the way they did. I often wonder the same thing about myself."

Specs patted him on the shoulder. "I'm going to say hello to the Higgins family. I'll be right over."

As Specs strolled over toward where Racetrack and Graziella had their children cornered, and by the looks of it were giving them a severe talking-to, Skittery moved to the bar. He ordered a glass of water. Leaning back against the counter, he turned in time to see Inky and her rigid husband enter the room. Graziella had spotted them instantly, wasting no time in greeting the new arrivals and ushering Inky to sit down at one of the tables.

Taking his glass, Skittery moved to another table, wanting to avoid any further interaction with Inky's husband, and lower himself into a seat that faced the door. It wasn't long before Specs and Racetrack joined him, awaiting the arrival of other former newsboys.

With the arrival of each new person, Skittery's heart leapt and then fell when it wasn't her. Soon the hall was filled with a pleasant buzz of chatter as friends got reacquainted with one another. Jack Kelly had arrived in a grand fashion, with a flourish of his white cowboy hat and a bow, those who had already been gathered erupted into a cheer as their fearless leader finally graced them with his presence. Another cheer broke out when David and his kid brother, Les, walked in the door. The auditorium was filling up, but there were still a few of their number missing.

Sitting around his table presently and talking animatedly were Tumbler, Specs, and Pie Eater. They were a good group to be in the company of, but Skittery couldn't help the pressing sadness that began to weigh him down as time slowly ticked away. He listened for a while as Pie Eater talked about his life as a chef on Coney Island, but eventually his mind drifted away from the conversation. After a while he felt someone nudge his shoulder. He looked up and Tumbler was sitting beside him, looking concerned.

"You all right, Skitts?" the boy asked with wide-eyes.

Skittery blinked a few times, once again convinced that he had traveled back in time. Through that innocent question, Tumbler had managed to become eight years old once more. Skittery had to remind himself that the boy he spoke to had grown to be much older than that in the last ten years, but the memory made his heart glow with appreciation for his youngest friend.

"Yeah, I'm alright, Tumbler," he replied, bending the truth slightly. He reached out for his glass, but found it empty.

"Ya thinking 'bout Tug?"

Skittery grinned and looked at the boy square in the eye. "Nah – I was actually thinkin' about Blink."

"He ain't here, is he?" Tumbler said, craning his neck to look around the room. He gasped slightly and returned to his seat; turning pointedly to Skittery, he whispered, "Look who just walked in."

Skittery straightened in his chair at the same time his heart jumped into his throat. His eyes moved to the doorway where she stood. Time had changed her appearance, but he would know that face anywhere. She was glowing as her eyes swept the room for a moment; then she looked back over her shoulder, motioning with her hand. At the blink of an eye there was a small child suddenly linked to her hand. Leading the child further into the room, Tug was greeted by those closest to her. After a moment, she looked over her should once more and grinned. Following her gaze, Skittery's eyes meet a sight that made his insides shrivel and his tiny flame of hope extinguish. He was thankful that all of the glasses on the table were empty because he would have reached for the first one available had there been any, alcoholic or not.

At the very depths of his being, he had known this was always a possibility. He had set the bar fairly low, reminding himself continually that she could be married with children. Although it would have been heart-wrenching to see her with another man, he could have accepted the situation. But the reality now laid out in front of him was nothing he had imagined – nothing could have prepared him for this. The man that had joined her was presently being greeted enthusiastically by all the others…

because the man was none other than Andrew "Mush" Meyers.