Warning: Slight fluffly slash towards the end of this chapter...borderline bawdy actually ::blushblush:: Sorry, I was in one of those moods. lol!
CHAPTER FOUR
The rain had begun beating down in cold pellets again, drumming out rapid beats against everything it hit. Gusts of wind funneled down between the closely built structures, knocking boxes and cans over as if they were feathers, making it difficult at times for Dutchy to walk a straight line. Never before had he ever experienced such a wicked storm. It felt as if the city was being sucked into a black hole with little to no mercy for its inhabitants. Bums and vagabonds huddled close together against the dead ends of alleyways, clutching to each other just to make sure none of them was picked up and carried away.
By the time Dutchy made it back to the Duane Street Lodging House his entire body stung of wind burn. His face and hands were red from the constant barrage of rain bullets hitting against him and he felt as if he would never fully dry out. He only hoped that the little girl he held securely in his arms didn't wind up with pneumonia thanks to their swim and the wind. Bursting through the door, he quickly moved through the foyer heading for the stairs. Just a few leaps up the wooden stairs, around the corner and two bounds down and he'd be safe in the bunkroom. Just as his right foot landed on that first stair, a shadow moved to his right and stopped him.
"Uh…what'chu got there, Dutchy?"
Busted. Sighing, Dutch turned to face the proprietor and the newsboys friend, Kloppman. No one knew for sure just how old Kloppman was, but all were certain that he'd been the original caretaker of the building; some speculated that he had been the first newsboy ever in New York City, though no one could prove nor disprove that theory. All the boys really knew was that he'd been married once upon a time and had had one son. Some of the much, much older newsboys—the ones who had long since stopped selling and had moved on to either a respectable life with a family of their own finally, or were rotting in the state penitentiary—remembered Kloppman's son as being a fine young man who could have done anything he wanted. Unfortunately, what he wanted was to join the military. His choice to go to sea as part of the Naval Branch ended up costing the freshly turned twenty-year-old his life. As for Kloppman's wife, Dutchy had heard once as a younger boy that she had died giving birth to their stillborn daughter when his son was only a year or two old.
"I uh…" Dutchy gulped hard, suddenly feeling like a child caught stealing candy. It was the same feeling of nerves and near panic he would get when asked to speak up in class as a younger boy. Kloppman frowned slightly as he reached an age worn hand out to tug the copper colored shirt down around the little girl's terrified face.
"No…no girls allowed here, Dutch, no matter how little." He stammered, shaking his head. Dutchy's eyes widened as he moved to stand on the floor again, his arms still wrapped tightly around her.
"Kloppman, I wasn't gonna keep her! I drug her out of the river, she nearly drowned! I just wanted to get her in some dry clothes and get her warmed up so she doesn't get sick and die anyways. First thing in the morning I'll take her to Medda's and see if she'll take her, I promise!"
Kloppman continued to stammer and shake his head as he moved to stand behind the counter. It was such a stupid rule that no girls were allowed in their lodging house past dark; it didn't matter how old or young they were, if they were female they weren't allowed past the foyer once the sun set. That's not to say they were free to roam the lodging house as they pleased during the day though, which they weren't, they were simply more likely to be permitted to catch a cat nap on one of the empty bunks or use the cleared out washroom to get cleaned up and wash their clothes should they feel the need to. The only time Dutchy remembered seeing a girl allowed to stay the night at their lodging house had been a few years back, and that had only been because she was too sick to be moved.
"No…no girls. Take her down the street to Saint James Church, the nuns will take care of her there."
Dutchy felt his blood pressure rise slightly and his jaw clench. "It's practically the end of the world out there and you want me to just dump her on the doorstep of a church? I'm not dropping her off at an orphanage, Kloppman. I won't. I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy. She'd only wind back up on the streets or in one of those damned workhouses and I'm not going to be the one responsible for that!"
Pausing, Kloppman lifted his eyes to look at the young man and the scared toddler. Through the years, he'd learned quite a bit about his lodgers pasts, their hardships and what had brought them to his humble establishment, but Dutchy had always been tightlipped about his; changing the subject quickly whenever it had been brought up or suddenly remembering he had some place to be and something to do. Kloppman could see the hidden hatred deep in Dutchy's sapphire blue eyes and knew that there were things he was keeping locked away from the rest of the world. Sighing heavily, the old man pressed his lips together and gave a slight nod.
"Alright. Just for tonight though. When you come back tomorrow evening, she best not be with you."
Dutchy gave a single nod before he turned to start back up the stairs, leaving only a puddle where he'd been standing behind. Watching him bound up the stairs, Kloppman sighed tiredly before moving about his nightly routine of turning the lights out and locking up.
The bunkroom, as usual for a stormy night, was a chaotic mess when Dutchy entered. Pillows were being hurled from one side of the room to the other, blankets hung down off of beds and across walkways in make-shift forts and barricades. Battle cries rang off the walls as younger boys leapt from bunk to bunk before diving for cover behind the walls of their "fort". Dutch stood in the safety of the doorway watching the War of the Newsboys rage on inside, a slightly amused smile playing on his lips. Racetrack was sprawled out on the floor closest to the door, having been a "victim" to a pillow hit, his eyes closed and his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth as he played dead.
"Hey! Hey D! Get over here we're bein'—OMPH!" Specs blinked rapidly as his glasses flew from his face and landed a good two feet to his left after he'd made the mistake to stand up from behind his barricade and was hit squarely in the head with a renegade pillow. "Hey! No head shots to the guys wearing glasses, remember!? Hold it! No one move until I get my glasses back!"
Dutchy couldn't help but laugh as he set the still soggy toddler down on the nearest bottom bunk and moved to scoop his best friend's round, silver framed glasses up off the floor before anyone stepped on them. Holding them out by the stems, he offered a partial smile. It was tough being one of the few guys in the lodging house forced to wear glasses; the other fella's didn't understand how important those things were to them, they didn't understand that without those glasses, those guys would be nearly blind as bats.
"Here ya go, Specs." He said the partial smile still on his face. Taking the glasses back and replacing them on his face, Specs smiled brightly and gave a nod before take a couple of steps back, his hand covering his nose and mouth.
"Whoa, D! You stink like the East River! What the hell man?"
"Hey! How comes it smells like fish in 'ere!"
"Ferget dat! Who's da quarter-pint?"
Turning back around and ignoring the questions and comments suddenly replacing the pillows that flew through the air, Dutchy moved back to the bunk he left the little unnamed girl on and shrugged. The whole way home he hadn't been able to get her to say a single word and really didn't know anything about her except that she somehow wound up in the river. The toddler had been glancing around the room, her large brown eyes brimming with tears at all the strange new faces and sounds. As Dutchy made his way back to her though, her eyes instantly lost their tears and sparkled brightly.
"I gotta get you in some dry clothes. Any of you little bums got some clothes she might fit in?"
The bunkroom was quiet as everyone stopped what they'd been doing, the "dead" rising from their places to stare at one of the oldest newsboys there. Surely he couldn't be serious? Of course there were young boys living among them, but no one near small enough to lend their clothes out to him.
After a moment of silence, there was the sound of one of the sparse trunks being opened before a smaller boy stepped forward, gently folded clothes hanging over his hands. Teeny moved closer to Dutchy, his eyes casted down upon the bundle in his arms. One of the unwanted, Teeny had found his way into the Duane Street Lodging House five years prior with his younger brother Tiny. Born midgets to "normal" sized parents, Teeny had fled his home at the age of ten to escape the ridicule of his drunken father. He'd told Tiny he couldn't follow him, that the streets weren't safe for a five-year-old, but Tiny hadn't listened; he'd followed because he loved his older brother unconditionally, and vowed that where Teeny went, he went. Tiny had died that first winter in the Lodging House, Teeny by his side the whole time.
Standing before the towering blond boy with glasses, the fully grown four-foot tall Teeny looked to the girl and gave a small smile. Yes, he had clothes that should fit her just right.
" 'Ere Dutch…try dese. I ain't got no use fer 'em…an' Tiny'd offer 'em up 'imself if he's could."
Dutchy looked down at the rarely heard, and even more rarely seen, fifteen year old newsboy. Dutchy and Racetrack had been the first two to find the small brothers and christen them with their nicknames. Blinking a couple of times as he realized Teeny was offering his deceased younger brothers clothes up so that another child shouldn't get sick and die in that bunkroom again, Dutch smiled slightly as he gently took the clothes from him.
"Thanks Teen, 'preicate it."
Turning back to the little girl with large brown eyes, he reached out to start peeling the wet clothes off her little frame. Pausing, his fingers grasping the sleeves of her tattered rag dress, he lifted his eyes to glance at the others over the rims of his glasses. Straightening himself up again, Dutchy scooped the girl up into his arms. Her giggles bounced around the room like brightly colored fairies as she smiled and clung to her rescuer.
Ducking into the washroom, he moved to the far end, farthest from the curious eyes of the boys he bunked with. Dutchy glanced around the washroom before setting her down, safely hidden from prying eyes between the wall and the counter area the boys used to house their shaving cups and meager supply of towels. Glad he didn't have to try and fuss with any buttons or hooks, Dutchy quickly removed her sopping wet clothes, gave her a once over drying with one of the towels left sitting on the counter, before getting her redressed in the slightly too big for her boys underclothes, dark brown knickers, and light grey shirt.
"Don't worry, kiddo. Medda'll be able to get you back into those stuffy doll clothes tomorrow." He said as her stubby little fingers picked at the scratchy sleeves of the shirt. Taking hold of her hand, Dutchy sighed as he slowly walked back out into the bunkroom, tossing her wet clothes into a wash basin as he went by.
"So, Dutchy? Does your little girlfriend have a name, or is she just 'Hey Little Girl'?" Snipeshooter questioned from his bunk where he was struggling to get his bedding back together.
"Yeah!? Where'd ya find 'er?" Asked Snitch who was in the process of trying to find his pillow once again.
Looking down at the smiling face before him, Dutchy shrugged as he moved off towards his own bunk. "I dunno what 'er name is. She hasn't said a single word since I found 'er."
"Alright, an' you found her…where?" Itey asked as he hopped up onto the top bunk he was still forced to share with the thumb-sucking Snitch.
"Down at the South Street Seaport. I was headin' back here an' heard cryin', looked out under the bridge and there she was, floatin' down the river in a wooden cracker barrel."
Swifty looked up and over from where he was untangling the web of sheets that had once made up his bunk bed fort and frowned slightly. "If she's floatin' down da rivah…how'd'ja get 'er out? Ya din't act'chilly jump in dere, di'ja?"
Rolling his eyes, Dutchy plucked at his own soggy clothes and raised a straw colored eyebrow at him. "No, I just decided to bathe in a bucket of dead fish. Course I dove in after 'er. Ya think I was just gonna let 'er drown?"
"You saved her life?! Dutchy, man that makes you a hero! A real honest-ta-God hero! You should…you should get like the key to the city or something for that!" Mush Meyers smiled brightly, his round brown eyes twinkling as he looked between his friends and fellow lodgers. All nodded in agreement as some voiced their words of approval for his bravery.
Setting her down on his top bunk, Dutch shook his head as he dug around in his shared trunk. Tugging out his spare pair of summer undershorts, he pulled his suspenders down and set his glasses on the bunk next to the child. "No, it makes me an idiot. We both nearly drowned trying to get back to the docks and none of ya's would have ever known."
"Nearly isn't did, D! You saved dis little kid's life. Whaddya gonna do with 'er? Ya gonna keep 'er?" Specs questioned as he moved to lean against his best friend's bunk. Smiling at the girl, he wiggled his fingers at her, reaching out quickly to tickle at her sides as she giggled and curled up into herself. Specs watched out of the corner of his eye as Dutchy changed from his soggy clothes and into his moth-eaten undershorts. Gulping hard and smiling back at the little girl, he continued to try to tickle at her sides while Dutchy moved to hang his clothes over the edge of the bed to dry.
"Nah. I told Kloppy I was gonna take her over to Medda's first thing in the morning. She'll have a better idea as to what to do with her than I do," Dutchy paused as he glanced at the smiling face of the eighteen month old. So much about her reminded him of his own baby sister Pasha. Swallowing hard, Dutchy looked back to his clothes. "What do I know about takin' care of a little kid like her, huh?"
Specs frowned at Dutchy. He hated seeing him get upset over what had happened to Pasha. Skittery had been the 'depressed' one of the bunch, not Dutch. It never failed though, that anytime someone brought up anything that triggered a memory in that blond head of his, Dutchy would become just as 'glum-n-dumb' as Skitts was and generally shut down emotionally for an hour—sometimes more. Stepping away from the toddler, Specs placed a hand on Dutch's shoulder, giving it a light squeeze.
"Hey, don't start dat again, mistah. We've been over dis before, dere wasn't anyt'in' you coulda done. Alright? Now, why don't you an' da li'l skirt take my bunk tonight? Less of a fall if she rolls off."
Actually breaking into a slight mischievous half-smirk, Dutchy wiggled his eyebrows at Specs as he moved to pick the girl up off his bunk once more. "It's gonna get crowded with the three of us on that bunk, but okay. Just watch your knee this time, will ya? I've kinda gotten used to things bein' where they are down there; don't need or want your knee rearrangin' things on me in my sleep, it's not fun."
Though it wasn't exactly the biggest secret in the world that the two boys' friendship went slightly beyond that of 'brotherly love', most of the boys pretended not to know what went on between them and did their best to act as if they were just like all the other 'skirt-chasers'. There had in fact though, been a number of times in the past year and a half that the pair had been caught holding each other in the washroom when they thought no one was around, or were found snuggled together on one or the other's bunk like a couple of lovers. Still, given how poorly "those kinds of people" were received and treated, neither were quick to admit their feelings for each other were anything more than that of basic best friendship to the rest of their friends.
Specs glanced around the bunkroom nervously as he give a light chuckle and shook his head. "Dat's not what I meant, and you know it D. You and the mini-skirt take my bunk, I'll sleep in yours."
Laughing softly as his little find snuggled herself into his arms, her face nestled into the crook of his neck, Dutchy flashed his dazzling smile at the brown haired teen. "Oh, got'cha. Alright, thanks Specs. An' if ya get lonely…"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, dat's what my hand's for."
"That's not what I meant, but okay…"
"A'right, lights out ya bummah's. Get in ya bunks, go." Racetrack ordered, walking down the line of bunks as he moved off towards his own. Younger newsboys scurried for their bunks while older ones scoffed and waved the oldest resident newsie off, taking their sweet time getting back to their own beds. Dutchy chuckled softly before looking back at Specs. Already having taken off his glasses, hat and over-shirt, he turned to hand Dutchy his own glasses back.
"G'night Dutch."
"Night, Specs."
Allowing themselves a gentle gaze that lingered for a moment longer than 'just friends' should allow a gaze to linger, both parted ways—Specs climbing up onto the top bunk usually occupied by a far more fare-haired boy, Dutchy and the now sleeping toddler moving to lie in the bed most often used by his dark-haired best friend.
