Cora woke up and stared at the ceiling, confused. Above her head were wooden slats, not the white washed plaster of her home in Liverpool. She did not feel the rocking of the ship, and she was in a bed, not a hammock. She heard a loud voice and a resounding laugh, and remembered. The newsies. Her uncle. And, her cheeks grew warm, Spot. She had finally broken down, and he was the one who had comforted her. He must think I'm a weak, sappy girl. She sighed, Ah, well, maybe I am.
She got up from the straw cot, groaning. She was sore and exhausted. Cora reached the door and looped the leather strip that hanged there around the handle, creating a lock, then went back to her bag. She pointedly ignored her mother's Bible that she had brought with her. The verse Spot had read last night was still echoing in her head. "Plans to prosper you..." she whispered then shook her head. It wasn't true, and she must stop her foolishness.
Five minutes later she had changed into her extra skirt, which was dyed a deep red hue, and the only shirt she had, a plain white one. She pulled back on her black sweater and sensible, yet ratty shoes. Her hair she had tried to tame into a bun, but her curls stuck out haphazardly, so she had to be content with a bumpy braid that laid over her shoulder. She collected her things in her bag, even the Bible, and left the room.
It was surprisingly a great deal colder on the other side of the thin door. Cora shivered. As she emerged, the clamorous noises died down. A group of twenty to forty young men from barely seven to possibly over eighteen watched her. Cora sought a friendly face and found it in Spot, who stood in the middle of the group. He was looking at her strangely, she saw concern and pity, but that wasn't all.
"Good mornin' miss." It wasn't Spot who spoke, and Cora searched for the voice. "I hope you had a lovely night's rest." The voice dripped with sarcasm. There. It was Pickle, and he had a smirk on his slimy face. A couple of the older boys chuckled at this, but Spot glared at him.
"I told ya Pickle, no teasing, and no disrespect. And that's both, so shut it." Spot said, then turned to the rest of the group, "actually, it's time for all of you to go carry the banner, so get out of here!" And he shooed them out of the haven in a strict and forceful way, yet still good-naturedly.
The newsies scramble to grab pieces of a loaf of bread that lay on one of the tables, or drink a sip from the bottle of creamy white milk that perched on another wheel.
One young boy tore of a generous chunk of bread and handed it to Cora. "'Ere ya go, miz." He said with a slight lisp.
Cora crouched down and gently took the bread from his hands, too worn for a child. "Thank you sir; I much appreciate the gesture. And who might you be?"
The boy wiped his red nose on the back of his hand. "I'm Peter, but everyone calls me Sniffs."
Cora could see where the name came from, he seemed to have a pretty severe cold. He needed some hot tea and a warm blanket, but she knew there was no way she could get those things, so she said. "Well, it's mighty fine meeting you, Peter, or Sniffs. Good luck on selling today."
Sniffs nodded and slipped in with the group that was vacating the area. Many glanced over at her then commented to their comrades, laughter ensued. She chose to ignore their childish behavior and held her head high as she rose from where she had been talking with the little boy.
Spot had materialized next to her, and it nearly gave her a heart attack. Cora laid her hand on her furiously beating heart. "Dear me, Spot. You scared me." He was so close that she could smell him, and he didn't smell that great. It was a mix of saltwater, newsprint, dirt, smoke, and a hint of sweet alcohol. Cora refrained from gagging, but stepped nonchalantly away from him.
Spot smirked at her. "Come on, we have places to be too." And he slung her bag over her shoulder, not waiting for her. Cora followed.
It was a dreary, overcast day, nothing like the sunshine and blue sky of yesterday. The sky was a blank gray and it drizzled halfheartedly, just enough to get one wet, but not enough to send you running for cover in the shops. Flower girls and newsies still roamed the streets, along with those who couldn't afford a carriage to transport them.
Cora was intrigued. Sure, she was used to big cities, but New York had a different feel to it. It wasn't that it was cleaner, or that there weren't distinct classes, for those were quite plain to see. Then she understood. She watched flower girls laugh and complement each others' flowers. Farmers opened doors for other farmers, giving up their right to be next in line to sell their goods. She overheard a shoe shiner directing a customer to other shoe shiner, telling him how good he is. Although these people were cast off and ignored by the rich and powerful, they had each others' back. In Liverpool it was a race to see who could get on top, here in New York they were a community. They stood up for one another.
Spot turned around and watched Cora survey her surroundings. "Everyone is so nice and supportive." She wondered aloud.
Spot nodded and answered her unspoken question. "It was all that Jack Kelly's doing. He brought us together against Pulitzer and all those big shots, about two years ago now. You can't go through a revolution of sorts together and not be family." He slowed his step to match hers and readjusted the bag on his shoulder. "Sure there's still the rare idiot who thinks only of himself. But the rest of us, family." He smiled at her for a second too long, and Cora felt heat rising to her cheeks. Then he stopped.
"Here we are, Medda's. We'll just go 'round to the side now." The two passed by the large picture of a blonde lady reclining in a silky purple dress and the lighted entrance and slipped around down a alley. Spot opened a door and ushered her in.
They were hailed immediately by a gorgeous woman who must be the famed Medda. "Oh, Spot, I didn't know I was going to have the King of Brooklyn in my studio today. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Spot whipped off his newsie cap and bowed over Medda's outstretched hand, full of charm. "The lovely Swedish Meadowlark. How are ya?"
"Oh, ever the charmer, Spot!" She threw back her head and laughed a perfect peal.
Spot winked at Medda, and Cora felt a twist of jealousy in her gut, which she fought to repress.
Medda finally noticed Cora. "Oh! Now who is this, Spot? She sure is a beauty." Medda took Cora's chin between two finely manicured fingers and tilted her head back and forth.
"This is Cora, she's fresh in from Liverpool," Spot said, searching distractedly in a box behind them. He rose victorious with a crystallized stick candy and popped it in his mouth. "She's got no family left, and I was wonderin' if you could use her here."
Cora jerked her head at that, I don't want stay here with this lady. Especially since I don't know what kind of business she runs.
She heard Medda's tinkling voice over her thoughts. "Oh, well, let's see. Can you play an instrument?"
Cora was so taken aback by the question she answered. "I played the fiddle a bit before we had to sell it."
"Oh dear, we already have a fiddle player, and a mighty fine one too." Medda shook her head.
Cora looked around her at the multitude of boxes overfilling with gaudy fabrics and featers, and at the illuminated mirror and counter that took up a whole wall, strewn with brushes, powder, and lipstick. She finally realized where she must be. She was backstage. Medda obviously was the star of the show they preformed. Spot was trying to get her a job. She blushed, how sweet of him.
"Why don't you sing me a little tune?" Medda was asking her.
Cora obliged and sung a lullaby her mother used to sing every night for her and Evelyn. Her voice was good, and carried well, but it wasn't stage worthy.
"Hmm..." Medda said, furrowing her brows in a way that still looked attractive. "I really wish I could help you, but we don't have a need right now. I'm so sorry dear."
Spot looked dejected and scowled, but Cora's heart soared, she didn't like Medda all that much.
The two of them left soon after, Medda hurrying off to perform her next show. They walked in silence for a bit. What if he is disappointed in me? Cora asked herself, frowning, What if he was hoping to get rid of me there, and now he's stuck with me? She shook her head. She had to stop this kind of thinking. "I'm sorry." She said.
Spot whipped his head around to stare at her, halting midstride. "You, sorry?"
Cora halted too and turned to face him. "Well, yes." She ducked her head. "You seemed angry at me. I'm sorry I'm not musically talented, and that I didn't try hard enough..."
Spot shook his head, dumbfounded, "oh, Cora, I'm not angry at you, I'm angry at maself. I don't have any other ideas for ya..."
"Well, Spot, if you wouldn't mind, I would like to try being a newsie." She stared at the ground, blushing furiously. " I know I'm kind of shy, and I may not do that well, but I'm willing to try and earn my way here and-" She glanced up to see his reaction and stopped. He was grinning from ear to ear.
"Cora, I think that is a fine idea. Startin' tomorrow, I'll teach ya to be a newsboy, er, newsgirl, I mean."
She took his hand in both of hers and squeezed it. "Oh, thank you Spot! I won't let you down, I promise!"
He smirked, "course ya won't. Now, if we was in Brooklyn I'd take you to Moser's Diner, were us Brooklyn newsies crash after a mornin' of sellin'. But since we're still in 'Hattan, let's head to Tibby's. Lunch is on me," and the pair resumed walking, chatting all the way.
Tibby's was crowded. The long tables were lined by newsies varying in age, size, and loudness. The booths and side tables were mostly occupied by groups of gabbing gentleman in business suits, several perusing crisp newspapers.
The friendly young man from last night, Jack Kelly, hailed them. "'Ey Spot, I wasn't expectin' you today." He called, "and, Cora was it?"Didn't know I was goin' to see ya again. So, where's ya uncle?"
Cora's hands turned clamy, and she sent a pleading look to Spot. He answered Jack, "it's a long story Jacky-Boy, but the point is Cora is gonna be a newsie with us."
She smiled gratefully up at him, Jack noticed and didn't press the question, but bent into a deep bow, tricky in the crowded room. "Welcome to the family Cora. Why hadn't I thought of it before? A gurl newsie! That would definitely help with sales, a pretty face to look at, instead of us rough mongrels."
Cora's attention shifted as a group of the newsies at the far side of the room cheered. It appeared that a young, redheaded boy had just beaten the one she remembered as Race in a game of cards. She smiled at the triumph of the obvious underdog.
Jack took this moment to announce the news. "Listen up fellas! I'd like ya all to welcome the newest member of the Brooklyn newsies, Cora!" He swept his arms towards her in a great arc, Cora felt her face grow hot as the room went silent. Then one, then another newsie began to clap. Soon, the whole group of them was cheering. She was drawn into the group of them, and when she landed in a wooden chair across from the red haired young man, she felt completely accepted into this large, enthusiastic, rowdy family. Her back was sore from being slapped, her hand ached from being pumped up and down, and her cheeks burned from the wide grin stretching across her face.