Thanks much for the support so far. You're the ones that are keeping me going, so please don't hesitate to prod and/or encourage. And, to reward you for your loyalty, we'll meet a few actual newsies this chapter. Aren't you just bursting with delight?

CHAPTER FOUR.

Early spring – 1891

For the first time since her arrival in New York almost six months ago, Belle enjoyed a pretty day outside. The grim chill and deathlike hold that winter held over a place like the Bronx was nigh unbearable for her and Ma. They'd made it through, sure enough, but it was on scraps of food and scraps of clothing. Ma was only making just enough to see to a few nice meals a week. Neither had gone hungry really, and, as Ma had often cautioned Belle during nighttime prayers, "Be sure and thank the Lord every day for that which He's been so gracious to bestow upon us."

And Belle was grateful, make no mistake. Surely a God that was probably busy healing the sick and taking care of Heaven was certainly good enough to give them a nice plate of food once in a while and a scoop of coal or wood for the stove. It was a thankful, but lonesome existence for the little girl, for she'd never ventured outside much to play (perhaps fearful of the not-so-kind faces on many New Yorkers), and when she did, it was often alone, just as it was in Killarney.

The closest little patch of green was only around the block. It was a modest little park with a tree here and there, and a park bench that looked particularly welcoming when Belle wanted to draw in her very own journal—for that's all she could do. There wasn't a free school anywhere near Kingsbridge, and the schools nearby were all very stuffy, Ma said, and actually made children pay to learn. Oh, but how glorious it'd be to know reading and writing! But Belle would be patient to learn. She'd have to be.

Today, the sky was so very deeply blue and cloudless that it gave Belle a new energy and zest for the outdoors. Her Irish leather shoes scuffed the sidewalk as she attempted a skip or two towards the park. Through the bars, she spied the glorious oasis of trees and grass. It wasn't even big enough to cover the size of the city block, but it was all she needed to feel a little more at home. The grass even felt springy when she traveled over it, heading towards her very own bench.

All at once, she stopped her skip and shuffled a little more modestly, for she wasn't alone at the park today. Across the patch of green and in the corner, there were three other children—three young boys, perhaps Belle's age—leaning against the fencepost. Despite being just a little bigger than Belle, they seemed so much older. One of them even had a cigarette lazily hanging from one corner of his mouth. They stopped their game momentarily when Belle meekly entered the place, and even as she took her usual place on the park bench, she could hear them whisper to one another:

"Quit yer starin'. That ain't polite."

"Aw, cut it out! I wasn't starin' at nobody."

"How come she's always there? I seen her at least three other times before."

"How do I know? She don't ever say nothin' or play with us, though. You think she's deaf or somethin'?"

"Shh! She's gonna know we're talkin' about her."

"How's she gonna know if she's deaf?"

"Well, supposin' she ain't?"

"Let's ask her to play with us."

"You ask her. I'm scared of girls."

"Aw come on! There ain't nothin' to be scared of."

"You think you're so brave? You go talk to the kid."

All the while, Belle kept her face buried in her drawing journal, pencil scribbling fervently. It was a shapeless doodle that more and more began to resemble a flower, but the point was that she absolutely couldn't look up at these boys. What if they made fun of her? What if they were the rough sort that Ma cautioned her to stay away from? Well, even if they weren't rough, they'd laugh at her, of course. Boys liked laughing at girls.

Hop, hop, hop. The sudden closeness of the sound made Belle jerk her head up attentively, despite all commands to herself to do otherwise.

"Aha! I knew you wasn't deaf!"

The voice belonged to a boy that was rather small and thin, like Belle. He had a pair of ears that stuck out noticeably from under his cap—rather like a clown's silly ears—but of course Belle scolded herself for already making fun of a boy that she didn't even know. She further felt badly for being so judgmental when she noticed the funny-looking boy propping his weight against a shabbily constructed crutch.

When Belle didn't audibly respond right away, he took it upon himself to continue. "Maybe you can't talk then? I know a fella down near Bottle Alley that can't talk…"

"…I can talk." Well, she'd proven her point, but not by much, for her voice was still very soft indeed.

This was sufficient for the boy on the crutch, who resolved to grin encouragingly. "Wanna play? Me an' the fellas were gonna play ball." He paused, checking over his shoulder to make sure that his friends were, in fact, still there. "What do they call you, kid?"

"My mother calls me Belle." She bit her lip tentatively, hoping that was the right sort of response.

"Belle." It sounded funny to the boy, but he mulled it over and nodded agreeably. "Well, my mother called me Isaiah, but ev'ryone else's started to call me—"

"Crutchy!" The interrupting voice came from the boy that'd had a cigarette in his mouth. "The kid gonna play or what?"

"Crutchy?" Belle tried the word out with a sad expression. "I don't think that's a very nice thing to call you."

"Oh, that?" Evidently, Crutchy wasn't one to let anything sadden him, not even the feeble leg that gave him his nickname. "Aw, that's okay. They jus' call me that 'cause of my crutch. I've had it since I was four. Wagon ran over my leg!" He declared it as though it were a delight to experience. "But I don't mind it. I get along okay an' all." He started to hobble back towards the other two boys on the fence, motioning Belle to follow with him. "C'mon!"

She set her journal down with a thoughtful sigh, knowing there wasn't much risk in playing a game with these kids at the park. Crutchy, at least, was a nice and agreeable sort. But now, as she crossed to the boys' side of the fence, she remembered that she needed to make friends with the remaining two boys as well.

"New kid?" The cigarette boy ardently took Belle's hand and shook it roughly.

"Well, not really new," Belle defended in earnest. "I've been here for near six months…"

He narrowed his eyes contemplatively. "Irish," he asserted. "My pop was Irish." He nodded, as though this was a sufficient initiation for the kid. "I'm Anthony Higgins." He nodded indicatively at the remaining boy in the corner, who had an unruly, thick, curly hair. "An' we call him Mush Meyers, on account of he's a big softie. He's a-scared of girls," he muttered confidentially to Belle.

"I am not!" Mush retorted, taking to wringing his removed hat in his hands.

This elicited a smile from Belle's wry lips, but not much else for she, too, could identify with being a bit shy around strangers. This allowed Anthony to furrow his brow in bewilderment, removing his cigarette from his mouth to get a few words in:

"Don't say much, do ya?" He smirked. "Oughta call you Mouse. Quiet as one, that's for sure." He returned the cigarette to the corner of his mouth but continued to speak: "So. Ever heard of baseball?"

Two hours later, Belle still hadn't heard of baseball. It was deemed "not girly" by the trio of boys, and they simply resorted to a game of make-believe instead: a scenario in which all three of them had taken long sticks to use as horses, galloping about and shouting with great, showy appeal. Cowboys, they called themselves. They settled Belle into the part of a princess—an Indian princess—and though she didn't know how Indian princesses acted, such a lack of knowledge was irrelevant to the game, for her main duty was to feign being imprisoned by the tree by Mush, who served a reluctant, more villainous cowboy.

Just as sunset was about to paint the park a new, nighttime sort of color, Belle wrestled herself from her makeshift handcuffs near the tree.

"Whoa, hold up a minute!" Anthony broke character and dismounted his "horse." "We haven't even gotten to the part where we save the princess!"

"But I have to go," she insisted with quite a degree of hesitation. "I promised Ma I'd be inside before it's nighttime." She was considerably surprised to see the look of disappointment on the boys' faces. "But," she continued with increasing hope, "I'll be back tommorow…?"

This was good enough for Crutchy, who gave a nod of permission. "Okay!"

"We'll see ya tomorrow then, Irish," Anthony added, laboriously lighting another cigarette, which started to look less and less strange to Belle.

And with that, Belle turned and began her exeunt. She was so overcome, so delighted that she had made friends—real, honest friends!—that she didn't give the boys a proper goodbye. But, she supposed, that'd be quite all right. She'd see them tomorrow. Tomorrow! It was certainly enough to put a spring in her step as she arrived up the flights of stairs to her and Ma's room. Ma was still putting her hat on the stand and laughed at the irresistible hug that Belle greeted her with.

"Saints preserve us!" she declared with tired happiness, smoothing Belle's hair into submission, for it had gotten quite unruly in play this afternoon. "And what makes my little lamb so cheerful?"

Belle held her chin up with all the grace she employed when playing the Indian princess. "I made friends at the park, Ma."

"Did you, now?" Her smile was slow to arrive but lingered when it finally made its appearance. She punctuated the statement with a kiss atop Belle's head, guiding her to the table to solicit her help in preparing supper.

And then, of course, Belle simply had to tell Ma all about her day: meeting the three boys and being an Indian princess and being just so very proud that she was able to make friends so easily. It was so much to celebrate that she didn't even notice that supper was nothing more than bread and a bit of cheese. She scarcely noticed that her mother seemed smaller lately, more fragile, sadder. Belle's inexperience was a haze over her, and she couldn't decipher the graceful sadness that all too often dominated Ma's features now. She looked, to the best of her understanding, as though she had made peace with something.

What that peace was, Belle was unsure. But something within her tugged at her insides, and it wasn't a good tug.