Disclaimer: Disney owns Newsies and all the wonderful characters from the movie.
Thirteen.
Thanks For, You Know.
It wasn't the nearest hospital, but it was the one Skittery found most dependable. There was a doctor there he trusted, and he was the only doctor he went to see ever since Kloppman referred Skittery to him years before.
Medical care was provided at the Newsboys lodging house, but more serious illnesses and injuries were treated at the Hudson Street Hospital, just a couple of blocks away from Duane Street. Over the years, a distinguished man by the name of Dr. Alton Phillips had tended to dozens of Duane Street boys. Even though the man initially seemed brusque in manner, it didn't take long to see that he genuinely cared about his patients.
Because there were no trolleys to hop on, it took them nearly an hour to walk to the hospital. Skittery tried to make the time less awkward by making small talk—something, he decided, he was awful at doing and which ultimately made the situation even more uncomfortable. He realized that he was mostly making mentions of how damn hot it was. She managed one-worded answers of agreement and faint smiles, but overall, the girl didn't seem to be in any mood to cooperate. The color had drained from her face and her eyes took on a faraway yet focused look. Her breathing became labored and her fingers remained tightly clasped on her arm.
Maybe we should've just gone to the nearest place, Skittery thought, taking a furtive sideways glance at the girl and second guessing the extent of her injury. It was a sweltering day, but the beads of sweat that slipped down from her hairline were more indications of arduous effort than of falling victim to the summer heat. It was too late to turn back by that time, however, as they were closing in on Hudson Street. He quietly encouraged her pace, telling her the hospital was just several blocks away. She, in return, appeared tremendously relieved.
Upon reaching the hospital, he led her to the fifth floor where Dr. Phillips' cramped corner office hid. Arriving at the open door, Skittery spied the doctor sitting hunched over in his rickety chair, his nose in a pile of papers atop his desk. From the small window at the end of the room streamed the intense sunlight for his readings. Dr. Phillips was a sturdy man in his fifties, with light brown hair streaked with white and bushy brows framing bright sea green eyes.
Skittery removed his cap and gave the door three sharp knocks with his knuckles.
Dr. Phillips barely budged. "Come back in an hour. I'm taking lunch."
"Uh, there's someone who'd like to see you, Dr. Phillips," Skittery said, gesturing the girl to the door.
"I don't recall hiring an assistant," Dr. Phillips mumbled. He tore his attention away from his readings, turned to the door and, upon seeing Skittery, threw his hands up in the air dramatically. "Not you again."
"Yeah," Skittery said sheepishly.
"You kids just can't stay away from trouble, can you?" Dr. Phillips said, shaking his head and rising from his seat. "What is it now? How's that little kid doing?"
"Tumbler? He's doing fine now."
"That was a hard fall he took then. Is that how he got his name, by the way? Does he tumble down often?"
Skittery chuckled in response. "Sort of."
"I hope you're looking after him more closely. Kids like to run and bounce around at that age. All that young energy, they just don't know what to do with it. All right, enough chitchat. What are you bothering me again for?"
"It's…" Skittery looked over at the girl poking her head in at the doorway, "this girl."
"'This girl?' You two don't know each other?"
"We kind of just… bumped into each other," Skittery explained. "She's got a bad scrape, or something."
"Well, come on in," Dr. Phillips said to the girl. "Let's see how bad this scrape is. Sit down right here. Very good, yes, right there on that chair. Oh. That does look quite bad," he said, frowning, when he saw the stains on her shirt. "I'm going to need to take a look at your arm, all right? And, Skittery, I'm going to have to ask you to wait outside."
Skittery nodded and glanced at the clock on the doctor's desk. "Yeah, okay. I have somewhere to go right now anyway," he said, figuring he should be on his way to Tibby's.
"Oh, that's right, you don't know one another. You're better off not knowing him," Dr. Phillips told the girl as he prepared his examination and medical materials. "He'll just give you trouble. Do you know how many times I've had to stitch him back up after the fights he and his friends got into? And I told him after each time, to stop picking fights. Does he listen? By the looks of that bruise on his face right now, I'd say he doesn't."
"All right, all right," Skittery said, raising his hands in defeat. "I get what you're saying." After a pause, he roguishly added, "But the guy hit me first."
Dr. Phillips sighed and pursed his lips, looking up at him over his glasses. "Give James Kloppman my regards, will you?"
"Will do," he answered, moving towards the door.
"Skittery?" the girl called suddenly.
He turned and looked at her, surprised that she knew his name.
"Thank you," she said.
Then he remembered that Dr. Phillips had called him by his name just moments before. "Yeah, least I could do," he replied, slightly embarrassed. "Thanks for, you know. Before."
She let out a little laugh and, for reasons he couldn't quite fathom, Skittery found himself grinning in return.
He left the room so Dr. Phillips could tend to the girl. He paused outside of the doorway, however, when he heard the doctor draw the curtain for his patient's privacy and speak.
"That's no scrape, is it?"
Skittery frowned. What did he mean by that? After a few long seconds, the doctor heaved a sigh and spoke again.
"This should have been stitched before. How long has it been? A couple of days? Looks like it was just starting to close up but opened again, am I right? Well, then, by the looks of this, you two didn't just bump into each other. Crashed, is more like it."
A silence between them, just the rattle of the doctor's medical tray.
"This is going to prick a little," Dr. Phillips warned. "What did you think of him, that Skittery? Good kid, for the most part. Hadn't seen him in a couple of months. Last time he was here, half the lodging house came with him when this young friend of theirs fell down the stairs. Can you imagine how cramped it got in here, having fifteen or so kids standing around in this small office?"
Skittery recognized this tactic. He didn't see Dr. Phillips all these years and not come to understand some of the doctor's methods. Right now he was chattering on to keep the patient's mind off of the procedure. He almost snorted at the story the doctor told, remembering that crazy night when Tumbler, dripping wet from having been caught in the intense thunderstorm, slipped down the stairs and caused an uproar of panic in the lodging house. Skittery had picked the kid up in his arms and, accompanied by Jack, Swifty, Mush, Blink, Bumlets, Dutchy and Boots, ran out the door held open by a fretting Kloppman.
"That should do it," Dr. Phillips said, snipping off the end of the stitching. "I apologize, I didn't ask for your name before, did I?"
"Oh," she uttered in surprise, suddenly recalling her manners. "Of course. My name is Ellie Summers."
"Well, Miss Summers, I don't know how you went around with just that sheet keeping your arm together. If you don't mind my asking," he said carefully, "how did this happen? And don't tell me it was an accident. I'm a doctor, you know."
There was an uneasy laugh on the girl's part. "It, um…" she trailed off, considering her words. "I think I upset someone, very much," she said, her tone light, nervous.
The doctor clucked his tongue. "A person capable of doing that is unwell. I hope you don't see that someone again."
"I don't intend to," the girl affirmed.
"Glad to hear it. I'll walk you over to the ward now, if you're all right to stand on your feet."
"The ward?"
"Yes. You'll need to stay indoors for a while."
"But I'm feeling fine," she insisted.
"You're dehydrated and you've suffered sufficient blood loss." His tone was firm, suggesting there was no arguing about the matter.
Skittery's attention snapped away from the conversation in the office. He abruptly remembered where he was and where he was supposed to be. Knowing the girl was all right relieved his conscience and he felt free to finally return to his friends. He turned on his heel and hastened towards the staircase.
The ward was downstairs on the third floor and just down the hall. It was a considerably large open space, with narrow beds neatly aligned on either side of the room. There were several windows—four of them—on the each side, providing ample sunlight to illuminate the place. Captivating paintings of nature decorated the walls, bringing splashes of color to an otherwise colorless room.
A quick scan of the ward showed most of the hospital beds occupied, with a number of nurses hovering over and tending to the patients. Dr. Phillips called over Nurse Williams, a thin woman with reddish hair, and rattled off instructions. After confirming, she set off to make preparations.
He addressed Ellie next. "Nurse Williams will look after you. If you feel any discomfort or pain, ask for Dr. Phillips. That's me."
Grateful for his time and help, she said, "Thank you, Doctor."
He gave a curt nod and left, heading back to his office.
"Miss Summers?" Nurse Williams had returned, carrying a tray with a glass and a pitcher of water. "This way."
She guided Ellie to a cot near the back of the room. Ellie felt a bit awkward being in the ward when, aside from a little dizziness and tenderness in her arm, she really did feel fine. But, under the watch of Nurse Williams, she found herself slowly settling down on the bed. Her body melted into the yielding surface. The response perplexed her; she hadn't realized how tired she was until that moment.
"The doctor says you need to drink plenty of water," said the nurse as she poured a glass of water for Ellie. "I'll leave this tray here for you," she added, placing the pitcher on the side table to Ellie's right.
Ellie expressed her thanks and drank the lukewarm water—to her surprise—in one go. Setting down the glass, she laid back against the pillow. She had to admit, she did feel better, especially now that her arm had received proper care. It had been an excruciating experience, walking to the hospital while worrying about the wound reopening.
But as much as she wished it, the reprieve from the rest and refreshment couldn't impede the earlier anxiety from coming back.
She was still in need of a job. As soon as she was allowed to leave, Ellie knew she had to rush to the last three addresses on the list. If she was lucky, she would only have to go to the first one—the one that she wanted. But Ellie wasn't counting on luck. She was, nevertheless, keeping her hopes up, convincing herself that everything was going to work out fine.
Everything was going to be fine.
She took another glass of water and sipped slowly.
In an attempt to distract herself, she set her eyes on the ward's residents, taking in her surroundings. From what Ellie saw of the hospital on the way up the stairs, there was a separate ward for children on the fourth floor. Accordingly, the patients here ranged from the middle-aged to the elderly. They were sleeping, dining on what looked like porridge, conversing with the nurses, or reading. Overall, the atmosphere here was quiet and still.
The paintings on the walls drew her attention next, particularly the one hanging opposite her. It was a snow-covered scene. A winding footpath led to a humble cottage, warm shades of oranges and yellows of flickering light emanating from the windows. The fire place was lit, for ashen gray smoke rose in wispy puffs from the chimney, rising into the formless snow clouds that blanketed the sky. The cottage was enclosed into seclusion by a forest of proud, lofty evergreens, stretching back into the distance. And even further, behind the evergreens, stood the ghostly silhouette of a majestic mountain range.
Ellie stared, fixated, at the painting for a long time, taking in the colors, the brushstrokes, the washes, the texture of the canvas. She didn't know how much time passed as she studied the landscape, but—maybe the summer heat was to blame—she gradually felt herself getting drowsy.
She fought to stay up. I have things to do today.
The painting became hazy. But everything is going to be okay, right?
And her eyelids drooped, surrendering.
Skittery pushed the hospital door open and stepped out into the afternoon sun. He adjusted his cap against the blinding daylight before jogging lightly across the street, darting approaching coaches and carts.
His trip wasn't supposed to take this long. What began as a short walk to blow off some steam and energy developed into a more eventful couple of hours. That wasn't to forget the scuffle at the distribution center in the morning—the reason Skittery went for a walk in the first place. He was ready to settle down now after everything that had happened, and get something to eat to shut up his stomach. It was almost noon, and the hunger he had all but forgotten from earlier returned in overwhelming waves. He was willing to bet the other fellas, waiting for Denton, already satisfied their hunger with whatever was on the specials menu.
Hunger and thirst driving him, his pace accelerated, and he envisioned all the food he wanted piled on his plate at Tibby's. But, of course, there wasn't enough money in his pockets to afford everything on the menu. Absently, he fiddled with the change in his pocket, and he couldn't help but wonder again how much longer he could go without selling papers. He'd have to try and haggle with Danny, one of the waiters there, for extra rolls.
Skittery was in the middle of contemplating his upcoming meal when a strong grip clamped onto the arm of his shirt and pulled him sideways into an alley. The force with which he was pulled caused him to lose balance, falling against the brick of the building. For the second time that day, Skittery fell hard against his back, obstructing him from getting to his lunch.
All right, he thought, fuming. Now I'm pissed.
Rubbing the back of his head, he shouted, "What the hell—"
"What happened to Ellie?"
"How the heck am I supposed to know—?" Skittery froze when he laid eyes on his seizer. Standing a good several inches over and away from him was none other than the Tall Kid. Just his luck. This kid just won't quit showing up. His eyes traveled down to the thin stack of papers in the Tall Kid's left hand. And he's selling papers. Which meant that he had, in fact, managed to slip by the rallying newsies earlier.
"I saw you with her. Where is she?"
Skittery did not want to deal with this right now. It was hot, he was hungry, and he had been tossed around like a rag doll more than enough times today. Not like he knew what this guy was talking about. Saw me with who?
In a moment of comprehension, Skittery's gaze flickered back down the street, around the corner on which the hospital stood. The kid was talking about that girl. The one he just dropped off with Dr. Phillips. And when that understanding sunk in, it triggered another memory to come to surface—of the first time he met the Tall Kid. He nearly snapped his fingers in realization. That girl... Skittery had seen her before when he visited Queens; she was the one who had had that funny face and had stepped between him and the Tall Kid in order to stop a fight from breaking out.
"Damn," Skittery muttered in disbelief, almost inclined to laugh at the turn of events.
The Tall Kid glowered at him. "Where's Ellie?"
Skittery didn't feel like giving him the benefit of an answer. Instead, he sardonically said, "Wouldn't you like to know?" And fed up with the look on the kid's face, Skittery took a step towards the mouth of the alley, intent on leaving him with a complete blank.
But the Tall Kid wasn't about to give up that easily. He grabbed Skittery by the collar and pushed him against the wall. For a second, the kid himself seemed to be surprised by his actions. Gathering his thoughts, he repeated, "Where is she?"
Skittery caught the kid's wrist and roughly shoved it away from his shirt. It took all of his restraint to keep himself from knocking the guy out. Because he really would have liked to, after all of the groundless hostility from this guy. He checked himself, though her wasn't sure why. Now wasn't the time to work out the logic. But maybe it was because of the girl, how she had thought to save him from the runaway coach, and knowing that this chump was somehow related to her.
Again, Skittery made to leave without a word. The next question, however, gave him pause.
"Is she okay?" the Tall Kid asked then, his voice low.
It caught him completely off guard. He wasn't so callous to miss the vulnerability in how that question was posed. It almost seemed too heartless to leave without giving a reply. Skittery still didn't believe the guy deserved it, though.
"Yeah," he answered over his shoulder. With no intention of sticking around any longer, he strode out and joined the crowded street.
Thankfully, the Tall Kid didn't follow him out. Even though Skittery was physically drained, he wasn't sure how much more of the kid's animosity he could take without sending a fist flying.
Skittery remembered Specs and Bumlets speculating whether the girl—this Ellie—was the Tall Kid's girl, considering the way she tried to protect him. They sure as hell weren't related or just friends—that much was clear by the Tall Kid's doings just now. The intensity in his eyes suggested that there was more to their relationship.
He removed a half-used cigarette from his pocket and, after fumbling for an unused match, lit the short stub and brought it to his lips. It wasn't as though Skittery cared what their relationship was, anyway. He just found it curious how the girl seemed nice enough—he remembered how she thanked him at Dr. Phillips' office—while the guy was just plain lousy. It didn't make much sense to him.
Drawing close to Tibby's, he picked up his pace. The rich aroma of flavors from the small restaurants, street vendors' carts and bread shops he passed diverted his thoughts and tugged at his appetite. He went by the fight ring, teeming with fervent viewers, where sellers carried heaps of fresh pretzels.
Snuffing out the end of his cigarette, Skittery placed the remains in his pocket to save for later. He spied his friends through Tibby's windows as he turned the corner for the door.
"Lookit who it is," said someone from behind, stopping him at the entrance.
Racetrack.
"Have a nice little walk?" he asked, the laughter in his voice.
"Ya bet right this time?" Skittery retorted.
"Still glum," Race muttered behind Skittery's back as the two boys entered the restaurant.
"Hey, Skitts!" called Specs upon his pal's arrival. "Saved you a seat."
Skittery slid into the chair and, without missing a beat, grabbed at Specs' cup of water, downed what was left, and picked up a half-eaten bread roll, practically swallowing the entire chunk.
"Hey," Specs griped, "I was saving that!"
But he wasn't listening; Danny the waiter had finally come over to their table and Skittery was busy haggling for an extra roll with his meal. Danny was the most easily swayed of all the servers in the restaurant, but that was because he was a nice guy in general, always smiling. Then after Danny left, Skittery sat there, wordless, leaning back in his seat with arms crossed impatiently.
"Nice shiner," commented Spot as he took a seat at the table across from Skittery and Specs.
Skittery exhaled sharply through his nose, plainly holding back a terse response. Spot just let out a low chuckle, simply amused at how easily riled the Manhattan newsie was right then.
"What's the matter with you?" asked Specs, frowning at his disgruntled friend.
"Nothing."
And that was the end of that. Skittery didn't open his mouth again until Danny came back with his plate—with an extra roll as promised—and he commenced on wolfing down his meal. Only after he started feeling full did he relax and slow down, picking at his food.
Sensing it was safer to approach Skittery now, Swifty pulled up a seat to their table and sat down, sitting forward against the back of the chair.
"What happened to you?" he asked.
Skittery chewed and swallowed before answering. "Nothing."
"Oh, come on," said Specs. "It's written all over your face: 'I'm peeved, ask me why.'"
"I'm not peeved. And nothing happened." When Skittery saw the two of them simultaneously open their mouths to badger him again, though, he figured he ought to say something to divert them. "Someone was selling at my spot."
Sitting close by at another table, Jack's ears perked up. "Did ya soak him?" he asked.
"No, lost him," Skittery said, while David muttered something about how "we can't go soaking everyone we see."
"Did you see who it was? Hey," Specs said suddenly, laughing, "imagine if it was that Tall Kid selling at your spot."
Skittery wasn't laughing along.
Swifty looked at Specs quizzically. "Who's the Tall Kid?"
"The Tall Kid? That kid, remember? The tall one."
"Wow, thanks. Now I know exactly who you're talking about."
"The Tall Kid! The one from the distribution center that tried to get away with his papes, before Jack smacked them away, like that," Specs explained, imitating Jack's smacking motion.
"Oh, yeah," Swifty said, remembering the guy and nodding. "What about him?"
"We met him before in Queens," Specs said. "And now it looks like he's selling here."
"He hates Skittery," added a passing Bumlets.
"Skitts here? Why would anyone have something against our boy here—he's a ball of sunshine," ragged Swifty.
"Shut up," Skittery said.
"We don't know why," said Specs. "He just picked a fight with Skitts out of nowhere."
"What'd you do," Swifty asked, "insult his old lady?"
"No," Skittery said tersely.
Swifty and Specs shrugged at Skittery's continued bad mood and silence. They could tell there was something he wasn't telling them, but they also knew that if they kept pushing him while he was in this state, he'd only become more unpleasant. They decided, therefore, to drop the matter altogether.
Specs initiated the subject change. "Swifty, how's that pretty girl of yours doing? She write back yet? You lucky bastard…"
Snow.
The little girl pressed her face and hands against the glass of the window, eyes wide in wonder of the falling ice crystals. Flurries flew past. Fresh snow capped the pine trees outside. Looking back towards the middle of the room, she excitedly summoned the solemn man standing in front of the fire place. He tossed a thin piece of firewood into the growing flames.
"Look, Daddy—it's snow!"
The man ignored her. Upset by his lack of response, she reiterated, "Daddy, I said it's snow!"
He walked over to a writing desk in the corner of the room, cluttered with documents and crumpled papers. Opening up a brown leather briefcase on the chair, he threw in the papers from his desk. He almost wiped the entire desk clean, save for a small envelope. This, he gazed at for a long minute before placing it in his jacket pocket.
A feeling of anxiety rose in Ellie's chest as she watched the man packing by the desk and the little girl staring happily out the window. She had watched the exchange—or, rather, lack of—like a specter, an unseen audience. Neither players addressed her, even though she was standing in the room with them.
"Daddy, aren't you going to see the snow?" the little girl whined. "It's so pretty."
And then, right at that moment, the man looked Ellie straight in the eyes. Her heart jumped, as though she had been caught doing something mischievous, like peeking at Christmas presents the night before, even though she was sure he was searching for something else, something behind her perhaps.
"Ellie," he said, finally. He was still looking her way.
Suddenly, she was no longer the invisible spectator. She turned her head to the right, then to the left, and came to the realization that she was the one sitting by the window.
The snow was pretty.
The man approached her with heavy footsteps. He was wearing boots. And a winter coat. He looked sad. Why?
"Ellie," the man called again. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the small envelope from before. He didn't say another word as he handed it to her. Ellie clutched at the envelope with both hands and brought it to her chest. This was important, she felt.
He slugged a weighty satchel over his shoulder, took his briefcase in the other hand and trudged towards the door. The anxiety within her grew to alarming heights. When his hand reached for the knob, turned, and pulled open the door, she leapt from her seat by the window, a cry of protest catching in her throat. Without another look back at her, he departed.
The place felt very lonely. And cold. He had left the door open.
Ellie dashed to the open doorway, from where she could see the shadowy figure of the man traveling down the winding pathway.
"Why are you leaving?" she heard herself call out. The man didn't turn around, didn't give a hint that he had even heard her. "Is it me?" she asked, her voice wavering. "Is it because of me?" She added quietly, "Did I do something wrong?"
He kept walking away, fading into the distance.
"Won't you tell me where you're going?"
No response.
Still holding the envelope in her hand, Ellie jumped outside and into the snowstorm. The fallen snow came up to her calves. She tried to run after him but the snow slowed her down, grabbing at her shoes, the hem of her skirts. In her rush to catch up to the man, she kept stumbling, but she continued forward, his form now barely visible in the distance.
She staggered and fell forward, landing on her hands. Struggling, she pushed herself up and when she did, found herself surrounded by trees. Circling around in panic, Ellie could no longer see the man. She could no longer see the cottage or the winding path from which she came. There were no paths at all, anywhere. Apprehensively, she started in one direction but pulled back almost immediately, afraid of what lay ahead in the darkness.
She was lost.
The revelation weakened her knees and she buckled back into the snow, fearfully staring into the night. She didn't know how long she stayed like that, watching the snow fall around her. Then Ellie remembered the envelope. Looking down at her hand, she was relieved to see the envelope still there. With frozen hands, Ellie tried to tear the envelope open. Her fingers refused to move accordingly, shaking, slipping. She huffed in frustration, trying again and again, dropping the envelope, scrambling for it, and picking at the paper's edges over again…
"Dear, are you going to stand out there all night?"
At once, Ellie halted her mad attempts at tearing the piece of paper. She twisted around in the snow, searching for the source of the calm voice behind her.
There, just a few feet from her, stood a beautiful woman with cerulean eyes and a warm smile. "Aren't you cold like that?" she asked.
Ellie swallowed back tears of gratitude. She wasn't alone anymore. "Yes," she admitted in a whisper.
The woman approached her, leaned down, and stretched out her hand towards Ellie. "Come," she said.
She radiated such confidence and security. Ellie didn't need to think twice about her decision. Grasping the envelope in one hand to her heart, she extended the other slowly.
And then their fingers curled around each other's hands, forming an unbreakable clasp.
Ellie's eyes flew open.
She blinked several times as her vision focused. The painting of the winter scene with the cottage on the wall opposite her came into view. She gave a weak smile; it seemed that she had scrutinized the image of snow for so long that it infiltrated her dreams. The impression of snow-covered trees was the only part she could remember, however. She futilely tried to grab at the rest of it, but the dream slipped past as she fully gained consciousness. As she shifted to an upright position, Ellie noticed her left hand was turned into a fist at her chest and her right was tensed up by her side. She released both, left to wonder what she could have possibly been dreaming about.
Ellie was so consumed with her own thoughts that she didn't see the boy sitting cross-legged at the end of her bed. When she finally spotted him, she let out an unladylike "Ah!" and shot back against the wall.
She looked at the boy curiously. He was young, around seven or eight, with light blonde hair and round eyes. When he made no move to introduce himself or explain what he was doing sitting on her bed, Ellie said simply, "Hi."
"You're new here," he stated.
"I… I guess I am," Ellie said amiably. "What's your name?"
"Billy. How long're you staying?"
Ellie glanced at the clock and straightened abruptly. She couldn't believe she had let herself fall asleep in the first place, but for so long? It was almost four! "I should probably get going right now," she said, more to herself than to him.
"Oh," he said, his face falling. "Forget it, then," he said, rising from the bed.
She stopped mid-motion. Wonderful job, Ellie, she thought, after seeing the inexplicable disappointment on his face. "Wait," she called. "I guess I could stay for a little longer," she said, the last syllables rising in tone so that it sounded more like a question. She knew she couldn't afford to stay very long.
That seemed all right with him. Billy thought about it, shrugged, then finally, sat back down. "Who are you?" He was quite direct.
"Well, my name is Ellie," she began. I am approximately sixteen, currently jobless and relatively lost. "And I got my arm stitched up today. See?" She rolled up her sleeves.
That did the trick. His jaw dropped open and he leaned forward to see the stitches. "Wow! Is it going to leave a scar?"
"It might leave a tiny one."
"I've only seen guys with stitches like those. You must be pretty tough. I mean, for a girl."
Ellie didn't know whether or not that was a compliment, but she chose to take it as one. "Thanks."
"Billy!"
They turned their attention to the front of the room where Nurse Williams stood. She shuffled into the room and set her frown upon Billy. "You're supposed to be having your meal downstairs."
He rolled his eyes. "I'm sick of soup."
"How do you expect to get strong and healthy if you don't eat your meals properly? Now go on downstairs. And don't go sneaking around anywhere. I'm going to check up on you."
Billy put on an unhappy pout but he did as he was told. "Bye, Ellie," he said, sulking.
She smiled for his sake. "Bye, Billy. It was nice meeting you."
The nurse made sure he headed downstairs before coming back to Ellie. "I apologize for that," she said. "He gets restless sometimes, being cooped up in here for months."
"Why has he been here for so long?"
She sighed. "He has a condition. It's not something we can fully treat here, unfortunately, and his family can't afford to put him in a private hospital," she explained quietly. Then, focusing on Ellie, she said happily, "You look much better now."
Ellie was discomfited knowing that she stayed much longer than she should have. "I didn't mean to fall asleep. I don't know what came over me."
"Nonsense. Dr. Phillips will be pleased to know you left looking much better than you came."
Before Ellie left, Nurse Williams gave her detailed instructions on tending to her arm and when to come back to have the stitches removed. Ellie thanked her profusely, bid her good day, and, as demurely as possible, descended the stairs to the front doors. Once she made her exit, however, Ellie broke into a run, crossing her fingers that the position on Fifth was still open…
But it was all for naught. After three hours of racing around downtown and midtown Manhattan, Ellie came up empty handed. She had been too late.
That wasn't exactly true. Yes, the position at the house on Fifth Avenue was filled earlier. And the dressmaker had found apprentices for her shop days ago. That left the last on the list: the garment factory on Orchard Street. Ellie had walked into the factory on her last legs, and maybe that had affected her judgment, but she wasn't able to endure another minute inside the building. It was hot and stuffy inside. The dense cloud of dust irritated her sight and made it difficult to breathe. She had caught a glimpse of the workers inside the gray rooms, lifeless, motionless except for their hands operating the machinery.
She tried to imagine herself in their place—sitting in an airless room, on a little stool, staring down in one direction for hours upon hours. It scared her. She couldn't bring herself to commit to a job like that. Before anyone had even noticed her presence, Ellie was out of there. It was a rash decision, she knew, considering this was no time to be picky.
With evening coming up fast, Ellie found herself sitting at the ferry docks, watching the sun descend into the horizon on another summer day. It was cooler here by the water. Across the river, she could see the borough of Queens.
The uncertainty, the newness, of the past few days made her yearn for things to go back to the way they were. Ellie missed Anne and how they used to sew together, whispering about the books they've read. She missed the sweet and savory aromas of Glenna and Nancy's cooking, and the sound of their hearty laughter. She missed Agnes' chiding—she knew Agnes only did so because she cared. Ellie even missed seeing Francesca around; she couldn't believe she actually missed her. And the cat—Ellie missed Felise too.
She had told herself numerous times to forget the past, but it was hard to let go of what she used to have when, right now, she felt like she had nothing.
Ellie rose to her feet. She couldn't go back and she couldn't stay stuck in this present. The only thing she could do now was move forward. Things were already looking up, she reminded herself, glancing at her arm. She missed her friends in Queens, but there were kind people here too: Ms. Cameron, Dr. Phillips, Nurse Williams, Billy, and the boy who had generously walked her to the hospital. Skittery, Ellie remembered.
Today was a setback, but tomorrow was another day.
It was getting late. The sun was rapidly waning from the sky and Ellie figured she should head back to the Girl's Home before darkness fell.
A faint tapping sounded behind her. Of course, it could have been anything, but for a reason she couldn't explain, the sound caught her attention. An ominous feeling overcame her. Her heartbeat quickened. She took a staggering breath.
And turned around.
Standing behind her, so alarmingly casual, softly slapping the flat of a small knife against her palm, was Blade.
Author's Note: And she has returned. I really enjoyed writing this chapter and hope it was just as fun to read.
Thanks to:
Adren – Hurrah! I didn't take four months to update.
Song For A Rainy Day – I tried my best to keep the time between updates shorter this time. :)
chaoticmom – The answer to your question is coming up next. I actually included a tiny clue in this chapter, but I know that isn't very helpful until the answer is revealed!
Also, if I may include a small plug: The Newsies "Summer Reading List" Fanfiction Awards, created to recognize Newsies fanfics being written this summer, is open for nominations. Take a look at my profile for the link and more information, and please go nominate your favorite Summer 2010 stories!