Yay, I got another chapter up!
The room was like one Mouse had only dreamed of.
It was ten times the size of her bedroom at home. There were two windows on adjacent walls, each so large that the room would be flooded in light once the sun came up. As it was, a light fixture in the center of the ceiling was more than enough to see by. A small desk sat beneath one of the window, and along that wall ran dozens of bookshelves containing more books than Mouse had ever seen. On the desk were a pile of paper and an elegant cup containing sharpened pencils and inky pens. There was a window-seat beneath the other window, filled with pillows. A small, charming nightstand was placed neatly beside the bed—and the bed itself! Wider than three of the bunks from the Lodging House put together, and a dozen times more comfortable-looking, the bed came up to Mouse's elbow; it was adorned with pillows and silky sheets, topped off with a fluffy comforter that looked like it was stuffed with clouds.
For a moment, observing Mouse's awe, Hannah dropped her business-like manner and allowed herself a small smile. "He thought it might please you. I'll leave you be."
After Hannah quietly closed the door, she paused for a moment outside, frowning. There had been a lot happening at Pulitzer's office recently, and she was not sure she liked it. Seeing Mr. Snyder (whom she disliked but hadn't the nerve to say so to Mr. Pulitzer) around again was one thing, but seeing him drag in that poor little mute girl was quite another thing.
She actually had no idea what was going on. Mr. Pulitzer had become much more secretive as of late. Whenever she ventured to ask him what he was up to, he gave her vague, indirect answers or symbolic metaphors that made her more confused than before. And the last time he'd started doing that…well, that was what caused the newsies' strike in the first place.
So Hannah was worried.
But she was hoping it was nothing. After all, Pulitzer was being kind to that little girl now, wasn't he? Maybe she, Hannah, was just paranoid.
She blinked, shook her head, and hurried back to work.
As soon as Mouse heard Pulitzer's secretary's retreating footsteps, she sprinted to the bed and jumped on it, landing sprawled on top of the soft, airy comforter. Her body sank down nearly a foot into the bed—that's how squishy it was. For a moment, she panicked. Maybe such beds weren't meant to be jumped on. But…
Eh, what the heck. Might as well enjoy it while it lasts.
She rolled off the bed and ran to the bookshelves. It was stock-full with the classics she'd only heard of. She chose one without looking at the title and opened it. The print was tiny and neat. But Mouse was too excited to read. She replaced the book on the shelf and moved on to the desk. She took a single piece of paper off the top of the stack and tested out each pen and pencil on it, carefully making rows of lines. The ink flowed magically from the pens in such large quantities that it took Mouse a few minutes to make a straight line that didn't start with a large inky splotch. The pencils wrote dark and smooth. Mouse replaced all the utensils but one pen, which she used to write her name with a flourish. She grinned. If she had an official pen like this all the time, she would just go around signing her name on things.
She ran around the room, her bare toes sinking into the lush rugs. Her hair flew out behind her, and finally Mouse collapsed onto the window seat, knocking half the pillows to the ground. She looked out over the city. The sun was just coming up. Something nagged her in the corner of her mind, but she couldn't place a finger on it. Not yet. First she had to sell her papes—
Oh, no.
The newsies would be at the circulation desk by now. Or would they? Was Davey looking for her? Mouse sort of missed him, even though she knew he'd be mad when he discovered she was gone. It's not my fault this time, she wanted to tell him. She wanted to show him the room, especially the bookshelves. He'd take only a moment to stare at them in awe before finding the thickest one he could and sitting down on the floor, lost in the words.
She smiled. Jack would like this room too. He would especially like the pens and pencils, and the endless sheets of paper. He would sit right down at the desk and create some new masterpiece in a matter of minutes. It would be a picture of one of his friends, probably Crutchie, or Romeo, or Les—
Les! He would love the room. Mouse would only give him a moment to look around before pulling him up onto the bed. They would jump on it for hours, not having to worry about any boards breaking loose or springs popping out.
Mouse imagined bringing all the newsies into the room. She would open her arms wide, as if to say Welcome! They would pour in, mouths gaping, being careful not to touch the wallpaper for fear of getting it dirty. Mouse would sit on the bed and watch them explore, a smile stretching across her face.
Eventually they'd all get tired. Under the bed were extra blankets. They would each take a pillow and a fluffy blanket and stretch out on the floor. They would insist Mouse got the bed, and she would only lay there for a few minutes, too happy to sleep, before joining Jack on the window-seat, where he inevitably would be, drawing by the light of the moon. He would wrap his strong arms around her, putting aside his drawing, just to hug her and whisper stories of a far-off place called Santa Fe.
For a moment, Mouse thought her daydream had become reality; she was convinced she was dozing in Jack's arms. She blinked and sat up; the room was empty. She was alone. Two trays sat on the desk. Breakfast and lunch? How much time had passed? Had she actually fallen asleep? Had she slept—really slept, with no nightmares? Mouse nibbled at the toast on one of the trays. She thoughtfully took another piece of paper and an inky pen. Without thinking, she wrote a message.
I WOULD LIKE TO SEE MY BROTHERS AGAIN PLEASE
Mouse went to the door, thinking to show the message to whomever she came across first.
But the door was locked.
This was unexpected. Mouse examined the doorknob. There was no lock from what she could see…
…unless the door was locked from the outside.
She slid the paper under the door and returned to the desk. There was a note for her on one of the trays that she hadn't noticed before.
"Dear Mouse,
I hope you enjoy your time here as my special guest! Enjoy your meals, and read and write to your heart's content.
-Joseph Pulitzer"
Mouse frowned. His handwriting was almost identical to Katherine's. She examined the note further. They made their g's the same. She shook her head. It was probably just a family trait.
Mouse went to the door and knelt. She looked for the paper she'd slipped underneath the door, but it seemed to be gone.
And then it hit her. They weren't going to let her see her brothers. They weren't going to let her see anyone. Something was wrong. Katherine's handwriting was too much like her father's. Those letters were too prying, too personal. From what Jack had said about her, she wouldn't just cut off communication after learning such an enormous secret—no matter how much work she had to do. Had Jack been exaggerating? Or was the person Mouse had been corresponding with not who they said they were?
Did Pulitzer have all her secrets now?
Had she confessed directly to Pulitzer?
Mouse took the small note to the window-seat and sat staring at it.
The more she stared at that tiny g of 'guest', the more she began to feel as if she wasn't a guest. If Pulitzer knew the reason behind her muteness, she most certainly wasn't a guest.
She was a prisoner.
So, as this story is nearing the climax, that means it's going to be finished pretty soon. So I have to start thinking about what I'm going to do next.
And here's what I was thinking.
Remember Question Time? That seemed to be one of my more popular stories. How would you guys like me to do another one? I think it would be fun to do, I really enjoyed writing it and getting your questions. Let me know if you want me to bring Question Time back!
For now, stay tuned, more chapters are on the way as soon as possible!
-Sis