AN: Well, I did say it would be a bit. Sorry for the wait. Hopefully these two slightly longer chapters make up for it. Thanks for the reviews, everyone-keep them coming! They feed my soul and fuel my desire to write more!
We must have fallen asleep again, because the next thing I remember is warm sunshine on my face and my head on Spot's chest, rising and falling with his slow breathing. I didn't want to open my eyes and let in reality, but Spot must have sensed that I was awake.
"Hey," he said softly, and I propped myself up and looked at him. He had a small smile on his face.
"Good morning," I said, smiling shyly at him.
"The boys left to sell," he said, and my head snapped back to reality.
"What about you?" I asked, and suddenly I realized how many things I needed to think about.
"My priority is you," he said simply, and I started. Me? Why me? Was I really that helpless? Questions came flooding to my mind-about Spot, about how he had been looking for me, about the last few weeks . . . .
Of all the questions I had, the one that came out of my mouth was: "How did you know I was at Ms. Mina's?" I surprised even myself with that question.
He shrugged. "You told Pearl you were from Brooklyn, but that you hadn't told me you were coming. That set off red flags for her. Anybody that comes from Brooklyn to work there has to have my permission. She sent a runner over to tell me about the new girl, and I came over. God, I was so glad to find out it was you. I had hoped . . . ." He pulled me back down with one arm again, giving me a kiss on the top of the head as I laid it back on his chest.
"We looked for you, you know. In shifts. Anyone who could take time off from selling did. We asked people at your work, and we trailed that boss of yours everywhere he went. The boys even cornered him once. Threatened to soak him, but he swore that you had left and he didn't know where you were. He even invited us back to the apartment, but you weren't there. It was on the second floor, though-must've been a different apartment. The boys even snuck in once while he was at work and I did the same. You weren't there, and it didn't look like you'd been there. We asked everyone. Nobody'd seen you. God, every day we wondered and worried." I shivered and his arm tightened on my shoulders. "I'm just glad you're back. I missed you."
"I missed you, too," I said, and we lay there silently for a few moments before he continued.
"Can you ever forgive me for not finding you? For allowing that to happen to you?" he asked, his normally strong voice surprisingly thick. I was nonplussed. Forgive him? He hadn't hurt me-he had saved me. Clearly he didn't see it that way, though. I needed to reassure him that he was never the person I blamed-only the person to whom I was most grateful.
"I don't feel that I need to," I said slowly, trying to choose my words carefully. "But if you feel you need my forgiveness, you should know that you have it." I wanted to add that he was still and always my hero, but some sense stopped me. That would be too much.
"Thank you," he whispered into my hair, and I might have felt a tear on his face. I cuddled against him, and we once again fell silent. Alone in my head, I wondered about what was next. I couldn't keep depending on Spot like this. It wouldn't work financially, and he had his own goals. He needed to worry about running the lodging house and taking care of the boys, not me. I also needed to learn to fall asleep without the reassuring presence his arms provided. That part might be the hardest of all.
"So now what?" I asked, and I guess my apprehension was evident. He smiled at me.
"Today we just enjoy having you back. And we talk about the next steps. I have someone I'd like you to meet with, but only if you're up to it. We'll figure out a job for you soon enough. We started a jar for you, you know. The boys. They all put in money so you could stay with us and not have to work. For six weeks they've been saving. You'll be all paid up for awhile," he added with a smile.
"No. I can't take their money," I said, aghast. Spot smirked up at me.
"They won't take no for an answer."
I was quiet for a moment, taking that in. I knew he was right. Would I have done the same for one of the boys? I knew I would. But still, they had so little.
"So how do I pay them back? What are we doing today?" I asked again, finally sitting up.
"We're going after Santorelli," Spot said, sitting up beside me.
I couldn't help it. The warm, safe feeling left me with a rush, and I began trembling.
"You don't have to see him, Cat. We're going after him legally. We're going to talk to a lawyer. I want the bastard in prison. For life." I closed my eyes and nodded at this. If Spot thought that was best, I would trust him, but the thought of telling someone other than Spot about everything terrified me. I knew so little about these things.
"You don't have to do anything you don't want to do," he said, reaching for my hand. I kept my chin down and my eyes closed as he continued, "I know this lawyer. He's a friend, and I trust him."
I opened my eyes and looked at his hand holding mine. I moved my other hand to our joined ones and played with his fingers, staring at them and marveling at the way their strength flowed into me just through touching them. If Spot thought this was best, I would go along with it. I would do whatever he asked of me.
"Promise you'll be there?" I whispered.
Spot's free hand found my chin, and he lifted my face so that I met his gaze.
"I promise. I'm not leaving your side," he said, and he looked at me with those blue eyes. I trusted him, and I nodded.
"Okay," I whispered, not breaking eye contact. He raised his free hand to my face and rubbed his thumb over my cheek, and then the corners of his mouth turned up. He leaned in, kissed my forehead, and stood.
"Let's go. We can take a walk first, get some food, and then we'll go see Mr. Donovan." I stood, and we got ourselves ready and headed out.
"Where's Jimmy?" I asked as we were leaving. He had been there when Spot had come into my room this morning, but I realized he hadn't been there when we had awoken.
"Red came and got him," Spot said. "Probably took him down to Roller to go sell."
"So Red saw us?" I asked. I don't know why, but that made me uncomfortable.
"Yeah, but he won't think worse of you. He won't say anything, either. After all, we were just sleeping."
I nodded, though only marginally reassured, and we stepped into the early summer sunshine. It felt good to be outside with someone I trusted. I felt free—free to move about, free to make my own choices like I hadn't been able to do in the apartment with Antonio. But I also felt free of hunger and free of fear. Whenever my thoughts drifted to the future and the uncertainty ahead, I would look at Spot, and I would know that everything would be fine. We checked in on Roller and Jimmy, wandered through Prospect Park, and watched the ducks in the pond. I was pretty quiet, honestly. My mind was going in circles, and I still had a lot to sort out. So much had happened in the last two months. I didn't even feel like the same person who used to meet Papa at the bench every day. I had grown up more in these two months than in the previous sixteen years. But any time my thoughts became too dark or upsetting, it was as if my mind sent out a distress beacon. Each time Spot would simply put a hand on my shoulder or brush his fingers against mine, and the contact would draw me back to the present.
By lunchtime I had started to feel more at ease; it was good to be home. But in the back of my mind was the gnawing sense of foreboding at the thought of meeting with a complete stranger and telling him everything. I couldn't eat much, but I tried. We headed over to the business district, and there in one of the nicer office buildings Spot led me to that of Mr. H. Donovan, Esq., City of New York. He led me inside directly past the receptionist, who greeted him by his real name, and toward an office door.
He knocked briefly, then opened the door.
"Thomas! Right on time. Are you ready?" a kindly male voice said.
"Actually, I have something I'd like to discuss with you," Spot said, and I was surprised at his voice. The Brooklyn accent was almost gone, and he sounded like he belonged in the office. He gently pulled me inside, keeping a hold of my hand as he did so.
"This is Katja Fischer, and we need your help. Katja is the victim of a crime, but she is a little nervous about reporting it due to her guardianship status and the nature of the crime. However, we think it's important enough to pursue an indictment. Can you help us out?"
Boy, if Spot had never surprised me before, he certainly did now. Indictment? I didn't even know what that was. Guardianship status? What in the world? I suddenly felt way out of my league, and I had no idea what was going on. How did Spot know this stuff? And who called him Thomas? None of the boys even knew that name. I looked up at this Mr. Donovan and found myself looking at a man that reminded me a bit of Papa. He had a kind face and gentle greenish eyes that were gazing at me with a mix of curiosity and concern. I bit my lip. What was I expected to do?
"Of course. Ms. Fischer, please, have a seat. I'm Harry Donovan. Would you like Thomas to stay while we talk?" he asked.
I nodded, then became aware of how rude that seemed. "Yes, sir," I managed, though not with much volume.
"It's alright, Ms. Fischer. Our young Mister Conlon and I have known each other awhile, and any friend of his is a friend of mine. There's no need to be formal here. Why don't we just start at the beginning? I'm guessing based on what he said that you do not have any other family?" I nodded again, and before I could open my mouth to croak out an answer, Mr. Donovan continued. "Well then, I'm guessing that your official status is that of Ward of the State, currently residing at the Working Girls' Home or one of the orphanages?" I opened my mouth to explain, but Spot beat me to it. That was good since I wasn't sure what to say.
"Actually, Katja is staying with us—unofficially, of course—for her protection. Once you hear why you'll understand."
I continued to stare at the carpet, blushing furiously. Tears pricked the back of my eyes, but I would not let—never mind. The shame of being here was stronger than my desire not to shed them. Mr. Donovan, who had taken a breath to ask his next question, stopped at that. Spot took my hands in his and spoke quietly to me.
"Cat? Do you want me to tell him everything?" I nodded, unable to respond.
He squeezed my hands, then turned and began explaining everything to Mr. Donovan. Spot told him how we had been friends and how we had witnessed my father's death. He told him about the police visiting my house and about how the newsies had removed me from my childhood home and taken me in. He told me about how Santorelli had tricked me into coming to stay with him so that he could keep me hidden. He told him about the things Santorelli did to me. He told him about how I had run away and how I had just returned to Brooklyn, though he mercifully left out the details of how we had been reunited. He even explained that I would be staying either with the boys or at an undisclosed location until everything was over.
Mr. Donovan listened without interruption through the whole thing. I just clutched Spot's hand, stared at the carpet, and fought unsuccessfully with the tears-thankfully with a handkerchief Spot had had the foresight to bring along. When Spot finished, Mr. Donovan let the silence hang in the room for a few minutes before saying anything.
"Well then, Thomas, I will need some time to work on Ms. Fischer's case. There are a lot of considerations I will need to work through, and there is a good chance that I will have further questions in the coming days. It's likely I will need to ask detailed and uncomfortable questions, and there is a high likelihood that Ms. Fischer will need to testify. You will have to start with a police report," he said.
"Yes, sir," Spot said.
"There's another thing. In cases like this, there are usually more victims. Ms. Fischer, do you know of anyone else to whom this man could have done such things?" Mr. Donovan asked.
I was caught off guard. Someone else? He had hurt someone the way he had hurt me? How? Where? When? I was so surprised at the question that I actually think I was staring at Mr. Donovan. I shook myself.
"I don't know," I said, trying to think back to my time at the factory and back when Papa was alive. It seemed like so long ago.
"It is always helpful if there are multiple witnesses," Mr. Donovan said. "If you can ask around or think of anyone, please do. But be careful. Don't talk to anyone yourself. Send them to me," he cautioned. I nodded again.
"Very well. This will take some time. I trust you will assist me along the way?" he asked, turning to Spot.
"You can count on it," Spot said, and I could hear an undertone of something in his voice.
"Alright, then. I will see you on Thursday. If you can think of anyone by then, that would be helpful. We'll discuss the police report then. I would rather wait until we have enough to indict before we have him arrested. For now, let me mull this over, and I should have something for you by Thursday. I trust Ms. Fischer is safe enough until then?" Mr. Donovan asked.
"Of course," Spot said, and Mr. Donovan smiled knowingly.
"Then I will see you both on Thursday?" he asked.
"Yes, sir. Thank you." He stood and shook Mr. Donovan's hand, and my conscience bested my fears. I looked up at the kind, green eyes.
"Thank you, sir," I whispered.
"Anything for a friend of Thomas's, Ms. Fischer," he replied, pulling open his office door. We headed back through the lobby past the secretary, whom Spot greeted politely, before heading back onto the street. The sunshine seemed to melt my tension, leaving me with a lot of questions.
"Who was that?" I asked once I could finally speak. I think it was pretty obvious to him that my question wasn't what I was actually asking. He grinned and led me down to the docks. We sat on a crate looking at the river as he explained.
"It started with a few ideas your Pa had. We talked about my life after selling papes. We talked about volunteering for a business and gettin' my foot in the door. Anyway, last summer after the strike Governor Roosevelt gave me a ride back to Brooklyn in his carriage. I took advantage of the time with him to get some advice. He seemed to take a liking to me, and he set me up with Mr. Donovan. I've been studying law and gaining practical experience every Tuesday and Thursday at lunch for almost a year now. I've been saving for years now, too. I'm hoping to go to college in a few years. Don't tell the fellas, though. Nobody knows. Anyway, Mr. Donovan's been a great mentor and friend—sort of like your Pa was."
I was floored. Up until Papa died, I had been a naïve girl, wondering about whether any boys wanted to kiss me and dreaming of maybe catching a vaudeville show. Meanwhile Spot had been saving his pennies for college, taking care of boys, running the lodging house, and still somehow looking after me. I looked at him in awe. He glanced over at me and suddenly began to squirm.
"Stop it, Cat," he said, clearly uncomfortable.
"Stop what?" I asked, baffled.
"Stop looking at me like you're one of the little boys who wants to be able to soak someone like I do," he said.
"Huh?"
"You had that look—the one the boys give me when I'm their hero," he said, and it struck me that he was embarrassed.
"Well, you are," I said, realizing I meant it.
"Not much of one," he muttered.
"You are to me," I murmured back.
"God, Cat, you really are something," he said, looking at me intently. He had this light in his eyes, as if he thought I was his hero.
"Why?" I was honestly confused.
"You've been through so much in the last few months. Things nobody should have to experience. Things that would make people cynical and bitter. But you just look at me with that trusting innocence. As if I could fix anything," he said.
"You've never let me down," I responded, and he grimaced.
"How can you say that?" he asked, and I detected the frustration and maybe even a hint of bitterness in his voice. His jaw was doing that angry flexing thing again.
"You haven't," I said. "You saved me from those thugs last year. You kept me safe when Papa died. You gave me somewhere to go. You came to me in Manhattan in the rain. You helped me fall asleep, and you brought me to Mr. Donovan. You've given me a place to stay when by rights I should be in an orphanage. You haven't let go of my hand in hours because you somehow sense that I need it. You're always there, and you always have an answer. I can always count on you. I trust you; I know you'll always figure out a way to help me."
Spot brought his hand up to my face, and his eyes still had that shining light as he listened to me. His thumb brushed my cheek, and suddenly my stomach was doing that weird flip flopping thing again and I couldn't break from his gaze.
"I promise to try," he said as he leaned in and kissed me. It was just a brief, light touch, but wow. I didn't know my insides could survive that, or that it was addictive. I smiled at him. He smiled back at me, then leaned in again for another kiss.
"Wow," I breathed when we parted.
"We'll have to do that again sometime," Spot said, and I giggled. "For now, let's get some food." He hopped off the crate, and I followed.
As we walked down the street, we passed a mounted police officer. I saw the uniform, and the last few weeks of avoiding the police caused an almost instant reaction. I shrank back. Suddenly Spot grabbed me and pushed me against a wall and kissed me roughly. It surprised me, and I confess it scared me a bit, especially since there was almost no emotion in it. It was abrupt and harsh and a bit aggressive. Thankfully, he pulled back quickly, and I gasped.
"Sorry," he whispered, and I was really confused.
"Spot?" I asked, a bit breathless.
"You flinched away from that police officer, and it's the quickest way to draw attention. I had to do something to cover your movement," he whispered. "It was the first thing that came to mind."
"It just—they still make me nervous," I said softly, trying not to look at the officer over his shoulder.
Suddenly he had a mischievous grin. "C'mon. I'll fix ya," he said, grasping my hand and pulling me toward the officer.
"Spot—" I said.
"Officer, sir," he said, and I noticed the Brooklyn accent was firmly back in place. "Sir, me goil's afraid a' yer horse, and Ise wondrin' if she could come over and pet 'im." He looked up impishly at the officer, who glared down at us. "E's such a pretty horse. E yours? I bet e's a fast one." He tugged my hand and drew me closer. I looked fearfully up at the officer, who was now looking imperiously down at Spot.
"Fred here is the fastest horse on the force," the officer said as I reached out and touched the horse's soft nose. There's just something about the nose of a horse. It just relaxes me. As soon as I started to soften, Spot's hand pulled me back sharply, and I realized he had made it seem like I had flinched away from the horse.
"T'anks, officer. We's gonna leave you an' Fred to do yer work. Bye," Spot prattled, dragging me away.
"There is no way that animal is the fastest on the force," I said once we were out of earshot. "The poor thing has the straightest hocks I've ever seen, and its head was cocked so far to the left it probably has a permanent headache."
"Hey, you really know your stuff," Spot said, giving me a funny look.
"Two years of watching me take care of Papa's horses and you're just now realizing that?" I shot back.
"Four," he said, and I looked at him quizzically. "You and your Pa were buying from me for two years before you ever spoke with me," he said. I raised an eyebrow at him in surprise.
"Darlin', you don't get to be king of Brooklyn without noticing things, and you don't sell 250 papes a day if you don't pay attention to your customers." He was laughing, and I couldn't help but laugh in admiration.
"Okay, your highness. Let's get some food," I said, and we continued on our way.
After a bowl of soup, we headed over to the docks again and met up with the boys. Now that summer was here and the days were longer, the boys were spending the time outside at the docks swimming. I leaned up against Spot as he leaned back against a crate. He put his arms loosely around me as we watched Roller and another of the younger boys, Tooth, trying to push one another in. The sun was going down, and I have to say that watching the sunset over Manhattan was really pretty.
Who knew? Lots of emotional swings in a day can wear a person out. I guess I fell asleep at the docks, because the next thing I knew Spot was gently shaking me awake and it was almost dark out. A few of the older boys were still talking nearby, but most of them had headed in. Spot and I headed inside, and I sleepily washed up and crawled into bed. Spot came over to my bed and leaned over to give me another soft kiss before heading to his own bed. I drifted back off, more content than I had been in months.
