Disclaimer: This is a non-commercial work of fanfiction. Any recognizable characters and situations from Newsies belong to Disney.
Chapter 30: In which another rooftop conversation takes place, and an unexpected visitor arrives.
A/N: Sorry for the delay on this chapter! Life has been busy, but I finally got this installment edited to my satisfaction. Thanks for your patience, gracious readers.
Also, if you're at all interested in reading a slightly different rendering of this subplot (in verse rather than prose), I've posted another poem to my "Rhyme and Reason" collection. I know that poetry's not everyone's cup of tea, but if you decide that you wouldn't mind another dose of David and Sadie's awkward friendship, feel free to head over and give it a read (it probably works best after this chapter). :)
All right, brief announcements done - now, back to our story!
The afternoon sun beat down on Davey's back as he finished nailing the last wooden sign together, pausing for a moment to sit back on his heels and assess his progress.
Not bad for a kid who's never really handled a hammer, he thought to himself. The signs were pretty scrappy looking, but they'd get the job done, and they were sturdy, which was the most important part.
Now it was time to paint.
Davey got to his feet and walked over to the corner of the rooftop where he'd left the painting supplies. Philip Becker had generously allowed him to use the tools and building materials stored in the landlord's office and had even donated a nearly-finished can of paint to Davey so that he didn't have to purchase his own. The landlord's beneficence meant that this entire project - including the scrap wood which had been procured from their initial meeting - hadn't cost Davey a dime, and he was grateful for it.
Picking up the paint and a pair of brushes, Davey brought both items over to where the signs lay on a drop cloth, kneeling down so that he could carefully pry open the can. He was wearing his paint-stained shirt and an old pair of pants just in case, but he still didn't want to have any careless accidents. Dipping a brush into the can, Davey dabbed off the excess, then, with careful strokes, began to slowly paint. It was surprisingly relaxing, and he could see why Jack sometimes escaped into his backdrops at the theater - though of course this kind of painting was nothing like the beautifully rendered scenes that resulted from Jack's vivid imagination and natural aptitude.
Davey had never considered himself to be an artist in any sense of the word. He did have an appreciation for the aesthetics of things, but he'd never really tried creating much himself, mostly because there was never time - or money - for that kind of diversion. Still, he'd enjoyed the challenge of working with his hands over the past hour or so, and though the signs were far from perfect, he felt a small sense of accomplishment at seeing something that had only been an idea in his head actually come to life as the result of his handiwork.
Maybe that was why the rally was so important to him. It had started out as just a thought, but it had quickly grown and had taken shape...and now it was finally happening. And Davey had gotten to bring it together from the ground up, everything from casting the vision for what the rally would accomplish, to recruiting the necessary help, to thinking through the logistical details of the traffic flow at the theater…
He let out a small, self-deprecating laugh as he carefully finished the "h" on the "Manhattan" sign. You're definitely the only person who would get excited about something like that. It was probably better that Race and Jack hadn't had time to listen to him sound off about his ideas; he definitely would have talked their ears off, and they would not have liked him the better for it.
Davey sighed. He'd have to remember to watch himself going forward; he sensed that he was getting comfortable with his newfound acquaintances rather quickly, and he had caught himself opening up a lot more than he normally would. The fact that he'd rambled on to Katherine - someone he barely knew - only the day before was surprising and slightly concerning. Of course, she was a reporter, so she was good at drawing people out, but he really shouldn't have gone on like that. He'd learned from previous experience that his innate propensity to talk too much could be tiresome to other people, and these were friends he wanted to keep, so he'd have to be a little more careful in the future.
Having resolved this in his head, Davey finished the final letter on the first sign and had just moved over to start on the next one, when he heard the telltale sound of footsteps coming up the stairs, and he found himself surprised to realize that he knew whom they belonged to before even turning around.
His determination not to ramble was about to be put to the test.
"Good afternoon, Davey!" came Sadie's cheerful voice as she stepped onto the rooftop. She had an apron over her dress and a small basket in her hand. "You look like you've been productive!" she exclaimed, drawing near. "What have you been up to?"
He smiled at her enthusiasm. "I'm just working on some things," he explained.
"What kinds of things?" Sadie queried, peering at the drop cloth.
"Oh, well...newsie things," Davey elaborated unhelpfully.
(He really wasn't cut out for this not-rambling business).
"Are these signboards?" Sadie asked, kneeling down to examine his work more closely.
"Yes," Davey answered reluctantly. "They're for the rally. We'll place them in the auditorium so that the newsies know where to seat themselves. There will probably be latecomers trickling in throughout the night, and it will be easier for them to find their places if there are signs directing them where to go. It'll also keep the different neighborhoods together so that they can pass questions to their leaders when we open the floor for discussion."
"The newsboys are having a rally?" Sadie asked, sounding a bit confused.
"Oh...I didn't tell you about the rally?" Davey gave her an apologetic look. "Sorry - I guess I just forget whom I've talked to about these things. It's been on my mind so much lately, that I…" He stopped himself, then backtracked to her original question. "Yes, we're planning to have a rally tomorrow night at Irving Hall. It will be a chance for the rest of the city's newsies to meet with us to discuss things, and hopefully we'll be able to get them to join the strike."
(There. That had been reasonably succinct, right?)
"So that's what you've been up to!" Sadie exclaimed. "I'd been wondering what the latest news was on the strike."
"Things have been at a standstill for the last few days," Davey admitted. "But I'm hoping that if we can convince the rest of the newsies to join forces, we'll be able to get the newspaper owners to finally listen. It's easy enough for them to replace us right now - they can draw newsies from the other neighborhoods to scab - but if they aren't able to find anyone to deliver the papers, they won't be able to ignore us any more."
"How are you planning to convince the other newsies to commit to the cause?" Sadie asked.
"Well, we want to give them a chance to raise any questions or concerns, first," Davey explained. "There's got to be a reason why they haven't gone on strike yet, even though we've heard the prices have been raised all over town. Maybe they aren't sure how to go about it, or they think they don't have a chance of success. I'm not really sure, but I hope that we'll be able to lay some of those fears to rest by hearing them out. Then we'll reiterate why the strike is so important. At the very least, we want to get the Brooklyn newsies on board - they're the they key. If they join up, the rest will follow."
"That makes sense," Sadie remarked, adding, "You must be expecting a big crowd if you're meeting at Irving Hall."
"We're hoping to pack the place out," Davey acknowledged. "But that's not the only reason we're holding the rally there. Jack knows the owner of the theater, and she's being kind enough to let us use the facility free of charge. She's even going to perform a few numbers at the beginning of the night while the newsies are arriving. The free entertainment may draw some of them in, even if the actual purpose of the rally doesn't."
"Strategic incentivization is wise," Sadie nodded sagely. "I can see you've thought this through."
"Well...it's been a group effort," Davey said. "But yes, I've tried."
The girl glanced down at the drop cloth. "You must have a lot to take care of before tomorrow," she observed.
"We're in good shape, I hope," Davey answered. "I've just got to finish these signs and get them over to the theater, then check in with Jack to see if he's ready for his opening speech and make sure I've got the schedule in order for Race - he's been the newsies' head for the last week and a half, and he knows quite a few of the leaders from the other parts of the city, so if he agrees, he's going to be our master of ceremonies for the night. Hopefully it will help the visiting newsies to see a familiar face right off the bat."
"And what will your role be?" Sadie asked.
"If I've done everything right beforehand…" Davey shrugged, "hopefully just watching things unfold from the sidelines." He smiled a little. "I'm not really the kind who likes to be front and center, but I know Race will be able to hold the crowd's attention, and Jack's a good speaker."
"I seem to remember you not being too bad at motivating the newsboys yourself," Sadie remarked.
He'd forgotten that she'd overheard part of his impromptu speech at the distribution center.
"That...that was different," he said. "I didn't really have a choice. Somebody had to say something."
Sadie made a noncommittal sound, brushing a piece of lint off of her apron. After a moment, she asked gently, "Are you nervous at all?"
The question caught Davey off guard. "Nervous?" he repeated. "I..." He trailed off, and Sadie waited patiently as he paused, considering her question.
"I guess I'm not really sure," he confessed finally. "I know we have a good plan, and that we've done everything possible to make sure the plan goes smoothly, but there are so many variables involved that aren't in our control. Brooklyn, for one thing - they've promised to attend the rally, but that doesn't mean they'll join the strike, and if they don't, we'll have a hard time getting anyone else on board. And Jack's another unknown. He ran off shortly after the strike, and he hasn't come back to the newsboy lodging house since. He's afraid of something, and I'm not sure what. I'm counting on him to show up and address the crowd, but if he doesn't for whatever reason...well, it won't look good if Manhattan's own leader doesn't speak in support of the strike he started."
He paused, trying to push the thought away from his mind, before continuing soberly, "There's also a chance that the police - or people sent by the newspaper owners - could come and try to break up the rally. We're meeting on private property, so hopefully that will protect us somewhat, but with newsies all over the city knowing about the event, it's possible that people we don't want to come will get wind of it. I'm not sure what we'll do if the bulls show up again. And I'm worried about everyone's safety, especially Les.' He got hurt in the last scuffle, and I can't help feeling like it was my fault somehow..."
Davey trailed off, giving Sadie a sheepish look. "So...yeah," he said quietly, "I guess to answer your question, I am nervous. There's still so much that has to fall into place, that sometimes I can't help wondering if this is all just a really crazy idea." He fell silent, realizing that he'd failed to curtail himself and had been going on about his feelings too, something that certainly didn't need to be discussed in such superfluous detail.
"Sorry," apologized. "I'm sure you weren't asking for that long of an explanation. I get too caught up in these things sometimes." He smiled self-consciously. "Thanks for listening to me ramble, Sadie - you didn't have to do that."
"It wasn't rambling," Sadie replied. "The rally is a great idea, and the concerns you raised make perfect sense."
"You think the rally's a great idea?" Davey asked, surprised. "I mean...I think it is, too, but ...you don't think it sounds just a little crazy?"
Sadie laughed. "Haven't we established that it's good to do something crazy every once in a while?" she asked, giving him an amused look. "You should know by now, Davey, that I'm the last person who would ever talk you out of a ridiculous idea, let alone an idea as well-conceived as this one."
He felt himself relaxing, whether from the humor or from the indirect praise, he couldn't tell. "Well...I appreciate the vote of confidence," he said. "And really, I didn't mean to talk your ear off. I know I can go on about things for a while if I'm excited and someone lets me." He laughed a little. "In fact, one of the newsboys asked me recently if I ever stop talking. I should have told him that I'm a hopeless cause."
"Well, being misjudged and criticized for things that people don't understand about us is something we can count on in life," Sadie observed with an uncharacteristic edge to her voice. Davey looked at her in surprise as she added, "You can't let words like that stop you."
The unusually weighted statement had come out of nowhere, and her sudden severity seemed completely out of place when he'd been only trying to make a joke, but before Davey could think of how to draw out an explanation, the brief moment of gravity was gone.
"Do you want some help on your signs?" Sadie asked, her lighthearted tone returning as she changed the subject. "I've only come up to gather some of the vegetables - our tomato plant seems to like the sunshine we've been getting lately and it's been quite prolific - but I don't have much on my agenda for the rest of the afternoon." She set down her basket.
"Thank you, but I couldn't let you do that," Davey answered, shaking his head.
Sadie stopped halfway through rolling up her sleeves. "Why ever not?" she queried, looking confused.
"Well, it's not really your job, for one thing," Davey began uneasily. She'd already done him the service of listening to his thoughts, and he certainly was not going to ask her for another favor when he was already indebted to her in so many ways. "Besides," he added, "the paint is messy, so you'll get dirty..."
Sadie looked amused. "I'm already in my work clothes," she said, "and in case you've forgotten, I have been known to paint things from time to time." Giving his shirt a meaningful glance, she smirked a little before continuing, "But maybe I've misunderstood the true reason for your hesitation, Davey. Perhaps it's that you don't trust me near you with a can of paint?"
"No!" he said quickly. "No, that's - that's not - "
"I can assure you, I'm much more steady on my feet when no climbing is involved," Sadie continued, playfully overriding his stammered objection. "And if you'd like, I'll promise to stay several feet away from you, just to ensure that no accidents happen, though seeing that I've already ruined the shirt you're wearing once over, I suppose a little more paint couldn't hurt."
Davey fell silent.
Perhaps seeing that her teasing had failed to convince him, the girl changed her tactic. "Please, Davey," she cajoled, giving him a rather winning smile, "let me help you. Your signs will be finished much faster if you have an extra set of hands, and I'll have the satisfaction of knowing that I did something worthwhile with my afternoon instead of merely loafing around. This rally is important, and it will make me feel like I've helped to advance the cause of the strike, even if only in a small way."
"You make it sound like I'm the one doing you a favor," Davey muttered, unsure of what else to say and incapable of resisting her any longer.
Sadie looked pleased at his capitulation. "I suppose in a way you are," she said softly. "I can't change the world, but I can certainly paint letters well enough, if I put my mind to it." Despite the facetiousness of her statement, there was something serious in her tone again, though this time it sounded more earnest than sharp, and Davey found himself wondering at these unexpected glimpses of solemnity. He generally thought of Sadie as lighthearted and carefree, but clearly there was a depth to her that either she didn't show often or that he had completely missed.
"If you truly don't want my assistance, I won't force you to accept it," she said, bringing Davey back to the conversation at hand. "I only wanted to assure you of my willingness to help, and to do away with any thoughts you might have had of being already too far in my debt to accept my offer, or some other ridiculous notion like that. To my understanding, we've already settled that matter."
It was embarrassing how well she read him.
"Only if you have time," Davey said, finally giving in. He suspected that, despite her claims to the contrary, she wasn't one to 'loaf around,' so it was likely that she would be sacrificing something to help him out, though she seemed to be intent on assuring him that she wasn't.
"Let me gather the vegetables first," Sadie said, "and once I've taken them down to Mama, I'll come back to help you paint." She rose, gathering her basket and stepped carefully around the signs to walk over to the corner of the rooftop where the Beckers had a small collection of vegetable plants.
Davey found himself watching her for a moment as his thoughts returned to the surprising realization that there was more to Sadie Becker than met the eye. He'd thought he'd had her pegged at first - in fact, he'd written her off as careless and impulsive after their initial meeting, and had secretly thought her rather empty-headed besides. But then she'd surprised him by replacing his shirt...and he realized that she'd been surprising him ever since.
Apparently, he'd been very wrong about her.
Reaching over to retrieve his brush, Davey resumed his slow and methodical painting. But he found his thoughts occupied now by matters other than the strike.
Sadie finished picking the vegetables and took them downstairs, returning as promised to help with the painting, and as she began working alongside him, he found himself wanting to know more about her. Her manner was unaffected and open, but despite this, she seemed to disclose very little about herself, though he wasn't sure if this was by nature or by deliberate choice.
"So…how has your day been so far?" he asked tentatively. "You didn't have to go to the tailor's?"
Sadie shook her head. "Not today; I brought home some alterations to work on when I have time, but I won't be going back until Tuesday afternoon." She paused for a moment, then said, "Speaking of the tailor's, I know this probably isn't any of my business, but I clearly made some kind of unintentional gaffe yesterday when you and Miss Pulitzer came to visit the shop."
Davey tensed. Katherine's recently-revealed identity had been in the back of his mind ever since he'd found out about it, but since there was nothing he could do about the situation, he'd pushed it aside to focus on the rally preparations. "It wasn't your fault," he said quickly. "I just wasn't aware she was a Pulitzer, that's all."
"Her mother used Mr. Gorham's services in previous years," Sadie explained. "So I suppose that's the connection between their distinguished family and our humble shop. Miss Pulitzer is always generous with her business and with her referrals, and we're grateful to her for it. I really hope I didn't cause her any distress - I didn't know she went by another name."
"She writes under the byline 'Katherine Plumber,'" Davey explained. "And you couldn't have been expected to know that."
"Katherine Plumber!" Sadie exclaimed. "The one who wrote the article in The Sun about the strike?"
"The same," Davey affirmed.
"So she's an heiress and an accomplished reporter, besides," Sadie said admiringly. "What a combination! And now it all makes sense to me - I'd been wondering how the two of you were acquainted, but it really wasn't my business to ask."
"It really wasn't your business to mislead Katherine about my part in the paint incident, either," Davey added, sounding significantly more chiding than he had intended.
"Why...was wrong with how I told it?" Sadie asked in surprise.
"You made me sound more generous than I actually was!" Davey protested. "You shouldn't say things like that, Sadie, especially when you know that's not what really happened."
"It's not?" Her wide eyes were an act, he was sure of it. "I don't recall...perhaps you'd like to refresh my memory on the subject?"
"I startled you, and you accidentally spilled paint on my shirt," Davey stated flatly. "There probably could have been some more foresight when it came to your own safety, but otherwise the entire thing was unintentional. There was nothing noble that I did - if anything, I was slightly rude to you. And you did replace my shirt. You should have at least mentioned that."
"Hmm…that is a markedly different account from what I shared." Sadie paused for a moment, as if considering his reprimand. "But," she added brightly, "it's a bit insipid, and I think I prefer my version better." She smiled cheekily at him, then went back to painting.
"I don't understand you," Davey muttered after a moment.
Sadie paused again. "Understand me?"
"I mean, I don't understand why you insist on being so kind to me," he clarified, aware that he was no longer filtering his words but in too far to backtrack at this point (and a part of him really did want to know). "I've done nothing for you, but you've replaced my shirt, bought a paper from me, applied yourself to something you don't even enjoy so that I don't have to get behind in class, let me take your odd jobs around the tenement, and just this afternoon you've helped me with my signs, and you've listened to me ramble, and…" he broke off. "Sorry," he said quickly. "It's just...it makes no sense...to me."
"Davey," Sadie set down her brush, sounding gently exasperated, "I told you, I like helping people, and I like making new friends. It's really not as grand or as magnanimous as you make it sound. Just ask Margaret. She'll tell you how eagerly I approached her when she was new in town; the poor thing probably thought I was a little over-zealous in trying to make her acquaintance! But now we're good friends, so things turned out all right." She gave him a reassuring smile. "And if buying a paper and listening to you talk about a fascinating subject is all that it takes for us to be friends, then I'd consider that to be a worthy investment."
She turned away to continue painting. "Besides," she added, as she picked up her brush, "enthusiasm is a good look on you." She carefully began the next letter. "It would be a loss for that to go away, simply because some people don't have the sense to listen to your rambling."
She'd managed to hone in on the very thing that he'd been agonizing over the most, and the astounding realization that in that moment he had been both understood and accepted caused Davey to find himself at a loss for words. He knew that he should say something (to cover up the staggering effect of her statement, if nothing else), but he couldn't manage to do it. So he sat there silently for a moment, embarrassed and pleased and a little confused, trying to think of what to say in response, and failing to come up with an answer.
Being thrown off balance by Sadie wasn't anything new. She'd had that effect on him from the very first moment of their acquaintance, and he'd never really liked the feeling. But something about it felt different today.
He wasn't sure why this was the case. And the lack of clarity was a bit disconcerting.
Davey shook his head, trying to reign in his scattered thoughts. He didn't have time to be ruminating on these kinds of things or letting his confusion distract him from the task at hand. He was in the middle of helping to lead a strike. He was juggling the responsibilities of feeding his family and watching out for his brother. He had a union to run and a rally to plan. He didn't have time to be thinking about anything else.
It was only that he'd been caught off guard, he reasoned. He wasn't used to anyone, other than his family, showing such unearned kindness towards him, but Sadie by her own admission was outgoing by nature. She was only being herself and trying to reassure him of her friendship, and it really shouldn't have surprised him, or mattered to him so much...
But it did matter.
And it made Davey happy - irrationally, needlessly happy.
It wasn't a feeling he experienced very often. It wasn't a feeling he would have expected to stumble across in the middle of leading a strike. But the feeling was there nonetheless.
Davey pinched the bridge of his nose, suddenly aware that his mind had wandered - again.
Focus, he told himself sternly. The strike - and the rally - remember? Lost in his thoughts, he'd stopped painting, and now he quickly brought himself back to the present, forcing his mind to attend to the task in front of him (and trying to ignore the voice inside his head warning him that he had better get a handle on himself soon, or he could be in for a bit of trouble).
Soon enough, all of the signs had been finished.
"Not a bad bit of work," Sadie remarked, surveying the completed project. "They're readable, at least."
"And that's all that matters," Davey added, having regained his ability to speak after several moments of conflicted silence. He gave her a grateful look. "Thank you. For your help, and for listening. It means a lot to me, Sadie. Really." It wasn't the most eloquently-articulated expression of appreciation...but the understanding smile she gave him in response seemed to say that she knew he meant it.
"Will you be going along to the theater with these soon?" she asked, gesturing to the signs.
"I'm going to let them dry for a while," Davey answered, "but I do need to head back to the lodging house to check in. Do you think your father will mind if I leave them up here?"
Sadie shook her head. "Not at all. I'll mention it to him tonight so he's aware." Bending down, she began to pick up the can of paint and paintbrushes. "I know you need to get going, so I'll clean these up and take them back to the office," she stated.
Davey was about to protest, but before he could say anything, something small and shiny fell out of Sadie's apron pocket, landing with a muffled thud on the drop cloth. The girl straightened up, painting supplies in hand, then took a step towards the stairs, clearly unaware that she had lost it.
"Wait, Sadie," Davey scooped up the object. "You dropped your…" he glanced at it, "you dropped your thimble!"
She turned in surprise, looking at the small metal piece in his hand. "Oh! That must have fallen out of my apron. I was mending some things before I came up here." She glanced down at the painting supplies in her hands, then back at Davey. "Would you do me a favor and throw it away for me?" she asked. "I wasn't going to use it again - it's got a rather bad crack in it - and my hands are full. I meant to toss it earlier after I finished my sewing, but I must have forgotten. You don't mind, do you?"
"Of course not," he replied. He had some small pieces of wood to discard downstairs anyway. "I'll take care of it."
"Thank you," she smiled. "I'll see you around, Davey."
"Goodbye," he called after her as she left.
As the sound of Sadie's footsteps faded away, Davey glanced down at the thimble in his hand. It was made of copper and was encircled by a plain double band with the tiny initials S.C.B. etched across it. A noticeable crack had formed at the base of the thimble, and from a practical standpoint, it made perfect sense why Sadie had wanted to throw it away...but practicality aside, there was something quaintly pleasing about it.
Davey hesitated for a moment, then stuck the thimble in his pocket.
Before heading to the lodging house, Davey stopped at his family's apartment for a moment to see how Les was doing with his class assignments. His younger brother had been giving him the cold shoulder ever since being sent back to school (no doubt correctly suspecting Davey's part in the decision), but this afternoon Les seemed a touch more agreeable, and he'd even made his way through most of his academic tasks by the time Davey arrived to look them over.
Leaving Les with a few words of approval, Davey hurried out of the apartment and down to the street, where he set off in the direction of the lodging house. He hadn't spoken with Race since the gambler had returned from Sheepshead, and Davey wanted to run through some of the details of the rally with the interim newsie leader so that he would have time to make any adjustments necessary before the event the following night.
He was still several blocks away from the lodging house when he caught sight of a familiar figure running quickly in his direction.
"Elmer!" Davey exclaimed, as the younger newsie skidded to a stop in front of him, breathing hard. "Are you all right? What's wrong?"
Elmer huffed and puffed, trying to catch his breath. "Nothin's wrong," he wheezed. "But you gotta come back to the lodging house quick! Everyone's been tryin' to find ya!"
"What's happened?" Davey asked anxiously, as he hurried along beside the younger newsie. "Is it Jack? Race? One of the other boys? Something with the rally?"
Elmer shook his head. "Nah, Davey," he gasped, "it ain't any of that."
"Then what?" Davey demanded, bewildered as to what could have possibly sent the other boy in such a state of agitated urgency and fearing the worst.
Elmer, still panting, didn't answer right away, and if Davey hadn't seen the genuine look of concern in his eyes, he would have thought that the other newsie was stringing him along just for dramatic effect. But as they hurried around the corner and the lodging house came into sight, the pieces suddenly began to fit together as Davey recognized the solitary figure standing in the street just outside.
"Am I imagining things," he asked, glancing at Elmer for confirmation, "or is that…?"
The younger newsie shook his head. "Nah, you ain't seein' things, Davey," he confirmed as they hurried towards the visitor.
"Brooklyn's here."
A/N: Any Spot Conlon fans out there? He'll be making an appearance in the next chapter.
Also, we've officially passed the 100k word mark (whaaat?). This story was originally supposed to be 30 chapters in total, but clearly that's not how things are going. Sorry...I hope you're not getting tired of this yet. If you've stuck with me this far, I am grateful, and I especially want to thank those of you who've encouraged me to keep scribbling away on this. Your kind reviews have been a huge part of why I've even gotten to this point, and your feedback always makes my day...so, thank you very much :).
And onward!