Tom looked around the library with satisfaction, enjoying a moment alone, something he had quickly learned was rare at Kelly House. Equally as rare were long-lived moments alone and he grinned as, just at that moment, Specs and Finch walked in.
Tom couldn't say if all newsies were the same, but the ones who lived in this house were insatiably curious. They didn't mean to invade those solitary moments; they just figured that if you were alone, you were experiencing something they hadn't and they showed up so they could experience it, too, not realizing they couldn't have moments alone if they were always together. Still, they'd learned never to walk by themselves, so it really was no surprise that they traveled in twos and threes.
"Looks good, don't it, coach?" Specs asked.
"It does," Tom agreed. "You've all done a great job helping get everything ready."
The week-long delay he had initially balked at after Greta and Charles had returned from their honeymoon had extended to just over three weeks when the boys had gotten a look at the schoolroom. They'd been in it before of course – there wasn't a square inch of the house they hadn't thoroughly explored – but they hadn't really thought about its purpose until they saw him in it, arranging the individual desks in groups and rows, trying to figure out the ideal formation.
"Whacha doin', coach?" Romeo had asked.
"Yeah, what are these little tables for?" Albert added, pushing one over to line up behind the ones Tom had arranged.
Tom smiled. "These are desks. You'll sit here during our lessons."
"We gots to sit in those?" Albert asked dubiously. "Ain't they kinda small?"
They watched as Race tested one. He shook his head. "Don't like it. Can only get out on one side." He pushed at the bar that connected the tabletop to the seat. It didn't move. He shook his head. "Nope. Don't like it."
"No one's going to trap you, Race," Tom assured him.
Race hopped up. "Don't aim to give no one a chance to try." He pointed across the room. "Reckon I'll sit there." He ambled over to the larger desk and sat in the freestanding chair. "Yeah, this is nice."
Tom laughed. "That's my desk."
"Why do you get such a big space and the good chair?" Elmer wanted to know, pulling open the drawers and rifling through the contents. Tom hadn't yet purchased any supplies but there were a few odds and ends left by previous users. "Hey, what's this?" Elmer held up a white stick.
"It's chalk," Tom explained. "Use it to write on the chalkboard." He pointed at the large black area on the wall behind Elmer.
"Oh! Wow! Fellas, look at this!" In moments they were all looking for their own bits of chalk to scribble their own marks.
Albert gave his piece of chalk to Romeo and wandered over to stand by Tom. "It sure don't seem fair," he commented.
"What?" Tom asked.
"Them itty-bitty tables. Ain't room to move in 'em."
"No room for drips, that's for sure," Specs added.
"Well, maybe drips," Albert amended, "but you sure can't stir nothin'."
"How am I s'posed to help anyone else with so much space?" Finch pointed to the gap between the desks.
"What do you mean?" Tom asked.
"When we's makin' cookies and stuff, sometimes Romeo needs help stirrin' –"
"– or I hold the bowl when Albert adds stuff –," added Specs.
"– or I can stick my spoon in Elmer's bowl to taste his batter," Race admitted.
Everyone laughed.
"Ain't it kind of dark in here?" Specs asked. "Why's there only one window?"
"I guess most teachers don't want their students distracted by what's outside," Tom ventured, walking to the window, "but we can add more lights if we need to, and we can definitely open the curtains." He pulled them open to reveal the brick wall across the narrow alley behind the house.
Romeo whimpered and backed into Specs.
Albert's breathing became shallow and labored and he froze in place, eyes on the view out that window.
Race spat on the floor. "We ain't doin' nothin' in here," he declared in a low, angry voice.
Finch turned his back on the window and pushed Albert backwards. "Come on, Albert, I think I hear Greta calling us."
The two boys thundered down the stairs yelling for Greta.
Moments later, Charles appeared in the doorway. "I hear there is a problem with the schoolroom," he announced gently.
Romeo squeaked and left Specs's protective hold to climb up Charles, who tucked the frightened boy into his chest.
"Race?" Charles inquired, looking at the back of the rigid boy.
Race turned, obstinance and fear in his expression. "I ain't workin' in here," he declared hotly. "Ain't none of us doin' nothin' in here!"
With his free hand, Charles gently cupped Race's chin. "No one said you had to, dear boy."
Race's chin quivered.
Charles moved his hand to Race's back and tucked him into his side. Race threw his arms around Charles's waist. Charles looked at Tom, who was dumbfounded at the rapid change of emotions that had just occurred. "Tom, fear not, you have done nothing wrong."
"No, coach, it ain't you." Specs confirmed softly. "We wasn't expectin' that, is all." He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at the window he wouldn't look at.
"I don't understand. The window upset you?"
"Ain't the window. It's the view."
"It l-looks like M-Mad Max's office," whispered Romeo into Charles's neck, wriggling to get closer.
"Aah," Charles crooned in understanding.
"Nothin' but traps in here," Race uttered with a shiver.
"Yes, I can see what you mean," Charles agreed. "Race, I need for you to bring the toolbox. Specs, get Annie and the other boys." They gladly left on their missions. "Romeo," Charles shifted the boy to look at him, "I need Prowlers."
"Which ones?"
"All of them." He put the boy down, and, with one last fearful look at the schoolroom, Romeo was off.
Charles looked at Tom. "You look as though you've been broadsided." He chuckled softly. "There is no time presently for details, so for the time being, understand that this room resembles an extremely abusive juvenile prison in which all of our boys, including Jack, were incarcerated on multiple occasions."
"Dear, sweet God in heaven." Tom crossed himself.
"Yes. So, we must do away with your schoolroom immediately and find other accommodations for your lessons."
"Certainly. I had already figured out this room would not work." He provided a summary of the boys' observations and comments.
"Indeed," Charles nodded. "I can see their point." He looked around the room. "Fortunately, Jack and Katherine are remodeling this floor. We had thought to leave the schoolroom as it is, but I think we will alter those plans. There will be time aplenty to discuss details later. For now, here comes our brood."
Charles first had Race and Albert remove the door while the other boys placed Prowlers around the room so they'd know what was happening and be better able to protect dreamers that night. They tried to disassemble the desks, but the bolts were too tight. They explored storing them in the attic but the attic was full. Annie remembered Les saying something about his school having more students than desks, so a call was placed to Mr. Jacobs, who brought a wagon to haul the desks away along with the teacher's desk and chair, and even the door – Charles was taking no chances of having anyone getting locked inside that room.
While the boys were hauling the heavy desks down the stairs, Bridget, Greta, Annie, and Albert made cinnamon doughnuts. In the privacy of Jack's office, Charles told Tom as much as he knew about what the boys had experienced. He also called Kat to let her know, so Jack wouldn't be caught by surprise when he got home.
All the boys had been awakened by nightmares that night, but Charles announced the next morning that it had gone better than he had anticipated, so Tom guessed it wasn't as bad as it had seemed. For some reason, having them all move to sleep on the floor in Crutchie's room had been what had finally gotten them to sleep.
With the schoolroom out of commission, the boys questioned where their school would be.
"It seems to me that the library is the logical place for holding lessons," Charles stated.
"It already gots good tables," Albert pointed out, referencing the two long tables on either end of the large room.
"Good chairs, too," Race added. "No bars on any of 'em."
"There ain't a chalkboard, though." Finch reminded them in disappointment.
"That is a problem easily solved," Charles told them.
"How?" Finch asked.
"Purchase one."
"You can do that?" Finch asked, amazed.
"How do you think the one on the wall got there?" Charles asked.
"Hadn't thought about it," Finch admitted. "Can we, coach? Can we go get a chalkboard today?"
"Yeah," chimed in a couple of others, eager to join in the fun.
Tom looked to Charles. "I wouldn't know where to begin to look."
Charles handed him a card. "Start here. Willow Tree Stationers. Katherine highly recommends it. You can outfit the classroom with pens, ink, pencils, paper, and other such sundries there. And, if you please, let Mr. Willows know that Crutchie needs more file folders and another filing cabinet. He will know where to find the other things you'll need for a classroom. And what you cannot find ready-made, Mr. Jacobs will surely be glad to make for you."
"But the cost?" Tom worried.
"You have funds to use for educational purposes. Since you are assembling a schoolroom essentially from the ground up, you will receive more. You are not, under any circumstances, to use your personal funds to furnish even a single pencil for the class. The library belongs to you and the children now. Go. Do what needs to be done to make it your own."
Tom nodded, grinning broadly. "All right, I will." He looked around at the excited faces peering back at him. "We will."
Cheers burst forth and the boys and Annie all started talking about the adventure that awaited them.
Greta got them back on track, reminding them of upstairs and downstairs chores that should be done before they left for any shopping.
Tom rapped on the table in satisfaction. Here they were, nearly three weeks later, in a library clearly designed for classroom instruction, but still open and available for reading and research. There wasn't a lot of wall space, mostly square columns between bookshelves, but they'd removed the silk gold-on-burgundy wall coverings and painted the walls a soft blue, which brightened the room considerably.
It was a large room, spanning the full width of the house; the six large windows let in plenty of light and looked out over the street. There were doors on either side of the wide room. Initially, the decision was to remove them so no one would feel trapped inside the library. But when they realized how little display space there was, they replaced the door knobs with ones that didn't lock but could keep the doors shut, then added a chalkboard to one side and a cork board to the other side of each door,
In exchange for the desks, the Hebrew school gave them another table and some chairs. The Kelly House students were quite satisfied with that arrangement and felt there was plenty of open room for them to work with ample space left for drop-in newsies who wanted to participate. For storage, they condensed books from two bookshelves. The collection was extensive but not all the shelves were full, so as they all dusted and cleaned( because neither Greta nor Bridget was going to have them learning in a dirty room), they moved books over to clear up space in two bookshelves and had Mr. Jacobs add doors, the fronts of which, naturally, had chalk and cork boards attached to them.
Tom had fun shopping to fill those shelves. He had quickly learned that the boys did not want to follow, but that they were quite willing to be led. Each morning, after their house work was done, he shared the afternoon's activities. Surprisingly, the newsies had some good ideas about where to get some things, so he always left the agenda open. He explained what to look for and helped them figure out how much of any given item they might need. He gave them all a budget and left the rest up to them. They were shrewd shoppers, with an eye for quality, sharp opinions on what constituted a good price, and absolutely no fear about haggling to get a better price without cheating themselves or the merchants.
In stepping back to essentially just oversee the newsies, Tom was able to make observations he wouldn't have been able to make any other way. Testing them would be too structured and they would treat it suspiciously. The shopping expeditions showed him that they were all part of a fairly fluid yet intricate team. Race seemed to be more of a leader than the others, and Specs was generally accepted as the smartest, but no one was superior to the others and all opinions mattered to their collective thinking.
They could all read, though their skills ranged from rudimentary to advanced, and their comprehension levels fluctuated just as wildly. Their listening skills were tremendous, especially with the ever-present noise level that existed when they were together. When they didn't understand something, they looked to Tom with no hesitation or embarrassment, if they didn't understand him, they looked to Specs who had the ability to understand Tom and translate what he said in a way they understood.
They all seemed to know how to write, but none of them was particularly keen to do it. Likewise, with numbers, they could write them if they had to, but basic computations were done in their heads, not on paper.
Now everything was ready and lessons would officially begin in the morning with all eight students at Kelly House, plus one: Les was going to be a permanent part of their classes.
Tom had been in the library watching the boys arrange the tables. Mr. Jacobs had just delivered the one sent by the Hebrew school. The boys had hauled it up in pieces; Race had shown them how to attach the legs back on, and now they were debating the best way to arrange them.
"Excuse me, Mr. Callaghan," said a soft voice behind Tom.
Tom turned to see Mr. Jacobs standing there.
"Hello, Mr. Jacobs. Please, call me Tom."
"Yes, okay. Tom. Thank you. Mayer. That is...my name... May-Mayer. My name is Mayer."
"Mayer," Tom reached out to shake his hand. "What can I do for you? Excuse me." He looked at the boys. "Race, stop punching Elmer."
"But he's a nitwit!"
"Punching him doesn't help."
"You's right," he ruffled Elmer's hair and gave him a shove.
Elmer took off after him with a playful roar.
Tom rolled his eyes and gestured Mayer out into the hall, where it was marginally quieter. "Is something wrong, Mayer?"
"No, no. Everything is fine. I just, well, I asked and they said to ask you. Charles and Jack, that is. I asked them but they said it was your class." He gulped.
Tom frowned. He'd only met Mayer Jacobs once or twice before, but he'd never seemed to be a nervous sort of person. "Is there something wrong with my class?"
"No, no. Not that. Les."
"There's something wrong with Les?"
"What's wrong with Shortstop?" Albert asked, coming down the hall with a basket of snacks from the kitchen. Greta had long since discovered that a tray didn't hold enough food for seven hungry boys and a girl.
Mayer smiled. "He is well, thank you. But he is not such a good student. The school, today, when I got the table, they told me he cannot stay there much longer if he does not get better. He is not a bad child, Tom, but he is not a student like my David."
"Davey's real smart," Albert agreed. "Knows tons of stuff."
Mayer nodded. "Yes. He loves his school work. But Les, not so much." He rubbed his thigh. "He went back to school when I could work again, like he agreed, but it's been worse for him since he was a newsie. He does not like the schedules, the rules. He's not a bad child, Mr. Callaghan, but I do not know what to do."
"Have him come here," Albert suggested with a shrug. "We's gonna have a great school, ain't we, coach?"
"We are, Albert," Tom agreed, gesturing Albert into the library.
"Hey fellas, guess what? Shortstop's gonna be in our school," Albert announced.
"All right! Two pipsqueaks to punch!" Race crowed.
"I ain't a pipsqueak!" Romeo protested.
"Race, don't punch pipsqueaks," Tom commanded.
"Okay," Race agreed, then locked Romeo's head under one arm and tickled him with the other.
Romeo squealed with laughter and wriggled free, running from a laughing Race.
Tom laughed at the chaotic scene, loving that they were all having fun and that, despite the hullabaloo, by the day's end, everything would be as it needed to be. "Is that what you wanted to ask, Mayer? As Albert said, Les is welcome to join us."
"Thank you," Mayer smiled, but did not relax. "But it cannot be free. I can pay."
"Money isn't an issue, Mayer."
"But –"
"Why don't we work out a trade? Perhaps woodworking lessons for the class, or something we may need in the future?"
"Yes, that could work. It must be fair, though."
"Don't worry. The boys will not allow themselves or you to be cheated."
"They will know?"
"Of course. There's no keeping secrets from this bunch. And they'll drive a harder bargain than I would. Trust me on that."
Mayer smiled, but still, he did not relax.
"What else is troubling you?"
"Coach Tom! Is Les really gonna to come to our school?" Romeo rushed over. "Hi, Mr. Jacobs. Is ya gonna let Les come?"
"I'd like to, Romeo," Mayer told him. "But I don't know…"
"What's wrong? Doncha like us?"
"Of course, child. Of course I like you, but we're Jewish."
"So?"
Mayer chuckled. "I forget sometimes how easily all of you accept others. Such a joy." Mayer smiled at him. "But what I mean is that at the Hebrew school, Les learns Yiddish and Jewish customs and our history."
"I understand," Tom told him. "As a devout Catholic Irishman, I won't be much help to Les myself, but I think we can address your concerns fairly easily."
"You can?"
Tom looked down at Romeo. "Go get Hosea."
Romeo hurtled down the stairs, eager to complete his mission.
Tom explained. "Ephraim Jacobi owns a restaurant a couple blocks down the street from here. He's always been good to the newsies, not just ours but all of them. I was there a week or so ago with a couple of the boys. Romeo was practicing his Polish with Mr Jacobi, who was pleased as punch to hear someone learning his native language. The boys told him about me and our school. Jacobi told me he has a nephew in teaching college. He's working at the restaurant while he's in school and would like to practice teaching, if I heard of anything. He seems like a nice man. Well-spoken and patient. He taught Romeo a few new Polish words on the spot."
"Polish?"
Tom nodded. "It seems Romeo has an ear for languages. He's learning Polish because Joseph Pulitzer, the man he calls grandfather, is originally from Poland."
"I see," murmured Mayer. Given the bond between his boys and these, he knew something of the relationship with Pulitzer, but had not realized the depth of the connection.
Tom chuckled. "I'm still wrapping my head around it, too," he admitted. "Essentially, Hosea Jacobi is proving to be a good occasional tutor of Polish for Romeo and I'm thinking of hiring him once our classes are officially underway. I'm having Romeo bring him here so you can speak with him to see if he'll be able to provide the kind of lessons Les needs that I cannot personally provide."
Mayer stared at him. "You would do that?"
"Of course."
"But the expense –"
"Don't worry about it. They will be lessons the school provides at no extra cost to you."
"But I must –"
"Mayer, part of what I will be teaching these children is a healthy respect for cultures other than their own. They're already on that path anyway simply because of how they got thrown together so early in their lives. If you approve of Hosea, he will not teach only Les and Romeo, he will teach them all. Not the depth that is required for Les, of course, but enough that they'd understand how beautiful the Jewish faith and traditions are."
"You think my faith is beautiful?"
"Mayer, I may be Irish Catholic, but my Savior was Jewish."
Mayer sucked in a breath, then exhaled with a smile. "You have a point," he conceded.
"We might ask you to come and share some of your traditions with us. Maybe your wife and daughter can share how to prepare the food used in your celebrations and ceremonies."
"We would be honored," Mayer accepted, flushing with pleasure.
"Please understand, we won't only be studying Jewish customs. I want to explore Christian ones, too. Both Catholic and Protestant. They work with Sam Hua on self-defense protection, and meditation, so we'll be studying that as well. Are you okay with Les being exposed to religions other than just Jewish?"
Mayer nodded. "Yes, I believe so."
"Good. I'm not teaching a religious-based curriculum, though it may sound like it. It's more a study of world cultures and why they're all important. Religion is a vital part of every society."
"That sounds rather impressive."
"I hope it will be. I've encountered a few, um, obstacles in America simply because I'm Irish."
"Yes. Being Jewish is not always an easy thing, either."
"I realize I cannot change the entire world, but if I can help this group of kids to understand the world beyond their Manhattan boundaries, then maybe they can influence others, and so on."
"I'll settle for Les knowing enough Yiddish for his bar mitzvah," Mayer admitted wryly.
They laughed as they turned to greet a breathless Romeo, who had Hosea Jacobi in tow.
"Got him, Coach. Told him it was important and we ran the whole way back."
"Romeo, I don't think you do anything but run," said Hosea, gasping for breath.
"Might miss somethin' if I walk," Romeo said with a shrug.
Tom introduced Mayer and Hosea. Mayer asked a question in Yiddish; Hosea responded in kind.
Romeo's eyes bulged in fascination at the melodic sound of the new language. He tugged on Tom's hand. "What's that? What're they sayin'?"
"It's Yiddish. Mr. Jacobs wants to be sure Les can still get important lessons about being Jewish if he comes to classes with us. One of the things Jewish students learn is how to speak Yiddish."
Romeo trembled with excitement. "Can I have Jewish lessons, too?"
Tom chuckled. "I think that can be arranged."
They watched a few minutes longer as the men chatted then shook hands.
"Excellent!" declared Mayer. "He is so like my David. And he has two brothers and a sister like my Les, so he will understand one who cannot sit still."
"Wonderful! I'm glad it will work out. Hosea, do you have time to discuss some details or do you need to get back?"
"Uncle Ephraim told me to take as long as I need. My brothers are at the deli, so there are plenty of hands."
Romeo couldn't hold it in any longer. "Mr. Hosea, guess what?"
"What żabko?"
"Coach Tom says I can get Polish lessons and Jewish lessons!"
"That's very good news!"
"Can you teach them both to me?"
"I can."
"Yeah!" Romeo dashed into the library to share his news while the men went downstairs to work out some details.
"So, what're we gonna learn first?" Finch asked.
Tom smiled at the boys. "I thought we'd start with some tests. You know, so I can see what you know and what you don't know."
"I ain't taking no test," Finch declared. "All them people we didn't pick was gonna do that and that's why we didn't pick 'em, so –"
"He's foolin' ya, Finch," Specs broke in, giving his friend a gentle shove.
"What?"
"Yeah. Coach can't keep a straight face if he's lyin' and he's grinnin' big right now."
Tom laughed. "Specs is right, Finch. Do you think I'd really make you take tests? Is this room designed for taking tests?"
Finch shrugged. "Well, I guess not. I's just nervous is all. I ain't never been to school before and I don't want to screw it up."
"Finch?"
"Yeah?"
"We've been having lessons for two weeks, now."
"What?"
"Yep."
"No way!"
"It's true."
"Specs?" Finch poked his friend's arm.
"Yeah?"
"Is he havin' me on?"
"Don't think so. He ain't smilin'."
"How d'we have lessons for two weeks and not know it?"
Tom chuckled. "Every time we met and I told you what we needed to get?"
The boys nodded.
"Those were the lessons. When I explained about our trip, assigned you to get a few things, gave you the money you needed, and so on, you were working on planning a project, listening, note-taking, teamwork, budgeting and finance, math, writing, and research."
"We done all that just by shoppin'?" Specs was incredulous.
"That was part of it."
"What more could there be?" Finch wanted to know.
"Those tests the others wanted to give you?"
The boys nodded.
"You took them already."
"We did?"
"How'd we do that?"
"You didn't actually take a test, but I learned what I needed to know about your skills just by watching you work."
"Why didn't you tell us?"
"If I had, you wouldn't have done as well. It wouldn't have been as natural."
"Makes sense," Specs agreed.
"So what'd ya learn?" Finch asked suspiciously.
"Primarily that you are all cracker-jack smart," Tom told them. "Naturally, there are things you don't know just from not having ever been to school, but," Tom waved off that concern, "that's an obstacle easily dealt with. There's not one of you who won't be able to learn the basics fairly easily."
"Yeah?" Finch wondered.
"What're the basics?" Specs inquired.
"We'll get you all more comfortable writing things down, review general grammar and elementary math."
"That don't seem so bad," Finch surmised.
"What's after that?" Specs asked.
"After you all have the basics covered, we'll dive into some history, advanced math, study foreign cultures; look into specialties like science and medicine, finance, architecture; work on some handicrafts like woodworking, sewing, and metalwork; explore the arts, drawing and writing –"
"Hey, Jack and Mare does those!" Finch observed.
Tom smiled. "So they do. In short, boys, there's a whole big world out there waiting to be explored. We're going to fill your tool boxes with the basic knowledge you need to get started, then we're going to take on the world, one piece at a time, and see what we find."
"How we gonna do that? Seems like a lot." Finch was excited but dubious.
"Drip, drip, drip," Specs sang.
"Exactly!" Tom praised. "We'll do it one drip at a time, stir things up a bit so they stick, then get more drips."
Specs beamed in anticipation.
"Sounds good, coach," Finch said. "It do sound good, don't it?" He looked to Specs for confirmation.
Specs nodded.
"How's this, Finch," Tom added, "if you ever think something isn't good, you tell me. We'll figure out how to make it better."
"Yeah?"
"Yes. Remember, I'm just guiding your educational experience, so if you ever feel like something's keeping you from learning, let me know so we can get you back on track."
"Okay."
"What're we learnin' first, coach?" Specs asked as they headed out of the library and down the stairs.
"Christmas," Tom told them.
"Christmas?" they echoed.
"Yes. It's nearly here and we haven't prepared for the holiday at all."
"What're we s'posed to do?"
Tom smiled as they entered the already noisy kitchen for lunch. "We'll soon find out, won't we?"
"What'll we find out?" came a voice from somewhere in the din.
"Christmas," Specs answered, taking a pile of plates from Albert and placing them around the table.
"What about Christmas?" Race asked. "It ain't special."
"You gets a new coat or shoes at The Lodge," Elmer pointed out.
"Guess we won't this year," Crutchie ventured.
"Why not?" Romeo asked.
"We ain't staying there nights no more," Crutchie reminded him.
"Ain't sellin papes, neither, and you gots to do one of 'em to get somethin' at Christmas," Race added.
"But we got coats and shoes and a house and food," Albert said into the subdued room. He put a pot of stew on the table and lifted the lid. The aroma quickly filled the room, perking up moods and appetites.
"He's right, boys," Greta told them, placing baskets of fresh rolls on the table. "But Christmas is a magical time of year."
"Ain't nothin' magic about bein' cold and hungry," Race said, taking his seat.
"Neither of which you are," Greta reminded him, ruffling his hair.
"And Santa comes at Christmas," Annie told them.
"He ain't never brung me nothin'," Albert responded.
"Is Santa magic, too?" Romeo piped around a mouthful of stew.
"Yes, he is," Greta confirmed. "And remember to finish your bite before speaking."
"Okay," Romeo agreed. "What's so special 'bout him?" he asked quickly before spooning more stew into his mouth.
"Oh! He's wonderful!" Annie gushed. "He brings toys and games and books and he fills your stockings with all sorts of nuts and apples and oranges."
"We gots all that. Why d'we need someone to bring us more?"
"How's he get in the house?"
"He don't steal the socks, do he? I ain't givin' no one my socks."
"He rich? How's he pay for all that stuff?"
"Where's he put it?"
"Why's he bringin' stuff you already got? What's the fun in that?"
"How's he know what you already got so he knows what to bring more of?"
"He ain't brung me nothin' before, why's he want to do it this time?"
"He brings you what you already got, so if you gots nothin', you gets nothin'."
"Makes sense."
"Besides, livin' on the streets and sleepin' at The Lodge, there ain't no place to keep nothin'."
"Ya gots a point there."
"If you got nothin' and suddenly you got somethin', you either gets soaked by someone wantin' to steal it from ya or the cops'll bust ya for stealin' it yourself."
"Can't argue with that."
The kids broke off into smaller conversations, excited about lessons and Christmas.
Greta and Charles, used to the back and forth of the strangely logical conversations, merely smiled and tried to smother their amusement.
Tom and Bridget were stunned.
"Fear not," Charles quietly assured them. "You'll get used to it."
"I thought I was," Tom began, "but this, this…" He shook his head in amazement.
Charles chuckled. "Yes, I know. It's astonishing how their minds work to reason things out, is it not? So mature, yet filled with innocence."
Bridget nodded. "How do they do it? It goes so fast. Do they ever come up wrong?"
"Sometimes it's necessary to place a thought or two to guide them to more appropriate conclusions," Charles admitted. He looked around at the children with fondness. "However, this time I think their odd logic may just work in our favor."
Tom cast a puzzled look at Charles. At Charles's wink, his expression cleared. "I think you may be right," he agreed with a grin.
Cleaning up after lunch followed the usual routine. What was unusual was all the children reclaiming their seats at the table instead of running off to do whatever they normally did.
Greta looked at them in surprise. "What on earth are you doing?"
"Coach says we gotta get ready for Christmas," Finch announced.
"Yeah," Specs confirmed. "So we's hopin' we could have some more secret lessons today so we don't have to wait till tomorrow."
"Secret lessons?" Greta asked.
Specs explained about their shopping trips and coach's observations. "And he says we all of us is really smart."
"You sure about that, coach?" queried an uncertain Elmer.
"I am," confirmed Tom.
"Indeed, his observations are quite accurate," Charles told them. "You are all, each and every one of you, quite clever and quick-witted."
"What's that mean?" Elmer asked.
"It means you ain't stupid, nitwit," Race explained
"Oh." Elmer's face cleared, his expression glowing with the news of his intelligence.
"So can we, coach?"
"Can we have secret lessons today?"
"Please?"
Tom laughed. "They're not so secret if you know about them, are they?"
"But can we?"
"It's up to Greta."
Eight heads swiveled as one to look at her.
She laughed. How could she say no? She knew she couldn't, but the house wouldn't keep itself, not with this many people in it, so appearances must be kept. "Are all the beds made?"
Vigorous nodding rippled around the table.
"Rooms tidy?"
More nodding.
"How about downstairs?"
"Yeah, Greta. Parlor's clean, hall floor is swept, kitchen's done," Romeo announced.
"I got Jack's office 'bout as clean as it can be," Crutchie offered hopefully.
"Okay, then," Greta pretended to give in. "Go on with Coach. This house needs some Christmas spirit."
Excited cheers filled the room.
"So, coach, what do we do?" Albert asked when the excitement died down.
"We need a tree, some decorations, 一"
"A tree?"
"Why d'we need a tree in the house?"
"Ain't trees too big to fit inside?"
"Boys!"
They immediately got quiet and looked at Tom expectantly. "Your curiosity is indeed a wonderful thing to behold. I wish everyone I knew was half as curious as any one of you."
The boys and Annie giggled.
"But," he looked around with a mildly stern expression, "you must learn that sometimes your questions need to wait until the person speaking has finished what he has to say. He just might answer your questions before he's done."
There was a brief silence, then, "How does that work?"
"How can he answer my question if I don't even know what it is?"
"What do you do if I ain't got a question?"
"If he talked about stuff I know, why'd I wanna ask questions?"
"You don't ask questions, you don't learn nothin' new."
"So how we gonna learn then?"
Charles worked to hide his laughter, patted Tom on the shoulder, and left the kitchen with Greta and Bridget.
The boys took to Christmas like the children they would have been if they'd been born into another life. Annie's Christmases hadn't been as present-filled as she'd have liked due to her father's abusive rule, but her mother had done what she could to keep the spirit and magic alive for her daughter, and the boys eagerly soaked up her excitement.
In less than a day, the house was brimming with the smells and sounds of the holiday season. Every surface that could hold a decoration was filled to capacity. Baking was non-stop in the kitchen. And much time and speculation was given to the concept of giving gifts. The boys didn't quite know how to handle it, never having had the money to keep themselves well-fed and clothed, much less spending what little they had to give something away. And since they hadn't sold papers in weeks, they still didn't have any money.
Charles knew the boys would never accept an allowance; they had worked out how to earn their keep at Kelly House, and would not be comfortable accepting money without doing something in return. He and Tom came up with the idea of school being their new job, with Tom being their "boss." If anyone got a bad report, their "pay" would be docked. The guidelines and rules were sketchy at best, but the boys seemed to accept it, so Charles did, too, satisfied that the boys would finally have a way to get pocket change and the sense of independence that came with it.
In the evenings, after supper, they'd gather in the parlor to read or sing. Kate Pulitzer played the piano beautifully, and several nights, they sang carols together. Other nights, they took turns reading Christmas stories. They had begun their holiday preparations after Hanukkah was over, but the Jacobses came over one night to share the Hanukkah story anyway. Another night, Bridget shared the story of Jesus's birth. Tom and Charles introduced them to literary classics like A Visit From St. Nicholas, and, by far the boys' favorite, Charles Dickens's A Christmas Carol.
Tom insisted they read only one chapter each night; the boys balked at such a restriction, but he would not be moved. He wanted to heighten the anticipation of the story, and, by not giving in to their demands for "please, just one more chapter," he was able to use it as a springboard for some constructive discussions and lessons. There were five chapters in the book and they were set to finish it on Christmas Eve night .
Specs found he couldn't wait. They had just finished the third chapter, with the Ghost of Christmas Present. Specs had tried to resist, but he just had to know what the next ghost was and if Tiny Tim was really going to die. He had asked Coach, and had gotten permission to read ahead with the solemn promise that he wouldn't spoil the story for anyone else.
Specs had willingly promised and once the house was quiet, he snuck into the kitchen to read for a little while. He put the book on the table and went to the ice box. He poured himself a glass of milk, grabbed a few cookies from the jar and turned back to the table.
He froze.
Crutchie's chair was in the kitchen. At the top of the stairs to the second basement.
The chair was empty.
He moved slowly across the kitchen, his snack forgotten on the counter.
As he looked down at the empty seat, a movement caught his eye.
He looked down the stairs.
"Oh, my god! Crutchie!"