Disclaimer: This is a non-commercial work of fanfiction. Anything recognizable from Newsies belongs to Disney and not to me.
Chapter 91: At the Tailor's
"Well, that's a good morning's work, if I do say so myself," Philip Becker declared, stepping back to admire the set of shelves that he and Davey had installed in one of the downstairs apartments. "I'll readily admit that these kinds of things go much faster with a second set of hands and an assistant who's got some height." He clapped Davey on the back.
"It was helpful to learn how to put these up," Davey said as they both bent down to clean up their tools. "It really increases the storage space in this unit."
"Well, Deborah Gerlach is an old friend of my wife's, and she's a dear soul, but as you can see, she's got a penchant for holding on to things," the landlord disclosed. "Ever since her husband passed away, she's kept most of his belongings stored away in these boxes, but I didn't realize that they took up so much room until I was here last week to fix a squeaky door hinge and noticed how little living space she actually has. I figured we might be able to help with that."
Getting to his feet, Philip looked around to make sure they hadn't forgotten anything, then nodded in satisfaction. "Deborah said she'd be back around noon, but we'll lock up just in case she's running late. I'll take the tools; do you think you can manage the ladder? We'll take it back to the office."
"Not a problem." Davey grasped the side rail of the ladder, then followed the landlord out of the apartment, waiting until Philip had locked the door before starting towards the stairs. They made their way back up to the third floor of the tenement and returned the ladder and tools to the supply closet before deciding to take a break for lunch, after which they would tackle the next project on their list.
"Is your family expecting you back, David?" Philip asked as Davey prepared to take his leave.
"No, sir. Les is out selling right now, but Jack - the newsboy you met on the fire escape - is going to make sure he gets home once they've finished selling their papers. My mom is visiting a friend, and my dad's probably resting."
"Why don't you join me for lunch, then?" the landlord suggested, opening up the hamper that had been set on his desk. "If I know my wife, she's packed enough for both of us, and I'd be glad for the company."
"Are you sure?" Davey hesitated.
Philip waved him over. "Have a seat, son. You don't need to stand on ceremony - you've been working for me too long to do that."
"Thank you," Davey answered, sitting down in the chair that he usually occupied during his tutoring sessions with Sadie.
"Are beef sandwiches agreeable to you?" the landlord asked, pulling the comestibles out of the hamper. "We've got those for starters, as well as some hard-boiled eggs, a jar of pickled bean salad...oh, and a small apple pie. Leave it to Miriam to remember that."
Davey tried not to salivate at the mention of all the food; his mother was a good cook, but her lean grocery budget meant that the fare her the family partook of was rather limited in both quantity and variety. They didn't eat much meat, and fruit pie of any sort was generally out of the question.
"That all sounds delicious," he managed finally, his stomach already beginning to rumble in anticipation.
"Good." Philip put a sandwich on a plate, then added an egg and a generous spoonful of bean salad alongside it before neatly dividing the apple pie in half and placing one of the semi-circles next to the sandwich.
"Eat up," he smiled, setting the plate, a fork, and a napkin down in front of Davey. "You've worked hard this morning."
"Thank you, Mr. Becker," Davey scooted his chair closer to the table. Once the landlord had gotten his own serving, they dug into their food.
"Everything's tasty," Davey remarked. "Does Mrs. Becker normally pack you your lunch?" He took another bite of bean salad.
"On the weekends, Miriam will leave a hamper in the office if she's going to be out for the afternoon," Philip answered. "Otherwise, I normally try to dine with her and the girls if our schedules line up. Sometimes Sadie will be at work, or she - and occasionally Abigail - will be visiting a friend, and then I'll fend for myself, but if everyone's home, we try to eat together. Speaking of which…" he set down his sandwich and gave Davey a curious look, "I hear that you'll be paying us a social call soon - to read to my second-youngest daughter, if I'm not mistaken."
Davey nearly choked on his mouthful of beans.
"Yes sir," he answered when he'd finally swallowed his food. He hadn't forgotten about his upcoming engagement with Sadie, but he'd been so ecstatic that she had agreed to his proposition that he hadn't stopped to consider how the rest of the Becker family might feel about the matter. "That is, if it's all right with you and Mrs. Becker. I wouldn't want to impose."
"It's no imposition," the landlord assured him. "But we're all quite surprised. Sadie isn't usually the kind to enjoy reading - that's normally Abigail's diversion of choice. You must have quite a way of elevating the material." He picked up his sandwich and took a bite.
"I think it has more to do with Sadie humoring me than anything else," Davey admitted. "She was probably just too kind to turn me down."
"I doubt it," the landlord answered frankly. "My daughter is gentle-hearted, but she's certainly capable of saying 'no', and she's had ample practice refusing invitations that she's had no desire to accept."
There was a weightiness behind the words, not unlike the sudden sobriety that Davey had observed on a few occasions in Sadie's manner of speaking, and he wondered what it meant, but it didn't seem polite to ask, and Philip apparently had no intention of elaborating, for he deftly steered the conversation to another topic.
"My wife and second-oldest daughter will be pleased to meet you," he said amiably. "I believe Sadie's already told you about Lilly's condition?"
"Yes sir, she has," Davey affirmed. He paused for a moment, then added, "I apologize if this is an impertinent question...but is there anything in particular I should be aware of when I meet her - Lilly, that is? I don't have much knowledge when it comes to seizures and what causes them, and I wouldn't want to accidentally exacerbate her condition."
"It's kind of you to ask," the landlord responded, looking thoughtful for a moment. "To be perfectly honest, we still aren't completely sure of the answer to that ourselves. Lilly's affliction has baffled most of the medical practitioners who have seen her, and we're still in the dark as to what causes her episodes, but the cumulative effects of the seizures on her development have been noticeable. Lilly is intellectually impaired, so she won't talk to you the way my other daughters will. We believe that she understands much of what she hears, but her ability to express her thoughts and emotions is significantly hampered. On the rare occasions that she does speak, her sentences often come out slurred or similar to what you'd hear from a child a third of her age. Sometimes, she simply won't answer you at all.
"Her seizures are unpredictable, too; she seems more prone to severe ones when she's overtired or stressed, but even on relatively calm days, she'll sometimes have a bad spell. Sadie and Abigail both know what to do if that happens, so you needn't worry about that, but just be aware that there could be some interruptions to your reading time if Lilly has an episode. They generally only last a few minutes, and she's fine - if a little tired - after that, but they can be a little startling, if you're not prepared for them."
"I'll keep that in mind," Davey said quietly, trying to process the information. "Thank you for telling me."
"Well, I'm glad that you asked; as I said, Lilly will be glad to meet you, but she may not give any outward indication of it while you're around. She can be shy with strangers, but I think she'll enjoy having company, since she hardly goes out these days." The landlord smiled. "After your visit, you'll have met nearly the entire family - all except for Judith and her household."
"Sadie told me that they live in Boston."
"That's correct; Judith's husband, John, has a job there at a bank."
They chatted for several minutes about their respective families, Philip sharing a little more about his oldest daughter and then asking Davey about his own family. The landlord inquired first after Mayer's condition, then asked about Esther's job at the lace factory before turning the conversation to Les and his gradual adjustment back to school. Apparently, one of the Becker sisters must have mentioned some of the younger boy's struggles over the past few months, for Philip seemed to be well aware that the transition had been an up and down one. To Davey's surprise, the landlord disclosed that he himself had struggled in school - he'd worked as a shoe-shiner to help support his family when they'd been down on their luck and could only attend his classes part time for several years, which had set him back and had caused his education to be rather piecemeal. Though he contended that he could still remember the lessons he'd learned from that impactful time of his life when he'd been working more than studying, the fact remained that he'd missed out on what had been taught in the classroom while he'd been out learning on the streets.
"It's an education either way as long as you're willing to learn," he concluded, "but there's something to be said for having a good foundation of book learning to get you ahead." He smiled. "Sadie tells me that you're planning to finish school with the rest of your class, David. That's an admirable goal, and an indicator of how bright you are that you've been able to keep up with your studies despite having to take such a long leave of absence from the classroom."
Davey was about to assert that said goal would have been completely out of reach if it hadn't been for Sadie's tutoring, but before he could do so, the landlord polished off the last of his lunch and then rose, saying that he just remembered he'd promised a tenant he'd stop by shortly after noon to check on a door hinge that had come loose.
"Take as long as you need to finish your lunch, David," he said as he grabbed his tool chest from the supply closet. "I should be back in a jiffy; if not, you can meet me over at number twenty-seven when you're done." So saying, he took his leave, and Davey was alone in the office.
He had only a few bites of sandwich left and the apple pie, and these he finished quickly, not wanting to linger while his employer was already back at work. It had been a pleasant - if relatively short - break; he'd enjoyed the landlord's jovial company, and it was always interesting to hear about people's life experiences and what they'd learned from them.
Carefully stacking his dishes back inside the hamper, Davey was about to head downstairs to the apartment that his employer had indicated when the door to the office opened, and the man himself reappeared.
"Quick enough fix," he said by way of explanation. "I hope you didn't rush the rest of your lunch - Miriam's apple pie is meant to be savored."
"It was excellent," Davey affirmed. "I'll have to tell her how much I enjoyed it when I come to visit."
They turned their attention to the next several items on their list, and the rest of the afternoon was spent in productive activity, Davey picking up a few more tenement-keeping skills along the way to add to his newfound knowledge of building shelves from the project that morning. Around three o'clock, they were interrupted by the arrival of Mrs. Gerlach, who had come up bearing a plateful of pastries that she'd baked in appreciation of their service. They stopped to enjoy one apiece, and Davey felt positively opulent as he enjoyed his second sweet of the day.
The last hour and a half of work passed by quickly, and though he was tired and a little sore by the end of it, he was grateful that he'd decided to skip selling The World that morning so that he could spend the entire day working on projects at the tenement. He'd gotten more settled and skilled as a newsboy over the last several months, and moving papers wasn't as hard as it used to be, but the steady pace of working with the landlord suited him better, and he enjoyed learning new things along the way.
"Four-thirty already," Philip noted, glancing at the clock as they situated the last of their tools in the supply closet for the final time that day. "I didn't realize it had gotten so late." Looking thoughtful, he walked over to his desk, unlocked it, and took out a money box, counting out some coins and handing them to Davey.
"Here's what I owe you for your work today, David, plus a little extra for the next assignment I'm going to send you on." He closed up the money box and replaced it in the desk. "I promised Miriam that I'd take Sadie her dinner tonight - she's going to be working a little later at the tailor's, as Mr. Gorham's wife fell ill yesterday and he stayed home today to care for her. I was planning to run the food over to the tailor's myself, but this last project took a little longer than I expected, and I'm due to meet with a potential tenant within the hour. If you wouldn't mind, I'd like you to take Sadie her meal before you call it a day."
"I wouldn't mind at all," Davey answered truthfully. He would have said yes under any circumstances, even if money hadn't been involved, but the fact that he'd been so handsomely paid for his work that day made him even more eager to agree. Funds had been tight lately for his family - tighter than usual - so every bit of it would be needed. "Thank you, Mr. Becker, for the work today." Davey tucked the money carefully into his pocket. "This will help my family a lot."
"You earned it," the man smiled. "Now, let me run over to the apartment to get Sadie's dinner, and then I'll let you be on your way."
Gorham's Tailor Shop was located on Chambers Street, not far from the newsboy lodging house, and Davey found the small establishment without any difficulty, despite the fact that it had been several months since his initial visit there on that fateful day when he'd been accompanying Katherine Plumber on her errands and had stumbled upon the secret of her true identity.
The shop was as neat and well-kept as he remembered it, and as Davey caught sight of the different garments of clothing displayed in the glass windows, he wondered if Sadie had sewn any of them. There was a cheerfully-colored day jacket in a shade of orange that reminded him of her (he seemed to be seeing the color everywhere these days), and he resolved to ask her about it as he opened the door to the shop, curious to see if the jacket, indeed, was her handiwork.
The bell hanging above the door announced his arrival, and he heard the sound of someone coming forward from the back of the shop, but to his surprise, it was not Sadie who emerged from the curtained-off area, but an elderly gentleman with round-rimmed glasses.
"Hello there," he said, smiling at Davey. "What can I help you with?"
"I'm here to drop off dinner for Sadie," Davey explained, feeling a little awkward in his confusion. Was this the tailor himself? But no, Philip Becker had said he'd taken the day off. Maybe another assistant who worked there? Davey had expected to find Sadie alone, as he and Katherine had on their previous visit, but perhaps she had other coworkers who'd simply been out at the time. "It's from her father," he said, attempting to provide more information to clarify the matter. "He would have come himself, but he got caught up with something at the tenement, so that's why I'm here. I'm her neighbor, David."
"David, you said?" the man gave him an appraising look. "Well, that sounds familiar." He paused a moment, then asked, "You're not the newsboy who's acquainted with Katherine Pulitzer, are you?"
"Yes, that's me."
"Ah!" the man snapped his fingers. "Then I've heard a lot about you, David." He smiled. "I'm Walter Gorham, the owner of this shop. I'm sorry it took me a moment to figure out who you were - you'd be surprised how many boys have 'just happened' to stop by over the years while Sadie's been working, but I do believe the only one she's ever talked to me about at any length has been you."
Davey shifted self-consciously at the disclosure. It wasn't surprising, he supposed. He, of course, would be the odd one of the bunch, probably the only friend of Sadie's who stumbled over his words quite so often and who didn't know what to say in response to her teasing and who'd dropped out of school to become a newsboy -
But hold on, he reminded himself. Sadie wouldn't speak unfavorably about him like that behind his back, so she had to have been talking about something else. The strike, perhaps, and his role in it? That was the only scenario that made any sense…
Uneasily deciding to let the matter lie, he said aloud, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Gorham." He wanted to ask why the tailor, contrary to Philip Becker's story, was, in fact, at the shop, and if Sadie had gone home (for she didn't seem to be on the premises), but before he could figure out a tactful way to phrase the question, the tailor answered it himself.
"It's unfortunate that the timing didn't work out for you to see Sadie," he said regretfully. "I just stopped by about half an hour ago with an order for a customer that I'd been working on at home, and she's out now delivering it to him. She might not be back for another quarter hour or so."
"Oh, that's all right," Davey answered. "I don't need to see her - I just wanted to drop off the food. It sounds like she'll be working late tonight."
"We close at seven-thirty today," the tailor answered. "I'm grateful that Sadie was willing to cover the last few hours for me. This is one of our busiest days of the week, so I didn't want to close early, but my wife needs me at home. I'll be heading back to check on her once Sadie returns."
"I won't hold you up then, sir." Davey held out the basket of food containing Sadie's dinner that Philip Becker had given him. "Would you mind giving this to Sadie when she gets back?"
"I'd be glad to," the tailor smiled, taking the hamper from Davey's hands. "It was nice to meet you, David. Have a good evening."
After bidding the tailor goodbye, Davey left the shop, lost in thought as he headed back towards the tenement. Seven-thirty - that was the time that Walter Gorham had said the shop was due to close. It wasn't really all that late, but it would certainly be completely dark by that time, and just because that was the appointed hour to cease operations didn't mean that Sadie would actually be leaving by that time; she might have other things to attend to before she could go home for the night.
Should he have left a note at the tailor's offering to come back and walk her home? She could call over to the landlord's office if she wanted him to meet her, and he could easily make it back in time before seven-thirty...
It's really none of your business, he reminded himself. Sadie had brushed him off before when he'd expressed concern about her walking home unaccompanied, so he ought to let the matter go. Besides, her family surely knew about the situation, and if they weren't concerned, then he had no reason to be, either…
But it couldn't hurt just to offer.
Making his decision, Davey turned around and headed back towards the tailor's shop. He made it there in no time at all, and had just set his hand on the door, about to pull it open, when he heard a familiar teasing voice call out behind him.
"Can I help you, sir? Are you in need of some alterations, perhaps for that smart-looking blue and white work shirt you've got on? I must say, whoever chose the pattern has remarkably good taste!"
Davey felt himself grinning even before he turned around to face the owner of the voice.
"I'm not in need of any alterations at this time," he answered. "The shirt fits perfectly. But thank you all the same, and I'll make sure to pass along your compliments to the lady when I see her next."
Sadie smiled as she drew near. "Please do," she agreed. "It would tickle her considerably." She gave him a curious look. "It's probably impertinent of me to ask so abruptly…" she began, "but what are you doing here, Davey? I know you were going to be helping Papa today...did something happen at the tenement?"
Her voice was calm and pleasant, but he could see the worry in her eyes as she posed the question.
Lilly, he thought. She's probably worried that something happened to Lilly. Sadie had made mention a few times before of how it wasn't uncommon for the family's plans to be disrupted or curtailed due to Lilly's condition, and he could sense in her sudden wariness that she was already preparing herself for the worst.
"Nothing happened at the tenement," he said quickly, wanting to dispel her concern. "Your father ended up having a meeting, so he asked me to bring you your dinner. I left it with Mr. Gorham."
"Thank you!" Sadie smiled, the relief evident in her voice. "It was kind of you to come all the way here."
"It was no trouble," Davey assured her. "It's not a far walk at all." Realizing that it was the perfect segue to the question that he'd come back to ask, he added (before he could second-guess himself), "Speaking of the walk...I know that your father said you'd be working late tonight. I was wondering if...well, if you'd like me to come back to walk you home. Just so you're not heading back in the dark by yourself."
He prepared himself for her brush off, but to his surprise, she seemed to be a bit less opposed to the idea this time.
"It's thoughtful of you to be so concerned, Davey," she said, her expression softening. "And I appreciate the offer. I really do. But you needn't worry about me; I'll be fine. This isn't the first time I've walked home late before, and my family will be expecting me. Like you said, it's not a far walk at all, and I know my way around these streets."
"If you're sure," Davey said uneasily. He wasn't going to press the issue, not when she'd made her preference clear, but he couldn't help adding, "Take it as a standing offer, though, any time you're out late. Regardless of how far it is. I don't mind - really."
The landlord's daughter thanked him graciously, but she didn't capitulate, so Davey let the matter drop.
"Anyway, I'd better let you get back to work," he said hastily. He was about to open the door so that she could pass by, when he caught sight of the window display and recalled his earlier musing about which of the pieces might have been hers.
"Really quick, before you go, Chare…are any of these yours?" he asked curiously, gesturing to the clothes in the window. "I was wondering when I saw them earlier if they might have been your handiwork."
"The striped apron in the corner and the titian-colored jacket there are mine," Sadie answered, "and..." she smiled, "so is the shirt you're wearing, in fact."
Davey gave her a look of surprise. "Really? You..." he pointed to his shirt, "...you sewed this?"
Sadie huffed. "Don't look so incredulous, Davey. Just because I'm practically useless in the kitchen and only marginally competent at most other housekeeping endeavors doesn't mean I'm completely inept at doing anything useful with my hands. I've been sewing since I was a little girl, and I've made several shirts before, so it was easy enough to piece yours together after I'd gotten the measurements and purchased the material. I'll admit to resorting to the band collar because it was easier to sew and I was running out of time, but it seemed to suit you anyway."
The thought of it was endearing somehow, knowing that she hadn't simply gone to the store and picked out a shirt (though that in and of itself would have been a kind enough gesture); she'd deliberately chosen the material, determined the design, and then had sewn the entire garment herself. He hadn't thought it particularly fitting for him when he'd first seen it - he was used to the muted colors and formal look of his school attire - but once he'd begun wearing it, it had grown on him considerably.
"I can't believe you made this, Chare," he smiled, unduly pleased at the revelation. "I've never had anything like it before, but it's my favorite shirt now. You definitely knew what you were doing."
"Well, like I've told you before, blue's a good color on you," she shrugged. "Let it not be said that Sadie Becker, for all of her flaws, does not possess uncommonly good taste where aesthetics are concerned. I may not have the most innovative sensibilities when it comes to fashion, but I know a well-dressed boy when I see one."
Davey found himself momentarily flustered by the saucy little grin that accompanied the last part of her statement. Up until that point, he'd assumed that she'd only been playfully complimenting herself on her impeccable sense of style - that was the literal meaning of her words, after all. But the teasing smile had confused him. It had seemed almost coy, which wouldn't have been fitting if she'd only meant to pat herself on the back.
Surely she hadn't meant to imply...
He felt his face getting warm.
...she hadn't meant to imply that she thought him at all good-looking...right?
Never mind that now, Davey told himself. He was probably just overthinking it. Sadie had always been a bit of a tease, so there was no reason to read into those words. In all likelihood she'd meant nothing by it, and it really didn't matter, anyway...
But a bit of curiosity remained, and he found himself not as indifferent to the subject as he should have been. He'd always assumed that he looked as awkward as he felt whenever he was around the landlord's daughter, but the possibility - however remote - that she didn't see him that way was more pleasing than he would have liked to admit.
Since when had her opinion started to matter so much? he wondered as he tried in vain to think of what to say to her in response. Any other boy would have hidden his astonishment and would have bantered back, perhaps even giving her a slightly cheeky compliment in return, but he didn't know how to do that. He didn't know how to dance around a subject without ever alighting on it, and he wasn't at all versed in the art of concealing his emotions beneath a lighthearted show of gaiety, so responding to Sadie's statement in a like manner was out of the question.
He was, however, only too proficient at lapsing into silence, and this he did in short order, hoping that the dim shadows of the approaching twilight would be enough to conceal his embarrassment and delight at her compliment that probably hadn't even been intended as a compliment at all.
Sadie must have sensed his disquietude, for she smiled - a little more demurely this time - and said lightly, "At any rate, I'm pleased to hear that you've found my work serviceable and to your liking. I know that the circumstances surrounding it were less than ideal, but at least you got an acceptable replacement shirt out of the whole disagreeable business involving the paint."
"Not just a shirt - a friend, too," Davey responded, finding his voice. "And the paint incident really wasn't that disagreeable."
Sadie laughed. "You say that now, Davey, but I can still vividly recall the extremely miffed look that you gave me and the rather imperious way you reiterated your assertion that I should not have been standing on those books in the first place."
"Books are for reading, Sadie," he smiled. "Not for climbing on."
"So says the bookish one of the two of us."
"So says everyone."
"Everyone who lacks the imagination necessary to repurpose reading material!"
Davey gave her a look of mock indignation. "Did you just call me dull, Chare?"
"I'd never!" she exclaimed with equally-feigned dismay. "I only remarked that your approach to books is rather...prosaic."
"You're going to be subjected to that rather prosaic approach in a few days when I come to read to you," Davey reminded her. "Maybe you'd like to reconsider our appointment and bow out now while you still can."
"And let you off the hook when it comes to trying my baking?" Sadie sniffed. "Hardly. You're going to have to come up with a better excuse than that if you want to renege on your end of the bargain."
Davey shook his head, allowing himself a grin. As usual, he couldn't quite manage to keep up with her, try as he might. "You are the most ridiculous girl I've ever met, Sadie," he said fondly. "And I mean that in the best possible way."
She looked dubious. "I don't see how that could at all be complimentary."
"I mean that you're unbelievable. You're smart and quick-witted, you've got both an impulsive and an industrious side, and you can go from being serious to absurd without any awkwardness at all. I don't think I've come across that combination of traits in a person before. It's unique - or maybe remarkable is a better word. I'm not really sure how to explain it, but…" he gave her a little smile. "I guess I'm just trying to say that you're one of a kind."
"I can assure you, Davey, I'm perfectly ordinary." Sadie looked uneasy. "Just ask my family, or any of our classmates at school. They'll tell you that your assessment of me is far too generous."
"If that's true, then I'd have to say that their approach to you is rather prosaic," Davey quipped. He generally wasn't much good at teasing her, but an honest compliment was something that he could give, and he'd meant what he'd said, regardless of whether or not she could see it herself.
"Anyway," he said, "I ought to let you go now - I know Mr. Gorham is waiting for you, and I've already held you up longer than I should have." He reached out to open the door so that she could pass through. "Goodnight, Chare," he said, giving her a nod. "I'll see you tomorrow night for tutoring."
She returned the farewell cordially enough, but he could tell that he'd thrown her off balance with his sincere if obliquely-delivered compliment, and as she entered the shop, he thought that he might have seen her blushing just a bit, though it could have simply been the dim lighting playing tricks on his eyes.
Maybe he was capable of keeping up with her after all.
Smiling to himself, Davey closed the door gently, then turned around and walked in the direction of the tenement, leaving the tailor's establishment behind.
A/N: A little progress is better than none...right? ;) Thanks for hanging in there with the slow burn and for reading this chapter; I'd love to hear what you thought of it!