Author's Note
.｡｡*ﾟi hope you're staying safe and being kind to yourself! .｡｡*ﾟ
Warning: Mentions of death, sexual coercion
Love youuu 💗
𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒆𝒏𝒋𝒐𝒚
NEW YORK CITY - 1894
"Goddammit," Twelve-year-old Francis Sullivan cursed as he folded his arms against the stinging wind. He ducked his frozen lips and nose down as he peered at the children flooding out of St. Patrick's Cathedral.
There in the center of the swarm was Sister Mary Beth, speaking to a few of the littler children who clung to her, speaking loudly over the church bells.
Francis crossed the busy street and made his way to the cathedral steps.
"Francis!" The high-pitched excited shriek of his younger sister made him crack a small smile, the dimples on either side of his cheeks brightening through.
The girl crashed into her older brother's legs, hugging him tightly. Francis reached down and lifted ten-year-old Sophie, swinging her around in the air. "And how are you, little elf?"
Sophie squealed with laughter as he set her down. "I'm hungry."
Francis frowned to himself, and then tried to plaster on a smile for his little sister. He knew they would go to bed hungry again that night. "Well, I guess we'll just have to find something to eat, yeah?"
Sister Mary Beth made her way over to the Sullivan siblings after saying goodbye to the other children. Francis offered Sister Mary Beth a kind yet bashful smile.
"We've missed you, Francis," Sister Mary Beth said and patted Sophie's head. "Where have you been the last couple of weeks?"
Francis shrugged, feeling Sophie's smaller hand reach up and latch onto his larger and calloused one.
Before he could reply, Sophie spoke. "Francis works, Sister."
Sister Mary Beth looked down at the little girl and nodded. "Is that so?" Then she moved back to the older boy. "How are you, Francis?"
Francis nodded. "I'm okay."
Sophie looked up at the nun with big doe eyes, nearly identical to her brother's. "Francis said we won't have nowhere to go because Reverend Mother died. She was gonna to take us in."
The smile from Sister Mary Beth's face disappeared.
Sophie sighed. "I guess that won't happen now, huh?"
Sister Mary Beth couldn't think of much to say, staring down into the pleading eyes of the hungry children before her. "I'm sorry."
Sophie shook her head, smiling a little. "That's alright, Sister. My daddy said soon I can get a job with Francis. He sells newspapers!"
Sister Mary Beth looked with concern at the child. "You don't have to sell newspapers to get money for food. You can eat here."
Francis pursed his lips and shrugged again.
"Francis won't come unless he has to," Sophie said to the nun. "He doesn't like it here no more."
Sister Mary Beth looked at Francis. "The streets are no place for a girl her age to be working on, especially late at night," she said to Francis, a hand on Sophie's shoulder. "Do you understand?"
Francis nodded, his eyes much duller and lifeless than the younger girl's. He had seen too much death, too much loss for his eyes to have any spark left.
Sister Mary Beth felt guilty for reprimanding the boy, but she did not want such an innocent child as Sophie to be exposed to the horrors of the city at night.
"And how is your father? Is he still treating you well?" The nun asked, knowing the answer. She had seen the nasty bruises on Sophie's arms and face, which she claimed were caused by falling down the stairs or running into things.
Francis, Sister Mary Beth noticed, looked far worse than the last time she'd seen him. He was paler and thinner, his fingers looking skeletal.
When Francis used to attend Bible instruction with Sophie, Sister Mary Beth remembered him to be a quiet but much friendlier boy than the one standing before her. Ever since their mother had fallen ill and their usually absent father returned, the Sullivan children appeared to be in worse condition.
One day Francis would have a split lip and another week a black eye his father. Other times, Sophie would not be able to sit for a lesson because she'd been spanked so hard.
Francis came less and less until a few weeks ago, he stopped coming altogether. It made Sister Mary Beth worried. Only Sophie attended now.
Reverend Mother had told Mary Beth that those Sullivan children would be on the streets by the end of the year if she didn't take them in herself. The elderly nun died before she could.
"Francis, if you ever need to talk to someone, other than our Lord, I'm here to listen," Sister Mary Beth said, putting a warm hand on the boy's shoulder.
Francis flinched and pulled away, hiding his eyes.
He managed a nod, averting his gaze, and began to pull Sophie away with him. Sophie waved a fond goodbye to Sister Mary Beth.
"Bye! I love you!" Sophie called, trying to keep up with her older brother's pace.
"God watch over them," The nun whispered a prayer as she watched the siblings head off down the busy sidewalk for the last time.
"Would you like a bowl of soup, little bitty?" His mother rasped tiredly. She had stayed awake to see him home, as she always did. "I saved some for you in the pot on the table. I'm afraid it's cold now."
Francis took off his cap and ragged coat, his eyes about to close from exhaustion. He was covered in dirt from head to toe, but a bath was simply not possible. They hadn't any clean water, much less a basin in which to properly bathe.
"No, thank you, Ma," he mumbled tiredly.
His mother bit her lip worriedly as he pulled off his boots and laid down next to his sleeping sister. Her husband had left minutes ago for a drink, and she had put Sophie to sleep not long before.
Her son had started selling newspapers during most of the day, and he often came home too tired for supper. This meant he was only eating every other day, and sometimes he had enough to buy a piece of fruit for lunch.
"Goodnight, lamb," she said to him, kissing the top of his head. He was already in too deep of a sleep to hear what she had said, knowing he had to be up early the next morning. "Sweet dreams," she whispered, smoothing his sweaty dark hair back and pulling the blankets to his chin.
Two months later, Francis' mother was dead. His father was in and out of their flat, sometimes forgetting to pay the rent. He spent most of the nights down at the pub, using up Francis' earnings, and leaving the two children to fend for themselves.
This meant Francis was now in charge of the household. He couldn't go to an orphanage, as he knew they would split him and Sophie up.
He barely had time to grieve his mother's death. Instead, he held his little sister while she cried, day in and day out. She barely left his side, and he was exhausted from comforting her all night and working all day.
She cried so much. Francis wanted to cry too but he knew he couldn't. Not in front of her anyway. He had to be strong.
When Mr. Sullivan forgot to pay the rent for a third time, they were kicked out of their tenement and forced to be homeless. Francis continued to work hard selling papers, while his sister minded herself in alleyways and on sidewalks. Their father had once again disappeared.
When Francis didn't earn enough for food, he turned to picking pockets when the opportunity presented itself. Even then, he and Sophie were frail and hungry most of the time.
Francis made sure Sophie played near where he sold papers so he could keep an eye on her from across the street.
Once, Sophie was approached by a boy much older than her brother. He asked if she was hungry, to which she replied that she was starving. The street kid then asked if she was willing to work in exchange for food.
"I know a nice lady who will take pretty girls like you in. She'll give you a warm bed and good food," he had said, playing with a blonde strand of Sophie's hair as she giggled. He winked at her, and she blushed, too little to understand the flirtatious gesture. "All's ya gotta do is come with me, and I promise you won't be hungry for long. I'd look after ya real good."
Francis had just sold his last paper for the afternoon, and as soon as he saw the older boy touching and talking to his sister, he bolted over in an instant. The street kid looked at Francis and raised an eyebrow, gesturing to Sophie. "Is she your whore? I didn't know. Thought she was alone."
Francis was seething with rage. He decidedly didn't punch the boy. He must've seen a lot worse to have made that conclusion about Sophie.
Francis quickly pulled Sophie to his side protectively.
"Yeah, she's mine," Francis lied, keeping a scowl on his face. "And this is my corner. So beat it if you ain't wanna fight."
The street kid tossed him a glare but moved along.
"Are you okay?" Francis asked worriedly, searching the girl's face. "Did he touch you?"
"No," Sophie said, a bit confused. "What was he talking about?" She asked, a hurt tremor in her voice.
Francis looked down at her, seeing the shame in her eyes. He ruffled her hair, shaking his head. "Nothing, nothing at all, Soph."
He bought her an apple with the money he'd earned to cheer her up while he sat there in complete agony. He insisted she eat all of it, and that he had already eaten. But he hadn't.
Francis was slowly starving to death. He sat there peeling off slices of the apples with a knife to give to Sophie, never once allowing himself a bite.
His ailing health seemed to get worse and worse. He went without food almost every two days so that Sophie could eat with the dwindling money he had left.
Not making enough from selling papers, he began begging. He begged those who walked by to spare some money or hire him for work. He wouldn't mind being cheap labor if he were paid.
Very few took pity on him, even when he told them he had a little sister to feed. He was just one of hundreds.
"I'm so hungry, Francis," Sophie sounded near tears as she huddled against her older brother in the darkened alley, shivering from the cold.
Francis remained expressionless.
Sophie hadn't eaten in three days. Francis hadn't eaten in six. He was near death, and he was afraid he'd leave her all alone.
Francis wanted to cry. His stomach was in knots, beginning to eat itself. It was more painful and slow than anything else he'd ever experienced. He'd seen another boy about his age starve to death in an alley.
The kid was crying softly on the ground, curled up in a thin ball, writhing in agony from hunger. It was the most horrible sound Francis would never be able to erase from his mind, like a kitten being slowly crushed under the wheels of a carriage.
Francis had gone to steal some food for his sister, as well as for the boy, but when he came back, the kid was still lying on the ground, unmoving. Francis then realized the boy was dead.
He was horrified to find a group of sewer rats already beginning to swarm him. Francis sensed he would eventually end up like that boy if he didn't do something.
He knew what he had to do, and it killed him to do it. He turned his sister over to an orphanage so she wouldn't see him suffer. He figured he didn't have long before starvation overcame his system.
His hand shook as he knocked on the large doors of the Children's Aid Society asylum.
The matron who opened the door looked warily at Francis. "No begging here," she said coldly, beginning to close the door.
"Wait!" Francis tried to keep the door from closing. "I'm not here to beg. Please, ma'am, let her stay here. I…I can't take care of her," he said ashamedly.
The siblings were brought in and inspected by another matron, who combed through their matted hair to check for lice. She checked for illness or injury of any kind. Miraculously, malnutrition was the only thing she found.
"Sign here," the matron gave Francis a document and a pen, not explaining what it said. "We don't take boys your age. You're too old. As of now, you are no longer her guardian. She will belong to the state, and you haven't any custody rights, regardless of your blood relation. We do not permit visits."
Francis reluctantly took the pen, knowing this was best for Sophie.
"Can I say goodbye?" He asked, his voice cracking.
Sophie had cried, staining his ragged shirt with tears, hugging him so tightly she could feel his ribs poking out. Francis looked at her saddened face. She looked so sad and afraid. It made his heart ache with sorrow.
"No tears, now," Francis said, his throat tight. "We won't say goodbye. We'll see each other soon."
Sophie tried to be brave. "I'll take care of myself, Francis."
"I know," he said.
He didn't want to leave her there, but Francis knew at least she'd be warm and fed and given shelter, something he couldn't do.
He'd cried his eyes out in an alley alone shortly before he made the decision.
Francis asked for a job at the orphanage so he could be closer to his sister, but the matron turned him down immediately, saying how inappropriate that would be.
Another glance at Sophie's distressed face, and down at the pen in his hand and the paper before him, Francis whimpered quietly and shook his head. He handed the paper back to the matron – the space for his signature blank.
"I…I think I've changed my mind," he said, taking Sophie's hand. "We're leaving."
The matron watched them go with indifference, without so much as a word of protest.
As it began to rain, Francis pulled Sophie into the nearest public building, trying to escape the downpour. The interior had the air of a place that was trying to be fancy, but instead looked tacky.
It was a theater of some kind, with stagehands moving furniture around and sweeping the floors. People milled about, enjoying drinks, and singing bawdy tunes.
Suddenly, out of the shadows, came a whisper. "And what do we have here?" A woman said as she came into view, a fan clasped in her hand. "Two frightened little mice?"
Francis looked ready to cry. "Please, we have nowhere else," he said, his jaw wobbling. "Just until the rain stops. We'll be quiet."
Sophie's teeth chattered from the cold as she held onto Francis tightly, staring wide-eyed up at the pretty lady in the blue evening dress.
The woman, upon seeing the children's desperate faces, paused and her expression softened. "You're all alone in the world, then?"
Francis nodded.
"What are your names?"
"I'm…Jack Kelly," he said, trying out the name he'd given himself. It came from a dime novel – one about a young highwayman out west who'd befriended the great Sitting Bull. The name was also a means of evading their nightmare of a father. "And this is my little sister, Sophie Kelly."
Sophie peered up at Francis but went with it wordlessly, giving a little curtsey. She thought this lady might be a princess based on the way she was all done up and sparkling.
"Esmeralda Olsson," the spectacularly dressed woman said with a smile. "But everyone calls me Medda."
Sixteen-year-old Grim Krause had finished shining shoes for the day, though it had been slow for business. The Brooklyn Newspaper Row was crowded with boys of all ages, hurrying to buy the evening edition.
Grim never put much stock into being a newsie. It didn't help much that the words on the pages meant nothing to him.
It was cold and snow was starting to fall. Grim had lined his coat with borrowed newspapers to stay warm, and he crackled each time he stomped his feet or blew on his hands. On a good day, he could shine as many as three hundred shoes. But this wasn't one of those days. He'd barely gotten one hundred customers as it was. No one was out in this weather.
He figured he'd head back to the lodging house and catch up with his friends for a light supper. Smiling to himself, he knew Tide, No Name, and Calico would be wanting to play poker, demanding a rematch from the other night when Grim had cleaned them out.
He wasn't paying attention to where he was walking, his eyes trained on the ground to avoid ice patches. And he was moving so fast, his mind elsewhere, he didn't see the girl coming around the corner a foot in front of him.
They collided, making the girl drop her shawl, and scaring the life out of Grim. He cursed in Yiddish, clutching his racing heart, and bracing himself for a lecture.
She looked to be his age, but much smaller in height. The girl felt horrible hunger rip an agonizing wound in her hollow stomach. She inhaled dizzily, putting a hand weakly to her spinning head.
The girl bent down to get her shawl and noticed the scuffed, worn boots before her. Even the act of bending felt like it required massive muscle power, as the starvation had caused her joints to weaken and her mind to swim. She looked up further from the boots until she met the stranger's face.
Neither one spoke for a moment as she studied him. Wide, blue eyes met her dark ones. She stared into them in an almost hypnotic state before he finally tore his gaze away from hers and looked down at the shawl in the filthy, snow-covered gutter.
Quickly, the tall boy reached down and retrieved the shawl. He handed the tattered garment to her, which she accepted with caution.
She couldn't form a proper thanks, and simply stared at the shawl in her hands as if she didn't recognize it.
Grim wondered briefly if she couldn't speak at all. She crinkled her eyebrows, starting to stand up, but tripped over her own feet – weakened from hunger and exhaustion. Before she knew it, she was on the ground, sitting in the filthy gutter. The hunger was so excruciating she nearly fainted.
"Oh, shit," Grim mumbled, extending his hands to pull her back up.
The girl refused to look him in the eye, but instead focused on his boots, scratching her arm nervously. A small sigh escaped her lips, and she looked ready to collapse again.
"Would you like to spend some time with me?" She managed, tossing back her long hair to reveal the top of her breasts from her chemise as she shivered.
Grim looked away, getting a strange pit in his stomach.
The girl trembled in the icy cold, yet refused to put her shawl back on, twirling a strand of her hair with reddened fingers.
"Come on," she cooed, her voice stilted as her teeth chattered. "I can help you forget all your troubles for a penny."
Grim nodded, eyeing her deathly thin frame and frost-bitten bare feet. All he said was, "You hungry?"
The girl looked puzzled for a moment and finally shrugged – all her brassiness diminishing in an instant as she once again looked like a frightened child. "Yes," she said hesitantly.
"Me too," Grim said, holding out his hand.
She took it softly, following him into a bakery where he spent almost all his earnings to buy her a hot roll and some cheese.
In the nearby alley, he sat with her as she hungrily ate without thanking him. She was taken aback by his generosity, cherishing the feeling of food in her empty stomach. He looked thin himself, yet he gave her all of it.
Suddenly, she paused and looked at Grim. She knew what he wanted, why he had waited with her. Of course, he'd be expecting something in return.
"What's your name?" Grim asked, breaking the silence.
She swallowed the last lump of bread down quickly, ignoring the way it scraped the back of her throat. "Natalie," she said quietly, never meeting his eyes. She wondered what he'd want her to do.
"I'm Miles."
She didn't say anything.
"Are you on your own, tayere?" He looked worriedly at the girl, pulling her shawl around her exposed shoulders after brushing the snow off it as best he could.
Natalie was entirely confused as to why he cared. She nodded slightly.
Grim nodded as well as if he'd already known the answer.
Natalie knew what he was expecting, so she lowered her shawl again, giving him a sultry smile and fluttering her eyelashes. "I can thank you, if you like," she said. "I can pleasure you however you want."
Grim stared at her for a second during which a slight, awkward pause occurred between them.
"The food you bought me," Natalie continued, her eyes dead despite her smirk. "What do you want me to do for it?"
Grim shifted his gaze to the brick wall opposite them. "Nothing," he mumbled.
He noticed her teeth chattering again and removed his own ragged coat, draping it around her. He fastened the buttons, engulfing her in the coat's warmth.
Natalie had never been more caught off guard in her life. This was a first. No man had ever turned her down for sex. They always wanted something from her.
Her false smile faltered. "Then what do you want?"
Grim studied her again, turning his gaze sideways and bending his head to bring her eyes up to his. "I didn't want to see another kid starve to death."
His words hit her in the gut. He'd seen right through her act.
"I'm not a kid," she replied indignantly.
"Okay, whatever you want," Grim said with a shrug.
Natalie seemed hurt by this, more out of frustration and humiliation than anything.
Grim noticed her change in expression and offered a slight, kind smile. "You're much too pretty for me, anyway," he added. "Probably couldn't even afford ya."
Natalie gave a dry, sardonic laugh at this. "The bread and cheese were good payment. I wouldn't need anything else," she said without looking at him.
"Is business that good?" He joked. "You're doing better than me."
Natalie smiled a little, shivering, and huddling into the coat. She ran her fingers along the material, bringing her knees to her chest. "Usually men take off my clothes, not give me more to wear," she said.
As she rested her chin on her knees, Grim took her small, cold hands in his large ones, rubbing them together for warmth, blowing on them.
"Where are your boots?" He asked her in shock.
Natalie looked down at her bare feet. "Got too small."
Without another thought, Grim took off his heavy work boots and wool socks. Natalie stared at him in pleasant astonishment as he slid the socks and boots onto her frozen feet. He tied the laces tightly around the boots so they stayed on, though they were about three times too big. At least, he thought, she would be warm.
"Oh," she murmured, genuinely shocked. "But won't you freeze?"
Grim shook his head. "Nah, I'm cold-hearted," he replied.
Natalie fidgeted with her hands. "Can't I offer you something? For free? I don't mind."
Grim, again, shook his head.
They sat there in silence. Then Natalie looked up at him and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek, smiling shyly. "Thank you, Miles, for your kindness," she said quietly before standing. "I'll not forget it."
Grim watched her go, feeling a bit of warmth despite the wind chill against his bare arms and feet.