Authors Note: This is my first time writing a newsie fan fic, and thus first time writing new york accents. Please, please, please bear with me as I learn how to write them (the accents and newsies fan fic)
Disclaimer at end of document so as not to give away any of story.
Summary: Jack hasn't been acting himself lately, and it's got the others worried. Meanwhile, a somewhat mysterious figure shows up in Brooklyn, and has a run-in with Spot. OR: Ever wonder why Jack is so very obsessed with Santa Fe?
Complete
By: Kora
Jack stared out of the window in the Newsboys Lodging House. All the other newsies were asleep, or about to be. He couldn't sleep, the dreams plagued him again. Even when he was awake, the thick mist of memories swamped his brain. 'Santa Fe…' the song haunted his every thought. Two months ago, Jack had passed up the chance to travel to the city he had so longed for most of his life. Everyone had told him that he had made the right decision in staying. "You couldnta left ev'ryone handin' like t'at. Ya gots family heah now." The problem was, nobody knew the whole story. Shaking his head in a vain attempt to clear it, Jack lay down on his bunk. Soon, weariness overtook him and he surrendered to the recurring dream.
Jack was transported back in time; now he was eight years old. His father had been thrown in jail a few months ago for theft, fighting, and family abuse. Now Jack, or Francis, sat beside his dying mother. She had pneumonia, but had refused to go to a doctor until it was too late.
Summoning her last bit of strength, Francis' mother gazed up at him and the one sitting beside him. "You two take care of each other; you need to stick together. You're all you've got left." With that, her eyes closed for the final time. Francis' lip quivered as he struggled to hold in the tears that threatened to flow. He clutched a young girl, who was only six, to his side. She herself refused to make any sound, in an effort to be like the brother she so adored and looked up to. Yet she could not stop the parade of tears from streaming down her face.
A few days later, when the landlord came around to collect rent, he discovered the children and their dead mother. A stupid man, he simply had the mother taken away. He somehow thought that the children would be able to collect enough money for rent. It didn't occur to him quite yet to kick the children out.
Francis took almost any jobs offered to him accepting food and water as payment instead of money. Becca (known as Becky only to her brother and mother) did all she could, but there weren't many jobs outside the factories for a six-year-old girl. Francis and Becca simply refused to work in the factories where they would run the risk of being split apart. Nevertheless, they were only prolonging the inevitable.
"Francisth, Francisth!" Becca shook her brother awake (she was still in the process of getting her two front teeth). She always woke up Francis, she being a morning person and her brother…not. "I'm hungry!" Francis cracked one eye open at his sister. Her wavy light brown hair seemed to ripple with the motion caused by her shaking him. Francis' heart broke when he saw the eyes, the warm soft brown pleading eyes. Filled with hunger, pain, and trust. Complete trust in her older brother. Eyes that would haunt Francis ever day after that. Especially when he thought of family, or Santa Fe.
Their mother had had a friend from Santa Fe, and she had told them story after story of the western city. Young Becca had a knack for music, and right after her mother died had composed the basics for "Santa Fe" in memory of her mother. Except for the family part, Jack added that.
It was the eyes that caused Francis to get up and make the fateful decision. "Stay heah, Becky. Ise gotta go get some food." He hugged the little girl tightly; it was almost as if he knew what was going to happen. "I love you, Becky."
"I love you too, Francisth," she replied, looking back at her brother. With one final quick hug, Francis left the room, went out into the street, and stole some food. He had no choice, he and his sister were starving. Francis only made it halfway back to his home when he was caught, and shipped to the Refuge. He never did find out what happened to his sister, Rebecca Sullivan.
When Francis broke out of the Refuge, he searched for Becca. Went back to their old home, but there was another family living there and no sign of Becca. He scoured the streets of New York, but to no avail. It was then that Francis, now Jack Kelly, decided to become a newsie, just until he could make enough money to buy a train ticket to Santa Fe. He and his sister, it had been their dream to go to that city.
Now some little voice in the back of his head told Jack that Becca was alive, and had made her way to Santa Fe. Years had passed, and even with skills as a newsie, Jack hadn't made quite enough money for a train ticket. Until about the time the strike happened. Only he couldn't leave during the strike, and Jack found that he couldn't leave after. The more rational part of his brain, the part that he'd started listening to more after he met Davey, told him that it was better to stay. Yet Jack couldn't shake the guilt, that he ought to be in Santa Fe or somewhere, trying to find his little sister. Only she wouldn't be little anymore. He was two years her senior, that would make her 15. Again, Jack saw her warm brown eyes, trusting him.
****
Somewhere, in a little passenger car of a train bound for Brooklyn, a young girl awoke with a start. She'd been having those dreams again…memories that were previously lost returning. And those eyes, strong and responsible, but with a softer side. Were they green…or hazel? As she wondered, a word floated to the surface of her mind. Whispering, she vocalized it: "Manhattan."
****
Jack's eyes snapped open and he sat up with a gasp. "Whoa, Cowboy, calm down. I's jus' me," Racetrack said. He stood by Jack's bunk. "I was jus' tryin' ta get youse up. I's time ta go carry da bannah. Say, have ya be'n havin' t'at dream ag'an?"
"I-ise fine, Race, don' woirry," Jack stuttered. Seeing Race's doubtful look, he repeated "I said ise fine, jus' a lit'le startled is all." His voice contained a definite 'end of discussion' tone. With one final concerned look, Race dropped the issue.
The day continued as any typical day for a newsie would. Jack met up with Davey and Les and they sold papes the entire day. The one difference was that Jack seemed more distracted. He wasn't as focused on selling, and therefore didn't sell half as many as he used to. The thing that really worried Davey was that this wasn't the first time lately that Jack had shown this sort of behavior. That night, Jack decided to accept the Jacobs' invitation to dinner. 'Maybe some good, real home-cooked food'll settle me stomach an' end da dreams' Jack thought. When dinner was over, Jack found himself out on the fire escape with Davey again, which had become a habit with the two of them. After a few moments, Davey broke the silence. "Just come out with it, would you Jack?"
"What?"
"You! Your behavior. You've been brooding a lot more lately. You've been more distracted; you don't eat or talk as much, you don't even sell as many papes as you used to. It's like your heart isn't in anything anymore."
"So what if it ain't?"
"Well, why?"
"I jus' think…think t'at maybe…maybe I shouldnta passed up t'at chance ta go ta Santa Fe."
"How could you still be considering that?" Davey asked, stunned. "I thought you thought it over and realized that your family, your life, is here. In New York. Especially as the leader of the Manhattan Newsies."
"You don't understand!" cried Jack, frustrated. He began to climb down the fire escape in an effort to run from the guilt that was starting to swarm around him, but Davey stepped in front of Jack, blocking him. "You can't run from all of your problems. And if I don't understand, it's because your not telling me everything."
Jack ducked around Davey and ran into the alley below. A few moments later Davey appeared behind him and grabbed his arm. Jack shook off Davey's hand, "do I need to tell you everything?"
"If you want me to understand, yes!" Davey said, voice beginning to raise in frustration. He'd never seen Jack this visibly upset before, and it was worrying him.
"It's because a my sistah!" Jack yelled back at him in an outburst. The alley became deadly silent. Jack turned away and faced the wall of one of the buildings creating the alley. Slowly, Davey walked over to Jack and put a hand on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry. I didn't know you had a sister," he whispered apologetically, seeing the pain that Jack was in.
"No one does," answered Jack, "'cept Spot. An' t'at's only 'cause he's known me since we was real little."
"Sometimes it lessens the hurt if you tell someone," Davey advised. Jack twisted to look at his friend. Time drug on, and Davey wondered if Jack was going to say anything. Finally, Jack took a deep breath and told Davey the story. The story of his father's alcoholism and abuse, his mother's death, how he and his sister had been forced to live on their own, how Jack had been taken to the Refuge. How he had found out that his sister hadn't been taken to the Refuge. How Jack had searched every children's jail, orphanage, everywhere conceivable in all of New York, but there were no traces of his sister.
"You know t'at song, Santa Fe?" Jack asked. Davey nodded. "It was my sistah who came up wit' t'e whole t'ing. Music, woids, ev'rything but t'e family part. I added t'at. It was always me'n Becky's dream ta go ta Santa Fe. Wese talked 'bout it a lot. And I gots t'is feelin', don't know how or froim wheah, but I gots t'is feelin' dat Becky's alive, and t'at maybe she made it ta Santa Fe. T'at's why I feel like I gotta go t'ere."
"Jack, you can't, you said yourself she was only six when you were taken to the Refuge. It's nearly impossible…"
"I know, I know. I's jus', I feel like I let my mot'ah down somehow, it was hoir las' wish fer us ta stay tagetha. An' even if she hadn't wished t'at, ise still would feel bad t'at I left me sistah out alone in t'e city."
"Jack, you can't blame yourself for what happened. You were only eight years old; it's amazing that you and Becca managed to stay together for the few months that you did."
"I know, I jus'--"
"But you can't go off to Santa Fe. Let's say that she did somehow manage to get down there, what's to say she didn't leave? You don't have the resources to search the entire country for a six-year-old girl."
"She's fifteen now," Jack corrected stubbornly. "An' t'at's bas'cally what Spot says. He's t'e one who's kept me from runnin' foah so long."
"Now I'm here to help you too. We're newsies, carryin' the banner together. And newsies got to stick together." Davey breathed an internal sign of relief as he saw the small smile start to creep across Jack's face. Slowly, Jack started to walk back to the Lodging House as Davey climbed up the fire escape to his apartment.
"Hey Mouth?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks."
"Anytime." With that, Jack disappeared into the night. Davey watched him go, and continued to stare in that direction even after he lost sight of his friend. Jack had a sister. Davey wondered what she would look like. Would she be pretty? Probably.
"Davey!" The shout broke Davey from his thoughts. He turned around to see Sara looking out at him.
"What?"
"You'd better get in here before Mom or Dad has to come out and get you."
"Coming." With one last look out at the empty street, Davey stepped inside from the night.
***
The next day brought a soft and quiet dawn, the pale pink, yellow, and peach hues from the rising sun creating a glowing appearance to the world. An early morning train pulled into a little station in Brooklyn. This station had hardly ever been used since Grand Central Station opened. Yet it still received enough business to stay open, mainly because its tickets were cheaper than those of Grand Central Station. The only glitch was you had to know about the existence of the Brooklyn Central Station, which few people outside of Brooklyn did.
A young girl hopped out of the passenger car, carrying a guitar case in one hand. A bag strap was slung across the shoulder parallel to her hand; the actual bag, about the size of a knapsack, hung just below her waist. She spoke to the group of people getting out of the train behind her, a handful of men and woman who looked in their early 20's. "I'll meet you at the place you mentioned earlier this morning. I want to look around the city first. It feels…" she paused and closed her eyes, then slowly opened them, "right".
The group nodded in understanding and walked off to the right in search of a place to eat breakfast. They carried various instruments and instrument cases: violins, drums, flutes, trumpets, etc. The girl took a deep breath, let out an invigorated sigh, then took off in the opposite direction. She wasn't hungry, she wanted to wander. She walked for a few minutes before reaching the harbor. Unbeknownst to her, she had strolled right into one of the favorite hangouts of the Brooklyn Newsies, and they especially hung around there in the early mornings and afternoons, when there was little other activity in the area.
It didn't take long for the newsies to realize that a girl was sauntering right through their favorite hangout. A girl alone by herself, at a time when few other girls her age would have any reason to be awake. And a type of girl none of them had ever seen in Brooklyn before, maybe never even in the rest of the city before. She was too clean-looking to be a street-girl, but she wasn't dressed right to be the daughter of anyone well-too-do. She was about 5 1/2 feet tall, and of average build. Light brown hair with waves tumbled down to just past her elbows. A few strands of her hair were braided, and a larger one of the braids in the back had a straw colored string woven into it and a pure white feather somehow attached.
Her eyes were of the normal brown, but they held a warm hue. The most intriguing thing, for a girl in 1899 New York, was the way she dressed. She wasn't dressed like a proper lady, nor like a newsie, or a girl working for a factory. She wore a soft cotton shirt of robin's egg blue. Khaki-colored slacks that were tucked into a pair of brown leather boots that went halfway up her calves were situated in the place of a dress or skirt.
All of a sudden, the girl stiffened and stopped. In a slightly annoyed voice, she called out, "whoever you are, you can come out now, I know you're there." After a few seconds, Spot Conlon ducked out from his hiding place behind a stack of crates. With Spot's entrance as a signal to appear, other newsies came out from their hiding spots. In his usual confident tone, Spot addressed the girl. "I'm Spot Conlon, leadah a' t'e Brooklyn Newsies." When he was finished, he waited. That tended to impress most of the girls he ran into, although he wasn't quite sure why.
The girl stared back at him with a blank look on her face. "And you're telling me this because…" she trailed off, waiting for an answer. Spot look at the girl for a few moments, then smirked his famous smirk. "Jus' checkin," he said.
"Checking? For what?" the girl's voice became more irritated.
"Checkin' ta see if youse gots any brains. 'Cause a goil wit' brains wouldn't keep goin' in t'e direction youse are, not wit'out proipah escouit. T'e scabs likes ta hang out in t'at area aroun' t'is time a' day."
"Scabs?" asked the girl, sounding very unconcerned and bored.
"Youse must not be from 'round heah if ya don't know what a scab is. Let's jus' say t'at a pretty goil such as yaself wouldn't wanna run inta any scabs."
"Really?" The girl's patronizing tone with a hint of fake curosity irked Spot a little, so he decided to try a more direct approach.
"Lissen heah, sweetface. T'em scabs, t'ey ain't too gentlemen-like. Goils like youse are always bettah off if ya sticks wit' guys like me and let us take ya wheahevah youse wanna go."
The expression on the girl's face changed to one of confidence overlying animosity that reminded Spot of someone. He hid his surprise, though, through his smirk. The girl leaned in closer to Spot and in a patient yet commanding tone she spoke. "Why don't you listen here. You don't even know me, so how could you possibly through a statement such as 'girls like you' at me? Besides, you shouldn't be categorizing people in the first place. Next, flirting like that doesn't work on me. I prefer to have the people around me be themselves, or what's the use of knowing someone when you don't really know them? Finally, I can take care of myself. If you offered to come with me to help me find the place I want to go, then fine. If you want to take me because you are genuinely concerned about my welfare, then that's fine too. But let me assure you, if you only want to come along because you want to flirt some more, then forget it." She finished flatly, then drew herself back up to her original position.
Folding his arms across his chest, Spot did his best to look indifferent yet foreboding, wiping the smirk from his face. The newsies around him shuffled and murmured nervously. Spot only got up in this stance when there was the potential for some major confrontation. However, the newsies couldn't see into Spot's mind. In reality, he had taken a liking to this girl. She wasn't about to be pushed around my anyone or anything, like Jack. That's who she reminded him of. But he couldn't let her know that, at least not with the other newsies around, not right away. He had an image to maintain.
"So wheahya headed?"
"Manhattan," was the simply reply.
"Manhattan? T'at's Cowboy's turf." Mentally he added 'funny t'at someone like you should be headed straight foah Jack. Should be intrestin' when t'ose two meet. I'd hate ta be around if t'ey butt heads.'
"Cowboy?" the girl asked dryly.
"Jack Kelly, Leadah a' t'e Manhattan Newsies. Cowboy's his nickname 'cause he's always dreamin' a' bein' one. Well, he ain't t'e official leadah' like I am a' Brooklyn, but t'e ot'ahs look up ta him like a leadah, an' he does lead t'em when t'ey gots ta be led--"
"What does the status ladder of the newsies in New York have to do with me?" clipped the girl.
"Jack's a good guy. You'd like him. Eidda t'at or you'd kill him."
"What would make you think that?"
"Youse reminds me a' him. Youse two seem a lot alike."
"Oh, aren't I just the lucky one." Ignoring her comment although mentally laughing at it, Spot continued.
"I can take ya ta Manhattan, but t'en I gots ta go sell papes. Ask aroun' t'e Manhattan Newsies foah Jack Kelly. He'll be able ta help ya with whatevah youse needs t'ere. He knows t'is city as well as I do, an' he knows Manhattan bettah t'en me."
"So what you're trying to say is that if I can find this Jack Kelly once I get to Manhatton, then that'd be a good thing."
"Pretty much." Spot then addressed the growing number of newsies who had massed in the area, watching the entire conversation between Spot and the girl. "Alright boys, it'll be time ta get your papes soon, an' when t'e times comes, go ahead an' get 'em. I'm gonna escouit t'is fine lady ta Manhatton, t'en I'll catch up wit' t'e rest of youse." Grumbling, they wanted to see more of this puzzling girl, the group of newsies dispersed. Sighing in exasperation when Spot offered his arm, the girl brushed past him and marched towards the Brooklyn Bridge. Spot had to jog in order to catch up with her.
"So…what's a goil like youse doin' in a place like t'is?" She whirled around on him.
"WHAT did I tell you about flirting?" Relaxing a little, she added, "You can drop the high and might, cool and unconcerned about anything but selling papes and getting girls act now. I realize that you had to keep it up around the newsies, being their leader and all, but it won't work on me so you might as well drop it."
"Just how do you know t'at I'm not always like t'is? I am t'e famous Spot Conlon, you know." The girl rolled her eyes,
"Huzzah." Inwardly grinning, 'definitely like Jack', Spot hushed up. The rest of the way to Manhattan was spent in relative silence. Abruptly, Spot stopped. "Heah wese are. T'is is Manhattan."
"How can you tell? We're in the middle of the road."
"You'll figah t'e boundahries out soon enough. T'ey're really not t'at hard."
"So where were we after we crossed the bridge?"
"Hasn't been decided yet. Wese gots some terratohry fightin. But now wese foah sure in Manhattan. T'is is the dividin' line. All t'e newsies know t'e boundahry lines."
"They certainly don't make any sense."
"Are they supposed ta?" To Spot's surprise, a small, friendly smile lit up the girl's face. "I guess not."
'Whoa, she's even prettier when she smiles,' Spot thought. "So, um, I gots ta go sell papes. But maybe ise be seein' ya around?" The girl's grin became a little wider.
"Yeah, that might be nice." Then a mischievous twinkle glittered in her eyes. "As long as you don't go acting all 'I'm the famous Spot Conlon' on me, Mr. Leader of the Brooklyn Newsies." Spot put on an innocent look, placed a hand on his chest, and mouthed 'who, me?' Laughing and waving, both parted ways, one to Brooklyn, one to Manhattan.
****
A few minutes later, Spot smacked his forehead and moaned. "I completely forgot ta get hoir name!"
****
At about the same time, the girl made her way to Irving Hall. Being about 8:30 in the morning, all of the newsies who usually hung around the place were off selling. The girl spent most of the day at Medda's playing her guitar and singing with the band she had traveled with since she was 13.
In the late afternoon, the girl and the band split up again. 'Might as well try and find Jack Kelly' she reasoned. 'If he's anything like Spot, it shouldn't be too hard to fine him. Everyone will know of him and someone will have to know where he is. Spot said I reminded him of Jack. I wonder…no, that's sill. The chances are so slim that on my first day in New York…' the girl forced her head to clear of the thoughts that had started buzzing around in it. In the process of doing so, some sort of light switched on in the back of her mind. 'Wait a second, this area feels familiar! I've definitely been here before.' Suddenly a sound brought the girl's musings to an abrupt halt. Freezing in place, she mentally focused on the sound, and recognized it almost instantly. The telltale thuddings and thumpings of someone getting beat up. 'Great. Just wouldn't be a city…' She ran over to the back alley from where the echoes were emanating.
She arrived just in time to toss her things (well, toss her bag and carefully place) aside. In a split second, she stepped between a boy with a raised brass-knuckled fist and a boy about 17 with dark curly hair and clear blue eyes.
"Hey, dollface, wouldya mind movin'? Let me finish up heah an' you an' me can go out on t'e town."
"Hmm, sounds like an absolute blast, but I think I'll pass." The girl's voice was so cold that the boy, who was Oscar Delancy, twisted his face in anger.
"You'll pay for that, you--" but he didn't get any further because the girl had grabbed his forearm, and she swung him into the garbage cans sitting against one of the building walls. Morris Delancy, who had been holding back a struggling little boy (who couldn't have been more than 9 or 10), stepped up to the girl. Eyeing his brother, who had been knocked unconscious on impact, said "t'at wasn't a good idea, sweetie." He drew out a gleaming knife and raised his arm. Deftly, the girl high-kicked it out of his hand and snatched it as it fell. Growling, Morris lunged at her. She swiftly moved aside, seizing the curly-haired boy's shirt and pulling him with her. Morris slid on the ground and slammed into the wall. The girl grimaced, "that'll leave a mark in the morning."
The little boy ran up to her, looking at Morris's knife. "Whatchya gonna do wit' that?" Nonchalantly, the girl walked up to one of the trash cans, dropped the knife in, and shook the can around to mix in the knife. "If he wants it, he'll have to go find it." The noise of the can being shaken caused Oscar to stir and moan. The older boy who had been behind the girl cautioned, "we'd better get out of here before they wake up." The three looked at one another, then took off, the girl stopping just long enough to grab her things and run.
Laughing and panting, they stopped in front of a series of homes. The little boy whirled around to the girl and began talking at a pace that only an excited young boy can achieve. "Wow! That was amazing! I've never seen anybody but Jack and Spot move that fast before, and you were probably even faster! And I've never seen a girl like you before; my name's Les, and that's my brother Davey, only sometimes they call him the Mouth, or--"
"Les, calm down. I think you're overwhelming her. Besides, no one can understand you when you talk that fast."
"Aw, he's not, he's the cutest!" The girl glanced up at Davey and gave him a bright smile. Davey felt his heart leap up in his chest, but he forced it back down. "As for you, little mister," the girl had turned back to Les, "would you like a ride home?"
"Sure!" was the quick reply, and Les scrambled up onto the girl's shoulders. "Our house is right up there so we won't haveta go very far."
"Here," Davey addressed the girl, "let me carry those for you." He motioned towards her guitar case and bag.
"Oh, you don't have to, your little brother said it wasn't that far and he isn't very heavy."
"No, really, it might be hard to climb up with your things plus Les."
"That's really sweet of you, thanks," the girl grinned again at Davey. Impulsively, he asked, "would you like to come for dinner?" Seeing the girl's unsure face, he rushed on, "my parents and sister always like company, and it's the lest we can do, you really got us out of a mess back there."
"Who were those guys?"
"The Delancy brothers, Oscar and Morris. They've got it in for most newsies, but especially Jack and me, and they're not too fond of Spot either."
"Jack Kelly, the Cowboy, right? And Spot Conlon?"
"Yeah, you've heard of them?"
"I ran into Spot this morning, and when he heard that I was headed for Manhattan, he mentioned Jack."
"Not surprising, Spot's pretty close to Jack. Wait, you ran into Spot?"
"Not literally. I was travelling through Brooklyn, and Spot just had to make his presence known. He has an ego the size of this city, but he really isn't that bad."
"That's a good description of Spot." Up on the girl's shoulders, Les was getting impatient with waiting through the conversation.
"So you're gonna come to dinner with us, right? Please, please, pleeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaseeeeeee?"
"Well, alright, but only because you insist." The girl smiled again at Davey, who thought, 'she better not smile at me again during dinner, I might choke.' The girl had to duck down under the Jacobs' door in order to get in with Les perched on her shoulders. Davey put her bag down and leaned her guitar against the wall. "What have we here?" Les and Davey's mother asked.
"Hi, Mom, this is a friend of ours." Davey turned to the girl and pointed out the rest of his family. "This is my mother, my father, and back there is my sister Sara. And this is, um…"
"We never got around to the other half of the introduction part, my fault," the girl explained, blushing.
"Let's not interrogate the poor girl until after she's had something to eat," Davey's father cut in. Everyone sat down at the table except for Les, who had fallen asleep, a habit he had started getting into.
"I've never seen Les so taken with someone right away like that before, except for Jack," Davey commented once dinner was over.
"Spot mentioned that I reminded him of Jack." The girl paused, becoming uncomfortable. "You're all being so kind to someone you hardly know. I guess I've been lucky; I've had a lot of people in my life do the same thing. I guess you want to know my name, and what I'm here for, and I can't really explain that without telling you this kind of long story, but I don't want to bother you--"
"It wouldn't be a bother, dear, but if it bothers you, you don't have to say anything."
"It doesn't, not really. I figure I may as well jump right into it, then. To be blunt, I don't remember my real name. In fact, I hardly know anything about my past before I was almost 7. I do know that my mother is dead, and that my father is, well, I'll probably never see him again. I think I might have a brother or a cousin or a close friend or something who's still alive."
"Oh, honey," Davey's mother placed her hand on the girl's arm. The girl continued. "Nuns found me wandering the streets of Santa Fe. Somehow I knew that I was six, almost seven, though I don't remember my exact birth-date. The nuns took me home to their convent. I couldn't remember anything useful to help them find any relatives I might have. So they called me Angel, because they said I could sing like one, and that I was really cute or something. I've been gong as Angel ever since. I like the name well enough, but I want to know my real one.
"The nuns were well educated, so they taught me most of what they knew. Reading, writing, arithmetic, the basics. I would read any book I could get my hands on. And I've always had a knack for music. This old Navajo man living in Santa Fe who the nuns stopped by/checked in on every so often took a liking to me. So he built me a guitar and taught be how to play. When I was thirteen, I decided that I wanted to go find out about my past, the part I couldn't remember. I must have come on a train to Santa Fe, I'm not sure myself because that memory is blurry, but the train conductor remembered me.
"He said I came from a large city up northeast, but he wasn't sure which one. I was determined to go find out. The nuns were sad to see me leave, and I do miss them sometimes, but they understood that this was something I had to do. The old Navajo man, I never could pronounce his name, told me that he wanted to teach me something more before I left. He told me that on my own in a big city I'd need to know how to take care of myself. He told me that size and strength don't always matter if you use your head, are quick, and swift-footed. He taught me all he knew about self-defense; I don't know where he learned it. Thanks to what he taught me, I've been fairly safe since I left Santa Fe.
"At the train station, I met up with this travelling band who was embarking on a tour of all the major northeastern cities. I played my guitar and sang for them, and they let me join them. They're really nice people, and are my friends, but they aren't my family. Not even that type of friend who becomes family. Touring with them has been fun, but in each city we went to, it didn't feel right. What I mean is, I could feel something in each city, and I knew that I hadn't come from there.
By the time we left Philadelphia, I was beginning to get worried. There were only a few cities left on the tour and I hadn't found where I was from. Then, on the train ride to Brooklyn, I had this dream. I saw this pair of eyes, and I knew they were from my past. Also, this word just floated to the top of my head: Manhattan. I was born here, in Manhattan, I can feel it. And that person from my past is here, he can tell me who I am. All I've gotta do is find him."
"Oh you poor dear, you can stay here as long as you need to." Mrs. Jacobs hugged Angel's shoulders.
"That's extremely kind of you, Mrs. Jacobs, but the band's going to be in town for a little while longer, and I'm staying with them. When I joined up, they knew I'd only be staying until I found where I came from, but we're still friends and I still want to stay with them until they leave."
"If you still haven't found your family after they've left, you promise me that you'll come back here."
"I don't know if I could impose--"
"It wouldn't be imposing, really." Angel smiled gratefully at Sara, who grinned back. Davey breathed an internal sigh of relief, he had been worried that Angel and Sarah might not get along for whatever reason.
"If you insist, then I will."
"We do insist." Mrs. Jacobs answered.
"I don't know how to thank you, all of you. But now I really have to go. The band might start to worry." Angel stood up and gathered her things to a mini-chorus of good-byes. As she was walking out the door, a voice caught her ear.
"Angel?" It was Davey.
"Yes?"
"I hope you find whoever it is you're looking for. I'll do all I can to help you."
"Thanks, Davey. You have no idea how much I appreciate that." Angel flashed him a smile of gratitude and warmth, then left.
That night, Davey lay in his bed, unable to sleep. All he could think about was Angel. Sure, maybe he was starting to get a crush on her, but there was something more…something familiar about her. As Davey drifted off to sleep, he made a mental note to go see Jack first thing next morning.
****
At that same time, Spot sat up straight in his bed at the Brooklyn Newsboys Lodging House. "Ise HAVETA get ta Jack tamorrah!"
****
Spot almost ran into Davey as they rushed towards the entrance of the Manhattan Newsboys Lodging House. "Scuze me. Hey, Mouth! How it goin'?"
"Pretty good, Spot. What are you doing here this early?"
"Ise could ask youse t'e same question."
"I'm here to see Jack. There's something I have to talk to him about."
"It wouldn't happen ta do wit' a young goil, 'bout 14 or 15 wit' long brown hair, wearin' pants, carryin' a guitar, would it?"
"Yes. Oh, that's right, she mentioned running into you." Davey looked at Spot, and noticed a strange look in his eyes. At first he was confused, then his own eyes widened in shock. "You don't think…do you?"
"T'at she's Jack's sistah? Yeah."
****
Jack woke up to sets of voices calling him.
"Jack!"
"Hey Jack-boy!"
"Youse gotta get up!"
"Wha, what, ise gots at leas' anot'er hour!" Jack frowned at Crutchy, Skittery, and Boots, who were crowded around his bunk.
"Wese know t'at, but t'e Mouth and Spot are downstairs, an' t'eys bot' need ta tawk ta youse, t'ey say it's urgent."
"Ok, ok, jus' lemme get dressed." Jack slowly got ready and trudged down the strais. Spot and Davey were engaged in a vivacious albeit hushed conversation, with concentration furrowing their brows. When they heard Jack come up to the, their heads snapped up, guilty looks on their faces.
"T'is bettah be good, 'cause I needs my beauty sleep."
"Hey, Jacky-boy, I met t'is goil yestahday an'--"
"T'at's why youse woke me up? Ta tell me t'at youse met a goil? Spot, youse t'e most famous lady's man in New Yawk! Youse meetin' a goil ain't nuttin' urgent."
"T'at's not what I meant, Cowboy. I met t'is goil, an' she was a really intrestin' goil, an' she was headed foah Manhattan--"
"Wheah is t'is goin', Spot? Anywheah impoitant?"
"I's jus' t'at she reminded me a' youse…" Seeing Jack's impatient look, Davey cut in.
"Do you want me to explain it, Jack?"
"Please do."
"I met this girl too, and she's a really nice person, I think you'd like her. It's just that she doesn't have any memory of her past from when she was young, but then she recently remembered that she's from Manhattan. We, as in Spot and I, just thought that you might be able to help her seeing as you know Manhattan so well and have lived here all your life." Davey stopped, and looked at Jack for an answer. For awhile, Spot and Davey weren't sure if he was going to agree, but finally Jack nodded.
"Oh, alright, so what does she look like?" Spot and Davey arranged nervous glances, how were they going to describe her without making it too obvious? Jack raised his eyebrows in suspicion, but didn't say anything.
"Look like? Lemme talk wit' Davey 'bout it." Spot leaned in towards Davey and whispered, "Whadda we gonna do? She looks so much like him! If we make him t'ink t'at she is, t'en it turns out t'at she ain't…"
"Just describe her, but not too much." Davey whispered back.
"Okay, Jack-boy," Spot turned back to Jack. "She's about as tall as yoah chin, wit' brown hair an' eyes. She wears a faded blue coitten shoit, an' tan pants wit' brown boots. T'at enough foah ya?" But Jack wasn't listening. He had noticed the look in Spot and Davey's eyes, and something was starting to bother him. A lot.
"Hey guys? I'm gonna go foah a walk," he said absentmindedly, and walked out the door.
"Oh no, not again," Spot moaned.
"What is it?" Davey asked, thinking he knew but hoping he didn't.
"T'e las' time Cowboy t'ere told us t'at he was goin' foah a walk wit' t'at tone in his voice, he almost got soaked, bad, by t'e Delancy's, 'cause he was so distracted wit' whatevah he was t'inkin' 'bout. He was lucky t'at me'n a couple a' t'e Brooklyn boys happened ta be around."
"In that case, I really hope he runs into Angel."
****
Jack's pace quickened to a brisk walk, then a jog, next a thing he knew, he had broken into a run. Jack's mind was racing: it was impossible, for both Spot and Davey in the same day, after all this time…but the look in their eyes, the fact that they had had to see him first thing in the morning…such thoughts pestered Jack as he ran on and on through the streets of Manhattan.
Jack didn't notice that he whizzed by the Delancyes, grazing one of them. He didn't notice that the Delanceys started chasing after him. Luckily, he did notice the wall in the dead-end alley that he almost smashed in to. "Hey Jacky-boy!" Feeling his heart sink, Jack slowly swerved around on one heel while putting his stony face that he used around the Delancy brothers.
"Oscar, Morris, it's been awhile. Still havin' t'e flea poiblem?"
"T'at's it, Kelly!" Morris, who had an obvious bruise from the day before spread across his face, raised his fist. Angel dropped in between the two, facing Morris. She had been out wandering that morning, and had noticed the Delanceys chasing after someone. Smelling the trouble brewing in the air, she had climbed up onto the roof of one of the buildings bordering the alley, and bided her time. "You!" Oscar and Morris growled simultaneously, hate oozing in their voices.
"Oh, you two again. Don't you have anything better to do than beat up on people, or don't you have the brains for anything else?" Morris's face contorted in rage and was about to make a punch at Angel when a voice wafted over from the streets. "Oscar! Morris! Get over here, now!"
"Hey Morris, it's t'e Boss, we'd bettah get ovah t'ere afore we're canned." Grumbling, Morris pointed a finger at Angel. "I'll get ya one day, goil." He looked at Jack. "Youse too, Kelly." The Delanceys backed out of the alley and disappeared into the street. Angel turned around to see who Oscar and Morris had been chasing after. 'They called him Kelly. I wonder if they meant Jack Kelly. I hope so, because then he can help me find my past.'
Jack himself was waiting in anticipation. This must be the girl Spot and Davey were talking about. She was amazing, he'd never seen a girl treat the Delanceys like that. She--Jack froze as Angel turned around and looked at him. He locked eyes with her.
Angel stared back at this boy, confused at why he was looking at her like that. His face had gone pale. She squinted, then recognized the eyes. The ones she had seen in the dream!
Jack was beginning to get worried. At first, he was sure she didn't recognize him. Then slight recollection stirred in her eyes, but he could tell that she didn't know exactly who he was.
All of a sudden, something like water bursting forth from a broken dam slammed into the back of Angel's head, and her head started to throb. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to remember.
Jack was really concerned now. She had shut her eyes, and she looked like she was in pain. But something held him back. 'She's probably trying to remember. Please, remember!' Jack held his breath.
Then it happened. Angel remembered. But she didn't want to open her eyes, for fear that it was all a dream, that he was some sort of illusion. Cautiously, she opened her eyes. He was still there, and was looking at her anxiously. "Fr-Francis?" she asked in a cracked whisper.
Jack barely had enough time to nod his head all the way (he wasn't sure if he'd be able to talk without crying) when she threw herself into his now-outstretched arms and began sobbing onto his shoulder. Jack just held her, unsure of what to say. Once she had calmed down enough, Angela lifted her tearstained face and looked at him. "Francis?"
"Yeah, Becky?" Becca's chin wobbled when she heard him call her that, the first time in ages since she had remembered/had someone call her by her real name. 'Real name' She pushed back from her brother, and looked him over. Morris had called him Kelly…her eyebrows raised when she spied the cowboy hat resting on Jack's back.
"What is it Becky?"
"Jack Kelly, the Cowboy?" she asked, and Jack could tell that she was doing her best to restrain laughter.
"What? Ise had to change my name when ise escaped from t'e Refuge."
"But Cowboy?"
"When you become a newsie, youse gets a newsie nickname. T'ey called me Cowboy because I'm always dreamin' 'bout goin' ta Santa Fe, an' becomin' a cowboy." Jack smiled as Becca giggled.
"Jack suits you better, and Cowboy works too. But I've been to Santa Fe, and trust me, it's not different than other any other city except it's hot."
"Yeah, well ise gots no reason ta go ta Santa Fe anymoah. My family is heah now, all a' it." Becca smiled widely as her nose stung, tears threatening to spill again.
"I love you, big bro'."
"An' ise love you, lit'le sis'." Jack enveloped Becca in a hug again. After a few seconds, he pulled away. "C'mon, wese bettah be gettin' back home."
"The Manhattan Newsboys Lodging House, right?"
"Yup." Seeing Becca's slightly uncomfortable look, he added, "don't worry, t'e guys'll love ya. Besides, I'm not lettin' you outta my sight again, least not foah awhile."
"I'm still not sure exactly what happened. My memory's still fuzzy about that part."
"Don't worry 'bout that right now. Taday, Ise gotta show youse how ta carry t'e bannah. Now, t'e foist t'ing youse gotta loin is t'at headlines don't sell papes, newsies sell papes…"
Jack walked off down the street, arm around his long-lost sister. No more would the dreams and memories haunt him; now his family was complete.
The End
Disclaimer: None of the characters in this story are mine, except for Jack's sister, Angel/Becca. All the other named characters, and possibly even some of the un-named characters belong to Disney. This story is just for fun, not meant to steal Disney's characters or anything, so please don't sue me. I don't have any money, anyway.
Please review! Anything you have to send me will be really appreciated! But I'll probably throw any flames out.