Chapter 7
Meanwhile, back in Manhattan…
Skittery ran across the street and arrived on the sidewalk just as his sister finished talking to whoever she was talking to. 'She cointenly looks grown-up foah someone who's only 16,' he thought. He noticed her finely-made garments. 'She must have been adopted by a well-off couple.' Skittery's sister turned around and jumped when she so Skittery standing right beside her. "Oh!" Noticing the newsprint on his hands, she said,
"I'm sorry, I already bought a paper today." Skittery glanced down and his hands and blushed.
"Oh, no, I don't have any papes left. I just wanted ta talk ta ya." Skittery's sister appeared puzzled, but this young man did not seem to be aiming to do her any harm. Besides, how much harm could he do in a bustling street? Skittery rubbed his hands on his pants, trying to get some of the newsprint off. Giving up, he extended a hand.
"Ise Skittery." His sister reached up and shook with the brown-haired newsie.
"My name is Emilia Rothschild." (AN--hehe! Disclaimer--I stole the name Emilia Rothschild from my favorite character from the show "Jack of All Trades." This name belongs to Renaissance Pictures, not me. Please don't sue me, I have nothing but pennies. And Skittery's sister is not supposed to be the character from "Jack of All Trades," I just took the name because I like it.)
"Emilia, that's a pretty name." 'Though not as pretty as Ashley,' he thought.
"Mr. Skittery,"
"Just Skittery, please,"
"Alright, Skittery. What is it you want? I'm terribly sorry for my rudeness, but I cannot talk long or I will be late for an appointment."
"T'at's okay. I just wanted ta ask ya somet'in. Does t'e name Ashley ring any bells? Oah do ya remembah anyt'in from yoah childhood?" Emilia was taken aback. Why was this strange young man talking to her, and asking personal questions? But the despairing look in Skittery's eyes compelled her to answer him.
"I do not know of anyone by the name of Ashley. I can recollect enough of my childhood, I suppose. Why do you ask?" Skittery licked his lips and continued,
"What about anyt'in from when ya were about two?"
"Two years of age? I do not recollect anything. But I am of the knowledge that not many people do remember anything from when they are that young." Skittery was getting tired of beating around the bush. He decided to just be forward.
"Are ya shoah t'at yoah parents are yoah real parents? Are ya shoah t'at ya wasn't adopted?" Emilia had been quite trusting with Skittery, but she was beginning to get suspicious.
"Mr. Skittery, by what authority do you come and say such things?"
"My parents died in a train wreck. I was told t'at my lit'le sistah, Ashley, died with them. She was only two. But ya look so much like my mot'ah…" Emilia's expression softened,
"I am sorry, Mr. Skittery, very sorry. But I can assure you that I was not adopted."
"How do ya know?" Skittery's desperation was mounting, "how can ya be shoah t'at ya didn't lose yoah memory or somet'in? How can ya be shoah t'at yoah parents adopted ya but nevah told ya about it?"
"Because, Mr. Skittery," Emilia's voice was thick with sorrow for the newsboy who had obviously suffered much, "because my family and I just moved here from London six months ago. I have lived there all my life until now." With a jolt, Skittery realized that Emilia had been speaking all along in a soft British accent. However, his longing for this girl to be his sister had not allowed his brain to register the accent.
"I am truly sorry, Mr. Skittery. I wish--I do wish I could help you more. Be who you want me to be. But I cannot, and now I must leave." Sending Skittery one last look of apology and sympathy, Emilia disappeared into the crowd. And took the last ray of hope Skittery had left in his entire being with her.