CHAPTER 5:
Mr. Conlon sighed and picked up his belongings. He had just been fired from his job and knew that they were going to have to do a lot of things to adjust to this new life, and this loss of money.
Mr. Conlon walked home, heavy with the knowledge that soon his family would be split. He walked in the door and shook his head at his wife, before a hopeful expression could fill her beautiful blue eyes. She sighed and smiled bravely at the children who sat at the table, wide-eyed and worried.
Michaela got up and hugged her father. She tilted her head back and looked into his eyes. "Dad? What's going on?"
Mr. Conlon brought his gaze slowly down to hers, and patted her head. "Daddy isn't going to work as a blacksmith anymore, Michaela."
Michael jumped up and hobbled quickly towards Mr. Conlon, staring hard at him. "Why not?"
"Well, for alot of reasons."
Michaela nodded her head sadly and asked, "What are we going to do now?"
Mrs. Conlon stood up and put her arm around the children's shoulders. "Daddy and Michaela are going to go to Queens for a little while and Dad is going to work in a factory there for a little white, until we can go back to the way things used to be."
Michaela shrank back from them and looked up frightened. "Why am I going?"
"Well, honey, we thought that one of you should go to keep your father from getting lonely, and Michael really shouldn't leave here until his leg heals more."
Michaela whispered, "When?"
"Tomorrow, sweetie. But tonight we are going to have fun and not even worry about tomorrow."
Michael brought his head up and bravely met his father's gaze. "What are me and mom going to do here?"
Mr. Conlon hugged Michael and bent down. "Mommy is going to be a seamstress here, and you are going to help her."
***
Spinz sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. He paced to the other side of the room and back. "WHERE IS HE??"
The other newsies sitting on their bunks and on the floor shrugged and looked at each other nervously.
"WHAT IF HE DECIDED TO PICK TONIGHT TO GO VISIT THE BRONX OR STAY IN MANHATTAN? What are we going to do tomorrow if he doesn't show tonight?!"
Clips stood up and pulled Spinz down to the ground. "Spinz. You're panicking. Calm down."
Spinz waved his hand agitatedly and opened his mouth. Clips cut him off, "No. Here, play cards."
***
Michaela stared around the small one-room apartment her and her dad would share for who knows how long. Her fingers were clutched so tightly to her bag handle they were turning white. She looked at the ground and delicately set her bag on it, wincing as it's clean bottom touched the filthy floor.
"Um, it's very nice," she said, walking over to the small window and making a circle in the dust with her fist. She looked through it and stared dismally at the huge factory that loomed right outside.
Mr. Conlon rubbed his hands together and surveyed the room thoughtfully. "Well, this could definitely use your mother's touch."
He walked over to the cot on the floor and shook out the single sheet on it, then brushed off the surface of the cot.
Michaela watched him for a moment, and asked, "Where am I going to sleep?"
"We have to share a bed for awhile, or I could sleep on the floor."
Michaela nodded and tugged on his hand. "When can we eat? I'm hungry."
Mr. Conlon sighed and tilted his head towards his bag. "Mommy packed us a lunch. You go ahead, I have to go to the factory for a little while. I should be back in a couple of hours. Or if you want, you could come with me."
Michaela shook her head, "I'll be fine, go ahead."
Mr. Conlon patted her shoulders and walked out of the room, calling over his shoulder, "I'll be back soon."
Michaela stared after him for several minutes, then shook herself and began using a shirt as a makeshift broom to sweep the floor with, forgetting completely about her hunger.
***
Michaela ventured out from under the dock after she felt it was safe. She looked cautiously around and breathed a sigh of relief. There were no policemen about. She knew she couldn't be seen in Manhattan for quite awhile, however. Her face was only too recognizable to someone who had seen her close-up.
Michaela grumbled in annoyance. Darn it. Stupid woman. Stupid man wit' da cane. Stupid memory. I could easily have gotten away wit' dat old guys money in a second. But no. Now I have ta be on da run. Again. ***
Michael stared at the newspaper in shock. It had been a month since he had last seen his father and sister, and he had just happened to glance at the headline on the newspaper...QUEENS FACTORY GOES UP IN FLAMES.
Just yesterday, a Queens metal factory burst into flames, killing almost all of the factory workers and occupants of the surrounding buildings. One surviving factory worker said this, "...it was terrible, one second we were all working, and the next, there was this loud explosion from one of the machines. We all ran, and only a couple of us got out."
Michael stared at the paper in disbelief. Father…dead. Michaela…Michaela! Michael ran inside and shouted to his mother, "MOM!"
"What, Michael?" She asked, glancing up from her work.
"Where was the apartment Dad and 'Chaela stayed in?" He asked breathlessly, clutching the newspaper.
"Right next to the factory, why?"
Michael sank to his knees and cried, holding out the paper with a shaking hand.
***
Michaela's stomach grumbled and she kicked at the street, angrily. She had a definitely bad day, her mind kept replaying memories of after the fire, and every part of her body ached. Now even her stomach was against her. To make it worst, for some reason she happened to glance up and there had to be a factory right in front of her, making her memories more vivid and less easy to forget.
"DADDY! DADDY!" The eight year old wailed as she stared into the
red flames licking at the walls of the factory. The black smoke curled around her and pressed into her nose and mouth. She fell to the ground with sooty tear streaks streaming down her face.
Coughing, she squinted across the street through her burning eyes at the apartments she had been living in. Firemen were running everywhere, shouting and yelling to each other, carrying buckets and crude hoses.
Michaela crawled forward a few feet, but the smoke overtook her and she collapsed in a heap of dirty rags.
***
Spinz watched the Queens newsies approach nervously. This was not good. The Brooklyn newsies moved restlessly, muttering to theirselves and casting dark glances down the deserted streets, half-expecting their leader to appear suddenly from the black shadows.
A smirk played at the edges of the Queens leader's mouth. The famous Spot Conlon wasn't there ta protect his boys? Too bad.
Mr. Conlon sighed and picked up his belongings. He had just been fired from his job and knew that they were going to have to do a lot of things to adjust to this new life, and this loss of money.
Mr. Conlon walked home, heavy with the knowledge that soon his family would be split. He walked in the door and shook his head at his wife, before a hopeful expression could fill her beautiful blue eyes. She sighed and smiled bravely at the children who sat at the table, wide-eyed and worried.
Michaela got up and hugged her father. She tilted her head back and looked into his eyes. "Dad? What's going on?"
Mr. Conlon brought his gaze slowly down to hers, and patted her head. "Daddy isn't going to work as a blacksmith anymore, Michaela."
Michael jumped up and hobbled quickly towards Mr. Conlon, staring hard at him. "Why not?"
"Well, for alot of reasons."
Michaela nodded her head sadly and asked, "What are we going to do now?"
Mrs. Conlon stood up and put her arm around the children's shoulders. "Daddy and Michaela are going to go to Queens for a little while and Dad is going to work in a factory there for a little white, until we can go back to the way things used to be."
Michaela shrank back from them and looked up frightened. "Why am I going?"
"Well, honey, we thought that one of you should go to keep your father from getting lonely, and Michael really shouldn't leave here until his leg heals more."
Michaela whispered, "When?"
"Tomorrow, sweetie. But tonight we are going to have fun and not even worry about tomorrow."
Michael brought his head up and bravely met his father's gaze. "What are me and mom going to do here?"
Mr. Conlon hugged Michael and bent down. "Mommy is going to be a seamstress here, and you are going to help her."
***
Spinz sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. He paced to the other side of the room and back. "WHERE IS HE??"
The other newsies sitting on their bunks and on the floor shrugged and looked at each other nervously.
"WHAT IF HE DECIDED TO PICK TONIGHT TO GO VISIT THE BRONX OR STAY IN MANHATTAN? What are we going to do tomorrow if he doesn't show tonight?!"
Clips stood up and pulled Spinz down to the ground. "Spinz. You're panicking. Calm down."
Spinz waved his hand agitatedly and opened his mouth. Clips cut him off, "No. Here, play cards."
***
Michaela stared around the small one-room apartment her and her dad would share for who knows how long. Her fingers were clutched so tightly to her bag handle they were turning white. She looked at the ground and delicately set her bag on it, wincing as it's clean bottom touched the filthy floor.
"Um, it's very nice," she said, walking over to the small window and making a circle in the dust with her fist. She looked through it and stared dismally at the huge factory that loomed right outside.
Mr. Conlon rubbed his hands together and surveyed the room thoughtfully. "Well, this could definitely use your mother's touch."
He walked over to the cot on the floor and shook out the single sheet on it, then brushed off the surface of the cot.
Michaela watched him for a moment, and asked, "Where am I going to sleep?"
"We have to share a bed for awhile, or I could sleep on the floor."
Michaela nodded and tugged on his hand. "When can we eat? I'm hungry."
Mr. Conlon sighed and tilted his head towards his bag. "Mommy packed us a lunch. You go ahead, I have to go to the factory for a little while. I should be back in a couple of hours. Or if you want, you could come with me."
Michaela shook her head, "I'll be fine, go ahead."
Mr. Conlon patted her shoulders and walked out of the room, calling over his shoulder, "I'll be back soon."
Michaela stared after him for several minutes, then shook herself and began using a shirt as a makeshift broom to sweep the floor with, forgetting completely about her hunger.
***
Michaela ventured out from under the dock after she felt it was safe. She looked cautiously around and breathed a sigh of relief. There were no policemen about. She knew she couldn't be seen in Manhattan for quite awhile, however. Her face was only too recognizable to someone who had seen her close-up.
Michaela grumbled in annoyance. Darn it. Stupid woman. Stupid man wit' da cane. Stupid memory. I could easily have gotten away wit' dat old guys money in a second. But no. Now I have ta be on da run. Again. ***
Michael stared at the newspaper in shock. It had been a month since he had last seen his father and sister, and he had just happened to glance at the headline on the newspaper...QUEENS FACTORY GOES UP IN FLAMES.
Just yesterday, a Queens metal factory burst into flames, killing almost all of the factory workers and occupants of the surrounding buildings. One surviving factory worker said this, "...it was terrible, one second we were all working, and the next, there was this loud explosion from one of the machines. We all ran, and only a couple of us got out."
Michael stared at the paper in disbelief. Father…dead. Michaela…Michaela! Michael ran inside and shouted to his mother, "MOM!"
"What, Michael?" She asked, glancing up from her work.
"Where was the apartment Dad and 'Chaela stayed in?" He asked breathlessly, clutching the newspaper.
"Right next to the factory, why?"
Michael sank to his knees and cried, holding out the paper with a shaking hand.
***
Michaela's stomach grumbled and she kicked at the street, angrily. She had a definitely bad day, her mind kept replaying memories of after the fire, and every part of her body ached. Now even her stomach was against her. To make it worst, for some reason she happened to glance up and there had to be a factory right in front of her, making her memories more vivid and less easy to forget.
"DADDY! DADDY!" The eight year old wailed as she stared into the
red flames licking at the walls of the factory. The black smoke curled around her and pressed into her nose and mouth. She fell to the ground with sooty tear streaks streaming down her face.
Coughing, she squinted across the street through her burning eyes at the apartments she had been living in. Firemen were running everywhere, shouting and yelling to each other, carrying buckets and crude hoses.
Michaela crawled forward a few feet, but the smoke overtook her and she collapsed in a heap of dirty rags.
***
Spinz watched the Queens newsies approach nervously. This was not good. The Brooklyn newsies moved restlessly, muttering to theirselves and casting dark glances down the deserted streets, half-expecting their leader to appear suddenly from the black shadows.
A smirk played at the edges of the Queens leader's mouth. The famous Spot Conlon wasn't there ta protect his boys? Too bad.
