(And a Cliff Notes version of the story so far, for those who haven't read the story in eight months: The year is 1903. Jack went to Santa Fe to earn money before sending for Sarah, his fiancée, to join him. He gets a job at the local newspaper, the Santa Fe Dispatch, as distributor and moves into a boarding house, run by Catharine "Cate" Bennett, who's got a thing for Jack but won't do anything about it because a) she's shy, and b) he's engaged. Jack works at the paper with the Cartwright cousins, Eli and Chuck (the latter hates the Santa Fe newsies, led by Keystone). One day Jack's boss, Mr. Grayson, decides to get rid of sellbacks, where the newsies return their unsold papers to break even, because it's costing the paper money. The newsies, remembering Jack's stories of the New York strike, decide to have their own strike.)
Chapter Five
"Strike?" Jack asked incredulously. Behind him, Chuck barked out a laugh.
"Yeah, a strike!" Keystone verified with confidence, ignoring the elder Cartwright. "Like the one you guys held a couple years back in New York!"
"We read about that!" Outlaw informed Jack. "Every last word of it! And you told us the story, too!"
"No more papers til they give us back our sellbacks!" proclaimed Topper, acting more self-assured than Jack had seen him act before.
The boys behind Keystone began to chatter in agreement with him, Topper, and Outlaw. "Down, boys!" he snapped.
Silence befell the group. After a few moments, Smalls piped up and asked, "What? Do you think we can't do it?"
"No, I don't t'ink you can do it," Jack remarked in reply.
"How can you say that!?" demanded Keystone. "You guys did the same thing!"
"It was different fer us. Real different. We was goin' up against different people dan all youse are gonna."
Keystone rolled his eyes. "This is Alvin Grayson we're talking about, Kelly, not Old Joe Pulitzer! It'll be a pushover, just watch."
"That ain't the way it's gonna be at all, Key," Jack told him seriously. "It's hardah dan dat. An' like I said, we was different."
"You weren't different at all!"
"Santa Fe ain't New Yawk!" replied Jack ardently. "We had strength in numbahs. We had the boys of Brooklyn ta support us, the boys of Queens, an' every othah newsie dere was in the city. We even had all the sweatshop kids, when it all came down to it!" He pointed at the boys. "Dere's barely any of you all compared ta what we had."
"Are you afraid that maybe we'll succeed?" questioned Riddle, for once not speaking cryptically. "Succeed over worse odds than you had?"
"Riddle, boy," said Keystone, his eyes glittering with a dangerous knowledge, "he doesn't have it right. I mean, look at us. We don't have a Refuge, we don't have those hired heavies, we don't have half the things they had to deal with. He knows we're going to beat Grayson easier than he did, that we've got it in the bag without breaking a sweat, and that scares him."
"You t'ink all dat makes it easiah!?" cried Jack, slamming his palm down onto the counter. "Youse gonna get a big head, Keystone," he warned, "just watch it."
"You really are afraid of us succeeding…"
"I'se afraid you'll fail," he rebuked sharply.
"You just keep saying that, Kelly," Keystone growled in a low voice. "Keep lying to yourself. The boys and I are going to make it."
"Youse all do whatcha want, den," he said, smoldering, "an' I won't stop ya."
"Thought we could depend on you, Cowboy," muttered Outlaw. A few others mumbled their acquiescence.
"Not in dis…not when youse all won't listen ta what I'se got ta say."
"You just want this job of yours!" accused Trusty. "That's probably the other reason you don't want us to do this!"
"It ain't want, Trus, it's need."
"Bull!" exclaimed Hound, adopting Keystone's curse. "You could quit any time you want to!"
"I ain't a kid!" Jack yelled. "I can't just get rid of me woik and sell papes, or whateveah pieces I needs to pick up ta make it bettah again. I can't. I need dis job. It's woith more ta me dan--"
"Then anything?" finished Keystone. "Then us?"
Jack narrowed his eyes. "Whaddya want me ta say, Key? Dat you kids are like my kids, my bruddahs in newspapahs, dat I can't do anythin' unless it benefits youse all too? I can't say dat, Key, 'cause it ain't true. You know dat I'se got responsibilities ta live up to. I need ta get my fiancée heah, I'se gotta have money ta live on --"
"So do we!" he interrupted. "Like I said, all this crap is blinding you from what's important. The newsies are important. And you were a newsie, so you're one of us."
"I ain't a newsie anymoah!" he snapped.
His words echoed through an eerie silence in the booth and into the Courtyard. Jack could almost hear Chuck's slimy, triumphant grin behind him.
"You hear that, kids?" he practically leered at them. "He's not with you, and that's final."
"This is bull!" Keystone bellowed again, whipping another newsie's papers at Jack. "You hear me, Kelly? Cock-and-bull! And like I said, we'll make it without you." He spat on the counter. "You just watch." Key glanced over his shoulder at the other newsies. "Come on, boys."
The newsies filed out of the front lot in seething silence, those still with papers throwing them to the ground. Most followed Keystone through the gate and around the corner, where Jack knew the Lodging House was. He could see a few others, though, the lucky ones with families, take different turns towards their homes. A sharp wind blew sheets of newsprint across the Courtyard. He looked at Eli.
"Is dat it?" he asked. There was no answer. He repeated, "Is dat all? Eli?"
"Yeah, that's it." Eli mumbled. "You did a brave thing."
"If I was brave, I woulda joined 'em…"
"No, you did the right thing. You're trying to make them see sense…you're trying to keep them from falling. You didn't do anything wrong."
"They don't trust anyone now. Nice job," Chuck smirked, clapping Jack on the back; Jack recoiled at his touch. Chuck, you damned son of a bitch. "What's your problem?"
"I should be goin' home," he murmured, troubled, grabbing his hat from its nail on the wall.
"So soon? I was gonna celebrate."
"Cut it out, Chuck," Eli said as Jack headed for the door. "See you tomorrow, Jack?" he called out hopefully.
"Probably," Jack replied bleakly. "See ya, Eli."
"See ya, Jack…"
He let the door slam behind him.
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Jack sat down with a sigh, staring at the piece of paper in front of him.
Dave, he wrote, not bothering to start with "Dear". He let the words flow freely after that.
Remember how we once said that the worst thing that ever could happen after the strike would be another strike? Well, the worst happened again, and this time I'm not even really home for it.
The Dispatch banned sellbacks today, and Keystone decided to have the boys strike. They're all real excited about it. They think they've got just what it takes to overcome Mr. Grayson. These boys…Dave, you should see these boys. They're just like us and how we used to be. They won't even listen to me when I try to reason with them. Sounds just like you and me, doesn't it? I thought I was too smart to listen to you. But everyone's wrong at least one time in their life, ain't they? I sure was.
They hate me now, don't trust me one bit, so much that Key actually spat at me. Just 'cause I wouldn't side with them and lose my job because of it. I know what the Dispatch is doing is wrong, but…I need this job so bad. I want Sarah to come and be with me. I want to be an adult about it, you know? But here I am, writing you, 'cause I don't know what the most important thing is. I can't escape it.
Part of me wants to ask you what I should be doing. But I know this ain't like 1899, this is 1903. You've got your own voice now, and I've got my own words. You're half a world away, and that's too far for you to do anything, and we're not kids anymore. And these boys are frustrating the hell outta me, Dave, with how they won't listen. I guess I really gave you a hard time then too, didn't I? How do I deal with someone like me? I really don't know.
Tell Sarah that I love her, and that I think she can come soon. And tell the boys thanks for the encouragement -- I know how hard it was for you to gather them all up.
Same as,
Jack
He set down his pen gently, as if the tiniest noise could awaken the entire Boarding House. He wished he had an envelope; he'd ask Cate for one tomorrow. Sitting back in his chair, Jack sighed and moved to extinguish his light. It was late, near eleven, and sleep would be an escape from thinking. He let his eyelids fall…
"Riddle!" screamed a voice from outside. Jack startled and looked out his window. In the moonlight he could see the chocolate-haired newsie, who he guessed had been strolling outside the boarding house, standing stationary. Dashing up to him was…Goldy? It had to be her; Jack didn't know anyone else so young with hair that color. But why was she out at this hour of the night?
"Hold up, Riddle, c'mon! "I've been trying to find you for forever! You weren't at the Lodging House!"
"Keep your voice down!" Riddle hissed, demanding, "What are you doing out of your bed? They're probably worried sick about you at home!"
"I snuck out after they put me to bed. What do you care? They don't!"
"Shut up and don't say that, Goldy. They do." This was the second time today that Jack had heard him speak so frankly, without his trademark mystery.
"I need to talk to you! I wanna join the strike, Riddle!"
"You're not even a newsie, Goldy."
"I could start being one now! There's not even any papers for me to sell. I can help you guys strike!"
"Did you ask Keystone first?"
Goldilocks looked at her feet and shrugged. "…Maybe…"
"And the leader's answer?" Riddle asked. He sighed. "Listen, Goldy, I'll tell it to you straight: if Keystone tells you no, that means you don't go to anyone else. You should know that."
"Since when does Key care where I go and what I do?"
"Since always. Don't say stupid things."
"I'm not saying stupid things!' She stamped a foot on the ground. "It's just…Riddle…"
He sighed again and put a hand on her shoulder. "I know, I know, Goldy. C'mon, I'll walk you home."
"You gotta help me back in the window, then," Goldilocks told him matter-of-factly as they headed farther down the street; Jack had to strain to hear them. "I can't reach it by myself, and I don't wanna let them know I snuck out."
"All right…just promise me you won't do it again?"
"I promise, Riddle, as long as…" He couldn't make out the rest of her statement; she and Riddle had moved too far out of earshot.
What were they doing out so late? he asked himself, rising out of his chair. And what had she been trying to tell Riddle before he cut her off? And before her voice faded away…? Riddle would have berated him if he had known whose window he had been under. You're not supposed to be listening to us, traitor. And why would you care why Goldy's out of bed after dark and looking for me? That's right, you shouldn't. Leave us alone, yahoo! He was sure the boy's words would have resembled that. If it were Keystone, he was sure the rebuking would be much worse.
Jack decided to go downstairs to try to find an envelope for his letter to David. Riddle and Goldy's conversation, he thought, combined with the issues discussed within his letter, had killed any chance he had of getting any sleep that night. He knew there was a study on the first floor; he could probably find at least one envelope down there. He opened the door of his room gradually, praying it wouldn't creek, and tiptoed down the stairs, going as slowly as possible to make sure he didn't miss one and go tumbling headfirst onto the first floor hardwood. At first he wished he had brought his candle, but when he noticed a faint glow coming from down below, he chose not to go back for it.
Creeping around the staircase towards the light, Jack saw the lamp it came from, within a room with its door cracked open. The study. He didn't know who was inside and, not wanting to storm in on them, he pushed the door gingerly with his index finger, letting it swing open slowly. The room's habitant gasped and whipped her head around. It was Catharine, sitting in a stiff-backed wooden chair and wearing a long white nightdress, a book open on the desk in front of her.
"Jack!" she exclaimed in a hushed voice. "Lord Almighty, you just about scared me to death. What are you doing down here? It's near midnight."
"Shouldn't you be in bed, Cate?" he asked, looking at her skeptically and momentarily forgetting all about the envelope. In the dim light he could see for the first time the exhaustion wearing away at her features, and how pale she was, even against her white nightgown. "Or d'ya always run on four hours of sleep?"
"Three, usually," she replied with uncharacteristic irony, removing thin-framed spectacles from her face. "Come in, if you're not going right back to bed."
Jack entered the study and took a seat in an upholstered chair next to the right wall's full bookcase. "You woikin'?"
"I was earlier, but now I'm just reading…it gets my mind off things," she said, folding up her glasses and tucking them into a drawer. She gestured to the open book.
"What are you readin'?"
"Huckleberry Finn, by Twain…have you ever read it?" Jack shook his head. "It's about this precocious little boy who helps his slave friend escape by going down the Mississippi River on a raft. It's a little hard to read sometimes because some of the characters have accents, though…" She paused, flushing as she realized her slip of tongue. "I didn't mean it that way, of course, Jack."
He smiled. "I undahstand, Cate. Do ya do dis every night?"
"Not usually…just lately, I suppose. It's been hard to sleep. I've had a lot on my mind, with the boarding house and all…" She brushed a few loose strands of brown hair behind her ear, and he could see her swallow a yawn. "But listen to me, going on and on like a senseless chatterbox and not even asking about how you are. Am I allowed to ask why you didn't come to dinner tonight?"
"Toppah told ya what happened, I'm shoah."
Catharine smiled with a little guilt. "He did…but I thought that you'd like to tell me your side of it." She eyed his letter to David, still clenched tightly in his hand. "Or did you tell Sarah about it?"
"What?" Jack blinked and looked down at the letter. "Almost forgot about dis…no, it ain't ta her. It's to 'er bruddah, Dave. I actually came down heah ta get an envelope."
"Can I give it to you tomorrow?" Catharine asked, holding in another yawn. "I don't quite know where the envelopes, and I don't really care to rummage through the desk right now. And I know how unlike me that is."
"It's fine," Jack told her, wondering just what was causing her trouble. It seemed everyone was beginning to have a hard time. Or perhaps they had had burdens before as well, but he had been too blind to notice them.
"If…if you want to talk about it, Jack, you know I'm always around to lend an ear," she said carefully.
"Same," he offered in return, rising from the chair. "But right now, comfortable as dat chair is, I think I'se goin' back up ta bed…want me ta walk you to you room?"
"I was going to finish my chapter, but I think it can wait until tomorrow."
"It can wait, Cate…you needs sleep more dan anyone heah, with all ya do."
"I know…it's just…" Catharine sighed and extinguished the light. "I don't know," she finished lamely. "It's probably going to be a rough time for everyone for a while."
"I was just thinkin' dat…" He took her arm. "Where is yer room, anyway?" he asked, suddenly realizing he didn't know where he was leading her.
"Just two doors down from this one. Mr. Kincaid and I are the only ones living on the first floor." Noticing his confused look, she smiled and explained: "Mr. Kincaid helps me out with the books from time to time…he's retired on most days, but used to be the sheriff. He still does some work there in the early morning. He's has been here ever since I was young. The year my father died, I gave him his first floor room. It's how my father wanted it." Catharine turned her doorknob. "Thank you, Jack, for the long walk home," she teased.
"Any time." There was an awkward silence. "G…g'night, Cate," Jack finally said. "Get some sleep; you looks like ya needs it."
"Thank you, Jack. Good night to you too."
He watched her enter her room and shut the door with a soft click. The darkness in the hallway was suddenly thick and deep; he really wished now that he had gone back for his candle. Blindly and carefully, he groped the walls to find his way through the darkness and gave thanks every time he kept from knocking a framed picture from the wall. He followed the same procedure as he traveled up the stairs. At the top he could see the flame from melted-down candle he had left lit, and he used it as the beacon to his room. Once he was settled for the night, Jack sat in bed and watched it until it consumed itself, lacking the heart to snuff the flame out himself.