Author's note: I'd like to thank Rhapsody for her wonderful review. I really appreciate it. I hope you enjoy this part as well.
Jack glanced up from his cards (a sure win, he believed, as he studied the three kinds who were as solemn as he appeared to be) at the sound of footsteps marching across the bunkroom and back again. He sighed heavily and shook his head. "Hey, Bumlets!" he called to the pacing boy, who halted at the sound of Jack's voice. "Walkin' a hole t'ough da floor ain't gonna bring Midnight heah any soonah!"
Bumlets rolled his eyes, pushed an anxious hand through his disheveled hair, and sunk to the nearest bunk. "She said she'd meet me back at Tibby's. Dat was almost two hours ago."
"All right, ante up," Snoddy told Jack, then turned to their nervous friend. "She prob'ly jus' had a bad sellin' day and it took her longah ta sell her last few papes."
Twink nodded her agreement. "Sure. Unless she found a new guy and decided to neck with him for a while." She placed her cards delicately on the floor, as though to emphasize her hand. "Full house, tens over aces."
Bumlets leapt to his feet with the speed and frenzy of a runaway train. At the sight of his distress, Violet began to pacify him before he even had the opportunity to verbalize his fears. "Look, Twink doesn't know what she's saying. When's the last time you actually saw her with a guy, anyway?"
"Romance is overrated," Twink snarled.
"So don't worry," Violet continued as though she had not heard the blonde newsgirl. "Midnight probably just got caught up selling papers and figured she'd meet you back here instead. There is absolutely nothing to worry about. And if she's not here in another hour or two, we'll go out to look for her—although I'm sure she'll walk in any minute how, telling us—"
Perfectly on cue, Midnight ambled into the room with a distant look in her eyes and an unnaturally sober twist to her mouth. She did not notice when Bumlets rushed towards her, and only glanced up at the sound of his voice.
"Midnight, are ya all right?" he asked gently, his stomach twisting at the sight of her expression. "Ya didn't make it ta Tibby's and I t'ought somet'ing happened ta ya."
She smiled but the gesture did not reach her eyes. "Oh, no, I'm fine. I'm sorry, I just lost track of time."
He nodded slowly, not fully convinced but willing to give Midnight the benefit of the doubt. "Oh, okay," he murmured. "Are ya hungry? I mean, ya weren't at dinnah. Tibby's is prob'ly still open—we could go get somet'ing for ya."
"No, no, that's okay," she told him and help up her hands as if in defense. "I'm fine, really. I guess I had a big lunch." Bumlets remembered the wilted salad she had eaten earlier but did not comment. "I think I'm just going to go and lie down."
He took a step towards her, losing the façade of casualness he had attempted to maintain. "Are ya sick?" he wanted to know. "If ya are, we could—"
"No, really, I'm fine," she insisted with more force than she had intended to use and felt remorseful when he took a cautious step backwards. She sighed heavily. "It's just been a long day. I think getting a good night's sleep will help. 'Night." She managed a half smile and retreated to the hallway, leaving Bumlets frowning at the empty doorway.
*****
Guilt gnawed at Midnight's stomach as she lay awake in the darkness. She listened to the faint breathing and occasional murmurs of those sleeping peacefully around her. These sounds had become so familiar to her in the years that she had been a newsie. She wondered what life would be like if this suddenly all disappeared.
She felt sick at the thought of lying to her friends, lying to Bumlets, about something that seemed inevitable. She imagined Christmases passed, when she and her friends had given each other simple gifts (the only ones they could afford) and noisily sang carols at midnight, which only caused to anger their neighbors. Then she imagined Christmases even before those, when she had been swept up in firm embraces and sat curled in a lap by a roaring fire. She crawled deeper under her thin blanket and tried to resist the urge to run away at that very moment.
Why am I thinking about this? she demanded of herself with unusual harshness. I love the newsies, Kloppman, everyone. I have a good life. But…why else would he be here if he didn't want to see me?
She could not help hoping. A quiet, controlled but painful ache mixed with the guilt and she felt ill at the very thought of what the near future held.
*****
"T'ank ya, sir. Merry Christmas," Itey said to an older man as he handed him a paper. The newsboy's smile faded once he glanced at the apprehensive figure, who kept searching the faces in the crowd, beside him. He sighed lightly and spoke gently, as though afraid to disrupt his companion's thoughts. "Face it, Bumlets, she ain't comin'."
At the sound of his name, Bumlets blinked to remove himself from his worried thoughts. "Huh? Oh, what do ya mean, Itey? I ain't lookin' for anyone in particulah."
Itey raised his eyebrowd suspiciously. "Uh-huh," he murmured. "Jus' like you'se really sellin' da papes tahday"
He looked down at the thick stack of newspapers under his arm and compared it to the few editions Itey still had. He opened his mouth to curse the poor headlines but, thinking better of it, shook his head at his tattered shoes. "I'm worried about her, Itey. It's da third day in a row dat she jus' disappeahed. I mean, she always gets back ta da lodgin' house all right, so I know it's not like she's in serious trouble or anyt'ing, but…" he struggled to find the right words, "it's…it's like she's found somewheah else she'd raddah be."
"Maybe it's da season," Itey suggested and scanned the papers for a new headline to shout to the denizens of New York City.
"Midnight loves Christmas," he debated. "It's her favorite holiday And she's barely said anyt'ing about it since last week."
Itey nodded. "Yeah, ya'd t'inhk she'd be a liddle more excited about it bein' Christmas Eve and all. Maybe deah's somet'ing else goin' on."
"But she coulda talked about it ta me." That was what hurt Bumlets the most. Something was obviously bothering Midnight and, despite their closeness, she had avoided him rather than asked for his help. Certainly he did not expect her to divulge all of her most painful secrets. I jus' wish I knew what was goin' on, he thought. But it ain't jus' me. Nobody knows what's wrong wid her, not even Cricket, and she's her best friend. He had discussed the situation with Cricket the day before and all the girl could offer was a shrug. "Dunno, love," she had said. "Hasn't said a word ta me about anythin'. It's strange, really. She's usually so laid-back, but now it's like she's…walkin' on pins or somethin', I don't get it." No one in the lodging house could discern the cause of Midnight's unusually solemn state. Fearing what might come, Bumlets shivered and blamed it on the biting cold.
*****
Midnight marched down the sidewalks with a pensive frown carved into her face. She thought of the fake gold pocket watch resting comfortably in her coat pocket (which she had made sure had no holes). He'll like it, she assured herself for the eighteenth time that afternoon, although her stomach continued to twist into a complicated knot. He'll like it and he'll stay here and we can be a kind of family again.
She had considered the weight of the watch very carefully before she bought it. It did not weigh much in comparison to the handkerchief full of coins she had been saving since mid-October. She had paused for a moment before handing her money to the thin, elderly man behind the counter who had frowned deeply with impatience. She knew that she would have no money left over to buy presents for her fellow newsies but, at the memory of her father's laughing eyes, she pressed the handkerchief into the man's palm and pushed the thought out of her mind. She wished she could banish her anxiety just as easily.
Don't think about that. Think about how pleased he's going to be when he sees the watch. It's just the present a daughter would give her father. She pictured his luminous smile, his dancing eyes as they studied the watch sparkling in the moonlight.
"I'm doing the right thing," she told herself quietly as she stepped into Tibby's, which was already filled with chattering newsies.
She was so preoccupied in her thoughts that she barely noticed Bumlets leaping from his chair and rushing to her side. "Heya, Midnight," he greeted as she removed her threadbare jacket.
"Oh," she replied in slight surprise, "hey, Bumlets."
"So, how'd sellin' go tahday?" he asked, searching her face for more than the answer to his question, and led her to a table.
"Selling?" she reiterated, her voice unusually high and tight. She had only bought a few papers in order to have enough time to meet her father for a cup of coffee, just as she had done for the passed few days. She smiled faintly at the memory of walks around the city and discussions of Maine, New York, and her father's vague plans for the future. She had noticed the fact that he had never included her in his plans but she shook the apprehension out of her head. Of course he's thinking about you. Why else would he still be here? "Selling was fine. Just like usual. How about you?"
He nodded and twirled a fork absently between his fingers. "Oh, fine. Itey and I sold tahgeddah." He glimpsed Midnight out of the corner of his eye and, before he could rethink his next statement, went on, "So maybe we could sell tahgeddah aftah Christmas. Ya know, when you'se done wid Christmas shoppin' and ev'ryt'ing."
Midnight studied the wooden table as though it were immensely fascinating. She imagined living with her father in a real apartment, eating dinner at a kitchen table, perhaps going to school. "Oh, Bumlets, I don't know."
"Ya…ya ain't sellin' wid someone else, are ya?" he inquired softly and turned to face the girl to see her reaction.
"No," she mumbled into her lap.
Bumlets wondered if the quiet, sullen girl beside him was the same person who had made a snowman in Central Park last winter, had laughed through poker games (which she never managed to win), and had reached over to hold his hand one rainy evening as they walked home through the massive puddles. He could not contain his curiosity any longer. "Midnight, what's da maddah? Ya ain't been yaself dese passed couple of days. Is deah anyt'ing I can do?"
"Nothing's wrong," she insisted and her voice was slightly chocked, as if her throat was lined with damp newspaper.
"Somet'ing's gotta be da maddah. Ya come back late and nobody knows wheah ya go all day and ya don't talk ta anybody anymoah."
Midnight's eyes narrowed defensively and her face contorted into a scornful frown. What does he know about it, anyway? Has he been waiting for years to see his father again? How could he possibly understand what I feel? Why does he assume he knows anything?
She jumped to her feet and, eyes boring into Bumlets's, clenched her fists. "Why does something have to be wrong with me?" she demanded, her voice rising and silencing the conversations around them. She continued, either not noticing or not caring about the befuddled stares of her fellow newsies. "Maybe something is finally right with me. Maybe I have one chance to get everything I've ever wanted and that means not being with you." His eyes flashed with pain and, despite the gnawing sadness in her heart, she went on, hoping that this would make the separation easier. "Maybe you never understood me in the first place." She strode towards the door and, halfway outside and without her coat, called over her shoulder, "Don't follow me." The door swung to a violent close that made the glasses of sarsaparilla tremble. Bumlets's heart followed their example.
*****
Clouds blanketed the sky and foretold the coming of snow. While the air was frigid, most windows glowed with the warmth of fires, parties, and laughter. The skaters, who had filled the ice to capacity that afternoon, had disappeared to join their families and friends for Christmas Eve celebrations. Midnight skated lazily around the edge of the frozen lake and could not help but wonder what the newsies were up to. She recalled Christmas Eves passed, when she and her friends would visit other lodging houses or travel to Irving Hall for the vaudeville actors' annual party. She bit at her chapped lower lip and tried to concentrate instead on what she was gaining.
I told him to be here at ten o'clock, she thought anxiously as she gazed at an empty Central Park. What if he got hurt or mugged or sick and he's lying cold and alone somewhere? She took a step towards the grass, thought better of it, and skated to the center of the pond to resist the temptation to search for her father. I'll give him fifteen more minutes. It's better to stay here, in case he comes when I'm gone and thinks I didn't want to meet him.
To keep her mind off of the time, she did a series of back crossovers into a waltz jump but, as her body tensed and she threw herself off balance, she landed with a loud, painful thud. She moaned and caressed her right thigh, which had taken most of the impact of the fall. At the sound of a familiar voice she forgot about her pain.
"Next time, pull in tighter."
Midnight sped to the edge of the pond, where her father stood smiling. "Dad! I'm so glad you made it." She threw her arms enthusiastically around his heck and he laughingly stepped out of her embrace to reply.
"So am I, especially as it's Christmas Eve."
She nodded, unable to bridle her questions. "So how did your job go? Have you found a place yet? Because I could—"
She was unable to finish, as he interjected with a pointed cough and gazed at the pond as he answered. "Well, ah, it turns out that it isn't going to go so well, Jill. My friend has tipped me off about another great job, though, one out in Chicago. Great city."
"Oh," Midnight murmured as images of her friends flashed through her mind. "Well…that's okay. It's not like I have to stay here or anything. I can work in Chicago just as easily as I can work here."
He raised a slightly bewildered eyebrow. "What do you mean, honey?"
Midnight's smile did not fade. "I can go with you. We can live together and I can still be a newsie—people want to know the newsies everywhere, right?—and sell papers and maybe go to school when we have enough money."
"Well, ah…" He coughed again and stuck his hands in his pockets. "I don't know how well that would work, Jill. See, I would be working or traveling if that doesn't work out, and I never really know what's coming. And things are good for you here, right? You said you liked it here."
"But…" Her lower lip quivered as she struggled to find the words that would make him understand. "I can go with you," she murmured softly, her voice almost lost in the bitter wind.
He took a step back and laughed nervously. "It…it was good to see you." He reached out a hand to pat her absently on the shoulder. "I'll write." He took another step backwards, glancing over his shoulder at the path that led out of the park. Then he turned to his daughter again, whose eyes were illuminated by the soft glow of the gaslights and by her own confused tears. She swayed slightly, not knowing whether to throw herself around her father's neck again or to wait for him to do so.
He sighed quietly and opened his mouth, unable to produce words for a moment. Finally he raised his hands, as if to half-heartedly fend off an attack. "Stay…" he murmured and swiftly whirled around on his heel. He was enveloped by the shadows of the park in seconds.
Midnight could only stare, even after his retreating image had long since disappeared. The painful, quiet ache that had manifested itself in her heart years ago, when she had first traveled to New York City, began to tear violently through her. it did not stop, even when her breathing was choked by the tears that burned down her cheeks like hot wax. She shivered, although she did not believe that it was a reaction to the cold, and wrapped her arms tightly around her torso.
And the snow began to fall.
To be continued…please review!