Behind This Mask
By Kellyanne
Rated: PG-13…it'll have inappropriate language in a while, don't worry.
Summary: Samantha Carstairs has lost more in her seventeen years then most could in a lifetime. After both her father and brother die, she's left to support her family and keep them from starving. Her solution: disguise herself as her deceased brother and become a newsie. After meeting Brooklyn's fearless leader, though, pretending to be a boy seems nearly impossible because she may just be falling in love.
Chapter 1
With the turn of the century, many changes took place in New York City. Subtle, almost unnoticeable changes, but they still took place. Between the beginning of 1899 and the beginning of 1900, the newsies of New York City went from being a pathetic horde of orphans to a proud, powerful army of voices that wouldn't be silenced. These defiant boys, once helpless, had defeated a giant. Strengthened every minute, powered every day, these boys made their dream a reality and grew to be comrades, all fighting for the same cause.
When 1900 rolled around, the fight had been long over, but the army had grown even closer. Brooklyn and Manhattan newsies had bound themselves into a brotherhood. "I'll watch your back if you'll watch mine" was their pledge to each other, sealing the promise with a spit-shake. Jack Kelly, the strike's leader, and Spot Conlon, the leader of the Brooklyn newsies, strengthened an already strong friendship. Their alignment alone brought thousands of newsies from all over the city together.
The beauty of the year 1900 wasn't the fellowship that formed between most of the New York newsies, though. It was the fact that you were immediately accepted if you joined the newsies. And this was exactly what Samantha "Sam" Carstairs needed… a chance.
~
In a small building that lay in a middle-class neighborhood of Manhattan, a family of a mother and three children could be found. The mother was thin and pale, her cheeks blemished with tears that had fallen for almost a year. The youngest child was just as thin, his hair tangled into a mess no brush could improve. His name was Troy. Innocent and naive, he was only six years old. Two years older, at eight, was Julie, a lively girl with bouncy blonde curls.
Then came the twins, Samuel and Samantha. The two were inseparable, wrecking havoc wherever they went. The two had accumulated more notes from teachers then most of the other children in their classes combined. Despite their semi-demonic nature, the two were the best of children, loyal, proud and brave. They would've both been seventeen.
In January of 1899, Mr. Peter Carstairs died of a heart attack, caused by too much stress from his job. He left Samuel to help support the family along with his mother, Margaret. He went to work in a factory, quitting school to put food on the table. The job paid fairly well, giving the Carstairs enough to live off of. Then, in the beginning of July, some of the factory workers decided that it would be best to join the Trolley Strike. They weren't happy with their wages. Other workers wanted things to stay the same, wishing to keep the peace at their place of work. As is in all cases, fighting between two opposing sides of an argument was inevitable. The lucky left the factory that day with only a few scratches and bruises. Some were more severely injured, breaking arms or legs that made them liabilities to the factory. They were fired from their jobs. These few were still lucky compared to some of the other workers.
Samuel wasn't lucky in either aspect. He was killed, leaving a mother whom had to try and earn enough money to keep her family alive.
'It only happened last July ' Samantha Carstairs thought as she sat, alone, on the fire escape outside her window. She and Samuel had used to build forts on it, much to their mother's dismay. It didn't seem like it had been a year since her brother had been alive.
Sam sighed, thinking about the state of disarray that her family had been in since last July. They all went to bed with rumbling stomachs each night, and their mother woke up early to make breakfast and then go to work as a seamstress. Sam had offered to get a job, but her mother denied her requests at every turn, asking her if she wanted to end up like her brother. That statement always stood as the end of an argument.
"Mama, I'm going to do the shopping for you," Sam called into the house, taking the fire escape steps two at a time. Sometimes she found that she had to escape from her home, smothered by memories of her father, her brother…but mostly of the rape.
Tears were filling her eyes rapidly as she made her way to the market, remembering the night when her innocence had been snatched away from her. She had only been fourteen when it happened, foolishly walking alone down the New York streets as she traveled home through Queens. Two men grabbed her and pulled her into an alley. She had run home crying and Samuel had gone to the police the next morning, but nobody was ever punished for the crime. Rape was a common thing and the bulls had bigger things to worry about.
"Are youse a'right?" Came a concerned voice from behind her. Sam wiped away her tears before turning around. She somehow managed to hit the man before her with the basket she carried for groceries.
"I…I'm sorry. Are you ok?" She managed to choke out. Any other words flew from her head as she met the clear blue eyes of the man she had just hit.
"Aw, I'm a'right. Takes a bit more den dat to permanently scar me," He smiled briefly before meeting her own watery gaze, "Now youse, on the odder hand, don't seem a'right at all. What's da matta?"
"Oh…n…nothing. I just…needed to cry a bit," Sam was still too mesmerized by those cool, liquid pools that were making her melt despite herself to say anything intellectual. Despite her fear of men, despite her insecurities, despite everything, she felt like she could trust him. It was in his eyes.
"Dis is one of those 'raw nerves,' ain't it?"
"In a way," Sam muttered, turning her attention to the food that lay before her for sale. She took out a handful of coins, sighing at the small sum it added up to. It was barely enough to buy a few apples, let alone a week's worth of food.
"Ya look confused."
"Oh…I…just thought you looked familiar. Are you from Manhattan?" She lied. If anyone like him lived near her, she'd have known. There was something in his eyes that reminded her of her brother and that was rare. She would've remembered if she had seen him before.
The man flashed her a lopsided smile that made her heart skip a beat, "Nah, from Brooklyn. Maybe ya've hearda me. Name's Spot Conlon."
"No…sorry…you don't sound as familiar as I thought," A ghost of a smile crossed her lips, barely lingering long enough to count.
"Aw, well, if ya ever hafta 'cry a bit' like ya said, I've got two shoulders, even if I ain't as familiar as ya thought" Another smile crossed the lips of the dark-haired Brooklyn man.
"H…how can you do that?" Sam asked, tears building up in her throat as well as her eyes.
"Do what?" Spot asked. He looked genuinely confused.
"Do that…just…be so concerned," Her voice cracked, "You…don't even know me…and you…just…" She burst into tears before she could even string together a complete sentence, stumbling forward as she let out all the emotion that she hadn't been allowed to show at home. She had had to be strong for her family, even if it was tearing her up inside. All the pain that she had felt was now spilling out into Spot's arms, which were wrapped tightly around her waist.
"Shh…it's a'right. Just cry."
"H…how?" She managed to choke out.
"How ta cry? I ain't an expert, but I think ya got dat field covered."
Sam shook her head, tears splashing everywhere, "N…no…how can you comfort someone…you don't even know? Like I'm an old friend."
"If da hundred papes in me hand ain't clue enough, I'm a newsie. We stick togetha; help each other…it just comes with da friendship, with da territory."
"Th…thank you," Sam whispered, pulling away from Spot. He frowned and she bit her lip, "I'm sure you have better places to be then comforting some pathetic girl."
Spot's blue eyes darkened, but he nodded, most likely seeing the silent plea in her eyes, "Yeah…I guess you're right. These papes ain't gonna sell themselves." Slowly, reluctantly, Spot turned away and walked over to a group of men and boys, each armed with a stack of freshly printed newspapers.
Sam sighed and started walking back towards her home, thinking about how great it would be to be accepted. Being a newsie seemed like the only place in the world where she could find comfort. If only she wasn't a girl. Then she could be one of them and bring money to her family at the same time.
And that's when she got the idea…
~
Not far from Newsies Square stood Tibby's, a small diner made infamous by serving as the headquarters of the 1899 newsies strike.
Standing in front of the building was a tall man, at least six foot, with a black cowboy hat shadowing his features. A cigarette was lit in his hand, a bluish-gray cloud of smoke rising into the New York sky.
The man's eyes were searching for someone from underneath the brim of his hat. Finally, after waiting for a good twenty minutes, his features softened a bit and he smiled.
"Heya Cowboy. How's life been treatin' ya?" Asked a dark-haired man armed with a gold-tipped stick and a slingshot.
"Ain't been too bad, Spot. Besides…ya know…" Jack Kelly's features hardened, his eyes telling Spot that his thoughts had turned to Sarah Jacobs once again.
"Yeah, I know."
"No, ya don't. Youse lucky ya don't know!" Jack snapped, turning his back to his best friend and striking the side of Tibby's with his fist.
"Jack," Spot said calmly, his voice barely raised but still just as powerful as if it had been. He placed himself between Jack and the wall and caught his friend's fist, "Youse reacting just like ya should be. When ya love somebody, it ain't easy to let them go. It's even harder for ya because she died so fast. Youse gotta stop blamin' yourself, Jack. Youse couldn't have stopped her death even if ya had tried."
"Spot, she was sick! She had been for a while, but I was too blind to notice dat all her coughing wasn't just from a cold!" Jack's head fell forward and his breathing deepened, "Tuberculosis. Ya know, I woulda told ya it was some place in Europe or somewhere. Everyday, I would look at her, thinking nothin was wrong, and, all da while, she had a disease eatin' away at her lungs!"
"Jack! What woulda happened if ya had noticed?? Ya would've brought her to some crackpot old doctor and then what?? Hmm?? There ain't no cure for tuberculosis, Jack. Ya couldn't of done a thing even if ya had known!" Spot had watched his friend battle with his emotions for months and, now that they were finally reaching the surface, he couldn't help but yell. It wasn't Jack's fault and he had to realize that.
"I wish it had been me," Jack said softly, his voice thick and hoarse.
"Jack, I know it ain't easy for ya, but don't wish dat on yourself."
The Manhattan leader inhaled deeply, his eyes closing for a second. When they opened, they were glazed with pain, but full of a bit of life that had been lost for months, "I ain't ready ta move on yet, Spot."
"And I ain't saying youse gotta right this minute. Take your time, Jack."
Both silently smiled, turning towards the entrance to Tibby's.
"Hey Spot?"
"Hmm?"
"Thanks."
~
Sam slowly unraveled the long braid that her hair was held in, running her fingers through the silky blonde tresses. Letting out a quavering breath, she reached for the scissors that were in her sewing box. The blades were cool and made her shiver, both from the iciness of their feel and the change they would bring.
"There's no turning back now, Sam. It's for your family," She whispered to herself, taking a small bit of her hair in between her fingers and raising the scissors with her other hand. She closed her eyes and snipped the piece as though she were cutting Troy's hair. The lock fluttered soundlessly to the ground, resting at her feet. She shivered, suddenly feeling sick. She couldn't do this! There were other ways to get a job, even if her mother was opposed to the idea. She could stop right now and leave the rest of her hair like it was, and then ask her mother if she could get a job as a seamstress.
"It won't work," She whispered to herself, taking a larger chunk of hair in her fingers. She knew that it would take something drastic to convince her mother to let her get a job. Something like taking on your brother's identity.
Slowly, the weight of her hair began to lessen and the pile of blonde tresses at her feet began to grow larger. She kept her eyes closed the whole time, only opening them to make sure she didn't stab herself with the scissors.
Sam took a deep breath after she had finished cutting her hair, her hand wrapped around the handle of a small mirror that was facedown on the table. She felt her heart stop when she glanced into the small piece of glass. She didn't recognize the person staring back at her. It wasn't Samantha Carstairs that glanced through the mirror to meet her green eyes.
It was Samuel.
~
Sam remembered the day when her brother told their mother that he was quitting school to work in a factory. Their mother, pale and thin, always giving off that air of sever frailty, took everyone in the small apartment by surprise when she reacted to the news. First, she grew extremely quiet, her small hands clenching and unclenching. When Samuel quietly whispered 'Mama,' she blew up, screaming about how he was throwing away his education for a job that he didn't need. The two didn't speak for a week.
Sam had thought that that was the extent of her mother's anger. She was very, very wrong.
As she sat at the kitchen table, her hair cut to the nape of her neck and her dress tossed aside for a pair of her brother's old clothes, her mother slowly paced around the room, her hands in fists at her sides.
"Samantha Caroline Carstairs…what…were…you…thinking???" Her mother hissed, "Are you doing this to torment me?? To remind me of your brother?? What did I do to deserve this?"
"Mama, I didn't do this to hurt you. We need money, Mama. We need someone else in the house working."
"I've told you before that you will not go to work and meet a fate like Samuel's!" Yelled the older woman, slamming her small fist against the table.
"You can't stop me! We need the money, Mama! We're barely making enough to survive as it is and you know as well as I do that people don't need seamstresses during the entire summer season. The meager money we make will only get smaller as the season progresses. That's why I'm going to work!"
"And what will you do?? Work in a factory and risk your life like your brother??"
There it was. The classic line that had ended all arguments in the past. It wouldn't stop her this time, though, "I'm going to be a newsie, Mama. It's safe and respectable and…"
"A newsie??? Respectable?? Those noisy ruffians who wreck havoc after they sell the morning paper?? The second they realize you're a girl, they'll ravage you and that'll be the end of it!!"
Sam clenched her fist, remembering how Spot had treated her. He would never do that…he'd never hurt her or 'ravage' her, like her mother said.
"Think about Troy and Julie, Mama. They're growing quickly. Do you really want them to grow up hungry?? Is that the kind of life you want to give them??" Sam almost felt bad about guilt-tripping her mother, but it was the only way to make this work. She wasn't going to have cut her hair for nothing.
"Samantha…"
"Mama, I'm seventeen years old. I can take care of myself. Besides, nobody will know I'm a girl. I promise. The money will help us more then you will know, Mama. Just trust me enough to let me do this."
Her mother sighed, her eyes falling on a framed picture of Sam's father and his children when they were all young, "Samantha…be careful."