Chapter Two
August 17, 1899
Dear Diary,
Here I am, New York City. Oddly, the city isn't as exciting as I had hoped. Of course, anything would have been a disappointment after the way Mother raved on and on about it on the train here from Boston. Honestly, she simply wouldn't stop talking! But, anyway, we're here now, safe, in the process of getting settled into our new apartment in Manhattan. It's a nice place to live, I suppose. I'd much rather be back in Boston, but I will give New York this much, the people here are fascinating! Everyone looks like they've just stepped out of a book. It's all quite remarkable.
Oh, yes, the reason we moved. My grandfather, though getting on in years, refuses to stop working at that…newsboy house. He just flat out refuses. So, Mother, being brilliant as always, decided that it would be a fine idea if she and I came here, to New York, to help him. I'm not really sure what that means. He's told us over and over again that he doesn't want help, but here we are, helping. I don't know. I was told that I was to help with the 'routine maintenance of the lodging house.' Isn't it interesting that I spent two whole years and all that money at the university to be a teacher. And wouldn't you know, here I am, not teaching. What a world.
I suppose there's not much to say, I've only been here for a day. Maybe there will be more to report tomorrow, when I actually begin working.
Until then,
Moira
Moira dotted her 'i' and put both her pen and diary away. She got up from her bed and went to the window, where the sounds of laughter, music, and hoofs clopping against cobblestone could be heard from the street. New York was beautiful at night, she decided, allowing a light, summer breeze to sweep through her open window and blow the long, brown hair off of her face. Aside from that breeze, the air was stifling. Moira had put on her lightest nightgown, pulled open all of the windows in the apartment, and still, she was burning up.
Across the street was the Newsboys Lodging House- where her grandfather lived. All the lights were still on, and if she listened closely, she could tell that most of the noises she was hearing were floating over from the open windows of the lodging house. The LH, her grandfather, Francis Kloppman, had called it in his letters. He'd told her all sorts of stories, but recently they had all been about the strike. Moira had read about the children's strike and was anxious to meet the young man who had started it all. Her grandfather had gone on and on about this boy, Jack Kelly. He was so proud, it made her smile just thinking of all of the words he's used to praise this young man in his letters.
Slowly, across the street, one by one, the lights began going off. Her eyelids began to droop just as the last window went dark. She looked at the watch she wore on a chain around her neck, it read ten thirty.
"Time for bed." She said aloud, climbing under the covers. The cool sheets felt like heaven on her boiling skin. She reached over to her bedside table and turned out her own light. Smiling in anticipation of the day ahead, Moira rolled away from the window and fell asleep.
"Moira Bailey! Get up this instant!" They young woman rolled over and cracked one eye open. Her mother was standing over her.
"What?" She groaned, longing to cover her head up and fall back asleep, but Kathryn Bailey shook her shoulder.
"Get up! We're going to see your grandfather in thirty minutes. Get up!" She punctuated the word 'up' with another hard shake, and walked quickly down the hall. Moira rolled to her back and stared at the ceiling, trying to get her eyes to see straight. "Wake up, Moira!" She rolled her eyes, how did her mother know she was still in bed? Deciding it was useless to try and regain some sleep, she heaved herself out of bed and down the hall to the bathroom, where she washed up, then back to her room to begin the dreadful task of brushing the knots out of her hair. Every night, she would go to bed with her hair perfectly fine, and every morning, like clockwork, she would spend eons combing it to make it look like it had the night before. After that hellish chore was over, Kathryn came back into the room to assist her daughter with her corset. Bracing herself on the doorframe, Moira winced with pain every time the stays were tightened.
"I think you've gained weight." Her mother declared. Moira rolled her eyes.
"No, I don't think I have. It's just the transition from Boston to New York. The change in environment make some people go puffy you know." She'd read that in some woman's magazine.
"Well, whatever it is, you look a little stocky." Kathryn pulled tightly on the last few stays before turning her daughter around and patting her on the cheek. "Still beautiful, of course, but a little stocky." Moira sighed. Her mother was always making saves like that. "What are you planning on wearing?"
"The blue." Kathryn nodded and pulled the blue suit out of the closet. It was a lovely color, a long cornflower blue skirt, a crisp white blouse, and a jacket that matched the skirt. Moira dressed quickly, getting a glimpse at the time, and allowed her mother to twist and fasten her hair until the older woman was satisfied. And finally, when the preparations were completed, Kathryn led her only child down the stairs of the apartment building, out the door, and across the street, where her grandfather was waiting.
Upon seeing him standing at the door, Moira forgot all reservations and broke into a run. He opened his arms to her and hugged her tightly when she reached the other side of the road. She breathed in the smell of cigars and butterscotch, a scent that would forever remind her of this man. He pulled away and held her at arm's length.
"Dear me, let me have a look at you. You look more like you mama everyday. Did anyone ever tell you that?" Kloppman exclaimed, smiling. By this time, Kathryn had joined them and was standing behind Moira.
"Hello, Papa." She greeted in a delicate voice.
"Oh, Katie. Katie, Katie, Katie." Her grandfather was the only person Moira had ever heard call her mother Katie. Not even her late father had called her that. "Come in, come in. We'll have breakfast." The two woman were led into the lodging house, where it was oddly quiet.
"Grandpa? Where is everyone?" Moira asked as she followed her family into the little kitchen in the back of the lodging house.
"Why, they're working of course."
"All day?"
"Usually. Oh, they'll be home eventually. The papes don't last forever." He noticed her confusion. "Something wrong, my dear?"
"No, I was just…what exactly am I supposed to do?" Kathryn intervened.
"Moira, why not wait until after breakfast, that way we can eat in peace, and then your grandfather can show us around. It will be so much nicer this way."
"Sorry, I just thought…."
"Ladies don't think, Moira dear."
"Now, now, Katie. I think it's obvious the girl has a good head on her shoulders. Why not let her use it?" Kloppman asked, making Moira smile. "Now, please, have a seat. What would you like for breakfast?" He didn't have much, but the old man managed to make them some ham and toast, and some coffee.
Once the mini-breakfast was finished, Kathryn insisted on a tour. "There's nothing to show, Katie. Just some rooms."
"There's always something to show. Please, Papa. Just a quick look around the house?" Moira almost saw what it must have been like when Kathryn was a child.
"Well, all right then, just a quick look." He gave in, standing up.
Kloppman showed them just about everything. From the common room, the office, his own living quarters, the boys room, the bathroom, they got the whole she-bang. When they were finished, the trio had ended up in the common room where they spent the rest of the day catching up on old family business. Unfortunately, Moira's mind was not on the conversation, but on what exactly she was doing here.
"Excuse me, but I have a question." She interrupted, leaning forward in her chair.
"Yes, my dear?" Kloppman asked, turning to his granddaughter.
"Well, the reason I'm here, is to help you…right?" He looked surprised.
"Help me? What with?" Moira turned to her mother.
"You didn't tell him?" Kathryn sighed.
"Papa, I know that you don't want to stop working, so I've come up with an idea." The old man raised an eyebrow suspiciously. "If Moira helps out, you know, does some cleaning and washing for you, then you can keep working without the worrying the rest of the family."
"Moira? Help me?"
"Yes, Papa."
"Well, what does she think of all of this?" He asked, turning back to Moira, who shrugged.
"If it helps you, I have no problem with the whole situation."
"In that case, I think it's a wonderful idea! But we'll have to give you something else to do. The boys do all of the washing, and most of the cleaning too, but I'm sure we'll be able to find something." Kathryn stood, just then, and looked at the time.
"Dear me, I'm afraid I must be off. I'm meeting a few ladies for tea this afternoon." She explained, gathering her things. Moira stood also,
"Do I have to leave too?"
"No, of course not. You have to stay here and get to work." She kissed the air beside both of her daughter's cheeks. "Have a lovely time, and be careful coming home. Make sure someone walks her home." Kathryn directed that last part to her father, who nodded, before she swept out of the lodging house and on to…wherever it was that she went during the day.
Moira and Kloppman talked for a little while longer, she told him all about school, and how she wanted to be a teacher, and anything else he wanted to hear.
"And what do you like best?" He asked, when she was finished. She had to think about that one.
"Well, I would have to say that I liked my English Literature class the best. I was good at that." Kloppman nodded. They sat for a minute in silence before Moira began prodding him for strike stories that he was only so eager to tell. He was just getting to the part about Warden Snyder's visit when he stopped suddenly and smiled.
"I have the perfect job for you, my sweet." He grabbed her hand, pulled her through the foyer, and into the office, which she noticed, was a complete mess.
"Here?"
"If you want. You can be my bookkeeper." Moira raised her eyebrows. How on earth was she supposed to work in such a mess? Kloppman seemed to read her mind. "You can organize today, of course. But I think you would do very nicely in here." He looked around, as if reassuring himself. "Yes, very nicely." The elderly man looked around once again and smiled at his granddaughter before taking out his pocket watch, he almost leaped at the time. "Lord, is that the time? I've to talk to someone about fixing the bathroom. I'll be home later." With that, he grabbed his bowler hat and left, just as quickly as her mother had. Moira shook her head, glanced around the pigsty and decided she'd better get to work.
An hour or so later, when Moira was finally making a dent in the endless mass of outdated papers, three boys walked in, talking and laughing loudly. They paid her no attention and continued upstairs without ever acknowledging her. Slowly, more boys, of all ages, began to filter into the house, some glanced at her with curiosity, but most ignored her as they spread out around the building.
She kept working, trying to ignore the noise, but found it utterly impossible to do such when a tall, blond kid swaggered in and announced his presence. "Good evenin' boys! Ya miss me?" In a loud, and thickly accented voice.
"COWBOY!" Chorused a group of young men and boys, from all over the house. Moira threw up her hands. She was now considering it useless to try and get anything done. Just as she was about to enter her hour of need, her grandfather walked in, carrying a tool box. "KLOPPMAN!" The same voices cried, mostly from the common room, where Moira could only guess what was going on. He regarded them all with a few scattered greetings and entered the office.
"Hello my dear. How's it going?" He asked, setting the tool box on the counter. Moira blew a breath threw her bangs.
"Well, it's a little hard to concentrate. Those boys are kind of…noisy." Her grandfather laughed.
"They're supposed to be. They're not just boys. They're newsies. Come on, I want you to meet them." They're not just boys, they're newsies. The phrase repeated in Moira's mind as she followed him out to the common room, where a card game had struck up. There were boys everywhere, smoking, talking, laughing. She immediately felt uncomfortable. "Boys!" Kloppman shouted, getting everyone's attention.
"Who's dis, Klopp?" That obnoxious blond kid asked, standing up from the card game. As he came forward, Moira could see that his fingers were black with newsprint, his clothes filthy, hair greasy, and face smudged.
"Mind your manners, Cowboy. This is my granddaughter, Moira Bailey."
"Oh, well in that case," He extended a dirty hand. "Jack Kelly. You can call me Cowboy." Moira jaw almost dropped. This was Jack Kelly? The famous strike leader? He was…well, not what she'd expected. She looked at her grandfather.
"Yes, Moira. This is the one I was telling you about."
"All good things, I hope." Jack put in, smiling.
"Of course." Kloppman assured him. There was a few moments of uncomfortable silence. "Well, I'm going to see what I can do about that faucet. I'll leave you to get better acquainted with the boys." Kloppman grabbed his toolbox and shuffled upstairs without another word. Moira watched helplessly as her only lifeline disappeared up the stairs.
"So, Moira," Jack said her name like 'Moy-rah' she almost cringed. "What brings you to our humble abode?"
"I'm working here."
"Really? Hear dat boys? We've gotta goil on our team!"
"Well, actually, I'll just be working in the office." She stated, quietly, trying to make up an excuse to get away from these people.
"Are ya sure? Cause, in my personal opinion, you'd make yaself a great newsie." His annoying voice was dripping with sarcasm.
"No thank you. I have no interest in selling newspapers."
"You say dat now."
"And I'll say it later, I assure you. Recruit some other helpless girl, I'm not cut out for this kind of work." Jack raised his eyebrows.
"Oh my. Somebody has a chip on their shoulder. Sorry I boddad sweetheart." Moira couldn't help but notice how he barely ever used the 'r' sound in his speech. She turned on her heel and stalked back to the office, cheeks burning. A few minutes after burying herself into the mess of paper once again, Moira was aware of someone else in the room. She looked up to see a boy who looked around her age, with curly dark hair and a blue eyes standing at the counter.
"What?" She asked irritably. "If you're one of Jack disciples, come to harass me some more, just get it over with so I can go back to work."
"No, that's not it at all. Umm, I'm David. Hi." He held up his hands in a surrendering stance. "Are you all right?"
"Yes, of course. Is he always like that?" Moira asked, pushing her hair out of her eyes again.
"Not always, just when he's feeling particularly unbearable."
"And, is that often?" David laughed.
"He was just fooling around with you, don't take it to heart." She growled.
"Oh, he's just so annoying!"
"Tell me about it. I'm sorry, I couldn't hear your name in there, would you mind telling me again?"
"Moira. Moira Bailey."
"Moira, that's a pretty name."
"Thank you." She smiled at him, before catching a glimpse at the time. "Oh, heavens. My mother's going to kill me. I was supposed to be home for supper."
"Where do you live?" He asked quickly. "I'll walk you."
"Oh, just across the street." Moira pulled on her jacket, and scribbled a note to Kloppman, knowing he wouldn't be able to hear her if she called to him. David followed her out the door.
"So, where are you from?" He asked as they crossed the street."
"Boston. And you?" She had noticed that he didn't have the detestable New York accent.
"Pittsburgh. We moved here after my father got hurt."
"Oh, was it nice in Pittsburgh?"
"Same as any other place, I suppose." They reached the door of the apartment building.
"Well, this is it. You really didn't have to walk me."
"A lady should have an escort at all times." Moira smiled and put a hand on the doorknob. "Oh, and I wouldn't worry about Jack if I were you." He assured her, before smiling and turning away.
Moira scurried inside and up the stairs, where she found her mother already asleep on the sofa. She rolled her eyes. A hard day of having tea must really tire one out. She thought sarcastically, pulling a cover up to Kathryn's chin and turning out the lights.
August 18, 1899
Dear Diary,
It turns out that I'm to be Grandpa's bookkeeper. Wonderful! What the devil do I know about keeping books? Anyway, I met the newsies today. Lord, what a crowd. And led by Jack Kelly. Yes, the famous strike leader, Jack Kelly. He's a pig! Can you believe it? I couldn't. However, even though I'm to spend my days sorting through papers that date back to 1871, and live and work amongst the crudest and most obnoxious of New York, there is a bright spot. I believe I am on my way to making my first friend here in New York. His name is David, and so far, he's the only person who's company I can actually stand for more than a minute. What a novel idea. I'm not sure what I think about the newsies- perhaps they'll grow on me. And perhaps the Brooklyn bridge will fall down on my head. Oh well, it's been a long day and I'm tired. Good night.
Moira.
She changed quickly, tucked her diary away and tried to block out the sounds from across the street. She just wanted sleep. And luckily for her, sleep came, but only filled with dreams of Jack Kelly and other noisy boys known only as "Newsies."
