Disclaimers: Okay, we're not done yet, folks. I've still got a few more chapters left. *tear* My baby's almost all grown up. Okay, disclaimers- own nothing except Moira, Kathryn, and…anyone else that you don't recognize.
Chapter Nineteen
Two days after she had written back to Sumter-Heights, Moira found herself a carriage headed out to the track. Once she got there, it didn't take her long at all to find Racetrack, explain the whole situation, and beg one last favor off of him. He reluctantly agreed.
"So you'se sure ya wanna do dis?" He asked, scratching his head while they waited for the train a few days later. She nodded.
"What do I have to stay for?"
"I dunno. You could…try and find anodda job. Here, closa ta us."
"No, no. This is best." She looked at him, smiling sadly. "I will miss it though."
"Miss what? Da LH, yellin' at us ta clean up, smellin' smoke everyday?" He laughed, "Ya won't miss dat, Moira."
"Maybe not that, but I'll miss you. And all the other newsies, your stories and card games, the laughs. I'll miss Jack, and David." Her eyes welled up again, and she fanned them, trying not to cry. Somewhere in the distance, a train whistle blew.
"'Ey, no mattah wad nobody says, you'se always gonna be da woman in my life." She laughed,
"I doubt that, sir. What about that girl you've been spending so much time with lately, what's her name…Tanya? What about her? I'm sure she wouldn't be too pleased if she heard you telling me such things." A blush crept over the young Italian's face,
"Yeah, and how does you know about Tanya?" She thought about it for a minute, remembered something her grandfather had said once, and grinned,
"I have my magic ways." He smiled at her again, shaking his head
"You'll do good in Maine. Dey'll love ya." The subject grew grim again.
"Do you really think so?"
"Oh yeah, of course dey will. We all do." They looked at one another, sadly for a moment before Moira reached into her purse and pulled out three letters.
"Can you make sure these get where they need to be?" She asked, handing them to Racetrack. He nodded and looked at what the envelopes read: Jack. David. Newsies. Each bore a different name.
"Oh, I gots sumtin' for you too." He dug into his pocket, pulling out a set of dice and a wad of folded papers. He put the dice back and presented the wad to her. Confused, she unfolded them.
"My Inheritance, my first born child, my grandmother's string of pearls, my mother… Race, what is all this?" She asked, flipping through the dozens of paper with her writing on it.
"It's everyt'ing dat you owes me." She gave him a puzzled smile. "I figgerd it wouldn't be right ta cash in on dese, when you'se given us all so much already." He gave her a lopsided smile. Now Moira did start to cry, Racetrack would be one that she would miss most of all. He gave her a hug. "'Ey, wad I tell ya about gettin' all soft on me? Stay strong." He tapped her chin. "Chin up, soldiah." The train, pulled up, making quite a bit of noise as it did so. Race loaded her bags into the cargo area, and gave her one last hug. "T'ings'll woik out, Moira. Dey always do." He told her, helping her up onto the step.
He watched her move through the train and find a seat. She pressed her hand against the window, smiling sadly, and Race could tell she was trying not to cry again. He waved back, and before he knew it, the train had begun to move out of the station, picking up speed as it did so, and soon, it was gone. Racetrack watched as it faded out of view, stood alone for a minute, and turned to head back to town.
***
David, beginning to worry about Moira's heath, climbed the apartment stairs once again and knocked on the door. An oddly subdued Kathryn opened the door. For once, she didn't look disgusted or repulsed that he had knocked on her door as she usually did when one of the newsies stopped by to see how Moira was feeling. Instead, her face was pale, and she looked at him nervously.
"Is Moira here?" He asked, worried.
"No." She answered, softly. "She's not here."
"Then she's feeling better?"
"I-I don't know."
"Has she gone back to work?"
"She's not here. Good day, Mr. Jacobs." Kathryn told him shortly, and closed the door in his face.
Surprised, and a little confused, David turned and went back downstairs, out the door, and across the street to the LH.
"Moira?" He called, upon entering. His voice echoed off the thin walls, but he heard nothing in return except his footsteps as he made his way around the bottom floor. Going into the office, he found the desk to be empty except for two things. The large, brown sketchbook she'd been given for Christmas, and an envelope with his name on it. He recognized Moira's handwriting immediately, picked it up, and tore it open, knowing in the pit of his stomach, that he would not like what it had to say.
Later that evening, once all of the newsies had gathered back at the LH, Racetrack stood up on one of the broken chairs, feeling the busted springs with his bare feet. "Guys!" He yelled, trying to get everyone's attention. They quieted down after a few minutes.
"Whaddya want, Racetrack?" Mush asked, annoyed that his story had been interrupted.
"Shut up, Mush. I gots sumpin ta say. So everybody hush a minute." He removed the only remaining envelope from his pocket, after having sent Cowboy up to the roof to read his own letter, tore open the top, and unfolded the piece of paper.
"Dear residents of the Lodging House, Newsies, my best friends,
I'm sorry I to tell you that I am leaving. In fact, by the time you hear this letter, I will be far away. I wish I could have said goodbye to all of you in person, but I hope you understand. And although I will miss you everyday I am gone, I hope you do not waste so much energy on me. There are, however, some things I want to tell you.
First of all, thank you. You welcomed me into your lives quite graciously, giving me a sense of belonging, and most of all, a sense of family that my own family could not give me. For that, I thank you. I hope that life is kind of you, and I wish you all of the following things:
Above all things, I wish the very best for each of you, education, family, friends, and happiness. I want you all to have every speck of happiness you can imagine, wherever you may find it. I wish for your days to be filled with sunshine in the summer and warm fires in the winter.
Love. I hope that love finds all of you. Maybe it has for some of you, and that's the most wonderful thing in the world. I want you all to love to the ends of your fingers, until you feel like your soul will burst. And take care of that love. NEVER GIVE UP ON LOVE. If you take nothing else from me, remember that.
God. I have always believed in God. Perhaps it's because my beliefs have never been challenged, although yours may have been. I suppose it doesn't matter if God exists or not, what I want for you is to have something to believe in. Something to wrap around yourself when it's too cold. Something to fall back on.
There is no way I can possibly thank you for all that you have done for me. Wherever I go, whatever I do, the memories I shall cherish the most will be those that I made here in the House, laughing with you, playing cards, or even sitting in the office, listening to the sounds of life in the other room. I will miss you dearly, and I love you all,
Moira."
Racetrack put the two-page letter back into its envelope and got down from the chair. The room was silent. Most everyone was looking at the ground. Not all of them had understood what Moira had said, but they knew she was gone, and that's what mattered.
"She's really gone, Race?" Les asked, wiping tears from his ten-year-old eyes. Race nodded sadly, patting his shoulder,
"Yeah, kid. She's really gone." With that, he left the house to clear his head.
***
From where he had been pacing, sounding out words of Moira's letter, and taking in their meaning, Jack watched Racetrack hurry out of the house and down the street, on his way to the theatre, where he spent many of his evenings lately. He folded up his letter and stuffed it in the envelope. Moira was gone, and he was to blame. Almost. That damn job in Maine hadn't helped much either, but mostly, she was gone because of him. The thought of this made his blood want to boil.
He couldn't stay up there. The roof had always been his 'thoughtful spot.' For as long as he could remember, Jack had been going up to the roof whenever he needed to think, or smoke, or just be alone. But now, it was filled with memories he no longer wanted to visit with: the night after Kloppman's funeral, when he had made peace with Moira. Christmas, watching God paint the sunset. The night Sarah had told him she was leaving. And more recently, when Moira had offered her delicate little heart to him, and he had broken it into a thousand pieces. No, if he stayed on this roof a minute longer, he would begin to think about throwing himself off.
The sun was going down as Jack wandered around Manhattan, aimlessly. He felt like he should have been surprised where he ended up, Horace Greeley Square. But he wasn't. If he wasn't on the roof, he was milling around this damn square. Jack sighed. He needed some new haunts, but at least here, he wasn't bombarded with painful memories.
He perched himself on one of the granite corners of the statue, took out his letter, and read over it again.
Dear Jack,
I wonder if telling you this way is the right thing to do, but I am going to make the assumption that we are still friends, and I would not leave a friend without an explanation. I'm going away. I've been offered a job in Maine, and I am going to take it, owing to the fact that I feel my presence is no longer needed in the lodging house, or in New York, for that matter. I hope you understand.
There is also something that I wanted to tell you. You were absolutely right. You're all wrong for me, and I know this. David is my match, my soul mate. It's been obvious since the first day I met him. He's perfect- smart, handsome, refined…everything I've ever wanted. But, in case you haven't noticed, people never want what is good for them. And I am certainly no exception. I want you, Jack Kelly. You are the only thing that I can see as being good for me, and no distance, nor time, can change that. I read somewhere that you can't help who you fall in love with. I had the luck to fall in love with you. I know you may not feel the same, but I thought you should know.
I have thanked nearly everyone I have met since moving to New York, and now it is time to thank you. Thank you for shorter hair, for cigarettes, for thousands of drawings, and thousands of hugs. Thank you for snowball fights in the winter, and for baseball in the spring. Thank you for teaching me how to live again. And above all, Jack Kelly, thank you for teaching me how to love. You will be greatly missed,
Yours,
Moira
Jack shook his head, and looked up, surprised at who was standing in front of him. He set his feet on the ground,
"Heya Davey." He greeted, trying to put on a good face. David, who looked like a bull, ready to charge, didn't say anything. "Sumtin wrong?" Jack asked, starting to get a little edgy. He'd never seen David look like this.
Before any more words were exchanged, David drew back a fist and let it fly into Jack's right cheekbone. The surprise, more than the force, knocked the cowboy over, holding his cheek in shock.
"Wha was dat for?" He cried staggering to his feet, only to have the other side of his face assailed by David's fist again. He didn't fall over this time, just staggered back a few feet.
"What did you do?" He attacker asked, holding up an envelope, quite similar to Jack's. Now his opponent was getting mad.
"Nuttin! I didn't do nuttin. I ain't da one dat chased her away if dat's what you'se askin."
"Yeah, that's what I'm asking. What did you do? Is that why she was so upset when she came to my apartment?" He asked, pushing Jack squarely in the shoulders- reeling with pent up aggression.
"When did she go ta your apahtment?" Jack asked, pushing David back, not being one to 'use his words' instead of fighting.
"The day you decided to break her heart!" That did it. Both men lunged at one another, punching and holding and tackling, each trying to get the upper hand. It was actually a fair fight. Jack was a more experienced fighter, but David, reeling with emotion for all of the times he had wanted to punch Jack, was not giving him an inch.
They rolled around on the ground on the square, each punching the other senselessly for a bit, until somehow, David ended up pinned against the plaque on the side of the statue. Out of breath, and exhausted, he held up his hands.
"Enough! Enough." Without must hesitation, Jack let him go, and they slumped against the statue. "What are we fighting about?" He asked, realizing how stupid he had been, starting a fight with Jack. He lip was already starting to swell.
"I dunno. You stahted it."
"Fine. Let me finish it then." They shook hands. David ran a finger along his forehead, where a cut had started to bleed. "I've never been in a fight before." He admitted, almost out of nowhere. Jack looked at him and laughed,
"Ya didn't do too bad." They laughed for a minute, and then grew quiet again. "So, Moira's gone."
"Yes, she is."
"Dija love her?" Jack asked, wondering if he had been right.
"Yes, I did." David thought for a minute, and decided he too had to test his hypothesis. "Did you?"
"Yeah- I t'ink so."
"Did…uh…she love you back?" He asked tentatively, although he already knew the answer.
"Uh…well…."
"I thought so." They were quiet again. Jack turned and ran his hands over the plaque.
"Go West Young Man." He said aloud to himself, David didn't hear him.
"Did I tell you that Pop went back to work?" He asked, tenderly touching the bones around his left eye.
"No, ya didn't. Tell him I said congrats." There was another awkward silence.
"Jack, what are we doing here?" David asked, finally.
"Sittin."
"Yeah, sitting. And that's it. Do you even want to be here anymore?" Jack thought about it. He did want to be in New York, but New York reminded him of Moira, and if Moira wasn't there, he didn't really want to be there either.
"Nah, not really. You?"
"I don't know. Where would we go?" David wondered aloud, trying to think of a place they could go. Jack looked at the plaque again. Go West Young Man.
"What about…Santa Fe?"
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Okay, next comes one of the last chapters. I'm getting really depressed. But fear not! I'll try not to keep you dangling too long. Oh, and 'Tanya' (the girl in context as "Race's girl" belongs to Legs. I just wanted to give one of my homegirls a little props. (oh wow- I'm so upper middle class suburbia!) Of course she has no use for our gal Moira in her story because she paired Jack up with SARAH! *sigh* the agony! Haha. Okay, onto chapter 20…
