EPILOGUE
August 13, 1899, 12:00 Noon
"Dey best bring us back plenty o' food," Flick commented.
She, Secret, Race, Mush, and Blink were sitting together on the steps of the lodging house, enjoying the lazy summer afternoon. Because of the fight, Kloppman had permitted all of them to skip selling today. All morning, the girls and the Musketeers had been in the lodging house, enjoying the company of their fellow Manhattan newsies; but the atmosphere had started to become a bit smothering, and the five of them were more than a little relieved when the others voted to go to Tibby's for lunch as usual. Jack had thought they were crazy for opting to stay behind.
"We's celebratin' our vict'ry oveh Queens," he'd explained incredulously. "Youse all fought hard in dat fight, same as da rest o' us. Yer da one dat won da fight, fer cryin' out loud," he'd reminded Flick.
"An' my reward is gonna be some peace an' quiet," Flick had told him. Cowboy had thought this hilarious.
"Peace an' quiet, wit da T'ree Musketeers heah wit'chu? Good luck!"
Still chuckling, he'd led the rest of the boys out the door and off in the direction of their favorite restaurant.
"Call, an' raise ya twenty."
Flick's eyebrows shot up. "Call," she replied, tossing down two dimes. "Feelin' confident, Race?"
"Don't worry, Flick," Secret advised. She was holding a wooden flute in her hand. Her fingers stroked it absently as she continued, "Dat's Song's deck yer playin' wit. An' if I know Song, she's one unique angel, handin' out blessin's ta favah'd gamblas."
Flick grinned at the image. "How many cards ya want, Racetrack?"
"I'll take one."
She handed him a card, exchanged three of hers, and carefully studied her hand.
"What's takin' ya so long, Flick?" Race demanded. "Tryin' ta make an eight an' a jack into a pair?"
"I gave ya a rain check on dat soakin'," Flick reminded him.
Blink laughed. "Y'know, Race, wit yer mouth an' her fists, we's lookin' forward ta yeahs o' trouble." His eye sparkled mischievously. "An' it won't help if Mush stays as shy an' goil-crazy as 'e is now..."
Mush responded with an elaborate cough that seemed to be covering up the words "mayor's daughda". Secret snorted with laughter and joined Mush's side.
"Don't try ta tell us dat you goin' 'round all happy an' excited an' actin' drunk oveh ev'ry liddle t'ing won't get us inta moah den a few scrapes, Blink."
Flick snickered at this, finally placing her bet of twenty-five cents. "We's jist a regula gang o' maniacs, ain't we? T'ank God fer you, Secret. I dunno what we'd do widdout one sensible poyson ta balance us out."
"Ya'd all be lost widdout me," Secret agreed.
"Hang on," Mush protested. "Yer tawkin' 'bout a goil who pushed Spot Conlon in da rivah. If Secret's da closest we's got ta sensible, we's in even moah trouble den I t'ought."
With indignant protests, Secret shook Song's flute threateningly at Mush. In a moment, however, she realized just what it was she was shaking. She drew it back hastily, and an awkward silence fell over the group. The five of them solemnly regarded the flute. It was Flick who spoke first.
"She was gonna be so great someday," she commented, tossing a dime onto the growing pile. "A professional musician. Dat was always what she wanted. Youse t'ree shoula hoid 'er play," she added, addressing the boys. "She was amazin'. Da crowds she useta get..."
"Two pair," Race offered.
"Two pair, an' higha."
Secret took over, her voice sad but steady. "Someday, some important composa or sometin' woulda hoid 'er play an' gotten 'er inta some band. Dey'd give 'er all da solos, an' she'd get ev'rytin' she useta tawk about...da concoits, da huge audiences, da stage an' da lights an' ev'ryone clappin' an' cheerin'..." Her voice caught. "An' instead, she had ta die...die a completely pointless death...at eighteen...an' die a newsie, a street rat..."
"We can't pretend dese t'ings are fair," Blink interrupted gently. "But t'ink 'bout it, both o' youse. She had two great friends dat she loved, a home an' a fam'ly o' sorts, an' she got ta spend so much o' her time doin' da t'ing she loved most. She din't have a bad life at all."
He's right, Flick realized. An' it feels a lot betta, ta t'ink o' it dat way. Ta t'ink dat she was happy, even if she neveh did get ta live out all dose dreams. "Eight cents."
"Raise ya t'ree."
"Call. Moment o' truth."
"Full House," Race volunteered, spreading out his cards.
"Four of a kind."
Race groaned at the depressing sight of Flick filling her pockets. He still hadn't beaten her even once...but he wasn't worried. He'd have plenty of chances in the future. Years of chances.
"Hey!" Flick let out a yelp as she felt her hat fly off her head. She leapt up, pounding down the porch steps after Race, and pursued him down the street, shaking her fist and shouting threats. Laughing, Mush and Blink were instantly on their feet, covering the steps in a couple bounds and taking off after their friends. Spotting the two newcomers to the chase, Racetrack tossed Flick's hat to Mush, who dodged Flick and tossed it back. Blink joined Flick's side, attempting vainly to intercept the missile. Up and down Duane Street the four newsies tore, as one by one, the boys' hats entered the game, and the sides swiftly changed, allies betraying each other and enemies turning friendly with every passing second.
Only Secret remained on the steps. Watching the outrageous spectacle, she smiled...a smile of contentment, affection, and peace. She'd gone from having two best friends to having four...and while Race, Mush, and Blink could never replace Song, could never fill the hole her death had left, they could certainly do a great deal to help, to heal.
Thoughtfully, Secret raised Song's flute to eye level. How often Song had tried to teach her two friends to play it. Flick had been a dunce, of course...she had plenty of talents more useful than music. Secret herself had never become the gifted student Song might have hoped for, but she had at least learned the notes and even managed to memorize a few of the simple beginners' tunes. Closing her eyes, Secret raised the flute to her lips and softly began to play.
As she dashed by the lodging house, struggling to juggle two hats at once and hold onto her own at the same time, Flick paused for a moment in her pursuit of Race, owner of the only hat not yet in her possession. A sound was drifting from the lodging-house steps...a very familiar sound. She smiled when she realized its source. Secret was playing Song's flute. The tune she had chosen was one that Song used to play often, even though it was very simple in contrast to the wild, enchanting melodies she could improvise. It had been one of her favorites. She used to sing the words after she played it on her flute.
"Hey, dragon, dis ain't freeze tag, y'know!" Race ducked around the motionless girl, easily swooping the brown cap off her head.
"Yer gonna pay fer dat!" Flick shouted, shaking herself out of her reverie, and charged at Race, yelling for assistance from Blink or Mush.
Sometimes, she recalled as Mush hurried to her aid, after playing and singing that particular tune, Song would remark dreamily that it was a song of hope. But right now, played by Secret and heard by Flick as they remembered the girl who had meant so much to both of them, Flick decided that it was more accurate to call it a song of healing.
All things shall perish from
Under the sky
Music alone shall live
Music alone shall live
Music alone shall live
Never to die.*
*Excerpt from "Music Alone Shall Live", by Kathryn Morski