When she went to work the next day, Katie Finnegan had dark circles under
her eyes and a love-bite on her neck. Valentine asked her how the
toughest, most rough-and-tumble boy had worked out in the end, and Katie
only laughed.
"I'll find him next time," she said at last. "Don't you worry your pretty little head about it, Higgins. I'll find him."
"I don't doubt it," Valentine said, smiling as well, because she had always liked Katie for being so optimistic and unfettered in a way that she could never have been.
By rights, Katie should have had even more to worry about than Valentine did. Because while Valentine only had a plaintive little brother to take care of, Katie had a mother and a father and older brothers and a younger sister and a grandfather, and all of them crammed into a tiny east-side apartment with four small rooms and one even smaller window. But while Valentine accepted responsibility, Katie willfully threw it off. Her parents and her brothers loved her and doted on her, and as long as she brought home a paycheck every week they had no bones with her, and as long as she could still go out dancing on Saturdays, no rough-and-tumble boy in the city of New York was safe.
Beyond finding true love, Katie had one other thing to worry about, and that was her nephew. He was her oldest sister's son, the one person Katie had always looked up to. Clare had been roses and cream, fragile, her touch light as frost; she had gotten married when she was only sixteen to a man who had split town less than a year later when Clare died of diphtheria, leaving their young son to be taken in by the Finnegans. And since Katie was the oldest daughter in the family, and at the tender age of eight professed to love babies, licorice, and Sean McFlaherty who lived down the street more than anything else in the known universe, Clare's orphaned son was taken in under her wing.
He wasn't even that much trouble now, not really, and especially in comparison to Valentine's brother. Because Francis rarely got into fights (like Anthony did) and even more rarely attempted to cheat the other kids out of their pocket money by holding fixed slug races (like Anthony did), and was the sort of stoic little boy who hardly ever cried, even in infancy. He was mellow and charming in his own sweet way, and if he never loved or needed Katie as fiercely as Anthony did Valentine, it was never something that was sorely missed.
Katie also discovered that once the boys could be left alone, she could cut down on her workload even more by bringing Francis over to Valentine's apartment and letting the children play together outside while they sat in Val's room, drinking anise tea and talking up a storm. For a time, the boys would play amiably at marbles or stickball, until, inevitably, the peace would be shattered, the argument always surfacing at the same point.
"Hey, Francis? Ain't that a girl's name?" (That was Anthony, of course.)
"Shut up."
"I think it is. You want me to call ya Franny from now on?"
"SHUT UP."
"Franny! Franny! Franny! Franny! Franny! FRAAANNNNYYYY BABYYYY..."
"SHUT. UP."
"Oh, yeah? Why dontcha make me, Franny?"
So Franny made him. He reached out and thumped Anthony as hard as he could (which, it must be admitted, wasn't awfully hard), and Anthony thumped him back, and pretty soon they were fighting like tomcats, kicking up dust in the street and rolling around on the ground and making a fairly good effort at killing each other. This went on for a while until finally one of the girls (usually Katie) would stick her head out the window and shout down at them to apologize to each other and play nicely or not play at all.
"Oh, yeah?" Anthony would say, jumping up and striking a defiant pose. "Why dontcha make me, Katie?"
And Katie would come down and make him.
After both boys had been threatened, cajoled, and told that in future it would do them good to guard their noses, Katie would go back upstairs and back into Valentine's room.
"So what's his name, Val?" she asked quietly, knowing that she had to use just the right tack to get the information that she wanted. But Valentine surprised her this time. She wasn't coy or withholding. She simply lay back on the bed, smoothed her hair away from her face, and looked out the window, smiling faintly.
"Pinky Falconetti."
"I'll find him next time," she said at last. "Don't you worry your pretty little head about it, Higgins. I'll find him."
"I don't doubt it," Valentine said, smiling as well, because she had always liked Katie for being so optimistic and unfettered in a way that she could never have been.
By rights, Katie should have had even more to worry about than Valentine did. Because while Valentine only had a plaintive little brother to take care of, Katie had a mother and a father and older brothers and a younger sister and a grandfather, and all of them crammed into a tiny east-side apartment with four small rooms and one even smaller window. But while Valentine accepted responsibility, Katie willfully threw it off. Her parents and her brothers loved her and doted on her, and as long as she brought home a paycheck every week they had no bones with her, and as long as she could still go out dancing on Saturdays, no rough-and-tumble boy in the city of New York was safe.
Beyond finding true love, Katie had one other thing to worry about, and that was her nephew. He was her oldest sister's son, the one person Katie had always looked up to. Clare had been roses and cream, fragile, her touch light as frost; she had gotten married when she was only sixteen to a man who had split town less than a year later when Clare died of diphtheria, leaving their young son to be taken in by the Finnegans. And since Katie was the oldest daughter in the family, and at the tender age of eight professed to love babies, licorice, and Sean McFlaherty who lived down the street more than anything else in the known universe, Clare's orphaned son was taken in under her wing.
He wasn't even that much trouble now, not really, and especially in comparison to Valentine's brother. Because Francis rarely got into fights (like Anthony did) and even more rarely attempted to cheat the other kids out of their pocket money by holding fixed slug races (like Anthony did), and was the sort of stoic little boy who hardly ever cried, even in infancy. He was mellow and charming in his own sweet way, and if he never loved or needed Katie as fiercely as Anthony did Valentine, it was never something that was sorely missed.
Katie also discovered that once the boys could be left alone, she could cut down on her workload even more by bringing Francis over to Valentine's apartment and letting the children play together outside while they sat in Val's room, drinking anise tea and talking up a storm. For a time, the boys would play amiably at marbles or stickball, until, inevitably, the peace would be shattered, the argument always surfacing at the same point.
"Hey, Francis? Ain't that a girl's name?" (That was Anthony, of course.)
"Shut up."
"I think it is. You want me to call ya Franny from now on?"
"SHUT UP."
"Franny! Franny! Franny! Franny! Franny! FRAAANNNNYYYY BABYYYY..."
"SHUT. UP."
"Oh, yeah? Why dontcha make me, Franny?"
So Franny made him. He reached out and thumped Anthony as hard as he could (which, it must be admitted, wasn't awfully hard), and Anthony thumped him back, and pretty soon they were fighting like tomcats, kicking up dust in the street and rolling around on the ground and making a fairly good effort at killing each other. This went on for a while until finally one of the girls (usually Katie) would stick her head out the window and shout down at them to apologize to each other and play nicely or not play at all.
"Oh, yeah?" Anthony would say, jumping up and striking a defiant pose. "Why dontcha make me, Katie?"
And Katie would come down and make him.
After both boys had been threatened, cajoled, and told that in future it would do them good to guard their noses, Katie would go back upstairs and back into Valentine's room.
"So what's his name, Val?" she asked quietly, knowing that she had to use just the right tack to get the information that she wanted. But Valentine surprised her this time. She wasn't coy or withholding. She simply lay back on the bed, smoothed her hair away from her face, and looked out the window, smiling faintly.
"Pinky Falconetti."