Disclaimer: I own Wren, Mrs. O'Hara and Alex Macmillan, that's it! (sighs)
**********
"I hopes ya realize how close ya just come to dyin' on me," Jack growled as he sat on Rachel's bed. Rachel didn't answer, just spared Jack a highly annoyed glare. Didn't he realize how his moving around made her ribs hurt? Apparently not, she cursed as Jack moved yet again. At last Davey came to her rescue.
"Jack, she's got cracked ribs, if you're gonna move, get off the bed or she's not gonna get better," the young man said firmly.
Jack looked over at Davey as if he'd forgotten the other was there but he got up anyways. He paced over to the window and gazed out, his back ramrod straight and Rachel suddenly felt well, she felt guilty. She knew Jack was even more worried over the Bowry situation now than he'd been when they went to see Spot. Rachel pulled her gaze from the young man and looked down at her fingers curled in the blankets. Something inside of her shriveled up. She knew Jack was worried about her, not just the newsies. Now he was worried about the girls out selling too.
"You ain't goin' back out dere."
Rachel looked over in surprise. "Wha? What did ya say Jack?"
"You ain't goin' back out," Jack turned, his face stony. "Ya just gonna git hurt again. Til this bullshit with Bowry is done, ya gonna be caught in da middle jus cause ya a goil." Disheartened, Rachel noted that Jack had fallen back to his street rat accent. He always did when he was upset or angry or just too distracted to think about what he was saying. The paper had made him take phonics lesson so he would be able to travel. He hadn't mastered them yet and was still a just an intern or whatever. She looked up at Jack, begging him not to make her go away.
"Ya gotta get a different job, least till all a dis blows ova. Stay at the lodgin' house, dun go out alone, and get a new way ta make money. Maybe, I dunno, cleanin' houses or sometin'," Jack continued turning to the window again.
"But. Jack," Rachel began.
"Nah, Rache, ya gotta do dis." Jack sat down on the bed again, gripping Rachel's face gently and forcing her to meet his eyes. "Do it. Do it fa me, wun ya?"
"Jack I," Rachel's protests died on her lips as she gazed into Cowboy's earnest blue eyes. She felt her will crumbling before him and knew that she'd do anything for Jack, he didn't even have to ask. She swallowed and managed to croak out, "I'll clean houses or something."
Jack smiled at her gratefully, kissing her forehead. "Dat's mah goil."
Rachel forced herself to at least fake a smile and murmurred "Yeah."
**********
Rachel regarded her arch-nemesis with daggers in her eyes. Sarah Jacobs had never actually done anything to Rachel but that didn't matter. She was part of what pulled Jack from the newsies. Sarah was what stood between Rachel and her secret dream, Jack. That was enough for Rachel to feel animosity towards the older girl. Now the minx had the nerve to play friendly with her? All at Jack's behest of course. Jack had asked his fiancé to help Rachel find a safer job for a while.
Sarah was saying how they would go down the streets and clean houses. Hopefully one of the houses would need a housecleaner long term and that would give Rachel a chance to just relax while this Bowry business got worked out. Sarah turned to her, handing her a bucket full of cleaning supplies. Rachel sneered at in disgust and shouldered a broom while Sarah led the way down the street.
**********
By noon the two girls had traversed several different streets. Only one house so far had let them in to clean. Rachel was beginning to wilt both from weariness and from depression. So far they'd made no progress. If this house didn't let them in, Rachel was going to protest and declare a lunch break. The brass numbers beside the door declared it to be 658 Stuart Court and the little matching plaque read "Macmillans."
Sarah pulled the bell cord and there came the scuffling of feet as the came to open the door. An elderly lady at least in her fifties or sixties with pure white hair pulled back in a strict bun answered the door. She had flour over her black and gray uniform as she regarded the girls.
"Yes I do need help around the house," the housekeeper smiled. "These old bones of mine just can't do it all anymore."
Rachel and Sarah spent the afternoon cleaning the house from top to bottom, reaching into every dark corner and cleaning each shelf, knick- knack, and table top til it sparkled and gleamed. Mrs. O'Hara smiled and handed the girls a small sack of money that chinked and clinked as it was moved.
"You girls are very good. Will you come back next week?" she asked.
The girls nodded and accepted the money graciously. They headed back to the lodging house where Jack and David were waiting for them. Sarah exclaimed over what a wonderful job Rachel had done and then showed them the money that they had earned that day. Jack had smiled proudly, kissing both girls on the cheek. Rachel flushed furiously; knowing Sarah would get a more familiar kiss when the two lovers were alone. David even hugged Rachel, telling her that things would be all right in a little while, that her having to clean houses was only temporary. It didn't do any good though and the little food that Rachel had eaten that day was like a pit of lead in her stomach. It didn't seem like this would ever end. She was stuck in hell with her worst enemy, the girl who had stolen Jack from her. Nothing would ever make this better.
**********
"You're more than welcome Mrs. O'Hara," Rachel smiled.
The old housekeeper smiled at her warmly from her chair at the table. Her feet were propped up on the opposite chair and she nursed a warm mug of coffee as she watched the younger woman. Rachel bustled around the kitchen keeping her eyes on two pots of boiling water, one for potatoes and another for eggs. In the oven, Rachel was basting a leg of lamb.
"You're too old to have to do all of this by yourself Mrs. O'Hara," Sarah added, looking up from her mending of Mr. Macmillan's shirts.
"We're more than glad to come over and lend a hand when you need it," Rachel piped in, pulling off the oven mitts and pacing over to the door to cool off. She dabbed at the sweat beading on her forehead.
This was the sixth time in two weeks that she and Sarah had come over to help at the Macmillan's. Mrs. O'Hara didn't call for them, she just opened the door when they showed up, ushered them in and set them to work. Rachel knew that Mrs. O'Hara was one of those proud kinds of women who would never admit that they were too old to do anything. It was the Irish in her that set her so strongly in her ways.
"I'm going to go up and dust the library, you two can handle the kitchen I suppose?" Rachel laughed, picking up a rag and some polisher.
She trotted up the stairs to the library, swinging the door open. She hummed loudly as she moved the globes and statuettes on the shelves, shifting books around to get in all the nooks and crannies.
"What are you doing in my library?"
Rachel jumped, twisting around to stare into the shadows cast by the unshuttered windows. Someone was sitting at the desk. She only knew he was there was because he reached over and stubbed his cigar onto the little ashtray that Rachel had constantly emptied each time she came over.
"I'm cleanin' sir," Rachel replied, holding out her dusty rags and bottle of polisher. The man stood, coming around the desk to regard Rachel with bright blue eyes. He stood at least six a foot taller than her with broad shoulders encased in a perfectly tailored silk shirt and vest. He looked down at her grimly, his handsome chiseled face like that of a Greek statue, complete with aristocratic nose and thick eyebrows mere shades darker than his gold hair.
"Really?" he asked, his voice dripping with disbelief. "I would have thought you were stealing something."
"Well, sir," Rachel straightened in indignation. "That certainly knows how much you know. I don't steal!"
The man burst out in laughter and put a companionable hand on her shoulder. When he smiled his blue eyes seemed to turn into a summer sky. Rachel however was too confused to really notice the disjointed thought.
"Why are ya laughin'?" she asked him.
"Mrs. O'Hara has already told me about you and your friend coming over and helping out around this dump. I'm sure it must be hard to pick up after a philandering widower," the man laughed.
"Oh, so you're Mr. Macmillan," Rachel sighed in relief. "Well sir, I'm Rachel. Pleased ta finally meet ya Mr. Macmillan."
Mr. Macmillan seemed to pull up and look at her sharper. He brushed off the strange look though and pulled his smile back.
"What is that delicious aroma? Could that be dinner?" Mr. Macmillan chuckled as he escorted Rachel from the library.
**********
Mr. Macmillan leaned back in his chair, surveying the three women waiting for his opinion.
"The roast was succulent, the potatoes were creamy, and that egg dish, oh, whatever it was, it tasted divine," he said at last, grinning charmingly. "You all are a good team. How would you like to take a permanent sort of position here helping out dear Mrs. O'Hara?"
**********
"I hopes ya realize how close ya just come to dyin' on me," Jack growled as he sat on Rachel's bed. Rachel didn't answer, just spared Jack a highly annoyed glare. Didn't he realize how his moving around made her ribs hurt? Apparently not, she cursed as Jack moved yet again. At last Davey came to her rescue.
"Jack, she's got cracked ribs, if you're gonna move, get off the bed or she's not gonna get better," the young man said firmly.
Jack looked over at Davey as if he'd forgotten the other was there but he got up anyways. He paced over to the window and gazed out, his back ramrod straight and Rachel suddenly felt well, she felt guilty. She knew Jack was even more worried over the Bowry situation now than he'd been when they went to see Spot. Rachel pulled her gaze from the young man and looked down at her fingers curled in the blankets. Something inside of her shriveled up. She knew Jack was worried about her, not just the newsies. Now he was worried about the girls out selling too.
"You ain't goin' back out dere."
Rachel looked over in surprise. "Wha? What did ya say Jack?"
"You ain't goin' back out," Jack turned, his face stony. "Ya just gonna git hurt again. Til this bullshit with Bowry is done, ya gonna be caught in da middle jus cause ya a goil." Disheartened, Rachel noted that Jack had fallen back to his street rat accent. He always did when he was upset or angry or just too distracted to think about what he was saying. The paper had made him take phonics lesson so he would be able to travel. He hadn't mastered them yet and was still a just an intern or whatever. She looked up at Jack, begging him not to make her go away.
"Ya gotta get a different job, least till all a dis blows ova. Stay at the lodgin' house, dun go out alone, and get a new way ta make money. Maybe, I dunno, cleanin' houses or sometin'," Jack continued turning to the window again.
"But. Jack," Rachel began.
"Nah, Rache, ya gotta do dis." Jack sat down on the bed again, gripping Rachel's face gently and forcing her to meet his eyes. "Do it. Do it fa me, wun ya?"
"Jack I," Rachel's protests died on her lips as she gazed into Cowboy's earnest blue eyes. She felt her will crumbling before him and knew that she'd do anything for Jack, he didn't even have to ask. She swallowed and managed to croak out, "I'll clean houses or something."
Jack smiled at her gratefully, kissing her forehead. "Dat's mah goil."
Rachel forced herself to at least fake a smile and murmurred "Yeah."
**********
Rachel regarded her arch-nemesis with daggers in her eyes. Sarah Jacobs had never actually done anything to Rachel but that didn't matter. She was part of what pulled Jack from the newsies. Sarah was what stood between Rachel and her secret dream, Jack. That was enough for Rachel to feel animosity towards the older girl. Now the minx had the nerve to play friendly with her? All at Jack's behest of course. Jack had asked his fiancé to help Rachel find a safer job for a while.
Sarah was saying how they would go down the streets and clean houses. Hopefully one of the houses would need a housecleaner long term and that would give Rachel a chance to just relax while this Bowry business got worked out. Sarah turned to her, handing her a bucket full of cleaning supplies. Rachel sneered at in disgust and shouldered a broom while Sarah led the way down the street.
**********
By noon the two girls had traversed several different streets. Only one house so far had let them in to clean. Rachel was beginning to wilt both from weariness and from depression. So far they'd made no progress. If this house didn't let them in, Rachel was going to protest and declare a lunch break. The brass numbers beside the door declared it to be 658 Stuart Court and the little matching plaque read "Macmillans."
Sarah pulled the bell cord and there came the scuffling of feet as the came to open the door. An elderly lady at least in her fifties or sixties with pure white hair pulled back in a strict bun answered the door. She had flour over her black and gray uniform as she regarded the girls.
"Yes I do need help around the house," the housekeeper smiled. "These old bones of mine just can't do it all anymore."
Rachel and Sarah spent the afternoon cleaning the house from top to bottom, reaching into every dark corner and cleaning each shelf, knick- knack, and table top til it sparkled and gleamed. Mrs. O'Hara smiled and handed the girls a small sack of money that chinked and clinked as it was moved.
"You girls are very good. Will you come back next week?" she asked.
The girls nodded and accepted the money graciously. They headed back to the lodging house where Jack and David were waiting for them. Sarah exclaimed over what a wonderful job Rachel had done and then showed them the money that they had earned that day. Jack had smiled proudly, kissing both girls on the cheek. Rachel flushed furiously; knowing Sarah would get a more familiar kiss when the two lovers were alone. David even hugged Rachel, telling her that things would be all right in a little while, that her having to clean houses was only temporary. It didn't do any good though and the little food that Rachel had eaten that day was like a pit of lead in her stomach. It didn't seem like this would ever end. She was stuck in hell with her worst enemy, the girl who had stolen Jack from her. Nothing would ever make this better.
**********
"You're more than welcome Mrs. O'Hara," Rachel smiled.
The old housekeeper smiled at her warmly from her chair at the table. Her feet were propped up on the opposite chair and she nursed a warm mug of coffee as she watched the younger woman. Rachel bustled around the kitchen keeping her eyes on two pots of boiling water, one for potatoes and another for eggs. In the oven, Rachel was basting a leg of lamb.
"You're too old to have to do all of this by yourself Mrs. O'Hara," Sarah added, looking up from her mending of Mr. Macmillan's shirts.
"We're more than glad to come over and lend a hand when you need it," Rachel piped in, pulling off the oven mitts and pacing over to the door to cool off. She dabbed at the sweat beading on her forehead.
This was the sixth time in two weeks that she and Sarah had come over to help at the Macmillan's. Mrs. O'Hara didn't call for them, she just opened the door when they showed up, ushered them in and set them to work. Rachel knew that Mrs. O'Hara was one of those proud kinds of women who would never admit that they were too old to do anything. It was the Irish in her that set her so strongly in her ways.
"I'm going to go up and dust the library, you two can handle the kitchen I suppose?" Rachel laughed, picking up a rag and some polisher.
She trotted up the stairs to the library, swinging the door open. She hummed loudly as she moved the globes and statuettes on the shelves, shifting books around to get in all the nooks and crannies.
"What are you doing in my library?"
Rachel jumped, twisting around to stare into the shadows cast by the unshuttered windows. Someone was sitting at the desk. She only knew he was there was because he reached over and stubbed his cigar onto the little ashtray that Rachel had constantly emptied each time she came over.
"I'm cleanin' sir," Rachel replied, holding out her dusty rags and bottle of polisher. The man stood, coming around the desk to regard Rachel with bright blue eyes. He stood at least six a foot taller than her with broad shoulders encased in a perfectly tailored silk shirt and vest. He looked down at her grimly, his handsome chiseled face like that of a Greek statue, complete with aristocratic nose and thick eyebrows mere shades darker than his gold hair.
"Really?" he asked, his voice dripping with disbelief. "I would have thought you were stealing something."
"Well, sir," Rachel straightened in indignation. "That certainly knows how much you know. I don't steal!"
The man burst out in laughter and put a companionable hand on her shoulder. When he smiled his blue eyes seemed to turn into a summer sky. Rachel however was too confused to really notice the disjointed thought.
"Why are ya laughin'?" she asked him.
"Mrs. O'Hara has already told me about you and your friend coming over and helping out around this dump. I'm sure it must be hard to pick up after a philandering widower," the man laughed.
"Oh, so you're Mr. Macmillan," Rachel sighed in relief. "Well sir, I'm Rachel. Pleased ta finally meet ya Mr. Macmillan."
Mr. Macmillan seemed to pull up and look at her sharper. He brushed off the strange look though and pulled his smile back.
"What is that delicious aroma? Could that be dinner?" Mr. Macmillan chuckled as he escorted Rachel from the library.
**********
Mr. Macmillan leaned back in his chair, surveying the three women waiting for his opinion.
"The roast was succulent, the potatoes were creamy, and that egg dish, oh, whatever it was, it tasted divine," he said at last, grinning charmingly. "You all are a good team. How would you like to take a permanent sort of position here helping out dear Mrs. O'Hara?"
