Taken In
Seventeen-year old Spot Conlon kicked a small rock down the street as he trudged toward the water. The day had been especially trying, and he was looking forward to the time alone more than ever. His nights at the dock were his solace from the stressful demands of leadership, and the impending winter had him in poor spirits.
He found his usual spot, high up on a wooden post, where he could see what went on around him. After a few minutes, a figure caught his eye. He could barely make it out, so he climbed down, making as little noise as possible, although they apparently weren't paying attention anyways, as they hadn't heard him when he first came. Spot quietly moved closer, and when he figured he had gone far enough, he made himself comfortable on a crate.
The figure could now be identified as a young woman. He couldn't make out the details of her face, but he could tell she had slightly curly hair, midway down her back, and a slight shimmer on her cheeks told him she'd been crying.
In his gut, Spot felt the need to talk to her, to know her story. He stood up and walked along the dock toward her. Not wanting to scare her, he wasn't quite sure how to approach. He slowly moved into a sitting position a couple of feet away and looked at her, but didn't say a word. She turned her face to meet his gaze, and as the moon lit her features, his heart skipped a couple beats. Her gentle, yet striking beauty hit him like a pile of bricks. Gorgeous bricks.
She had big, clear blue eyes, framed by long, thick eyelashes and delicate eyebrows, and her hair looked as smooth as silk. Her full lips quivered as she held back her tears in front of this stranger. She wore a long, pale green dress, with short sleeves and a slightly tattered hem. An off-white crocheted shawl covered her shoulders, but did an inadequate job of warming her arms. The night air had chilled her, and she shivered slightly. Her dusty black boots were loosely tied, as if she had been rushed while lacing them.
Somehow, Spot found his voice, and almost whispered, "Ya got a name?"
The girl hesitated, took a deep, shuddery breath, and then said, "Isabelle."
Spot held out his hand. "Spot Conlon."
Isabelle cocked her head to the side as she wiped her glistening cheeks with her sleeve. "Spot Conlon as in… newsie leader, Spot Conlon?" she asked, then offered her hand.
He smirked, nodded, and noted how ice-like her hand felt as he shook it. "So, uh… what are you'se doin' out heah?"
She hesitated, then shook her head. "I don't want to talk about it right now."
"Well, do ya got somewheres to stay?"
Isabelle looked at him for what seemed like an hour, but was only a few seconds. Another tear took the place of the ones wiped only moments earlier from her cheek. "No," she whispered.
He smiled. "That, I can help ya with. Wanna try yer hand at headline-hawkin'?"
She took another shuddery breath. "Well, as it's either that or stay out here… I'd love to."
Spot stood up, and after helping her to do so also, he led her back to the lodging house.
· · · · · · · ·
At the lodging house
Spot pushed the door open, and, almost as an afterthought, turned around and held it open for Isabelle. A few guys were lounging around the front room, and a couple sat on the steps leading upstairs, deep in conversation. Mr. McKenzie, the rather chubby, elderly owner, was behind the front desk, smoking his pipe and reading from a thick book.
All except the owner, deeply engrossed in his novel, looked up as Spot entered with the newcomer. He told Isabelle to sit down in a chair near the door, then walked over to the desk, and cleared his throat to get McKenzie's attention. The old man looked up and took in the familiar face, then glanced quizzically over at the new one.
"Hey, uh… McKenzie, is there any way we'se could, ya know, talk privately fer a minute?"
The man nodded, and the two went into the room behind the desk and closed the door.
"Could she stay here?" Spot immediately asked.
"Who, the gi.rl?" He asked.
"Well a' course da goil. I didn' say 'she' 'bout no guy."
McKenzie sat back in his chair, let out a long breath, and thought about it for a minute. After a time, he shrugged. "Honestly, I don't see why not. Gi.rls can sell papers as well as boys can, I'm sure. Maybe better, seeing as they tend to be sweeter. And better looking." He smiled at the young man. "We don't have no extra rooms though. She'll have to be all right with staying with you boys. And I don't want to be hearing about any bad behavior. I know she's a looker, but I won't tolerate it."
Spot nodded enthusiastically. "Thanks," he said.
He returned to Isabelle and bent down in front of her. "McKenzie says it's all right, but we ain't got no extra rooms. You gotta stay in wid' us guys. But don' worry! We'se may be tough, but we ain't rude. An' you'se can change in 'da bathroom."
She nodded. "Yeah, I can do that."
"Well let's go then," he said. "I'll show ya 'round."
((A BIG thank you to Gamble and Melissa for reviews!))