Author's notes: Yes, I'm going to try to make this one longer… sorry!
Chapter Five: Saint Higgins
Fifteen-year-old Saint ran down to the Newsboys Lodging House on Duane Street, dark curls flying behind her. She flung open the front door. Something smelled like her father was cooking spaghetti and sausage…
Sure enough, there was the twenty-nine year old man she had come to know as her father, making food for "Notte Italiana" or Italian night at the lodging house, just like every Thursday.
"Ciao, Papa!"
"Hello, 'Rene," her father answered, wiping away some sauce that had made its way onto his face.
Saint rolled her eyes at her father; he was now the only person in New York City that still called her Irene. She knew that he did it just to get on her nerves.
"I've told you many times- they call me 'Saint' now."
"But I ain't them," he said with a smirk. "How's my girl?"
"Papa, why do you worry about me?" she said, shaking her head.
"I can't help it," he replied. "I want you to be happy. Stai contento."
"I am happy. I'm the happiest girl in Manhattan."
And she was.
The years went by fast after Manhattan and Brooklyn stopped talking to each other. Newsies came and newsies left. Irene and Sam, on their opposite sides of New York, were growing up.
Irene's papa loved her so- he spoiled her and played with her. His little girl never took off her mother's necklace. It was two pieces of black ribbon sewn together. Embroidered red roses with their green stems were on the outside ribbon, and the inside one had "Julia" embroidered in neat red script. Hung on the ribbon was a small silver key. Irene and her father didn't know what it was for, but it was there just the same.
People never noticed that Saint and Racetrack weren't biologically related- they were inseparable. Race taught her to play poker at a very young age, just as was common in Italian heritage, and it wasn't long before she could beat anyone- except her father, of course. They still lived at the lodging house, where they had a sort of family of newsies.
Most of the original strike group was gone. All that remained were Mush, Kid Blink, Skittery, David (who was mostly at school, and only around at Easter, in summer, and at winter break), and Jack. Racetrack's newsie friends were all uncles to her, and Sarah Jacobs an aunt. Kloppman was a sort of grandfather, as emotionally supportive to her as he was to Race.
Jack and Irene had a special relationship- he spoiled her almost as much as Race did. He would tell her about Santa Fe, and she would make him promise to bring her with him when he went. All feelings of resentment towards her were gone. He never ended up getting married to Sarah, but they still had occasional dates.
Irene was a very good child- she and her father went to church every Sunday. When she did something wrong (this included "improving the truth"), she went to confession. She got so obsessive about going to confession when she did even the slightest thing wrong, that one day, Mush started calling her "the little saint." Soon almost every one would call her "Saint" when they were joking around. Sometime in this time of happiness, Saint's birth name was almost entirely forgotten by all, except for her father and Kloppman, who still called her Irene. Kloppman called her that because he was used to it, and because he hated change. Her father just called her that because he liked to get on her nerves.
The biggest change of all happened on the twenty-first of March, in the year 1911. That day changed much in both Irene and Sam's worlds- the death of one human being. The owner of the Manhattan Newsboys Lodging House, Kloppman, was dead. He died of a fever epidemic, and an eleven-year-old Irene stood by her adopted grandfather's side as he left the world and all its inhabitants.
"Things are going to change, Irene, for the better and the much, much worse. It'll seem like everything's perfect… then spin out of control. Just remember, it'll get better. Everything, no matter how bad it might be, will get back to normal. For the better. Irene, I want you to promise me something."
"What, grandpapa?"
"Take care of Manhattan. It's your daddy's job now, but one day, it'll be yours. One day, someone's going to want to take it away. You have to stop at nothing to make sure that Manhattan is safe. Do you promise?"
"I promise."
"Good…"That's when he died. In his will, Kloppman had left control of the lodging house to Racetrack, who currently was also sick with the fever. He wasn't nearly as sick, but still not fit enough to take control at that exact minute. For a few weeks after that, Mush was the one who operated the lodging house, but as soon as he recovered (which took a while because his immune system was weaker than most people's) Racetrack took control.
This changed Irene's lifestyle around a bit.
Irene now had the bedroom upstairs all to herself. In years past, Irene had slept on a small cot while her father slept on the small bed. He moved to the bedroom downstairs. Despite the fact that he made more than enough money collecting the newsies' rent for the day, he still sold newspapers. Not very many, but just so he could have something else to do except go to the races all day. Skittery, Mush, Kid Blink, and Jack stopped being newsies, but they still lived in the lodging house. They all got work at factories or in distribution of the papers to the newsies.
Irene didn't quite understand what Kloppman meant when he said that, only that she had to take care of Manhattan. So she worked right along with her father, waking newsies up, cooking supper. She never told anyone- not even Race- about her promise, though.
Racetrack and his friends never let Irene know about the conflicts between the different boroughs of New York. Race never wanted his daughter to feel unsafe, or get caught up in the gang warfare that was his world- and the world Irene had been born into. He never wanted her to have to fight. He kept all that he did at night a secret.
Now was about the age when it was expected for Irene to leave for a girl's lodging house or get a job, but since her father now ran the lodging house, and exception was made. She was the only girl who lived there.
Every Thursday was Italian night- Race and Irene would cook enough pasta to feed the entire lodging house and still have leftovers.
Irene was a newsie starting at age twelve, though it took her quite sometime to convince her father to let carry the banner. After much pestering (which she later went to confession for), Racetrack let her sell newspapers, but only if she didn't sell in Brooklyn and went to "school" every other day. Irene agreed.
School to Irene was David's office at NYU. He was a night school professor there, and every other day she would come and he would expand upon the basic things her father taught her. He corrected her grammar, and she never spoke with a New York accent. She was eager to learn, and she excelled.
She didn't know much about Brooklyn; she'd never been there, as far as she knew. She knew that her father had some falling out with Spot Conlon when she was a baby, but that was it. In fact, she didn't know much about the first few weeks of her life, because Race made sure that she didn't know. All she knew was that her father had found her mother, Julia, dead, and decided to take her in. He never showed her the note that was left, but he told his daughter that Irene should always wear that necklace because it was all that she had of her mother.
The sweet-tempered girl was pretty, with dark, loose curls that hung down her back and brown eyes that looked with such concentration, same as when Racetrack first found her. Her ivory skin was icy pale, even though she was out in the sun for most of the day. Now, she was soon to be sixteen in four months time, and nothing could make the young girl happier then living in New York.
Author's notes: I still think that Irene sounds like a Mary Sue… the litmus test told me otherwise though, with a low score of fifteen. She won't sound as bad later on, once the story really starts.
Reviewer of the chapter:
Ashley Sell: Yes people, this is one of my best friends from school, and she's my partner in crime for all things Newsies. THANKS ASHLEY! YOU ROCK! Talk to you at school…
Thanks people! All of your reviews were great. I'm still sort of short on time, though, so I had to only do one…