((A/N: Ok, just to forwarn you, for all you Bolt fans, this chapter is a tad boring, and yet, necessary. So deal with it. Haha, enjoy))

Chapter Two

Hannah climbed the stairs to the small room she shared with her sister. She was tired, and she knew her sister wouldn't be happy about her coming in so late. She would tell her how improper her behavior was. She fitted her key into the lock on the door, trying to open it as silently as possible, hoping her sister was still asleep. She winced when the handle jangled loudly in the door. She didn't know why they even bothered locking it, the knob was so loose, you could just push the door and it would open.

She entered the room, sighing as she saw that Elisabeth was still awake, sitting up in bed, reading an ad from today's newspaper. No doubt it was all about the latest fashion trends, Hannah thought in spite of herself, smiling at Elisabeth before turning to shut the door behind her.

"Ellie, you're up late," Hannah said with a smile, tugging her gloves off, and placing them on the small dresser.

"Hannah, you're out late." Was Elisabeth's tart reply, "You weren't with that boy again, were you?"

Hannah didn't answer right away, carefully pulling the pins from her hair, allowing the light brown curls to fall across her back, before answering Elisabeth, "He's not 'that boy', Ellie. His name is Elijah. And yes, he was kind enough to walk me home, tonight." Hannah finally responded, conveniently leaving out the fact that she had gone to see him at his boarding house after work.

"What were you doing out so late, anyways? You weren't still working, were you? Hannah, Mr. Morrison, no mater how great a boss he is, shouldn't be working you so late."

Hannah sighed, pulling her nightgown on, and sliding under the covers of the small bed, next to Elisabeth, "No, Ellie," she said, knowing the only reason her sister was asking was because she was concerned for her. Ever since Mama and Da had gone back to their homeland, Elisabeth had felt the need to become a second mother to her younger sister. Even if the only age difference was a year.

New York City – 1900

Mama Evans wrung her hand nervously, looking from one daughter to the other, as if memorizing their features, "Are you sure you want to stay here, Elisabeth. You girls shouldn't be separated from your father and I, you're too young! Come back with us, you can learn the language when we get there. Papa and I will even teach you on the ship."

Elisabeth, smiled tightly at her mother, unbidden tears filling her eyes, "No, Mama, New York is our place. I don't want to learn another language, and another country's customs."

Papa interrupted, placing a weathered hand on his wife's shoulder, "This is what you wanted, Ana. You promised yourself when you came over here, all those years ago, you promised your future children would be Americans, through and through. And they are. Let them be Americans. Ellie's 18 now, she'll watch over Hannah. Say your goodbyes, the ship will be boarding soon,"

Mama's eyes overflowed, tears streaming down, over her plump cheeks, She reached out, pulling both her girls, into a long hug, "You look out for each other, you hear? You're all each other has, now."

All three of them were crying by the time they pulled away, and when Hannah looked over at her father, she noticed even his eyes were moist with emotion.

Hannah and Elisabeth stood together, as the ship pulled away from land, holding hands, and crying silently until they could no longer make out the forms of their parents, standing on the deck and waving to them.

"C'mon, Hannie," Elisabeth said, wiping her cheeks with a dainty handkerchief, "We'd best go back to the boarding house, and make sure we have everything we need."

Hannah hesitated a moment, wanting just one more glance of her parents, before she gave in to her sister's tugging on her sleeve, allowing herself to be led back to the boarding house, their new home.

"Hannah, did you hear me?" Elisabeth asked, for what must have been the second time.

"What?" Hannah said, pulling herself out of her memories.

"Don't say "what" Hannah, it's uncouth. I asked you were you'd been, if you weren't at work."

"Oh. I went to see Becky after work. I told her I'd bring her some ribbon. She's courting Stephen Miller, you know," she replied, skillfully steering the conversation away from herself. What she said wasn't a lie, she had gone to see Becky after work, but that was before she'd gone to see Elijah.

"Stephen Miller? Well, he's too good for her. I thought for sure he was going to begin courting you soon, Hannah." Elisabeth said, as she blew out the kerosene lamp.

Hannah turned on her side, curling up on her side, attempting to find a comfortable position on the stiff mattress, "No, he's courting Becky." She murmured, ignoring Elisabeth's jab at her friend, "And I'm courting Elijah."

Elisabeth snorted- in a most unladylike manor- saying, "You can't call that courting. He's never come to call, and you know, Ms. Brennen has a very nice parlor set up for gentlemen callers. She was just telling me today that she was expecting you to start courting soon. And, really, Hannah, he's not worth your time. You're a very pretty girl, I'm sure there's a nice young man that would be wiling to court you."

"Well, Ms. Brennen is a busybody. And I don't want to court any other 'nice young men' if all that's attracting them to me is my looks, honestly, Ellie, you act as if that's the only thing a man is looking for."

"Hannah, your naivety is really quite endearing. Get some sleep, tomorrow will come early."

Hannah had to grit her teeth to refrain from responding. She reminded herself once again that Elisabeth only meant what was best for her. She didn't realize that Elijah was what was best for her.

I'd known Hannah Evans for a long time. And as corny as it sounds, she was everything I could ever hope to be. She was pretty, but not as stunningly beautiful as some girls I'd seen. Her beauty was found in her smile, which was always ready, in her blue eyes, which had the uncanny ability to convey her every thought, and in the warmth of her voice, always evident, no matter what was going wrong in her life. And things went wrong in her life often.