The cooler weather got to Mama. She took a dramatic turn for the worse, and Papa quit working so much so he could stay at home with her. We knew we were losing her, and we enjoyed the time we had left as a family as much as we could. I didn't get out much. Now that Papa wasn't working all the time I wasn't bringing him dinner, so I didn't see much of Spot. I did get a newspaper from the corner from time to time, and I always told whatever newsboy was there (a boy named Ace most of the time) to tell Spot that I said hello, though.
Ingrid came by a few times, but Hazel stopped by only once. She was crying. Her family was moving to St. Louis; her father had an attractive job offer there. I was glad she had come to say goodbye and excited for her family, but it was awful to see her go, knowing that chances were poor that we would meet again. She did promise to write. Ingrid and I became closer after that, but Mama's illness kept me from going out to see her.
In mid-October, Mama passed. It was peaceful; she simply let us know that she was done. Papa told her it was okay. He kissed her forehead, muttered something to her, and she just fell asleep forever. She was buried in the pauper's cemetery with a crude wooden headstone. We couldn't afford more—with Papa working so little, we had even fallen behind on rent. Ingrid came to the funeral with her parents. Mr. and Mrs. Meyer were from Hamburg like Mama and Papa, and they had been friends. A few of Mama's clients were there, and, much to my surprise, so was Spot. He didn't say anything; he just sort of hung in the back and listened, and I wondered how he knew since I hadn't seen him. He did shake Papa's hand, and as I walked by he gave my shoulder a squeeze. I couldn't look at him, though.
Papa was quiet in the weeks after Mama passed. He started working again, fretting over Maus and the grueling hours they were putting in trying to make ends meet. Our meager savings were gone, and with what we owed the doctors and without Mama's seamstress income, things were tighter than ever. It was about two weeks after Mama died that I finally realized what needed to happen.
"Papa," I said to him one morning as we picked up Maus from the livery and hitched her to the wagon, "I think I should get a job."
"Liebling," he sighed, and he turned to me with earnest eyes. "What about school? Your mama did so want more for you than this." I had expected an answer like this, and I was prepared for it.
"Do you remember when you told me how lucky we were compared to Spot?" I asked. He nodded, not quite sure where this was going. "I thought about it, and I think that, even working, I am still lucky. I have you. We have a home. We can make it work. But we need more money so that we can continue to have that home. I have you to teach me, and there are schools at some of the missions. We can make the school thing work, but only if we have money first. Maus is not going to live forever, especially at the rate you have been working. We will need to save up again. We can do that if I am working. We are lucky, Papa. We don't have to fight other people just to stay safe like Spot does. We have choices. This is MY choice, and I want your support, just as I have always supported you."
Papa just hugged me then. He was crying. It was a long time before we were both able to speak.
"You are so much like your Mama when she was your age," he whispered. "So determined to help others and to find her own way."
"I miss her," I whispered back.
Wouldn't you know it? I found a job pretty quickly. I would be working in a textile factory, but as a cleaning girl. That meant that I would not have to operate the dangerous machinery that scared Papa so badly. All in all it wasn't that terrible. I was able to bring in enough money to begin to pay down our debt and to buy food while Papa covered rent. We were even saving for a headstone for Mama, though very slowly. It wasn't glamorous, but I kept reminding Papa how lucky we were. I was even able to work the early shift, starting at 5 am, so that I could be home in time for dinner.
Papa and I kept our ritual of having a meal outside any time the weather would permit, even though I really should have been doing housework and Papa should have been taking on clients; we had simply started meeting just a bit later after I left work. Somehow, that ritual—the newspaper, the bench, and sometimes Spot's company—that was our haven, our link to the world of happier times. There was even one new highlight. Spot started bringing by some of the other newsboys. At first it was just Red and then Roller. Ace and a few others followed. It was nice getting to see a bit of his world by meeting his friends, and I was always amused by the way these rough-looking boys looked to Spot for approval. It was obvious they adored him, and as a result they worked hard to impress Papa and me. It was really sweet to watch them try to put on their best manners as if Papa and I were somehow high society.
There was even one additional bright spot in our lives. Sometime in late November, Red came to our bench. He had stopped by to visit regularly since Mama, and I found him to be just as pleasant as Spot, if perhaps not quite as well-read. That day, though, he had something in his arms.
"Cat, Mr. Fischer," he greeted politely as he approached.
"Red!" I exclaimed, grinning.
"Ach, is that it?" Papa said, looking at Red's bundle. I started as I realized it was moving.
"Happy belated birthday, Katja!" Red said, depositing a squirming puppy in my lap. I stared at him. How did he know that I had just turned fifteen?
"Wha—" I stuttered, staring at the black and white fluff ball in my lap. A dog? A tiny tongue licked my finger, and I smiled, entranced, at the fierce brown eyes. Papa's laughter snapped me out of it.
"I think she likes it!" he roared, slapping his knee. Red chuckled as I turned to them.
"How is this supposed to work?" I asked, reality setting it. "We both work! We can't take care of a puppy."
"That's the rest of the present," a voice behind me said. Spot, Roller, Ace, and Silver were walking up, smiling. "We have it all worked out," Spot continued, winking broadly at Papa. He pulled a leather thong off his neck. A key dangled on it. "See, I can sell near ya house. I can take care of the pup here until youse get home. Me boys can help. Yer pa's already given me the key to yer place."
I looked around in astonishment at Papa and the newsboys. This was too much. The puppy in my lap nipped on my finger, demanding attention. I began to tear up as I looked from the little creature to the friends who had made this possible. I turned to Papa.
"Danke," was all I managed.
"Kati, it's obvious you have been lonely these weeks," Papa said in German, mindful of the many eyes on us. "Your friends and I have been worried about you." He switched into English. "So, what should be his name?"
"Jimmy," I replied instinctively. I have no idea why that name popped into my head, but it did. I saw Spot's eyebrows lift, and I smiled. "Jimmy."