It was near the end of March when the chaos began. Katja had begun talking about my seventeenth birthday, and I had been looking forward to April 5th for the first time in my life. It sounded like it would mean time alone with Katja, and that was a tradition I had decided I wanted to create for a lifetime. We were talking about potential activities for that day over German sausages, and Red had joined us. That turned out to be a good thing. Mr. Fischer and I soon turned to politics, and I was explaining a point Mr. Donovan and I had discussed at length regarding the governor's recent actions when Katja interrupted us with a glance at her watch.
"Time for me to go, Papa," she said, and we all stood. I shook Mr. Fischer's hand.
"See you tomorrow," I said, and he grinned back at me before giving his daughter the customary hug and kiss. He said something in German, and she answered back before we parted ways.
I knew something was off a moment or two before it actually happened. Some sound registered in my brain; to this day I don't know what it was, but it caused me to turn around in time to see Mr. Fischer's horse spook violently—right into the path of an oncoming trolley. The speed and violence of the crash is one that I had never witnessed before that day, and I knew almost instinctively that the accident was a fatal one, even though the horse was still thrashing on the ground. I also knew that there was no way Katja should be allowed to see the inevitable carnage.
There is something to be said for years of experience fighting; my reactions and ability to process information are lightning-fast. It takes time to describe something, but I took it all in instantly. That's why I was able to grab Katja before she could run over toward what was obviously still a dangerous scene. The horse was flailing, the trolley's passengers were staggering out into the street, and several other vehicles were swerving to avoid the mess. Somewhere underneath all of that was the one person who had been like a father to me.
"Papa!" I heard Katja scream, and I held her fast as she struggled against me.
"Hold her," I yelled to Red, shoving Katja into his arms and trusting he would do just that. I sprinted over to the crash, carefully avoiding the sharp debris pieces. The sight would haunt me forever. Mr. Fischer's mangled body was lying underneath the remains of the seat of his carriage. It was obvious he hadn't suffered. I saw his book underneath a splintered wheel, and some instinct made me grab it and stuff it in my pocket. A police officer and some bystanders were approaching, helping the wounded.
"The horse," I said to the officer, pointing to where the creature, clearly suffering, was still thrashing. He was a danger to all who approached, and the officer, thinking with a clarity I rarely see from bulls, drew his gun and put the animal out of its misery. It was obvious there was little I could do here, and the thought of Katja spurred me to action. I ran back to where Red stood, holding a shaking Katja to his chest.
"Let's get her home," I said, and Red nodded. He firmly put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her sideways so that she was facing her home. He held her tightly against himself, leading her away from the crash site. She stared ahead, and I wondered if she was aware of what was going on. Somehow I doubted it. I used my key to let us in the apartment, and Red led Katja over to her bed and sat her down. She was docile as we removed her shoes, and I went so far as to loosen her collar as she lay there. Fate had been kind; she was asleep before her left boot ever left her foot. I guess shock played a role, too. I left the door of the bedroom cracked so I could hear if she stirred, and once in the main room I turned to Red.
"Get Greasefoot, Ace, Silver, Henry, and Jumps over here," I said, mentally tracking what the next steps were. Keep moving. Keep doing. Don't think about it. "Then come back yourself. This is going to get ugly."
Red nodded, then left. I took a deep breath, ruthlessly shoving the mental image of Mr. Fischer's body out of my head. Okay. We would need to make burial arrangements. Legal arrangements. We would have to go to the bank. The newsies would need to know. And where would Katja go? This was the biggest question in my mind, but I put it at the bottom of the list; I needed to put the other pieces together first in order to answer it. I was just finishing my mental checklist when a knock announced the arrival of the summoned newsies. Silver and Jumps walked in. I sent Jumps to Katja's workplace to arrange emergency days off; hopefully I could keep her from losing her job. Silver headed over to the morgue. I trusted him to handle arrangements, identification of the body, and making an appointment for us the next day. No sooner had they headed out when Greasefoot arrived. I put him in charge of making sure all the newsies—including Manhattan—heard the news. I knew several of the boys would take it hard, but I also knew Greasefoot was the right one to break the news to them if it couldn't be me. Ace arrived next, and I sent him to the bank to make an appointment. A bit of shuffling through documents in the apartment also revealed the name of the family lawyer, so I sent Ace there, too. Then I told him to check in with the Meyer family; I knew he would want to see Ingrid anyway.
Red and Henry had long since arrived by then, for which I was grateful. Henry can be tough to find sometimes; he has a knack for becoming invisible, which is precisely why I wanted him.
"Red, we need someone without a police record to give a statement. You'll pass for eighteen, and you have never had run-ins with the bulls. You go back to the accident scene and do what you can. Henry, you go with him. See if you can learn anything, if you can spot anything that may have come off Mr. Fischer's carriage that would now belong to Cat, and generally keep an eye on the scene. Then keep an eye on the bulls. See if you hear anything important and make sure you got Red's back while you're at it. I'll send Jumps to you as soon as I can," I said.
The boys nodded and headed out, and I wiped my face with my hands. It seemed a lifetime had passed since the crash, but the reality was that it had only been about an hour. My mind had been going so fast that nothing had really registered yet, but in the stillness of the apartment after the boys left, the enormity of what had occurred hit me. I sat on the sofa and exhaled deeply. For almost two years I had led the newsies, but for most of that time I had always had the support of Mr. Fischer. I had been on my own before we got to talking each day, but I hadn't realized how much I had come to rely on his wisdom, his encouragement, and his faith in me. Now I was once again left to fend for myself.
Newsies are no strangers to hardship and loss, and I am no exception. While the loss of my own family was so far back I hardly registered it, we had lost boys over the years; illness, hunger, and the elements are facts of life for newsies, and losses are inevitable. As a result we all have our own way of compartmentalizing loss and grief. I drew on this skill now and did not cry. It was important that I remain strong; Katja and the boys would need me.
The thought of Katja had me worried. I knew that the loss alone could devastate her, but there were practical concerns that might create even bigger problems. The first was where she would go; she couldn't stay here on her salary, even if the state did allow her to do so. She would need a lot of support, both financially and emotionally. Maybe the Meyers could take her in . . . .
I was startled by a knock on the door. It was Jumps, who had returned from his errands. I gave him instructions to hook up with Henry, then sat back down, this time in a chair near Cat's bed so I could be on hand when she awoke. I continued mulling over the options for Cat.
I must have drifted off myself, but there is only so long you can sleep in an uncomfortable position. I stood and stretched, then sat back down, rubbing the back of my neck. The sun was setting. Red reappeared, and I had him take Jimmy for a quick outing while I searched the kitchen for food. Might as well use up what was here if, as I suspected, Cat wouldn't be staying. I managed to eat a meal of assorted goods and even gave some to Red before he headed back to the lodging house. He hadn't eaten all afternoon either.
By this time it was getting dark, and I resumed my vigil at Cat's bed. I hadn't been there long when she sat up, blinking in confusion.
"Hey," I said, walking over and perching on the edge of her bed. I saw the moment she remembered; she stiffened and paled, and for a moment she looked as if she were going to leap to her feet. I put my hand on her shoulder, and she turned to me.
"Papa?" she asked, and I didn't answer. I just pulled her into my arms, and I wonder now if that was for her benefit or for mine.
"Katja, he's gone," I whispered, and then her tears came. She cried briefly, but her tears quickly turned to ones of anger, and she shoved me away and began yelling at me.
"Why didn't you let me help him?" she screeched, and I winced. "I could have—"
Oh, no. No way was she going to blame herself.
"No, Katja, you couldn't have," I said as firmly as I could at that moment. "He was already gone. I am just glad you didn't see it. You can't get pictures like that out of your head. I couldn't let you see."
"No, I could have helped him. I could have saved him," she said in an almost pleading voice. She once again shoved ineffectually at my chest as she began yelling again. "It's your fault. You didn't let me help him? Why didn't you let me? Why couldn't I help him? Why couldn't I . . . " Cat's voice faded out as she gave up on the yelling and slipped back into tears, grasping the front of my shirt.
It killed me to see her like this. I hadn't shed tears at the sight of Mr. Fischer, but seeing the grief of his daughter nearly undid my sharp control. She wrapped her arms around my waist and buried her face into my chest. It seemed an eternity before nature's call forced her up and out of the room. She stood, mumbling in embarrassment, and I took the time to turn down her bed and lay out her nightgown. Even though she had just slept, I hoped that her extreme emotions would allow her that luxury once more; unconsciousness is a kind escape that allows the brain to process information in a safer way. She returned to the bedroom, and I left her to change while I made us some tea. She came out a moment later, and we drank in silence. In the coming weeks I would register that this was the first time I had seen her with her hair down and in a nightgown. I would later realize that she was even more beautiful than I'd thought. In that moment, though, I noticed nothing but her sadness and grief. I just wanted her to drink her tea and fall asleep. I motioned toward her bed.
"You should sleep," I urged.
"I can't," she said, her voice once again taking on that almost pleading quality. My heart constricted as I looked at her. She seemed so fragile. "But I can try," she added after a moment, her voice trembling just a bit. I nodded, grateful she was willing to try to sleep. She looked up at me with trepidation and added in a whisper so quiet I almost didn't catch it, "stay?"
Obviously I wasn't planning on going anywhere, but her nervousness made me realize that she wanted me to stay directly with her, not just here in the apartment. I nodded at her again, then followed her into the bedroom. She crawled into the bed, looking like a lost child as she curled her knees underneath her. I removed my boots and sat at the edge of the bed, but she quickly pulled me to her. I allowed myself the comfort of holding her, knowing that in that moment that she was helping me as much as I was her. I eased onto my back, pulling her with me and tucking her to my side. She curled up against me and almost instantly fell asleep. I sighed softly in relief.
"We'll be okay, Cat," I whispered into the darkness before letting sleep claim me.
I awoke to the sound of a knock at the door. Who was knocking this late? At a quick glance at the clock I realized it wasn't late, but very early. I gently disentangled myself from Cat, who had curled up against me, and opened the door. It was Red.
"Spot," he said, knowing instinctively to keep his voice down. "Henry said to tell you the bulls are coming. They know Katja doesn't have parents. They want to take her to an orphanage."
I felt like someone had punched me in the gut. Cat had just lost her father a few hours ago, and now they wanted to take her away? No way. I wasn't going to let it happen. I thought for a moment as I gestured Red inside.
"You're a family friend. You've sent word to her uncle, who should be sending for her this week. You are eighteen, so you're staying with her until then," I said, and I saw understanding on Red's face.
"You'll be . . . ." he asked.
"Hiding. I'm too well known to the bulls." I sighed and rubbed my face. "With any luck she won't even wake up. I'd imagine sleep is going to be pretty hard to come by in the coming weeks for our Cat."
If only I had known what was to come and how prophetic those words would be—but I didn't. We talked over the details of Red's story briefly before I slipped back into the bedroom. Cat looked so peaceful, and I wanted nothing more than to crawl back into that bed and curl up beside her. I didn't. I sat at the door and listened as I heard knocking.
Red played his part beautifully. I never really had to hide, as the police left without searching the place and, miraculously, without waking Cat.