I woke up alone. Or maybe not; there were voices in the other room. I headed through the door and saw Spot and Red talking in low voices in the kitchen. Red looked up and saw me.
"Cat," he said, and Spot turned around and came swiftly to my side.
"We need to talk," he said, and he sat me down on the settee. He sat beside me, his hands clasping mine. My mind was still struggling to catch up after the heavy sleep. I hadn't even processed the events of the previous day. Spot, however, didn't wait for my brain to catch up. He just started talking.
"Cat, the police were here. They came to take you away. We were able to fend them off by saying we were waiting to hear from your uncle, but that won't work for long."
I stared at him uncomprehendingly. Take me away? "Why?" was all that came out of my mouth.
"Cat, you're sixteen. That means you are officially an orphan, and the state plans to put you in an orphanage and take your things. Now, I won't let that happen, but I need your help." I just stared at Spot, and after a breath he continued. "We want to be faster than the state. I need your permission though. I was going to send most of the boys over and have them take anything they can over to the lodging house—for now, at least. Then we'll worry about you. For today there are a lot of things that you need to do. So I'll go with you, but I need to know if the boys have permission to take everything in this place that isn't nailed down to the lodging house."
My mind was overwhelmed. Leave my home? Papa's things? And Mama's? I needed to talk to Papa, to hear his advice. But I couldn't. My confusion must have shown on my face, because Spot lifted my chin and gave me that look again—the one where his eyes dig into me. I closed my eyes to block him out, took a deep breath, then looked at him again.
"I know this is hard, Darlin, but I'm here. Let me help you," he said quietly, and after a short pause, I nodded.
"I trust you," I said. My voice was still all raspy. Spot turned to Red and nodded curtly. Red turned to leave, but Spot stopped him.
"Best take the dog with you," he said, and Red nodded again. He put a leash on Jimmy, who was not trained to follow him without one, and left quietly.
"You'll want to wash up and get dressed," he said, and I realized belatedly that I was still in my nightgown. "Take your time to say goodbye to this place; we won't be coming back."
I did as Spot asked, and once dressed I took a few minutes to walk around our tiny apartment, taking in each detail. The wallpaper that was peeling in the corner. The chip in the paint on the doorframe where Mama had once tripped and smashed a bowl of soup into it, spilling the soup everywhere. Papa had laughed so hard that night. The small tub where Jimmy had tried to join me when he was a puppy and had found himself suddenly submerged. The worn spot on the floor where I always rubbed my foot while Mama helped me with my lessons. The notches in the wall charting my growth. My entire childhood . . . . and I would not be coming back. I burst into tears. Spot, who had been giving me space, was by my side in an instant. He pulled me into him. I was surprised that I still had tears left. I let myself cry for a few minutes, then pulled myself together.
"Let's go," I whispered, my eyes sweeping the room one last time. Goodbye, Papa.
I turned and followed Spot into the hall, and he shut and locked the door with the key still around his neck. When we got outside I saw a bunch of the newsboys sitting on a wagon. Red walked over, and Spot handed him the key. I flinched. I hadn't seen Spot without it since Papa had first given it to him. I knew that he had to have loaned it to other newsboys to walk Jimmy when he was a pup, but Spot always had it back before I saw him. Somehow it seemed like one more piece of my life taken away. Spot grabbed my hand, and we walked away. He didn't give me a chance to look back, and in hindsight I'm grateful.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. We went to the lawyer, where we discussed the settlement of Papa's estate. There wasn't much, and Papa had some debts, most notably to Mr. Santorelli. Spot and the lawyer spoke at length about complicated legal matters, but I didn't really understand much of it. Spot seemed satisfied, though. There were some documents to be signed, and I just did what they told me to do. Then it was to the bank, where the entirety of our bank account was cleaned out and given to us in cash. We went to the undertaker and made arrangements for Papa to be buried with Mama and his name added to the headstone we had so recently put up. Most of the cash went for those expenses. Then it was time to see Papa. Spot explained to me that his body had been cleaned up for me to see it. That was the hardest part of the day, and I don't like to think about it. But I was glad I did it; I took some time by myself to say goodbye. Because we wanted to avoid drawing attention to me, there would be no funeral. I was surprised when Spot asked if he could take some time to say goodbye as well, but then I realized that Papa was the closest thing to family that Spot had, too.
By the time we had taken care of all that business it was getting to be late afternoon. We stopped at a small restaurant and had a cheap meal, but neither of us was particularly hungry or talkative. It suddenly dawned on me that I had no home. It hadn't occurred to me when we'd left that morning that I had to have somewhere to sleep tonight. Fear gripped me; where was I supposed to live? And how? Mr. Santorelli would surely have fired me since I hadn't shown up to work for two days. Panic and questions were clouding my mind when Spot spoke.
"We'd best get to the lodging house. The boys will have your room set up by now, and you'll need to settle in before tomorrow. I couldn't get your boss to spare you for another day," he added apologetically.
"I'm staying at the lodging house?" I asked, and he nodded.
"We'll need to sign ya in under a different name. Mrs. Kirby lets me run things, but I also gotta keep the books, and girls aren't technically allowed. Your physical presence won't be a problem, but the record books will." I nodded at this, suddenly nervous. I had always wanted to see Spot's world, but this wasn't how I had envisioned it. "You're going to be Cat Smith from now on. That way nobody can come take ya away when I'm not there."
I just nodded again. Speaking just seemed like too much of an effort. We headed toward the Brooklyn Bridge. There on Poplar Street near the start of the bridge was a brick building with a sign that said "Newsboys Lodging House." Spot led me to the back entrance, explaining that the front was for visitors only and that Mrs. Kirby, the aging woman who was officially in charge of the place, still monitored that entrance, but that boys were supposed to come in through the back. I nodded as we walked in past a ledger. Spot signed his name, and I signed the unfamiliar one of Cat Smith. Spot grabbed my elbow and led me down a dark hallway and up two flights of stairs. The place was well constructed and, while not spotless, clean. The wallpaper was worn and dingy but still hanging well, just as it was at my home. Or former home, I numbly reminded myself. It was almost dark out, and the hallway was not well lit, but I imagine during daylight hours the place was actually reasonably bright. There were a few closed doors, but Spot led me to the far end and into a bedroom.
The room was small, but it faced the alley and had a window that led out to the fire escape. In fact, it was bigger than my old room, and the window was something I had never had. I was surprised to see my own bed and nightstand in there as well as a number of my personal effects. The boys had been busy. There was another door leading to the room we had just passed.
"This will be your room," Spot said. "The room next door is mine. Across the hall is the private washroom, and it's all yours. No hot water, though, so we'll have to figure that out. There is a connecting door to my room, and both doors can be locked from inside this room. The other rooms on this floor are bunkrooms. The floor below has bunkrooms and a lounge. You can spend time in the lounge, but don't let Ms. Kirby see you late at night. The main floor has the school room and the kitchen: that's where the Children's Aid Society serves meals. You can't go down there in the evenings while they're here; that's about five to nine at night. We'll figure out your dinners, but it shouldn't be a problem with your work schedule. The basement has the main washroom for us boys and the laundry; we'll worry about your laundry later, but for now best not to go down there. The rest of your things are in the attic above us."
I nodded, a lump in my throat. This would be my first night away from my home; I had never slept anywhere else. I wanted to ask about breakfast and other routines, but I couldn't seem to make any sounds. That lump effectively silenced me. I must have looked like a guppy opening my mouth like that.
"We get up early, but I'll tell the boys to keep it down. If you need anything at any time, you come get me. I'll be around when you get up in the morning, and I can start showing you around the area, and then I can walk you to work. If you need something and for some reason I'm not here, the closest seller is Lefty, and he and Trip will be just at the end of the bridge. They can help ya or they can find me."
I nodded, still not able to speak.
"Cat, if you can't go to work, you don't have to. We can find you something else. But I think it might help to keep busy." Spot was giving me that intense look again, but my mind was so dead that I barely noticed. I sat down on the bed.
"I'll leave ya alone, now. Wake me if you need anything," he said before kissing me on the forehead and walking out, shutting the door behind him. I was instantly panicked at being left alone and ripped the door open after him. Spot turned back to me, a look of concern and puzzlement on his face.
"I just—" I stopped, not sure what I needed. "Where are you going?"
"The boys will be coming in soon. I like to make sure they all made it back okay and check in with them down in the lounge. I have to make sure the younger ones got to their lessons, and I have to make sure everyone is okay on money. At nights I make my rounds in the neighborhood. Do you want to come down and sit with the boys?" His face was inscrutable as he studied me.
"I—I don't know," I stammered, and I could feel my eyes filling with tears again. I felt so helpless. What was I supposed to do with myself? I was just being a bother to everyone.
"Hey," Spot said gently. "Nobody expects you to be sociable right now. The boys have all lost someone. They're pretty understanding."
Okay, now I really felt rotten. How could I be so sad in the face of boys who had lost as much or more than I ever had?
"I'm sorry," I said, staring at the floorboards. "I didn't mean to feel sorry for myself. I'll pull myself together and come down. If the boys can be strong, so can I."
Spot put his fingers to my chin and brought my gaze up as he had so many times before.
"None of that looking down," he said. "And you don't compare yourself to them. Everyone handles things differently. These guys won't judge you for crying. They all do it—usually to Red because they think I'll judge them for it, but some of them to me—especially before I was the leader. We all cry, especially when we lose people we love." As he spoke, his own eyes filled, and I realized that even Spot cried sometimes. It frightened me more than it comforted me to think of him crying, but mostly it hurt me to see him saddened. I reached over and wrapped my arms around his waist, wanting to comfort him but instead finding comfort in the hug myself.
"Your pa was special to me, you know," he rasped into my hair. I took that in; it made sense, and I realized Spot would miss Papa almost as much as I would. I nodded into Spot's chest.
"So what do we do now?" I asked, not sure how I could go on.
"We keep going. We support each other—the boys, us, your friends . . . " he said.
"So I guess we should go downstairs?" I said, biting my lower lip at the thought of seeing the boys.
"I need to. You don't have to if you don't want to."
"Can I just sit downstairs? Maybe in a corner?"
"If you're up to it. If not, don't worry about it," Spot said.
I nodded and followed him down into the lounge. A few boys were there—Legs, Pike, Trug . . . . I headed for an overstuffed armchair in a corner of the lounge. It was early yet, and most of the younger boys were still at their lessons or at dinner. Spot spoke with several of the boys in the lounge, then headed downstairs to the main floor. I later learned that part of his routine included checking the ledger, the jar, and the school room to make sure the boys all made it back safely. I also learned that there was an elaborate check in system in which the bigger boys kept track of the smaller ones and each other so that if someone was missing or in trouble, the chain of command could be notified. There was no formal structure, but the informal system worked well so that Spot could easily keep tabs on the boys without having to speak to each one every night. But that night I knew none of that. I just knew that the older boys were polite and offered condolences, but mostly they kept their distance—something I appreciated. I found an old dime store Western and lost myself in the story.
I don't know what time it was when Roller came over. "Cat?" he said, looking up at me with wide eyes.
"Hi, Roller," I managed.
"Don't worry about your daddy. My mommy will take good care of him in heaven," he said, crawling into my lap to give me a hug.
I don't know why—after all, it was the sort of thing one hears all the time about the departed being in a better place—but it made me feel better. I hugged him.
"Thanks, Roller. That's really nice of your mom to take care of him. But who takes care of you?" I asked.
"Spot," he answered without hesitation. I gave him a small smile.
"So will you take care of me?" I asked him, and he nodded, eyes wide.
"Yeah. But maybe I'll need Spot's help for buying food and things," he said, clearly taking a mental inventory of tasks and skills needed for him to look after me.
"How about I take care of you, you take care of me, and Spot takes care of both of us," I said.
"That sounds good," he responded, wheels still turning. Then he added, almost as an afterthought, "but who will take care of Spot?"
"We can both do that," I responded, and he grinned.
"Hey, can you read me a story?" he asked. "My mommy used to do that, but none of the boys wants to do that."
"Sure," I nodded, and he ran off to get a book. Before long I was reading aloud to a group of younger newsies who were piled like puppies at my feet. I hardly noticed the crowd of older boys drifting in and out, shooting craps, playing cards, and generally being boisterous. That is, until Spot came over.
"Time for bed," he said, coming up beside me and laying a hand on my shoulder as he addressed the younger ones. "You can finish tomorrow, but youse got a long day of selling first. Now wash up and get to sleep."
The boys started to grumble, but Spot silenced them with a look before waving his cane and watching them scamper off towards the washroom. "Trug," he called across the room, and the boy looked up at him. "You're on house tonight. Silver, Pike, Legs—watch." The boys nodded, and Spot turned to me. "I am going out to keep an eye on the neighborhood tonight. If you need anything—anything, you hear?—let Trug know. I'll be back in a few hours."
I nodded. "You should get some sleep," he added. "You do have to work in the morning. Trug can send for me." I nodded again. Spot and the boys he had called left, and the older boys settled into card games, headed to bed, or began studying. There was plenty of noise, but it wasn't loud. I grabbed my book and headed upstairs with every intention of going straight to bed.
As I washed up and changed. I could hear voices downstairs, and after closing the door to the hallway and opening the door to Spot's room, I curled up in my bed under the window. Not long after I heard the boys come up. Much later I heard Spot moving around in his room, and after few minutes he settled into his bunk. I don't know how long it was before I fell asleep, but the strange sounds, the unfamiliar surroundings, and the window all contrived to keep me awake for some time. I have to admit that being alone with my thoughts was hardly where I wanted to be. Had it really only been 36 hours since I had been sitting on a park bench with Papa? I may have cried myself to sleep.