For a dreamer night's the only time of day...
October 1896
Another clap of thunder almost shook the lodge house, but despite the raging storm, Jack was half asleep until a little head popped over the side of the bunk above him.
"Jack?" JoJo's hair stuck up as he dangled upside down. "How long's this gonna last? The storm. How much longer?"
"Dunno, bud." Jack said. "But we's alright." He flipped his pillow over and closed his eyes again. It was the first cold day of fall, a horrible, wet day to be out selling papes, and no matter how much they shouted themselves hoarse, the boys couldn't improve the boring headlines. They'd almost all lost money; they barely scraped enough together for everyone's room and board at the lodge. There hadn't been enough for dinner. Now they all laid in their bunks, listening to the rain, hungry and disappointed.
"Jack?" JoJo said again. He and Buttons, another new boy, were both only nine.
"What?" Jack said. He didn't open his eyes.
"I can't sleep."
"Me neither." Race said a few bunks down.
"I ain't asleep." Tommy sat up in his bed.
"Me neither."
"Can we get some light?"
Jack sat up, too, and 11-year-old Specs lit a lamp and brought it to the middle of the long bedroom. Everyone else followed him, dragging their blankets around their shoulders, and they spread out on the floor and across beds. Jack scooted to the edge of his bed and stretched his long legs into the center of the circle. Crutchie sat on one side of him, Buttons on the other.
"Well, fellas," Tommy said. "Today was shit."
"Here here." Albert, who was laying on the floor, half-heartedly lifted his fist.
The whole metal bed frame rattled as Jojo flopped onto his stomach above them, and Crutchie winced.
"Careful, kid." Jack said
Tommy kept complaining. "It's gonna be a rough winter. Just ya wait," he looked towards the newer boys. "Selling papes in the cold is damn miserable."
"Some rich old geezer called me a street rat today." Specs said. "And I dropped a nickel into the gutter-a whole nickel!"
Finch, sitting with Tommy on the bunk across from Jack's, rubbed his nose. "My throat's kinda sore." He said, frowning. Tommy inched away from him.
A flash of lightning snapped outside, and Buttons leaned into Jack's shoulder. Jack put his arm around him, and looked over the kid's head to watch the rain beat against the window, tuning out the others' pity party.
When they didn't have to be out in it, Jack loved storms: they were powerful and wild, the rain steady and soothing. When he was little, his dad had taught him to count between the lightning and the thunder to know how close the storm was. He waited until the window reflected another brilliant flash, then counted in his head: one-one-thousand, two-one-thousand, three-one-thousand, four-one-thousand-thunder roared low. Four miles away. Or was it five seconds to the mile?
He felt the bed shift next to him and looked over his shoulder. Crutchie was rubbing his bad leg.
"Alright?" Jack whispered.
Crutchie nodded. "Yeah," he said. "The bad weather just makes me stiff."
It was apparently Race's turn to complain over the whistling wind. "So then I 'bout got hit by a cart because the driver ain't paying a lick of attention. And my feets still wet. Is y'all feets still wet?" Everyone else nodded.
Jack yawned, then looked around the group. "Fellas, did we really all get out of bed just to bellyache about the day?" His brothers looked at him blankly. "If we just gonna whine and fuss like babies, we might as well try to get some sleep."
"Dangit, we just blowin' off some steam." Race said, and a couple boys agreed.
Jojo's head popped over the side again. "Jack, willya tell us a story? Like ya did when I was sick and couldn't sleep?"
"Yeah, Jack," Crutchie said. "Tell us a story." The other boys nodded.
Jack folded his feet underneath him and thought for a second. "How y'all feel about a scary story?" He asked with a smile.
Jojo scampered down from his bunk to see, Race pulled a pillow into his lap, and Albert reached for the lamp to turn the flame down.
"It's already dark and stormy." Buttons said.
"But look at them shadows." Specs said.
"It was a night like this." Jack said, and everyone leaned forward just a little. "It was a night like this. It was a long, dark night. Ya all alone. Not one soul around. And during that long, dark night, ya find a long, dark road. And as ya walk through the woods, ya find a long, dark path." His finger became the person on the trail, drifting slowly towards the storm at the window.
"At the end of the long, dark path, is a lonely house, all fallin' apart and boarded up. At the lonely house, there's a lonely door that creeeeaks." He pushed his hand forward like he was pushing open a door.
"In that lonely, dark house, there's a long, dark hall.
In that long, dark hall are some long dark, stairs. At the top of that long, dark stairs is a big, dark balcony. At the end of the long, dark balcony, there's a big, dark room. And ya say 'hello' and it echoes. Hello? Hello? Hello?"
"Hello? Hello?" Specs echoed. Jack looked around. Everyone's eyes were wide in the shadowy lamp light.
"In the big, dark room, there's another big, dark door. Creeaak!" he mimed opening a door again. "Behind the big, dark door is a big, dark closet. Inside the big, dark closet are some steep little stairs. Up them steep little stairs is a big, dusty attic. Inside the big dusty attic is a big, dark chest." he paused. Another crack of lightning flashed-perfect. "Ya open the big, dark chest. Inside the big, dark chest is a small dusty box. Ya holding it. It fits in ya hand and it ain't heavy. Ya all alone. And in that little dusty box , n the big dark chest, in the big dusty attic, up some little steep stairs, in a big dark room, up some big ole stairs, in a lonely old house at the end of a long, dark road on a god-awful night ya find...a pink jellybean!"
The little boys laughed and the big boys groaned.
"That ain't scary!" Tommy said. "Ya was supposed to tell us a ghost story."
"Something with some blood and guts, buddy." Race said.
Specs stood up and draped his blanket around his neck like a scarf.
"I liked it." Buttons said, finally prying himself away from Jack's arm.
"Me too." Crutchie said.
"Y'all fell for it, didn't ya?" Jack said. "I seen ya all on the edges of ya seats."
"Whatever." Finch said. "Let's hit the hay."
"Gotta do it all again in the morning." Mush said.
They went back to their beds. Jack watched Crutchie stand up, slowly, gripping the bunk with one hand and his crutch with the other, and go slowly back to his bed. The kid was too stubborn to say anything.
Jack flipped onto his stomach and made a pillow with his arms, facing the window to watch the storm die down. And think. Thinking always happened at night.
When had he become the oldest? Technically, Mush was a couple months older, but Jack felt like the oldest. In the last year or two, all the big boys who'd taken him in and shown him the ropes had gotten married, or taken factory jobs, or gone out West to chase...well, Jack didn't know what they were chasing but, God, he hoped they'd found it. It felt like one day this summer, he'd looked around and realized suddenly that he and his friends were the big boys. His Tugboat.
Everyone else was asleep, he was pretty sure. Faintly, in the distance, a clock chimed 11. He really needed to sleep. Jack pulled his blanket over him and tried to ignore the ache deep in his stomach, pestering him again now that the distraction of the story was gone. Maybe they'd have enough for food tomorrow.
...
Hope you liked this one! To be clear: Jack, Race, and Mush are 14, Tommy and Finch are 13, Albert is 12, Specs and Crutchie 11, and Jojo and Buttons 9. Add 3 years for the ages I picture them in the show, obviously. And the Tugboat thing a nod to my buddy, Drew, who's 6'7, compassionate and charming, and has a great nickname to steal for fics :) Thanks for being patient with my updates as I'm starting a new job. Please please review and let me know what you think! -em