Disclaimer: This is a non-commercial work of fanfiction. Anything recognizable from Newsies belongs to Disney and not to me.
Chapter 27: Sheepshead and Stilts
A/N: This chapter is taking place concurrent with the events of the previous one.
Race stopped by Jacobi's to buy a sandwich on his way to the track - he figured that if he was going to blow what little money he had left from his personal reserve fund, he might as well do it all at once, and even after purchasing lunch, he would still have just enough to gamble with at Sheepshead.
Accordingly, after leaving the lodging house, he'd headed to the deli and had ordered a salami and Swiss which he began munching on as soon as he left the restaurant.
He made quick work of his lunch, bolting down the food in his eagerness to get to the racetrack, and had just tossed the paper wrapper into a trash bin when he heard an unfamiliar voice calling his name.
"Hey, Race!"
Race turned in surprise to see one of the ex-scabs running up to him.
"You still thinkin' of headin' to the track?" the boy asked curiously as he drew near. "I thought I overheard ya sayin' somethin' about it back at the lodging house. Was a little surprised to see ya leavin' in such a hurry, and you sure gave me the slip. I didn't think I'd catch up!"
Race squinted a bit, trying to remember his name. He'd had so much on his mind lately that the two scabs who had joined their ranks had become completely lost in the shuffle. Beyond finding beds for them in the lodging house bunk room, Race hadn't given either of them much thought, and now he was having trouble remembering anything that he might have previously learned about the boy in front of him.
"I'm Artie," the newsie said, as if he could read his mind.
"Ah - right," Race answered, a bit impatiently. He hoped that whatever request the younger newsie had would be delivered quickly. He'd left the lodging house to get away from his problems, not to have someone else's problems follow him to the track.
"So, Artie, what'cha needin'?" he asked, trying not to let his antsiness show. "There a problem at the lodgin' house?"
"Nah," the other boy replied. "I was actually wonderin' if I could go with you to Sheepshead."
Race hid his irritation. Just what he wasn't looking for: a tag-along.
"I ain't never been there," Artie said with disarming eagerness, "but I heard that you got a knack for pickin' a winnin' horse, and that you's somethin' else to watch. Just kinda wanted to see you in action, that's all."
Race snorted. "Whichever one of the fellas told'ja all that was lyin' through his teeth," he said. But inwardly he was pleased, and he found himself thinking that maybe some unexpected company wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. The walk to the racetrack wasn't a short one, and while he'd initially intended to take the time to blow off some of his frustration, he was already beginning to feel a little better…
"All right, Artie," he said briskly. "If you can keep up, I guess I don't mind you comin' along - but I ain't gonna slow down for you either, so don't fall behind."
He set off at a quick pace, and to his surprise, the other boy gamely fell into step beside him, somehow managing to keep up with Race's longer strides.
"So, what was goin' on back at the lodging house with you and Davey?" Artie asked curiously. "Seems like you was pretty upset about somethin.'"
It was an unusually forward question, and Race's first instinct was to warily brush it off, but he and Davey hadn't exactly been speaking privately, and there had been several other boys lounging around in the bunk room at the time, so it was likely that Artie had caught snatches of the conversation and was simply wondering what was going on. He wasn't a Manhattan boy and didn't know the lodging house protocol that said that any time Jack or Race or any of the other leaders were in conference, you were supposed to go about your business like you hadn't overheard anything that was being discussed, even if you'd picked up on every single word.
"Davey was just givin' me an update," Race explained. "I'm sure this ain't anything you don't already know, but we's been short a leader ever since the first scuffle at the distribution center."
"I was wonderin' why I hadn't seen him," Artie remarked. "After hearing his speech to us scabs, I thought that he was the one in charge around here."
Race snorted, feeling a bit of his anger rise again. "Yeah, that was what I thought, too."
"So, you and Davey ain't usually runnin' this operation?" Artie pressed.
"Nah," Race answered. "I ain't the kind that likes runnin' anything, and Davey's only been a newsie for a couple of weeks. Jack's always been the one at the top." He shook his head. "Still don't know why that son-of-a-gun had to take it on the lam the way he did. He left us no choice but to step in."
Artie shrugged. "Well, you seem to be takin' it pretty well."
Race scoffed. Again, that was because he'd been given no choice in the matter. What else could he have done, let the lodging house fall into shambles? Leave Davey to figure out how to lead the strike - and a band of boys whom he barely knew - alone? Race was no more inclined to leadership than the next fellow, and he found the day-to-day responsibilities tedious and the larger concerns burdensome, but he wasn't going to shirk them just because it was inconvenient or unpleasant for him at the time.
And that was why Davey's report had made Race so irate. Jack had been hiding out the entire time, not somewhere far away, but within walking distance of the lodging house. And not only that, but he'd been observing the strike remotely, keeping an eye on the proceedings while remaining conveniently detached. His boys had gone hungry, had shouted and sweated in the sun, taking on the strike breakers and the scabs and living with the threat of another attack from Pulitzer's goons hanging over their heads. They'd endured the insults hurled at them by the Delanceys and Weasel and the scorn of the occasional passerby. They'd lived with the gnawing fear of knowing that two of their number were missing - Race himself had spent several sleepless nights worrying over Crutchie in The Refuge, and wondering if Jack was all right. All the while, Jack had been sheltered and safe, sitting pretty while his boys were suffering for a cause that he'd convinced them to commit to, a cause that he apparently wasn't even willing to commit to himself.
At least he could have sent Race a message letting him know that he was all right. But no - he hadn't even bothered to do that.
"Seems like maybe it's been a little harder on you than you's lettin' on," Artie said, breaking into Race's thoughts.
"Yeah, well, keepin' you bummers in line ain't exactly a walk in the park," Race groused, giving vent to some of his anger. "It ain't just makin' sure you all is fed and not killin' each other - there's other things to consider too, like makin' sure we ain't gonna run out of money and deplete the Newsie Fund." He shook his head abruptly. "Anyway, it ain't somethin' I signed up for, ya know?"
"Sure, sure," Artie agreed, seeming to take the show of irritability in stride. "'Course it ain't. And on top of that, you got me and Tucker to look after now, too."
That's right, there were two of them. Race was sure that he'd met the other ex-scab - Tucker, apparently - at some point, but like Artie, he hadn't made enough of an impression to be remembered. Or maybe Race had just had too much on his mind lately.
"You two ain't been a lick of trouble," he said, a bit more calmly. Jack's truancy wasn't Artie's fault, and although having two extra boys at the lodging house did present the need for some slight logistical adjustments, those adjustments hadn't been difficult. Race had taken the unexpected opportunity of having a sympathetic ear to sound off about some of his frustrations, but he didn't want Artie, or any of the other newsies, to feel bad about the situation or to be stung by Race's ire. That ire was meant for Jack, and Jack alone.
"So, why'd you decide to join us anyway, Artie?" Race asked. "We's always pickin' up boys here and there, but usually they's new to the profession. I take it this ain't the first time you've been hawkin' headlines?"
Artie shook his head. "Nah - got a couple of years under my belt. Sold a few other places before, mostly in Queens, and then over in the Bronx for a spell. Never joined a lodging house, though - always struck out on my own or stayed at home when I could, at least 'till my pa told me he didn't want to see my sorry face again unless I brought back the money that he'd been demandin.'"
"Sounds tough," Race sympathized. He knew all too well the misfortune of a less-than-agreeable father. "Your pa out of work?" he asked, thinking of the Jacobs brothers.
"Nah - just wantin' more cash so he can keep drinkin,'" Artie answered with a little shrug. "That's why I thought I'd hang around here awhile - there ain't no one waitin' up for me at home." He changed the subject abruptly. "So, how'd you learn your way around at the track?" he asked. "It ain't exactly a close walk, not for 'Hattan boy."
Race went along with the turn in conversation; a good newsie never pressed for the details of another newsie's past or family life, especially if the other fellow was clearly indicating that he did not want to discuss the matter any further.
"You's right, it ain't a close walk," he agreed. "But I'll let'cha in on a little somethin' - I wasn't always a 'Hattan boy. Started out sellin' in Brooklyn, in fact."
They continued walking, and Race found his mood markedly improving as he chatted with Artie about his days hawking headlines on the other side of the Brooklyn Bridge. That time of his life hadn't been an easy one, but now that several years had passed and the old wounds had healed a bit, he could look back on those days with an almost-nostalgic fondness and could recall some of the brighter moments as he reminisced.
He was glad that he'd let himself be talked into some company for the long walk out to Sheepshead Bay after all.
The smacking sound of a jump rope and the chatter of childish conversation greeted the two youngest Becker sisters as they crossed the street to their family's tenement, heading home after another day at school. The slight dip in temperature over the last few days had made it more bearable to be outdoors, and a handful of children were taking advantage of the milder weather to play outside.
Sadie found herself slowing down to watch a pair of little girls who were sitting on the ground a few yards away. The older one's face was furrowed in concentration as she attempted to thread a piece of string through a hole in a tin can while the younger one looked on eagerly. The cord seemed to be rather frayed, though, and the older girl was having a difficult time getting it through.
"Abby, give me just a moment," Sadie said quickly, handing her sister the lunch pail that she'd been carrying. "I want to see if I can help her." She walked over to where the little girls were sitting.
"Hello," she said, kneeling down beside them. "Is that string giving you some trouble?"
The older girl nodded. "I'm trying to make some stilts for my sister," she said, "but I can't get the string through the hole - it's too small."
Sadie took the twine and the tin can that the girl held out to her. "Hmm, that does look like a tight fit," she agreed, examining the badly-frayed ends with an appraising eye. "May I try something?"
The girl nodded, and Sadie set the can down, taking one ragged end of the string in her fingers and rolling it together as tightly as she could. She then twisted a tiny portion of it back on itself and wound the two strands together, yielding a stiffer (if a bit thick) double cord about an inch long. Grabbing the tin can, she carefully pushed the end of the cord into the hole that had been punched in the can's side, turning and tugging until it was through. The rest of the cord followed easily.
"You did it!" the older girl gasped as Sadie handed the now-threaded can over to her. "Thank you!"
"You're welcome," Sadie smiled. "I work for a tailor, and frayed threads are things that I encounter regularly - I know how frustrating they can be."
She watched proudly as the girl knotted the string and tugged it into place, then took the other end in her hands, employing the same tactic that Sadie had used to deftly thread the other end through the opposite hole in the tin can.
"Nicely done," Sadie remarked, rising from her place on the ground and turning to the younger girl who was watching her shyly. "Your sister will have you up on those stilts in no time," Sadie smiled. "Just mind the uneven patch in front of the stairs. It could send you for quite a tumble - I would know." And with a little wink, she turned and walked back to Abby who was waiting for her with a curious look on her face.
"You weren't telling them about the time that you fell and almost broke your arm, were you?" the youngest Becker asked as the girls started up the stairs. "Judith's told that story so many times I feel like I was there even though I wasn't born yet!"
Sadie gave her an amused look. "And what if I was? That area has always been rather hazardous for stilt-walkers. I thought it only right to warn them."
"Mama wouldn't approve of you encouraging such a dangerous pastime in the first place," Abby remarked, sounding prim. "It's a good thing she wasn't there to hear you."
Sadie sighed. It was true: their long-suffering mother would not have been happy with Sadie's abetting of the tin-can stilt diversion. Given Sadie's history of impulsiveness and some of the near-accidents that had resulted, her mother's distaste was not entirely unfounded, but Sadie privately didn't see the harm in a little reckless fun. She knew that she was too old now to be indulging in that sort of thing, but that realization didn't seem to stop her from encouraging it in others not yet hampered by the expectations of age and propriety.
As she and Abby made their way up to the third floor, Sadie wondered if her mother would be at home. She'd arrived at the train station early that morning, back from Boston, and upon returning to the tenement had immediately set about attending to all of the little things that had been neglected in her absence. Restocking the depleted larder would be one of her top priorities, as well as cooking her husband and daughters a square meal, so Sadie was sure that a trip to the market would be in order if her mother hadn't already undertaken it.
Reaching the door of the apartment, Sadie unlocked it and pushed it open, letting Abby go in first before following her sister through the entryway and shutting the door behind her. The sound of several women's voices immediately reached her ears, and Sadie tensed a bit as she recognized one of them rising stridently above the rest.
Her mother's sewing group had likely shown up at the Becker apartment to welcome Miriam back home and to catch up on the latest news from Boston. They were a close-knit group of ladies, some of whom had been meeting together for years, and they had proved to be an invaluable source of support for Miriam, whose responsibilities as caretaker to Lilly often limited her opportunities for social engagement.
Philip Becker generally made himself scarce whenever his wife's friends descended upon the apartment, so Sadie wasn't surprised to see that he was out - most likely holed up in his office if he wasn't attending to work around the tenement. She didn't blame him; most of the ladies were actually quite kind-hearted, but there were a few who tended to express their opinions rather forcefully, and chief among them was Mrs. Hart, Miriam Becker's childhood friend, whose voice had immediately reached Sadie's ears upon her arrival at the apartment.
Grimacing, Sadie made her way reluctantly over to the kitchen where the ladies (and Abby, who had joined them) were gathered around the table, drinking tea and enjoying a plate full of pastries, no doubt brought over by the baking-inclined Mrs. Gerlach.
"Sadie!" exclaimed that good woman as Sadie appeared in the doorway, "you're looking well, dear! How was school today?"
"School was fine, thank you," Sadie replied, smiling at Mrs. Gerlach. "I've been meaning to tell you that Margaret loved your meat pie - we shared a piece at lunch the other day, and she deemed it absolutely divine."
The woman beamed proudly. "Margaret's mother has been hounding me for that recipe for years," she confided. "Em's a wonderful baker herself, but she never could get the crust quite right on her meat pies. Her lemon cake, though, is to die for!" She motioned to the plate of pastries on the table. "Would you like to try one, Sadie?" she asked. "It's my newest experiment: apple and cream cheese turnover."
"I'd love to," Sadie answered, "but I actually need to head to work. I only stopped by to drop Abby off and to say hello." She glanced quickly around the circle of women, politely greeting each of them by name as they nodded in response or returned her salutations.
Finally she came to the last woman in the group who had been observing her for the last several moments with an unmistakably disapproving eye.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Hart," Sadie said stiffly, internally preparing herself for the barbs that she knew were coming.
The lady did not disappoint.
"Well, you're a sight," came the cold reply. "Were you rolling around in the dirt like a pig just now?"
Sadie glanced down in surprise and noticed that there were indeed several streaks of dirt soiling the light gray fabric of her skirt, a consequence of her earlier encounter with the little girls outside of the tenement. "I confess that I hadn't noticed," she said, blushing a little as she brushed ineffectively at the streaks.
"That's certainly not surprising," Mrs. Hart sniffed. "Perception has never been your strong point."
"Sadie," Miriam Becker broke in uneasily, "I know that you need to get to work, but would you please stop by the office on your way out and remind your father that the window screen on the Millers' apartment needs mending?"
Sadie nodded, thankful for the excuse to take her leave. "Yes, Mama."
She straightened up, bidding the ladies at the table a polite "good day" and taking the pastry wrapped in a napkin that Mrs. Gerlach pressed into her hands with a word of thanks before turning to walk out of the kitchen. She would need to change before heading to the tailor's, and even though she'd let Mr. Gorham know ahead of time that she would be arriving for work later than usual, she didn't want to be too tardy.
She was about to hurry past the sitting area to the room that she shared with Abby, when a quiet voice broke into her thoughts.
"Are you all right, Sae?"
Sadie stopped in her tracks. Lilly was lying down in her usual spot on the sofa, but instead of dozing off as she was wont to do in the afternoon, she was looking intently at her sister, her eyes clear and unblinking.
Sadie felt an unexpected rush of emotion. Lilly hardly ever spoke, and when she did, it was usually a mumbled "yes" or "no," rarely full sentences. Half of the time, she seemed to be disengaged from the world around her, her gaze flat and her eyes fixed on some indiscernible object, her mind elsewhere - or perhaps nowhere.
But just now she had spoken, not merely a string of words, but a clear and incisive query that left Sadie in no doubt of the conviction that she privately held to despite what others might say: that Lilly understood far more than they gave her credit for, and that she was listening far more often than they thought.
Slowly, she walked over to the sofa and sat down next to the older girl, taking her hand.
"Yes, Lil, I'm all right," she said, surprised when the last part of her answer came out sounding a bit tremulous. "I know that I shouldn't let Mrs. Hart's words unsettle me, and I know that she has good reason to talk the way she does…but I'll admit that it does hurt, just a little." She squeezed Lilly's hand. "Thank you for asking, Lil," she whispered.
Her older sister didn't say anything more, and her hand lay slack in Sadie's gentle grip, but her gaze didn't waver, and Sadie leaned over to give Lilly a hug. "I have to get along to work now, Lil," she murmured. "But I'll be back soon. Rest now, all right?" She clasped her sister's hand again, then rose and went to change into a clean skirt.
On her way out, she peeked over at Lilly again and saw that the older girl's eyes were closed and that she seemed to be resting. Satisfied, Sadie retrieved her hat from its hook on the wall. It was looking a little shabby; she hadn't had time to patch it up with all of the other things that she'd been busy with lately. And though she'd managed to earn some more money towards the purchase of a new hat, the straw boater that she'd had her eye on at the millinery shop was gone - it had disappeared from the window display several days ago, so someone must have bought it. Sadie had been disappointed; she'd hoped that by the time she was able to save up enough for the hat again, it would still be there, but things hadn't worked out that way. It was a small consolation that Davey had happened to be wearing his blue and white work shirt when he'd showed up for tutoring that evening (Sadie noticed that he wore it often, whether by choice or by necessity, she couldn't tell), so she'd contented herself with the reminder that her money had been put to good use, though inwardly she still lamented the loss of the hat.
Closing the apartment door quietly so as not to wake Lilly, Sadie walked next door to the landlord's office and knocked. As expected, her father was there, sitting at his desk as he pored over the ledgers spread out in front of him. Sadie passed along her mother's message and set Mrs. Gerlach's tart down on the desk - she'd had her lunch already, but her father probably hadn't eaten yet if he'd been hiding out in the office ever since the ladies had arrived, as their meetings did tend to go a bit long. Her father gave her a grateful smile and promised that he'd get to mending the Millers' window screen that afternoon, and soon after that Sadie took her leave, making her way down the stairs to the street where her lips curved unexpectedly into a smile as she heard the tell-tale clang of a pair of tin-can stilts ringing through the warm mid-afternoon air.
