Disclaimer: This is a non-commercial work of fanfiction. Anything recognizable from Newsies belongs to Disney and not to me.
Chapter 94: Wishes and Wanderlust
"I saw that, Abigail Constance Becker!" Sadie admonished, giving her younger sister a warning look. "Those are for Papa's office, remember?"
Abby guiltily set down the piece of chocolate that she'd been about to put in her mouth and placed the lid back on the box of confections that had been sitting temptingly out in the open in the middle of the kitchen table. Her father made it a habit of purchasing a large box of chocolate at the end of the year and leaving it in his office to offer to the tenants who stopped by as a holiday treat, and Abby hadn't seen the harm in sneaking a piece or two, even if she was well aware that she was not the intended recipient.
"If you're craving something sweet, I'll have this batch of cookies done in a minute," Sadie offered as she bent down to peer into the oven.
"No thanks," Abby replied bluntly. "I'd rather live." She gave her sister a curious look. "Why are you baking, anyway?" she asked. "No one's got anything to celebrate."
"I ran into the Kogan twins downstairs this morning, and they told me that their birthday is today," Sadie answered, her eyes trained on the oven. "I thought I'd surprise them with a treat."
"It'd be unfortunate if you gave them both a case of indigestion instead."
"Thank you for the vote of confidence, Abby, but I don't plan on doing that." Sadie reached over to grab a pair of oven mitts, then carefully removed the cookies from the oven. "This is my second try for this recipe, and I've paid close attention to the time, so they ought to turn out much better than my initial attempt."
Abby, still skeptical, said nothing as she watched her sister place the tray gingerly down on the stove, then lean over to examine the cookies with a critical eye. When Sadie said nothing for a moment, Abby's curiosity got the better of her, and she got up from her seat at the table and walked over to see for herself what was causing her sister's momentary silence.
At first glance, the cookies almost appeared to be normal, but when Abby studied them more closely, she could tell that something was definitely wrong.
"They're...not supposed to look like that, are they?" she asked.
Sadie shook her head. "I don't understand," she said finally. "I followed the instructions so closely, and I watched the clock, so I know I didn't overbake them."
"Maybe they need more time," Abby suggested. "The edges look a little...wavy." There was next to no sign of the pretty scalloped border that the biscuit cutter should have left; instead, the cookies looked sloppy and almost runny.
"I suppose a few more minutes couldn't hurt," Sadie doubtfully agreed. She replaced the tray in the oven, and Abby took her seat at the table again, picking up her book to read while Sadie began cleaning up the kitchen. A few minutes later, the cookies were removed from the oven a second time, but they looked no better. The irregular borders had baked through to the point of being thoroughly burnt, but there was still an oily sheen around the edges.
"Mama, come look at Sadie's cookies!" Abby called as she caught sight of their mother passing by in the hallway. "Maybe you can figure out what's wrong with them."
Miriam Becker made her way over to the kitchen and examined the rather sorry-looking display of simultaneously burnt and melting sugar cookies.
"Did you warm the butter, Sadie?" she asked, glancing at her second-youngest daughter.
Sadie looked embarrassed. "The recipe said that it needed to be soft," she hedged, "and when I took it out of the icebox, it was so hard that I thought I'd help it along a bit on the stove before I mixed it into the batter."
"You're supposed to let it stand for an hour or so at room temperature to soften," Miriam informed her. "If you melt the butter first, the cookies won't set right."
"Will it affect the taste at all?" Sadie asked, taking a spatula and beginning to remove the failed baked goods one by one from the tray.
"I wouldn't feed the edges to anyone," Miriam answered, "but the centers may still be edible." She looked askance at the cookies one more time before adding, "The next time you want to bake something, Sadie, please don't cut any corners. Butter and sugar aren't cheap, and I won't have you wasting them."
"Yes, Mama," Sadie answered, and Abby could hear the chagrin in her voice. "I'll go to the market and replace what I used today." She scraped the last cookie from the tray, setting it on a plate with the rest.
Miriam Becker gave a weary nod of agreement. "Will you pick up four pounds of potatoes and a dozen eggs while you're headed that way?" she requested. "I was going to go to the market myself this afternoon, but Lilly's had several bad seizures today. She's resting now, but I don't want to leave her."
"I'll take care of it once I've finished cleaning up," Sadie promised.
Her mother thanked her, then left the kitchen, and Abby watched curiously as her older sister considered the pile of failed cookies, clearly weighing her options.
"You'd better figure out what you're doing before David comes over to read to you in a few days," Abby remarked, as Sadie took a knife from one of the drawers and tentatively began to remove the cookies' burnt edges. "I'll never forgive you if you kill off the one friend I have who actually knows what he's talking about when it comes to books, and if he dies, Papa will be out of a handyman."
"I can assure you, Abby, making sure that Davey survives is at the top of my priority list," Sadie muttered, her brow furrowed in concentration. "I don't want him dying any more than you do."
"And what are you going to give the Kogan twins?" Abby queried.
"I'll stop by the confectionery on my way to the grocer's. It will make little difference to the twins whether their birthday treat comes from our kitchen or from the store, and I've got some extra spending money from the extra hours I've been working at the tailor's, so I'll have enough for the groceries and for their gift."
"How is Mrs. Gorham feeling?" Abby inquired. She'd only met the elderly tailor's wife once before, but it had been enough to make a positive impression.
"She's not well, I'm afraid," Sadie murmured, her eyes still trained on the cookies that she was trying to salvage. "I was thinking of taking her a crock of soup - it's getting colder, and the winter months exacerbate her condition."
"At least your soup's reliably good," Abby said, trying to be encouraging. "And if she's ill, she won't have much use for sweets anyway."
Sadie only made a little humming sound in answer, still engrossed in her attempt to save the batch of cookies. After several moments, she had a rather ragged-looking pile of irregularly-shaped sugar cookies to show for her efforts.
"They don't taste terrible," she concluded after chewing one thoughtfully. "But they're certainly not fit to be given away."
"Papa will eat them," Abby declared. "He eats anything."
Sadie smiled a little as she set the cookies into a dish and put them on the table, but Abby could tell that she was disappointed as she continued to clean up the kitchen, washing the dirty dishes and then finally scraping the burnt cookie edges into the garbage bin. "Well, that's that," she said quietly, almost to herself when the final task was complete. "There's no use crying over spilled milk." She turned to Abby, then asked in a slightly more cheerful tone, "Will you be all right if I run along to the market now? I'd rather go before the late afternoon rush."
"I'll be fine," Abby replied, secretly thinking that if her sister was going to conveniently leave her unattended, she might be able to pilfer a few pieces of chocolate after all.
Sadie, however, must have read her mind, for she tucked the box of chocolate under her arm as she headed towards the door. "I'll drop this off at Papa's office on my way out," she said as she went to fetch her handbag and hat.
Abby shrugged indifferently, but inwardly she was disappointed. She'd woken up that morning with a hankering for something sweet, and those delectable morsels of chocolate would have been just the ticket if her sister hadn't been quite so watchful.
Giving the plate of sorry-looking sugar cookies a grimace, Abby sighed, debating whether or not it was worth it to try one. They didn't look particularly appetizing, but right now, they were the only treat available to her, so she was out of options.
She really wished that Sadie wasn't such a terrible baker.
Sweets for the Kogan twins, buttermints for Lilly, four pounds of potatoes, a dozen eggs, and Papa's newspaper, Sadie recited silently to herself as she made her way down the tenement stairs to the street. She probably should have taken a moment to write everything down so that she didn't forget anything, but she'd never been much of a list maker even when it would have behooved her to do so.
Starting down the street, she glanced up, shading her eyes from the brilliance of the afternoon sun. It was a beautiful, clear day, and the sky was the loveliest shade of blue with hardly a cloud in sight. Being outside and feeling the slight breeze against her face lifted her spirits considerably, and she found her cheerfulness partially restored as she made her way towards the confectionery, which would be her first stop.
As much as she had endeavored to hide her dismay, the failed cookies had elicited a deep sense of disappointment. She'd tried so hard to be attentive and to execute the details exactly as the recipe dictated, but in the end it had all been for naught, and she'd fallen short again in her impatience to speed along the process (though a part of her thought that it was rather careless of the recipe writer to neglect to mention that the butter ought to be softened at room temperature if that was really the only right way to do it. Had it not been for that omission, perhaps the cookies might have been saved).
Hearing the weary disappointment in her mother's voice hadn't helped, either. Sadie knew that it had been a trying day, especially with Lilly's seizures sapping her mother's strength, and the knowledge that she'd added to those cares - even in a small way - made her unhappy.
Ju… she thought wistfully, how ever did you manage to hold us all together?
Glancing in both directions, Sadie waited for a break in the traffic before walking quickly across the street, her mind beginning to wander again once she was safely on the opposite side.
The last month of the year was generally a difficult time for her mother. She'd lost her father and one of her sisters in an unexpected accident several Decembers ago, and though no mention was ever made of the incident, a pall of quiet despondency came over Miriam Becker without fail as the autumn weeks began to give way to the approaching winter. Difficult days like today when Lilly's seizures were many only added to her dejection, and Sadie had noticed the clear if subtle note of melancholy in her mother's voice when they'd spoken earlier in the kitchen.
If only Mama had more support, Sadie thought for the hundredth time. The physical strain of caring for Lilly was one thing, but the loneliness and isolation that she knew her mother felt was another - and perhaps an equally depleting - aspect of the situation. Many of the women in their circle of acquaintance were good-hearted, but they didn't understand the nuances of the Beckers' circumstances, and sometimes their well-meant remarks did more to discourage Miriam than to comfort her. Additionally, there was, in general, very little tangible help that was offered, though Sadie was sure that this was due more to said ladies' ignorance of how to offer support rather than any intended callousness on their part.
What could possibly be done? Sadie thought to herself. It was asking a lot for people outside of the situation to step into something that they - through no fault of their own - couldn't understand. But it was also equally unrealistic to expect Miriam to shoulder the burden largely unaccompanied. The rest of the family did what they could to help, and assumed as much of the responsibility as they could, but they were too close to the situation to offer the kind of moral bolstering that was necessary. They could alleviate some of the practical concerns, but they couldn't be an outlet offering an emotional reprieve.
How would one go about finding a community of people who could understand and offer the kind of relational backing that was needed? Sadie wondered. She didn't know anyone else whose family was like her own, but there had to be others out there. Did they all quietly struggle through their circumstances alone? Or was there some place where people understood, either experientially or because they had chosen to enter into the world of those whose lives had been irrevocably changed by their disabled loved ones?
If such a place existed, she would dearly love to find it. And if no such place existed, well...
The sound of a newsboy hawking his wares jarred Sadie out of her musing, and she shook her head a little at herself, surprised that she'd been so wrapped up in her rumination that she'd been startled by the ambient sound.
If what you're looking for doesn't exist...you've got to create it yourself, came the sudden thought.
The idea surprised her. She wasn't sure where it had come from, or why the conviction behind it was so strong. After all, she wasn't the kind to think about those kinds of things, let alone try to execute them…
But the nameless newsboy had reminded her of something: that you didn't have to be well-educated or well-off or wise or even mature in years to effect change. The strike - and the benefit of seeing even small glimpses of its inner workings through Davey - had convinced Sadie that if a person was willing to put in the work and stay on course even when things got tough, there was quite a lot of good that even one person could bring about.
It was difficult, however, to imagine herself filling any kind of catalyzing role.
A subject to be revisited at another time, she decided, though the thought refused to leave her mind completely. Maybe she ought to ask Davey about it when he came by to read to her. She'd jokingly remarked before that she would eventually have to consult with him about how to change the world, and though she'd only been half-serious at the time, a part of her really did want to plumb his intelligence just a bit. There weren't too many people their age who were thinking about these kinds of things, and it would be fascinating to get his opinion.
But she didn't really have a concrete plan of action or any kind of substantial idea. She had only an acute awareness of the problem, no insightful designs on how to mitigate it. It would probably be better not to waste his time until she'd thought the situation through a little more.
Besides, Davey had enough to preoccupy him already. Sadie could tell that he'd been more tired than normal the last few times she'd seen him. He'd hidden it fairly well, but she hadn't missed the weariness in his voice, or the way he'd sink gratefully into his chair, or the apologetic, sleepy smiles he'd sometimes give her near the end of their tutoring sessions when it was getting late and he was starting to fade after a long day of carrying the burdens that were constantly on his shoulders.
It probably didn't help that competency exams were coming up at school soon. Sadie knew that Davey was intent on finishing the year with the rest of their class, but that meant he'd have to devote a substantial amount of time to studying on his own to make up for the classes he'd missed. The tutoring he received combined with his natural intelligence was just enough to give him a shot, but his success would hinge upon this supplemental study time.
Maybe that was why he'd been so tired lately. The only time he'd have to study would be at night after they met, so in all likelihood he was staying up late to review his school books before sleeping a few hours, spending an entire day selling papers, and then meeting for their lessons before doing it all over again.
That settled it, she decided. There would be no talk of anything serious or even remotely stressful at their upcoming reading engagement; Davey needed to take a break, even if that break was only for an hour. She was still a little surprised that he'd want to spend the minimal free time he had trying to convince her that reading was actually fun, but she supposed that it was due to his tenacious side that would take any opportunity to promote something that he was deeply passionate about.
Whatever the case, she was going to do her best to ensure that he left his cares behind during their time together. She would keep the conversation lighthearted. She would give him a chance to ramble about his love of books.
And she would master that sugar cookie recipe if it was the last thing she did.
"This way, Jack," Katherine beckoned. "We'll take the stairs up to the third floor."
Jack followed behind her, glancing around himself curiously as he took in the lobby of the building where Katherine worked. The Sun was a notably less prestigious publication compared to The World, and the trappings of the edifice that housed the former were sparse by comparison, but Jack liked its understated style better.
Quickening his pace, he continued up the stairs, following Katherine to the third floor. It was a hive of activity; there were desks arranged in groups all around the expansive space, and along the wall were situated a row of offices and a large board room. People hurried about in various states of activity: harried-looking clerks making their way from one end of the floor to another, photographers arguing over the layout of photo spreads, a well-dressed man stopping to speak to a colleague while his secretary took notes at his side…
Jack had become used to seeing all of these things from his weekly trips to The World, but the fact that this was Katherine's workplace made even these mundane interactions more fascinating to observe.
Who were all of these folks to her? he wondered. Which one of the men hurrying about was her sympathetic supervisor who had allowed her to keep working, quietly defying Pulitzer's order? Whom did she answer to now that she was no longer a reporter? And, most importantly, which of the few women - whose colorful attire stood out amongst the drab grays and browns of their male colleagues - was the benevolent copy editor who had stuck her neck out for them?
Katherine led the way to one of the offices along the wall.
"Hello, Jenny," she said pleasantly, greeting the secretary sitting at her desk outside of the office. "We're here to meet with Lena."
"She's ready for you," Jenny answered. "Please go ahead."
Katherine and Jack entered the office and were immediately greeted by a petite, blonde-haired woman who rose from her desk to meet them.
"Kath, come in!" she exclaimed, smiling brightly. "And you must be Jack!" She beckoned both of them over, inviting them to have a seat at the table before walking over to shut the door to the office and then returning to her own seat. "Thom should be along in a minute with the final version of your article before it goes to print," she said, "but in the meantime, we might as well get acquainted."
"Jack, this is Lena McClain," Katherine prompted as Jack reached across the desk to shake the woman's hand. "She's the one who made all of this possible. And," she added, "she's the brave soul who will be publishing our article under her name."
Jack gave the woman an appreciative grin. He'd heard a lot about Lena over the past week from Katherine. The copy editor had gamely jumped a number of hurdles to secure a spot for their article to be published, and Jack already had a great deal of respect for her.
"Pleased to meet you, Ma'am," he said, touching his cap.
The decision to attach Lena's handle to the story had been made after much private deliberation. Katherine had first proposed the idea of publishing the article anonymously or else coming up with an alternate byline, but Lena had discouraged the first (pointing out that it would severely lessen the credibility of the article to have no name associated with it) and had been hesitant about the latter (simply because, if the article was effective, they were likely to receive follow-up questions, and it would drive Jenny and the other secretaries batty to have to remember to cover the writer's real identity. Besides, at the end of the day, someone who wasn't Katherine would have to field those inquiries, and if Lena - as the supervising editor for the project - was going to have to do it anyway, she might as well put her name down from the get-go and save everyone else the trouble).
Katherine had been secretly relieved when her friend had proposed this solution - it was the most straightforward way of doing things, and it would arouse fewer suspicions to have a verifiable employee of The Sun backing the article rather than a previously-unknown reporter who'd just happened to show up out of nowhere. Lena's supervisors had more or less turned a blind eye to the whole thing - they'd made it clear that Katherine was not to be officially associated with the article in any way, still wary of the repercussions should Pulitzer get wind of it, but they'd also stopped just short of banning the ex-reporter's involvement, and this was more than enough for the two women to work with.
It was a sacrifice on Lena's part - she'd likely have her hands full for a few days after the article ran dealing with any backlash (at worst) or follow up questions (at best), but Katherine had already briefed her thoroughly on what to say, so hopefully there wouldn't be any resulting situations that the copy editor couldn't handle.
As the two women launched into a conversation about some of the final logistics involving the article's publication, Jack's eyes wandered curiously about the room. It was clearly a shared space - there were multiple desks arranged throughout the office, but all of them save Lena's were currently vacant, their occupants perhaps in other meetings or out to a late lunch. Lena's desk was nearest to the door, one side flush with the wall, and as Jack idly perused the workspace, he happened to spot a small pastel drawing hanging nearby.
"Hey," he remarked once there was a lull in the conversation, "that's a pretty illustration you got there, Ms. Lena. Real nice, almost looks like a postcard drawin'."
"It's actually my hometown," Lena disclosed. "I rendered it on a whim before I moved here to New York to pursue my career. I suppose you could say it was my attempt to take a little bit of the West back East. It helps to look at it sometimes whenever I'm feeling homesick."
Jack nodded, his eyes still trained on the drawing as he examined it more closely. "Makes sense," he murmured. "Ain't much here in New York but buildings pressin' in on all sides and dirty streets as far as the eye can see. If I was from somewhere that green and pretty, I'd wanna take a piece of it everywhere I went, too." He tore his gaze away from the artwork and sat forward in his chair, giving the copy editor a curious look.
"If you don't mind me askin', Ms. Lena...where's this a drawin' of? It reminds me of somewhere, but I ain't sure if it's just my mind playin' tricks on me."
"I don't mind at all, Jack - though I'd be surprised if you were familiar with the place. It's a little part of the New Mexico territory known as - "
"Santa Fe," Jack breathed, his eyes returning to the drawing again. "It's Santa Fe, ain't it?"
Lena nodded, clearly surprised. "You know Santa Fe?"
Been dreamin' about it for longer than I could tell ya, Jack thought to himself, but instead he only said nonchalantly, "I've heard of it. Seems like a real nice place."
"It is - if you like wide open spaces and not too many people," Lena laughed. "It's nothing like New York."
Jack gave her a half-grin in return. "Yeah, I'm sure it ain't. Maybe that's the charm of it."
"Do you ever think about going back, Lena?" Katherine asked.
"It's tempting every time I return to visit family," the other woman admitted. "I was there not too long ago, and of course they all gave me their usual spiel about how I ought to consider 'coming home.'" She smiled. "A few of my extended family members work in the newspaper business, too, so there's always some friendly banter going on - they like to give me a hard time for 'selling out to a big, pompous newspaper empire' - not knowing, of course, that The Sun's far from the biggest fish in the sea here in New York. But it's all in good fun. And, as I've told them, I've made my choice, and I don't regret it. New York's given me opportunities that would have never come along if I'd stayed in Santa Fe."
"And I, for one, am thankful that New York's got you," Katherine added, smiling at her colleague.
No sooner had she said this when a light knock sounded upon the door.
"That's probably Thom now," Lena guessed before bidding the visitor to enter. The door opened, and a lanky man with a mop of brown hair walked in with some papers tucked under his arm.
"Good afternoon, all," he said jovially. "Sorry to make you wait - I just had to finish up the final touches for the page layout, getting the illustrations all squared away, but I've got the spread right here if you'd like to take a gander."
Katherine eagerly scooted her chair aside so that the man could reach Lena's desk. "Jack, this is Thom," she said, and Jack couldn't help but smile in return at the friendly grin that split across the man's face as he shook Jack's hand. "He's a fantastic photographer, and he's chipped in to help us with the final draft of the layout for the article, which includes your illustrations. What he's brought to show us is what Lena will take to the editors to get their final approval before the story goes to print."
"And it's a beaut, if I do say so myself," Thom declared, laying the spread across the desk. Jack craned his neck to see as Katherine and Lena also leaned in closer. "Those drawings really pull the eye in, and once folks start reading the words that go with them, they're going to be hooked."
Lena nodded in agreement. "I'd be surprised if the Governor doesn't act quickly once this story gets out," she predicted. "A person would have to have to be completely heartless to remain unmoved by your words, Kath, and Thom's right - Jack's illustrations really do seal the deal." She smiled. "You two are a formidable team."
"We wouldn't have even gotten this far without you and Thom," Katherine said gratefully.
"She's right," Jack asserted. "We sure is grateful to the both of you. This story - " he gestured to the paper on the desk, " - it's gonna mean a lot to me and my boys." The words weren't eloquent or well-spoken, but they were heartfelt, and as the others continued to converse animatedly, Jack felt a sense of deep satisfaction settle over him as he leaned back in his chair, quietly taking in the moment.
Change was coming. He could feel it. It had taken months - months that they hadn't anticipated, months of lingering fear and extra precaution and more than a few sleepless nights - but The Refuge was finally going to get the scrutiny it deserved, and if justice was served, soon the newsies wouldn't have to live in its shadow any longer.
Jack's gaze fell again on the drawing of Santa Fe, and a strange sense of near-desiderium came out of nowhere. He had been feeling happy and hopeful only a moment ago, but as he gazed at the landscape and its soothing colors, he found a part of himself longing for a freedom that he couldn't describe. It should have been enough that he and his boys had won the strike and bested Pulitzer and that in all likelihood they'd soon be rid of Snyder and his goons as well...but the quiet ache for a different kind of existence continued to tug at him.
Katherine's laughter bubbled up, drawing Jack out of his brooding thoughts, and he found himself smiling at her as she laid a hand gently on his arm even as she continued conversing with Lena and Thom. Here was the catch, a reason to stay in New York if there ever was one, Jack thought - this beautiful, smart, independent woman who'd waltzed her way into his life (though more accurately he'd shouldered his way into hers) and had changed it irrevocably. He knew that she'd promised to follow him wherever he went, but seeing her here, in her element, happy and surrounded by folks who were in her corner, he knew that he couldn't ask her to make good on that promise. For Katherine, everything was here in New York, and Katherine was everything to Jack (well Katherine, and a lodging house full of brothers), so Santa Fe would have to be put aside, even if Jack knew that a part of him would be haunted by its call for as long as he lived.
Forcing himself to look away from the drawing, he focused his attention on Katherine's face as she continued to speak. Maybe, he thought to himself, this is where I'm s'posed to be after all. Maybe the real dream ain't Santa Fe, findin' meanin' and family and a home out West. Maybe all of that is right here - with her.
It was the first time he'd found himself considering the possibility without also feeling the compulsive need to dismiss it. The thought of being tied down to anything had always felt stifling - he'd wanted to simply enjoy the moment without thinking about responsibilities or obligations or the future.
But maybe all that was changing now. Maybe he didn't need wide open spaces or a clear view of the sky and the stars to feel free. And maybe the wanderlust in his heart could be answered right here in the very place he'd spent most of his life wishing that he could get away from - as long as he was with the right person.
He still wasn't ready to say anything to Katherine yet. The question that she'd broached months ago about where their relationship was going had gone unanswered due to Jack's reluctance to make promises that he wasn't sure he could keep. But maybe soon he would be ready to revisit the subject and to give her the answer that she'd been patiently waiting for...because at that very moment, Jack was sure that nothing - not even wild Palominos - could drag him from her side.
A/N: The Jatherine subplot is moving along. :) We'll be jumping over to our other pairing in the upcoming chapter (reading date-that's-not-a-date, anyone? ;)), but in the meantime, I'd love to hear your reactions to this one if you're willing to share!
