Disclaimer: This is a non-commercial work of fanfiction. Anything recognizable from Newsies belongs to Disney and not to me.
Chapter 103: Across the Bridge Again
A/N: The events of this installment are taking place concurrently with those of the previous chapter.
Race stifled a yawn, blinking back the sleepiness from his eyes as he examined himself in the washroom mirror. It was morning at the lodging house, and the usual commotion of the newsies getting ready for the day was in full swing, faces being washed, latrine doors being slammed, straight razors skimming off stubble...
A dollop of shaving cream hit Race on the cheek, and he turned to see Jack grinning at him from the sink nearby.
"Mornin' Racer!" he said jovially. "You's lookin' a little sluggish. Somethin' keep you up last night?"
They never spoke directly about Race's occasional bouts of insomnia - Jack knew about it and had broached the subject privately a few times before, but Race had always brushed off the newsie leader's concern. There wasn't much that could be said about the frustrating and confounding nature of his condition - it generally came and went without any rhyme or reason (though occasionally there were exceptions, as with the previous night). Jack had backed off after getting the cold shoulder, sensing that it wasn't something Race was willing to talk about, but he still found ways to circuitously approach the subject - even if it was hidden under the guise of teasing.
"The fire sirens kept me awake," Race said by way of explanation. He swiped a towel from Henry, who let out a yell of protest, then wiped the shaving cream off of his face before tossing the towel back to its owner. "They's been worse than usual lately."
It was a bald-faced lie, and Jack would certainly know it, but Race was too tired to come up with a better cover that morning.
He'd had a dream about The Refuge, one of the most terrifying, blood-curdling flashbacks he'd had since getting out of that cursed place. And it was this dream that had kept him up until the morning bell sounded. He didn't want to talk about it, though; to give voice to the dream would be to give it quarter, and he'd already lost enough to The Refuge without letting it continue to haunt his waking hours.
Maybe instead he'd head down to the track later that day. A little betting would ease his nerves, and if he won, he could go blow the extra dough on something fun to get his mind off of things.
The thought made Race feel better, and he continued his daily preparations with more alacrity than before, though he could feel Jack's eyes on him from across the room as the newsie leader, too, washed up and got ready for the day.
It turned out that Race wasn't the only one dragging that morning; the normally-chipper Romeo was still in bed, curled up under a blanket, and Race could hear Specs trying to coerce the younger newsie out of bed to no avail, Romeo mumbling something about feeling tired and achy all over and declaring that he wasn't feeling well enough to sell that day.
The news was slightly concerning; with the slowly-dropping temperatures, the flu was starting to pick up, and one case in the lodging house could easily turn into two or ten or twelve. Race felt another layer of weariness settle on top of his fatigue as he considered the possibility, and he repressed the urge to sigh.
Sometimes it felt like a guy just couldn't catch a break.
Well, hopefully Romeo would be back on his feet soon and the rest of the boys would be able to stay healthy. Specs would no doubt inform Jack of the indisposed newsie's ailment, and then it would be up to Jack to make the call on whether or not Romeo would go into quarantine. Full-on outbreaks were rare at the lodging house, but it might be worth it to play it safe...
Race shook off the thought. Not your responsibility, Higgins. There was no point in spoiling his morning by fretting over something out of his control. His night had already been unpleasant enough; he wasn't going to let anything spoil his day.
Turning his thoughts back to the prospect of a day at the track, Race finished getting ready. Most of the newsies had left the washroom and were thundering down the stairs, calling out their greetings to Kloppman at his post below as Jack led the way out of the lodging house and toward the distribution center, leaving Race behind without anyone to scrutinize his actions or ask any disagreeable questions. Walking over to his cubby where he kept some of his savings hidden in a rolled-up sock, Race counted out enough change to give him a decent start at the track, then tucked the coins into his pocket.
He knew full well that Jack wouldn't approve of the plan that he had in mind. Jack disliked gambling, not because he was adverse to taking risks as a rule, but because he was convinced that gambling yielded more losses than wins, and Jack didn't like to lose. Race, by contrast, knew that taking some losses was the only way to score more substantial gains, so he was willing to roll the dice. For the most part, Jack turned a blind eye to the activity as long as it was purely a recreational pastime (for what a fellow did with the money he earned was nobody else's business), but if he knew that Race was going to gamble in the middle of the week because he'd had a dream that had shaken him up and he was trying to distract himself, Jack would insist on talking about it. And that was the last thing Race wanted to do at that moment - or ever.
Maybe I'll stop and see Sophie, too, he thought. He'd been intending to visit his sister on his last trip to Brooklyn, but that hadn't turned out so well. The timing, though, would work out better today.
Hesitating for a moment, Race contemplated emptying the contents of the sock into his pockets so that he could stop by the general store on his way to the track and buy Sophie an early Christmas gift. He didn't know if he'd make it down to Brooklyn again to see her before the holiday came and went, and he'd been wanting to buy her that new pair of shoes he'd seen in the cobbler's shop window months ago, though after getting his money stolen from him on that same ill-fated trip to Brooklyn, he was fairly certain he no longer had enough cash left to get them for her.
It was another unsavory memory that he'd rather not think about.
Pushing the momentary recollection aside, Race grabbed the rest of the money and then swiftly made his way out of the bunk room and down the stairs. If he couldn't buy Sophie her shoes, he'd find something else to give her.
Greeting Kloppman with a little salute and a quip, Race exited the lodging house and started down the street, quickening his pace to catch up with Jack and the rest of the boys.
He'd only gotten about two blocks away when he saw a slightly-familiar figure heading in his direction.
Race frowned, his sleep-deprived mind trying to recall the boy's identity.
Where had he seen that face before?
It wasn't until the fellow got closer and Race caught a glimpse of the medallion-patterned bandana tied around his neck that the newcomer's identity fell into place: he was one of Spot's recent recruits, a younger boy who had been out on patrol and had found Race after he'd collapsed following his unexpected soaking. He'd called for help, and soon after, a few of the older newsies, most of them familiar faces, had arrived, helping Race back to the lodging house where Spot had taken over seeing to his care. Race had been a bit disoriented throughout the ordeal, but one of the images that had remained clear in his mind was that of the patterned bandana worn by his initial rescuer.
The youngster drew near, raising his hand in greeting. "Racetrack."
It wasn't a question, but Race answered in the affirmative anyway.
"That's me."
The other boy held out a folded-up piece of paper, and Race opened it, his eyes immediately taking in the distinctive, familiar handwriting.
You'd better get yourself down to Brooklyn. Sophie's gonna have some news.
The note - as expected - wasn't signed, but Race didn't need a signature to know whom it was from.
Giving the courier newsie a grateful nod, Race said, a little tiredly, "Tell Spot I'll be in Brooklyn by this afternoon, will ya?"
The boy nodded. "Sure thing." And without another word, he turned on his heel and made his way down the street, disappearing almost as quickly as he'd come.
Race let out the sigh that he'd been holding in.
"Well, so much for blowin' off responsibility and spendin' the day playin' the ponies," he muttered as he continued down the street. He would be heading to Brooklyn after all, but if Spot's cryptic message was anything to go by, he wouldn't be getting anywhere near the entrance of Sheepshead.
His sister, it seemed, needed him.
Arriving at the distribution center, Race immediately made his way over to Jack, who had already purchased his stack of papers for the day and was in the middle of skimming the headlines.
"Hey, Jacky," Race said quietly, "I gotta talk to you for a minute."
Jack immediately closed his paper. "Sure, Racer," he answered. "What's eatin' ya?" The words were casually affable, but Race didn't miss the concern that flickered just briefly across the newsie leader's face.
"I got a little situation over in Brooklyn that I haf'ta take care of," Race disclosed. "I ain't sure how long it's gonna take to get things straightened out, but don't be waitin' up for me tonight, all right? If it's a pretty big mess, I might spend the night with Spot's boys."
Jack looked for a moment like he wanted to object, but he only nodded. "Yeah, okay. Sure." He paused, then added, "You, ah, want one of us to come with you?"
"Nah," Race smiled grimly. "I gotta take care of this on my own." He could tell that the idea made Jack very uneasy, and Race couldn't exactly blame him given what had happened on his last trip to Brooklyn, but thankfully the older boy didn't protest.
"Be careful, all right?"
"Always, Jacky." Race gave the newsie leader a grin and a little two fingered salute, then got in line to purchase his papers, his mind turning to the question of how many he ought to buy that morning now that the business of getting Jack up to speed was taken care of.
Despite the lackluster headline, Race ended up paying for extra papes, knowing that he'd be in Brooklyn by the time the afternoon edition came out and wanting to offset that loss with a bigger morning allotment. He kept his head down, barely sparing a glance for Weasel and the Delanceys as he slid his coins across the counter. As soon as he left the distribution center, he began calling out the headline, turning his steps in the direction of Brooklyn as he mulled over what news might be awaiting him there.
If it had been an emergency, Spot would have said so, or he would have stepped in himself, so Race wasn't worried that Sophie was in any immediate danger, but there had been an urgency in the Brooklyn leader's message, which meant that this was a matter of some importance. As prickly and aloof as Spot liked to present, he had a soft spot for those under his care, and he had promised Race that he'd look out for Sophie when Race had made tracks for Manhattan, something that had assuaged the latter's guilt on more than one occasion when he'd regretted leaving his sister behind.
Of course, it wasn't a one-sided deal; Race had done his fair share of favors for Spot in the past...but that was neither here nor there.
At any rate, the first order of business was to move the morning's quota of papes as quickly as possible, and it was to this task that Race applied himself, thankful that his history with Brooklyn (and subsequent immunity to the repercussions that would normally befall a newsie selling on someone else's turf) meant that he'd most likely be able to finish up selling for the day just around the time Sophie would be clocking out for the day.
Once he'd heard the news that she had to share, he'd figure out what to do next.
The tea factory where Sophie worked was a cluster of old, dilapidated warehouses that occupied nearly an entire block, and Race found himself eyeing them warily as he walked parallel to their length, coming to a stop just across the street from the workers' gate.
Hunkering down at his usual spot where he waited for Sophie, he lit his cigar, taking a draw from it as he glanced at the afternoon shadows slanting across the street, estimating the time to be around four in the afternoon.
He'd dispatched his papers about as easily as expected, having enough time to even stop at a hotdog vendor's cart for lunch. The extra money - which he'd forgotten to return to its hiding spot at the lodging house in his haste to get to Brooklyn - weighed heavily in his pocket, and the thought of Sheepshead crossed his mind again before he ruefully dismissed the notion. It was probably for the best that all of his time was going to be taken up with family matters; without that distraction, he would have been sorely tempted to blow all of his money at the track. He most likely wouldn't have bet it all...but still, it was easier when the choice had been made for him.
Idly perusing the foot traffic passing by on the street, Race let his mind wander, something he didn't do often (though when he did, it almost always happened on this side of the Bridge).
Brooklyn had been home for most of his life, and his childhood memories - which he rarely spoke of and even more seldom dwelt on - all had their roots in this bustling, cacophonous sprawl of a city. He could remember the salty-sweet taste of clams from the street vendors' carts, the briny smell of the docks, and the sight of the steamers coming in and out of the Navy Yard as though he'd never left - as though he was still just a kid squatting there in the street, waiting impatiently for his sister to come outside so that they could head off to find some mischief to get into.
Those had been much simpler times.
A cool breeze blew through Race's hair, and he stiffened slightly, angling his body so that his back was to the wind. He was used to the nippy weather, but his concerns about the flu earlier that morning had made him wary, and he wondered if it would be worth it to blow some of his cash on a warmer coat with the sickness spreading so quickly throughout New York.
Jack and Crutchie had already moved downstairs with the rest of the boys, abandoning their penthouse for the shelter of the much-warmer bunk room. They'd toughed it out on the rooftop longer than they usually did thanks to some heavy blankets Katherine had gifted to them once the weather had begun turning cooler, but even the extra layers of warmth couldn't offset the biting chill and snow of the winter season's coldest months, and they both needed to be mindful of their health - Jack so that he could manage the newsies without falling ill himself, and Crutchie due to the fact that he seemed to come down sick far more easily than most.
Before Race's thoughts could continue in this sobering train of thought, he heard the chime of the factory bell sound, signaling the changing of shifts. Snuffing out his cigar, he got to his feet and watched as workers slowly began to trickle out of the gate and onto the streets, heading for home or back to the lodging houses where they lived.
After a few minutes, Sophie appeared, her head bent low as she tucked something carefully into the little bag that she had slung over her shoulder. Several of the other children were similarly occupied, and Race figured it must have been an early payday or something of the sort.
Sauntering across the street, he drew even with Sophie, who was making her way down the block.
"Tony!" her eyes widened in surprise before a smile split across her face. "I was just thinkin' about you and hopin' you was gonna come to visit!"
Race grinned, slinging an arm around her shoulders. "What can I say? Your brother's got first-rate intuition and impeccable timin'!"
Spot would've clobbered him for the lie, but, by mutual agreement, Sophie had been kept in the dark about the Brooklyn leader's surreptitious watch care, and Race didn't intend to let her in on that secret anytime soon. The less she knew, the more normal her life could be, and as much as there was no avoiding the harsh reality of their situation, Race wanted to guard his sister's childhood - or what was left of it - for as long as possible.
"So, how's work been goin'?" he asked casually as they continued down the street. "You stayin' out of trouble?"
"Mostly," Sophie answered. "But I got a problem - a pretty big one."
"You ain't been brawlin' with those geese in Prospect Park again, have ya?" Race quipped, wanting to lighten the mood just a bit before they got to the seriosity.
The joke earned him a tiny smile. "Nah, no brawlin'," Sophie answered. "Even if they's just as stuck-up and annoyin' as before, and if I was in charge of this place, I'd roast the lot of 'em lickety-split."
Race chuckled.
"The fact is, they's shuttin' down the tea factory, Tony," Sophie said quietly. "We's all gonna be let go of at the end of the year. They just paid us for the first part of the month, but after that they's only plankin' up one more time, and then we's on our own. I'm gonna have to find a new job quick, or I ain't gonna be able to stay at the lodgin' house through the winter."
Race kicked a stray pebble, a host of uncharitable thoughts rising to the forefront of his mind.
"They give you any ideas of where you could look for work?" he asked shortly.
Sophie shook her head. "Some of the girls is plannin' to check at the garment factories, but we heard they ain't hirin' right now."
"What about sellin'?" Race suggested. "Carryin' the banner?"
His sister gave him a wry smile. "I ain't charmin' like you, Race. Folks ain't gonna want to buy papes from me. Besides, ain't the newsies around here real territorial?"
"Yeah, sometimes," Race conceded, skipping over the truth that, if Sophie did indeed become a newsgirl, she'd be one of the most well-protected and looked-after peddlers in all of Brooklyn, even if she didn't know it. "But the ones in Manhattan ain't like that." He gave her a hopeful half-smile. "You know I've been tryin' to get you across the Bridge for a while, Soph, but you always had your work at the factory keepin' you here. Maybe now's the time for you to join me. There's a lodgin' house for girls not too far from where I stay. I'd show you how to sell, and we could hawk headlines together, be like a family again."
His sister looked troubled.
"But…" she hesitated, "...we wouldn't all be together."
Race bit back his frustration. He'd long ago given up on any hope of reconciliation with his parents, but his sister still held on to some idealistic notion that the folks who had basically abandoned them would eventually come around. He couldn't fault her for wanting that, but her insistence on holding on so tightly when he thought it would be better for her to let go wore on him. He didn't want to see her get hurt or taken advantage of again. Not when things were unlikely to ever change.
"Soph, you know Pa ain't ever comin' back, and Ma only comes around when she's askin' for money. Hopin' we's all gonna be together again's just wishful thinkin'."
It was more blunt than he'd meant to be, and he felt a little bad when he saw his sister's face fall, but he felt the need to put all his cards on the table and finally shoot straight with her. This was the best chance that he had to finally convince her to join him in Manhattan, and he wasn't going to hold back anymore just to spare her feelings. The sooner she was out of Brooklyn, the better, for as long as she stayed within reach, she would never be free from the clutches of -
"Hey, would you look at that!" a voice called from behind them. "Brooklyn's finest bub and sis!"
Race felt his jaw clench, and he saw Sophie glance at him guiltily, but she was already turning around towards the owner of that voice, and he knew that, as much as he would have liked to ignore the interloper and keep walking, he was going to have to do the same. So he turned around, settling his features into an expression of cool detachment while inwardly bracing himself for a fight.
"Not just my little girl, but my truant son, too!" the new arrival exclaimed, giving Race a look of slightly-disdainful appraisal as she drew near. "What's the occasion, Anthony Higgins? Last I checked, you was too high and mighty to be minglin' with the hoi polloi. Must be somethin' extra special since you's finally stoopin' to grace us with your presence!"
Race didn't say anything, meeting her jeer with an unflinching stare. The expression had discomfited more than one of his opponents at the card table, but he was playing a more high-stakes game at the moment, and his opponent wouldn't be so easily fazed.
"Hello, Ma," Sophie said softly. "Tony and I was just talkin' about the factory closure I told you about."
"Tragic, tragic," the woman shook her head mournfully. "Sendin' so many poor children off to fend for themselves with nothin' but a handful of pennies' severance to support themselves and their families." She gave a little sigh of regret, and a look that Race knew well crossed her face.
"But speakin' of pennies, Sophie my love," she cooed, "could you spare a little change for your mumsy who's down on her luck? My landlord's just raised the rent, and all I need is a dollar or two more."
"Ma," Race cut in shortly, finally breaking his silence, "Sophie needs that money. She's gonna be out of a job in less than two weeks, and if she don't have some reserve to pay her lodgin' house fees, they'll turn her out."
"And that's exactly what my landlord's threatenin' to do to me," his mother wheedled. "He said if I don't come up with the money by the end of the week, he's tossin' me to the curb."
"Well then, you got a week to figure out how to get the money," Race answered curtly. "It ain't Sophie's job to pay your rent. She's got enough to worry about without you bummin' her money off'a her."
His mother's eyes narrowed. "You's talkin' like there ain't any children in New York workin' to support their families, Anthony. Like doin' right by your folks don't matter no more."
"Yeah, well," Race scoffed, "most folks don't take their children's hard-earned dough and spend it on their drinkin' habit." His mother gave him a baleful look, clearly angry that her lie had been exposed, and he shook his head slightly. "We both know you ain't usin' Soph's money for rent, Ma."
She took a step towards him, her eyes furious. "Why, you rotten good-for-nothin' - "
"It's okay, Ma!" Sophie broke in quickly, digging into the little bag that hung at her side. "It's okay! I got the money."
"Sophie, you can't give that to her," Race protested. "You's gonna be servin' your own eviction notice if you do that!"
"Now, don't listen to him, Sophie dear," their mother cajoled, all at once agreeable again. "He's only tryin' to turn you against your poor mum, and you's doin' right by helpin' out the woman who birthed and raised you. You ain't like this ungrateful hellion, only thinkin' of himself."
"Soph, don't give it to her," Race repeated firmly, ignoring the accusation. "You need that money."
"It's just a few dollars, love."
"A few dollars that's goin' straight to the bottle!"
"He don't know what he's talkin' about, dear. Come on, hand it over now, like a good girl."
Sophie's eyes flitted back and forth in distress, her hand half-in and half-out of her bag. The sight was enough to rouse an even deeper anger in Race, but he also felt his heart crack just a little.
She's only twelve. This ain't her fight. She shouldn't have to be dealing with this.
He found himself reaching into his own pocket.
"Here." He pulled some money from the stash in his pocket and reluctantly held it out to his mother. "Take this. And leave Sophie alone."
His mother's eyes widened in surprise at the amount, and for a moment, he thought that she was going to question him, but she only nodded shrewdly, tucking the money away before giving him a self-satisfied smile.
"Well, looks like maybe you got a shred of conscience after all, Anthony," she drawled, and Race gritted his teeth to hold back the words that he would have liked to say in response. "Seems like you ain't doin' too bad for yourself, either. Guess I raised you to be a winner after all."
"Yeah," Race muttered sarcastically. "You had a lot to do with that." It was a weak retort, but at this point he simply wanted his mother to finish her taunting and be on her way; the sooner she was out of his sight, the better.
His mother didn't acknowledge his ire, but merely smirked, backing away now that her business was completed and she'd gotten what she wanted.
"I'll stop by and see you again some other time, Sophie love," she promised, giving her daughter a little wave. "Maybe try and teach your brother some manners in the meantime, hmm?" And without another word, she turned and walked away.
"Come on," Race said stiffly, taking his sister by the arm and guiding her down the street. "Let's get outta here."
They walked in silence for several minutes. Race's anger continued to smolder, but he said nothing, knowing that his sister was conflicted and that she, for whatever reason, still felt a connection to the woman who had given them birth and, for the first few years of their lives, had provided some meagre food and a roof over their heads, but otherwise had done little in the way of mothering and who now seemed to be intent upon cashing in on the debt she felt her offspring owed her for these kindnesses.
"Tony?" Sophie's hesitant voice broke into Race's thoughts. "Are you mad at me? Because I still give in to Ma and can't stand up to her the way you do?"
Race laughed, the sound coming out harsher than he'd intended. "You call what I just did standin' up to her?" he asked quietly. "Nah, Soph. I caved. I talk big, but I ain't any better at sayin' no to her than you." He let out a frustrated sigh. "It ain't that I like speakin' harshly to her like that, but I've tried reasonin', tried bein' the nice guy who did everything she said - it didn't do no good. She just kept usin' the money to go back to the bottle." He gave his sister a tired look. "Ma's runnin' her life into the ground, Soph, and she's gonna run you right into the ground with her if you don't make tracks. That's why you gotta get outta Brooklyn. 'Specially now that the factory's gonna close."
He glanced at his sister and saw that her brow was furrowed in concentration, her expression deeply troubled. He knew that he was pushing harder than he normally did, but Sophie's imminent unemployment meant that there was no time for soft-shoeing around the issue. Losing a few dollars a month when you had steady pay was one thing; losing that money when your own financial security was precarious was another, and Race wasn't going to stand by and watch his little sister get kicked to the curb during the coldest time of the year.
"I couldn't leave now," Sophie hedged, abruptly breaking the silence. "I still haf'ta finish out the month at the factory."
Race nodded, surprised and pleased that she was even willing to consider the possibility of relocating to Manhattan, no matter how hesitantly. "Sure," he agreed. "You could think about it for a week or so. Take some time to decide. I ain't gonna press you for an answer now."
He saw her shoulders relax, and knew that he'd done the right thing in backing off just slightly. His sister cared deeply about him, so he knew that she wouldn't just brush off his words; she'd consider them and think them over. He'd planted the seed, and now he just needed to give it time to take root, for as agreeable and soft-hearted as Sophie was, she was still a Higgins, which meant that she had to come to decisions on her own. He'd broach the subject with her again in the near future and would be much more firm in his insistence if she was still on the fence, but for now, he'd done his work, and it was time to stow the seriosity for the rest of the day.
"Hey, you got time to grab an early dinner?" he asked, giving Sophie a grin. "My treat. We could visit that park with all those food vendors, maybe pick up some of those corn fritters you like?"
She nodded eagerly, and they turned in the direction of the park that was situated down the street from the lodging house where Sophie lived.
"So, what've you been up to, Tony?" Sophie asked, giving Race a curious look. "I heard about the strike bein' settled and you and the rest of the boys beatin' Pulitzer. That must've been a thrill."
"Sure was," Race grinned, recalling the victory with relish. The passage of time and his more recent reconciliation with Jack had softened the frustrations he'd felt during and immediately after the strike, and what was left was mostly a feeling of satisfaction and a little bit of pride. He had played a significant part in leading the newsies during that time, and while Jack may have been the face of the strike and Davey the brain, Race had done his share of the heavy lifting when called upon. It was just as much his victory as theirs.
"You still helpin' to manage the lodgin' house with Jack?" Sophie asked, as though she'd read his mind.
Race nodded. "Yeah. Took over a bit for him during the strike, actually."
"Tony, that's great!" his sister beamed. "I bet you was the best leader the newsies had ever seen."
The pride in her voice was touching, but he knew that it wasn't completely deserved.
"Wish I could say that was the case, Soph," he sighed, thinking of Artie. "But I made some mistakes durin' that time. Bad ones, too. I tried my best, but I ain't got the knack for managin' people like Jack has. The boys are better off havin' him at the helm. Besides, even when I was in charge, I had help. I might've been runnin' things at the lodgin' house, but there was another fella actually master-mindin' the strike business, figuring out our next moves and things like that. Pretty sure if it'd been left up to me, we woulda blown off the entire thing and just gone off to Coney Island or Sheepshead for the week."
"Nah, you wouldn't have done that," Sophie declared. "You know the difference between keepin' things fun and shuntin' off your responsibilities."
The faith in her statement was heartening, but he brushed it off all the same.
"Ah, you's just sayin' that 'cause I'm your brother."
She smiled as though he'd just said something foolish. "'Course I am, Tony. That's how I know it's the truth. You took care of me all those years when we was growin' up. Even though things was tough, especially with Ma and Pa not really bein' around, you always kept us out of trouble - and we had a lot of fun, too."
"We did, huh?" Race couldn't stop a grin from spreading across his face. He knew that Sophie looked up to him, but this was the first time she'd acknowledged - however obliquely - the challenges of their upbringing while still asserting that she had happy memories of that time. It was deeply gratifying to know that his efforts - all the times he'd put on a smile for her sake, the nights he'd snuck out to go scrounging after she was asleep because he knew that if he didn't find food, they'd go hungry in the morning, his attempts to deal with his parents without getting her involved - had served their purpose and had preserved even a little bit of the childhood that he'd wanted her to have.
"Leadin' the newsies is just like bein' a big brother," Sophie went on, "'cept you got a lot more kids to keep track of."
It wasn't untrue, Race thought. The Lower Manhattan newsies were his family in more ways than one, and while he didn't really think of himself as the boys' older brother, the idea of it sat easier with him than that of being their leader. He'd never considered himself much of a manager, and had only ever relinquished his second-in-command role with reluctance (and occasional grumbling), but maybe being the de-facto head man wouldn't be as much of a stretch as he thought - not that he would be called upon to fill that role any time soon - or ever. But his sister's words were reassuring. He might not have the natural aptitude to lead that Jack did, but maybe he had it in other ways that counted.
They continued to chat as they made their way to the park and purchased their dinners, Race filling Sophie in on more of what had been going on since the conclusion of the strike. His sister liked to hear stories of the newsies' antics and of the interesting people Race came across while he was selling, and he was more than happy to oblige, embellishing his retelling with the flair of the expert story-seller than he was. Another hour passed by pleasantly in this manner as they finished their food and ambled slowly back the way they'd come, and before long, Race could feel the temperature in the air dropping significantly as the sun began to dip below the horizon.
He'd just finished telling his sister about the pranks the newsies had pulled on Davey during his stay at the lodging house, not forgetting to recount the parting trick that Davey himself had left them with in turn, when he remembered something just as they came to the door of the lodging house.
"Hey Soph," he said suddenly, "Any chance you still got that marble collection of ours?"
His sister nodded. "Sure do; it's upstairs in my locker."
"Let me borrow it, will ya?" Race requested. "Speakin' of Davey, I promised I'd give him a drubbin' at marbles as soon as I could get my hands on a collection."
"I'll run up and get it now." Sophie turned to head inside.
The marble collection was one of the few remaining pieces left of their childhood, a gift that they'd been given under rather unusual circumstances, so it represented a special memory for both of them, and it was a rather handsome collection, besides. They'd lost a few of the pieces over the years when one or the other of them had been playing against an opponent for keeps and had been especially unlucky, but overall they'd managed to hold on to nearly the entire aggregation.
A minute or two later, Sophie was back, carrying a sizable bag which she carefully set into Race's hands.
"Don't go losin' any of my favorites!" she admonished jokingly.
"Don't worry," Race grinned. "I ain't gonna play for keeps, only braggin' rights." He was pretty sure that Davey would have no use for a marble collection anyway, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Race hadn't forgotten the gleam of confidence in the other newsie's eye when he'd accepted the challenge of a friendly match, and if Davey - who seemed to underestimate himself in nearly every other area of life - was confident in his abilities, Race figured his skill must be considerable indeed.
Ain't gonna be enough to beat me, though, Race thought, looking forward to good-naturedly wiping the floor with the older Jacobs brother. I wasn't called the best in our neighborhood for nothing.
The prospect of a little friendly competition was heartening, and as he thanked Sophie and tucked the bag of marbles into his newsboy bag, he found himself wondering if he'd have time to stop by the Jacobses' tenement on his way back to the lodging house to remind Davey of their pending match. It had been a while since they'd spoken last about it, and chances were the other newsie had probably forgotten about it by now.
Either way, it was time for Race to make tracks; it was getting dark quickly, and even though he felt fairly safe on both Brooklyn and Manhattan turf, it would be a long walk back, so he ought to get started.
"Guess I'll be headin' back now," he said aloud, giving Sophie a half-grin. "Sure was nice seein' you, Soph. It's been a while." He punched her lightly in the arm. "You be good, all right?"
"Always am," Sophie answered, returning the gesture. "And you be careful, all right?"
"Always am," Race recited his half of their customary farewell, taking a step towards the street. "I'll come and see you soon," he promised, "before the end of the month. Think about my offer, all right? I know it'd be a big change to move to Manhattan, but it's a good place, and I know all the fellas at the lodgin' house would look out for you like you was their own sister."
"I'll think about it," Sophie promised with a smile. "G'nite, Tony."
Race kept a brisk pace on his way back to Manhattan, the bag of marbles jostling a bit against his leg as he walked. Now that he was alone, he found his thoughts quickly turning sober, the encounter with his mother replaying in his mind as he tried not to resent the unexpected loss of a portion of his cash reserve. He'd given it up to protect Sophie, and he would have given it up again in a heartbeat, but that didn't make the cost any easier to swallow.
I gotta get her out of there, he thought to himself. It's been too long. She ain't ever gonna be free if she don't get some distance.
His own inability to cope with family issues - in particular, his mother's persistent habit of freeloading off of her children to finance her addiction - had driven him from Brooklyn in the first place. He'd been reluctant to leave; Sophie, his friends at the Poplar Street lodging house, and the only neighborhood he'd ever really known were there. But after years of trying to reason with his mother only to see her slip further into fixation, he'd given up. He'd tried to help her, tried to save her, tried to be the man of the house when his father had walked out on them, but it had been too much. He hadn't been ready to shoulder that responsibility, and didn't have the temperament for it, besides.
But it was too hard to keep saying no to her.
So he'd left, and had started over again in Manhattan, finding himself a place where someone else was handling the adult business and he could simply peddle his papes, spend his money however he liked, and enjoy a life free of obligations. Carrying the banner on the other side of the Bridge had spelled freedom for him, and Race had never regretted his choice - except for when he'd remembered Sophie.
But soon, that would all be put to rights. Once she joined him in Manhattan, he could close that chapter of his life for good, and finally be free from the last of his Brooklyn entanglements.
Buoyed up by the prospect, Race passed the rest of his return trip in relatively good spirits. His feet were tired, and he could feel the cold seeping through his clothes as the sun finished its descent and night fell, but he was looking forward to being back home, entertaining the possibility of a future where he'd have both of his families close by.
Bypassing the turn that would have led him towards Baxter Street, Race quickened his pace, the chill of the evening air driving him to forgo his idea of stopping by the Jacobses' apartment to have a chat with Davey. He'd remind his friend of their impending marbles game at the circulation gate the next day. At the moment, what he really wanted was to hurry inside to the relative warmth of the lodging house, to catch up with the rest of the newsies on what had happened that day, and then to collapse into bed for a good night's sleep.
Before long, Number Nine Duane Street came into view, and Race jogged towards the building, pulling the door open only to find a weary-looking Jack hunkered down at the foot of the stairs.
"Hey Racer," he said blearily, raising his head and smiling grimly. "Been waitin' for you to come back. I know you just got done dealin' with your own troubles in Brooklyn...but we got a situation here. I'm gonna need your help."
Race stepped inside and slowly closed the door behind him.
"Yeah...sure, Jacky." He exhaled, pushing his weariness aside, then pasted a look of determination on his face. "I'm here. Hit me with the news."
A/N: It's okay, you can say it: "Why don't you ever give these guys a break, Jean?!" *Sheepishly mumbles something about "character development" and "strength forged through trials."* On a lighter note, the marble collection in this chapter has its own backstory, so if you're interested in finding out where it came from and who gave it to Race and Sophie, the answer can be found in my short story entitled "Recollection." :)
Since the historical Racetrack Higgins was a Brooklyn boy, I decided to write that detail into his SWW backstory, and while the specifics are obviously things that I've completely fabricated, it was an interesting imaginative exercise trying to bridge the gap between his historical roots in Brooklyn and the musical's choice to place him among the Manhattan newsies instead. Please do let me know what you thought of my attempt and of this glimpse into Race's life in Brooklyn - your feedback is highly, highly appreciated! :)
