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The next morning, an hour after lunch, Abigail walked down the street in Harlem. She had returned from her errand Downtown. She noticed a group of newsies gathered near an alley. Her curiosity piqued, she walked across the street and up to the newsies.
"What's goin' on, fellas?" she asked the boy on the edge of the crowd.
The boy turned and jumped. "Abigail!" he exclaimed.
The chattering and whispering ceased immediately. They moved to let her through. She looked at them all and walked forward. As she walked deeper into the alley, she noticed little pools of blood speckling the cobblestones. She watched the droplets become larger as she stepped forward. She finally reached the inner edge of the crowd. Doc stood over a bloody, beaten body. She stepped around him and realized whose body it was. She squatted down and picked up a brown leather sack soaked in blood. She touched the bloodied hair of the boy.
"Ducky," she whispered, "ma little Roreigh." She smoothed his hair slowly, watching him carefully. She glanced up at Doc.
Doc sighed and looked away from her. "He went ta go sell some papes ta some a dem suffrage ladies. He was only outta ma sight fer a couple a minutes. When 'e din't come back, I went lookin' fer 'im. I found 'im heah. I nevah even hoid 'im scream," he explained sorrowfully.
Abigail lay her hand on her brother's head one last time. She stood slowly. "Ya got any ideas who?" she asked quietly, turning toward Doc lazily. Doc shook his head. "Take 'im ta da morgue 'n' give 'em ma name. I'll stop by dere latah wit' Dime," she instructed. She started out of the alley.
"Where're ya goin'?" Doc called.
"I got some business down south. I'll be back by nightfall," she answered, pausing her step only to speak. She continued on her way out of the alley. The newsies moved for her. She left Harlem.
About two hours later, Abigail stood outside the lodging house in Brooklyn. There was a dance at Medda's that night, so most of the boys would be getting ready at the lodging house. She walked inside. Several boys were socializing on the lobby. She directed her attention to them.
"Where's Conlon?" she demanded emotionlessly.
"Da showah," one of the boys answered, glancing over at her.
She ran up the stairs and into the bunkroom.
"Wait! Ya cain't go in dere!" another boy yelled.
She ignored him and passed through the bunkroom and into the washroom. "Conlon!" she called.
"Abigail?" Spot yelled back over the sound of the shower.
"Git yer scrawny li'l ass out here!"
Spot ignored her.
"You do it on yer own, or I'll do it."
"Ya wouldn't dare!"
"Ya don't got anythin' I ain't seen before. Now, git out here!"
Spot shut the water off. Abigail noticed his clothes on the floor outside the stall. She casually kicked them away from it, making sure it was farther than an arm's length from the curtain. Spot reached for his clothes. When he saw that they weren't there, he swore silently.
Aw, dat li'l— (He continued on from there, but, due to its excessive use of vulgar language, those specific words have been edited out.)
Abigail reached her arm into the shower, grabbed Spot's arm, and yanked him into the open washroom. Spot yelped when he first saw her arm and yelped again when there was nothing he could hide behind. Abigail looked him over quickly.
"I warned ja," she quirked.
Spot grumbled something and tried to cover himself up. Abigail smirked and stifled her laughter. She turned and grabbed a towel from a nearby rack. She threw it at him. He caught it and wrapped it around his waist. Dignity returned, Spot looked at her.
"Thanks. What d'ya want?" he growled.
"Ya seen ma boys in da las' couple a hours?" she asked, acting curious.
"Dime 'n' Ducky?" She nodded once. "Naw, not since da oddah day," he answered. "Why?"
"Ducky's dead."
The news hit Spot like a ton of bricks. "How ol's 'e?" he mumbled, staring at the tiled floor.
"Seven," she replied.
Spot fell against the window ledge. "Who could a done dis ta 'im?" he asked himself out loud. "'E was such a nice kid. Ever'body liked 'im. 'E's so young, too. Why would anybody wanna do dat?"
Abigail watched him carefully. "Ya didn't do it?" she whispered, almost inaudibly.
Spot looked up at her, shocked. "A coise not," he breathed. "I nevah hoit li'l kids," he added, almost as an afterthought.
Abigail watched him carefully. "Can I ask fer a favah?" she mumbled, not enjoying what she was doing.
Spot looked up at her, his eyes shocked that SHE was asking HIM for a favor. "What?" he asked quietly.
"Could ja keep an eye out fer da folks dat killed Ducky? Listen 'round fer anythin' 'bout it," she whispered, looking like she was about to cry but had no tears in her eyes.
Spot nodded. "Shoah," he complied, nodding.
"Thanks," she mouthed. "I gotta go tell Dime." She turned and headed back out.
"Ya mean 'e don't know yet!?" Spot exclaimed, jumping to his feet. Abigail turned around just in time to see his towel fall to the floor. A split second later, Spot scrambled to retrieve it. He yanked it back around his waist.
"Naw, I ain't told 'im yet. I wanted ta see if ya'd done anythin' ta 'im. Ya ain't, so I gotta go tell Dime now. I'll see ya, Conlon," she said and turned back around to leave.
"Hol' up dere," he called, hurrying over to her and holding his towel up. He touched her shoulder. She looked back at him. "Gimme a couple a minutes ta git dressed, 'n' I'll go wit' cha." He gave her a comforting look.
She sighed and nodded. "Ya wouldn't happen ta have a punchin' bag 'round 'ere, would ja?" she asked.
He nodded. "Yeah, downstaihs by da lobby. Go ta da back room. Da boys won't boddah ya none," he informed her.
She nodded and left the washroom. She descended the stairs quickly and followed Spot's directions to the punching bag. The boys in the lobby watched her walk by. She walked right into the room, seeing the bag in the center. The room certainly didn't smell all that great. She didn't care. She just proceeded to punch the bag as hard as she could. The boys in the lobby began to watch her. They'd never seen a girl hit a punching bag the way she did. Frankly, they'd never seen a girl hit a punching bag at all. When Spot came downstairs, he saw all the boys standing in or near the back room. He joined them and pushed his way through.
"Awright, break it up, break it up," he called, pushing his way to the front of the crowd. When he saw several of his newsies sporting injuries, he looked at Abigail. She'd stopped beating the bag when she'd noticed his presence. "What's goin' on heh'?" he demanded.
"Dey were holdin' da bag," she mumbled, wiping sweat from her brow and damp hair from her face. She was breathing hard.
Spot nodded. "I think yer da one needs a showah now," he commented, smirking.
"I'll take a swim on our way ta Jack's. C'mon," she instructed, heading out of the lodging house.
Spot followed her out of the building. Abigail led the way down to the pier. She dove off the end quickly. Spot waited for her by the ladder. She climbed up and shook the excess water from her hair and body. As they started toward Manhattan, Abigail re-braided her hair. She didn't speak at all on the way. Spot watched her carefully.
When they reached the lodging house, Abigail hesitated, staring at the door. Spot coaxed her across the street and into the building silently. Inside, most of the boys were hanging around the lobby, waiting for the others. They preferred to go to Medda's as one group. They quieted when they saw Abigail and Spot walk in together.
Abigail scanned the room for her brother. She finally found him talking to Boots and Snipeshooter in the far corner. She approached him. The newsies stepped out of her way. "We gotta talk, Dime," she announced gravely.
Dime nodded. "Where's Ducky? Dolly wants ta go ta Medda's wit' 'im," he said happily.
Abigail looked away from him. She sighed and headed for the stairs. Dime followed her, silent and curious. They headed for the roof.
When they were gone, the newsies all looked at Spot for an explanation. He sighed. "Ducky died dis mornin'," he divulged, looking at the wall.
The news hit them hard. A few even dropped to the floor. None of them could believe it. The jubilance the room had had when Spot and Abigail had entered was suddenly gone.
Up on the roof, Abigail was explaining everything to Dime. He didn't take it very well. He cracked and began crying. Abigail hugged him and smoothed his hair, comforting him. She comforted him like a mother comforts her crying child.
Dime cried himself to sleep. Abigail knew that he had trouble coping with death. He cried for a week after each parent had died. She smoothed his hair and picked him up gently. She carried him downstairs slowly, trying not to wake him. She placed him on his bunk carefully, pulling the sheets up to his shoulders. She brushed his cheek with her fingers and left, closing the door softly. She returned to the lobby. When she saw the looks on the newsies' faces, she knew that they knew about Ducky. She sighed and addressed them.
"It's all true. Ducky was killed a couple a hours ago. Nobody knows who done it. Dime's asleep upstairs. Let 'im sleep fer as long's 'e needs. He cried 'n' slept when 'is mom 'n' Pop died. It's how 'e deals wit' it." She took a deep breath. "I gotta go see 'bout Ducky. I'll stop by agin latah," she commented, starting to leave.
The boys watched her leave. Spot hurried after her. He'd decided that he'd look after her for a while. He wanted to make sure that she didn't hurt herself or anyone else. She didn’t appear to notice him, but he tagged along anyway.
They reached the morgue a little while later. Doc and a few other boys were waiting just inside the door. They stood when Abigail entered. When they saw Spot, they became confused. Abigail ignored their reactions and gave them an inquiring look.
"Dey's cleanin' 'im up fer a funeral. When we tol' 'em who 'e was 'n' who 'is sistah was, dey said dey'd fix 'im up fer a real nice funeral. Dey said fer ya ta go see 'em when ya got heah," Doc explained.
"Thanks, Doc," she replied, smiling a little. She hesitated before leaving. She spit in her palm and held her hand out to Doc. Doc did the same and shook her hand. She patted his arm and brushed past him. She headed down the hallway toward the back.
The boys watched her leave and turned to Spot. Doc spoke. "Whatta ya doin' taggin' 'long wit' Abigail?" he demanded.
"Jist makin' shaoh she's awright 's'all," he answered, shrugging.
"What's in it fer you, Conlon? You'se two hate each oddah," Doc replied.
"She got me outta a bind yestahday. I owes it to 'er," he explained.
The boys exchanged glances. "What'd she do?" one of the other boys asked.
Spot looked away for a moment. "She kept me outta jail," he divulged.
Doc raised an eyebrow and surveyed Spot carefully. He didn't say anything. He just watched Spot scrupulously. He didn't know what was going on with the two of them, but he was going to find out.
In the back room, Abigail looked at her brother. The blood had been washed off his tiny body. She carefully moved his hair away from his face, still partially mangled with cuts and bruises. His hazel eyes were closed, as if he were sleeping. A tear rolled down Abigail's cheek. She wiped the liquid away and let it drip onto her brother's lips.
My poor baby, she thought. My poor, sweet Roreigh. Who coulda done dis ta ya? D'you know? In dat tiny li'l mind a yers, d'ya know who did dis ta ya? I wish ya could tell me. I know I'll find 'em, baby. I promise ya.
She paused and forced a smile. "Sleep well, darlin'. Go see Laura 'n' Pop. Say hi ta Pop fer me. Tell Laura dat I'm sorry I was nevah too nice to 'er. I nevah gave 'er a chance. She tried so hard ta git me ta like 'er, but I wouldn't even give 'er da time a day. She's been dead fer seven years. I wish I'd a known 'er bettah dose six years she 'n' Pop were married. It's too bad Mama nevah knew ya. She would'a loved you 'n' Mikey so much. You two're jist like Uncle Benny 'n' Uncle Cal. I wish ya could'a known dem, too, but dey died when I was seven meself. I hope dey all watch ovah ya up dere in Heaven, even Laura. G'bye, ma li'l Roreigh," she whispered and kissed his forehead.
She brushed the hair out of his face one last time and gazed at his face. She ran her fingers down his cheek slowly. She stepped back from the table on which he lay. She finally closed her eyes and turned away, leaving the room. She leaned against the wall next to the swinging doors. She took a long, deep breath. She stood straight up and walked back to the room where the boys were waiting. The boys all stood as she entered. None of them spoke.
"C'mon, boys. Let's go on back home," she decided.
"Ya gonna be awright, Abigail?" Doc inquired, stepping forward and placing a hand on her shoulder.
Abigail sighed and turned her head toward Doc lazily. "I'll be fine, Doc. Thanks fer carin'," she mumbled, heading out of the building.
The boys all exchanged glances and followed her out into the street. She meandered along down the middle of the street with the boys all in tow, none of them walking beside her. She stopped in the middle of a square in downtown Manhattan. The boys almost ran into her. Abigail just stood there, in the middle of the square. The world seemed to spin for a moment. She closed her eyes to wait for it to stand still again. The boys just looked at her.
Abigail's eyes shot open, a look of surprise on her face. A split second later, she took off running toward Central Park. As soon as the boys realized it, they shot off after her. None of them could run fast enough to catch her, though. Newsies were usually fairly fast runners, but, somehow, Abigail managed to out-run and lose the boys.
The boys finally came to a stop, breathing hard. "Tellah, go git Deacon. Git 'im quick," Doc ordered. Teller sprinted off toward Harlem as fast as he could.
"Who's Deacon?" Spot wondered, still panting.
"Da best trackah in N'Yawk," Doc answered, glancing over at Spot, almost furious with him.
Spot picked up on Doc's emotions toward him. "Look, Doc, dere ain't nuthin' between me 'n' Abigail. Da only reason I'se even heh's cuz she came ta Brooklyn lookin' fer me. She ast me if I killed Ducky. I didn't 'n' tol' 'er so. I follahed 'er back ta Manhattan cuz I didn't want 'er ta hoit no one," Spot explained quickly.
Doc said nothing. He just looked at Spot, slight irritation in his eyes. He grumbled and turned away from Spot. He watched the street, looking for anything and watching everything.
© 1997 b1rd1e@aol.com
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