Copyright © 1999

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“Christopher, I’m home,” Jillian called as she shut the door behind her.

“Dinnah’s awmost ready, Jillian,” Christopher called back from the kitchen. Jillian joined him in the kitchen, inhaling the fragrance of their dinner. “How was work, Jillian?” he asked as she kissed his forehead.

Jillian moaned and plopped down in a chair at the kitchen table. “Ya wouldn’t believe what Madison had me do taday,” she complained.

“What’d ‘e have ya do?” he asked with a slight smirk.

“Well, ya know how I was promoted ta supervisah last month?” He nodded. “Madison still doesn’t think I’m ready fer it, right, so ‘e starts settin’ stuff up fer me ta fix. Since I been there longah ‘an most a da girls, I gotta fix most a their screw ups. It doesn’t help that Madison’s doin’ it intentionally,” she explained.

He laughed. “Sounds like Madison’s jealous dat ya got promoted before ‘im,” he commented.

“He nevah liked me much, Chris,” she answered.

“Well, shoah, but he’s twenty-two. Yer only twenty. Maybe ‘e don’t like someone younger ‘an ‘e is ‘n’ a girl pass ‘im up,” he shrugged.

She laughed. “Yeah, well, if ‘e keeps it up, I’m tellin’ Danté,” she answered as Christopher placed a bowl of stew in front of her.

He sat down across from her and began eating his stew. The siblings ate in silence for a little while. Jillian read over the paper her brother had picked up on his way home from school. There was nothing of importance, so she just skimmed the dull headlines.

“How was school?” she suddenly asked.

“Aw, not too bad taday. Teacher didn’t whip me,” he answered, proud that he’d gotten through the day without being disciplined for anything.

“That’s great, Chris. Now if ya could only go more ‘an a day that way,” she answered, raising her eyes up to him. He scowled at her but said nothing.

About half an hour later, as the two were cleaning up, the door slammed open, and a scruffy man stumbled in, holding a half-empty bottle of scotch. “Jillian? Christopher?” he slurred, nearly falling on the floor as he tripped over one of the chairs..

Jillian ran out of the kitchen and caught her father before he fell to the floor. Christopher was right behind her. “Careful,” Jillian said as she and Christopher steadied their father.

Their father turned and looked at Jillian, touching her face. “Susan? But ya left us years ago,” he said, seeing his wife instead of his daughter.

“No, Papa, it’s Jillian,” she corrected, helping him into his bedroom.

He seemed to fade. “Ya look like ‘er, Jilly. Ya look so much like ‘er,” he mumbled, being dropped onto his bed.

“I know, Papa,” she whispered, remembering the last time he’d told her that. It was only two nights ago, the last time he’d come home drunk. She sighed and pulled her brother out of the room.

“Jilly,” Christopher began, “he comes home like dis almost every night. We gotta do somethin’.”

“Chris,” Jillian said as she pulled her brother into a hug, “he’s nevah hurt us. He won’t hurt us. Ya needn’t worry ‘bout dat. He has ta deal wit’ Momma leavin’ in ‘is own way.” She smoothed his hair as she spoke.

Christopher pushed her away. “Momma left us when I was five! It’s been ten years! Stop tryin’ ta explain ‘is actions!” he yelled, angry and hurt.

She sighed. “Look, Christopher, I dunno why Momma left any more ‘an you do. All I know’s that Papa loved ‘er more ‘an anythin’. He still loves ‘er. Give ‘im a break, huh,” she continued.

“Jilly, he’s been dis way almost my entire life, half yers! I’m sick a it! I gotta git outta dis place!” he argued, grabbing a jacket and running out the door.

“Christopher!” she called after him. He didn’t answer. She sighed and checked on her father. He was passed out on his bed. She grabbed her shawl and the key to the apartment and ran out after her brother, locking the door on the way.

When she got to the street, she draped the shawl over her head because it had begun to rain and stuffed the key into her pocket. “Christopher!” she yelled again. She ran down the street, calling his name, but he never answered. Then she remembered that he’d once said that he’d become friends with one of the newsies.

“Oh, what was his name?” she asked herself, racking her brain and walking about in the rain. “Kenan? Carlen? Catlin? Conlon! That was it! Now, what was his first name?” She thought some more as she continued down the streets. She tried to remember where her brother had said their lodging house was. She seemed to remember that it was a warehouse along the waterfront.

She managed to find it after about ten minutes of searching. She walked through the outer door and shook the excess water from her hands and hair. She tied her shawl around her waist after wringing it out, knotting it on the side, and shook her hair again, noticing that it was rather messy. She removed the few pins and shoved them into her pocket, running her fingers through her golden brown hair. She walked out of the doorway and into the lobby.

Several of the boys in the lobby stood and fixed their hair when she entered. She took a deep breath and looked over them. One of the taller boys strode over to her. “Dere somethin’ we kin do fer ya, miss?” he asked politely, looking her over a bit.

Jillian nodded. “I’m lookin’ fer a boy by th’ name a Conlon,” she replied, looking at him and trying not to appear nervous. Every boy in the room had his eyes on her, and it was mildly disconcerting.

“Why d’ya wanna tawk wit’ ‘im?” the boy replied, suspicious of her.

She laughed a little. “I’ve misplaced someone,” she answered. The others laughed at her joke. “May I speak wit’ ‘im?” The boys seemed to accept her as harmless now.

“Shoah,” the tall boy replied, smiling, “da name’s Train. What’s yer name?”

“Jillian, nice ta meet cha,” she replied.

“Spot’s upstaihs. I’ll show ya,” he answered, motioning for her to follow him. He led her up the stairs and down a hallway to the end. He knocked on the door. “Spot?” he called through the door.

“What?” came a voice from within.

“Dere a goyl heh’ ta see ya,” he called back.

There was silence for a moment, then a response. “Fine,” he called as he tripped over something inside.

Train opened the door for her, and she stepped past him. “G’luck,” he whispered and shut the door after her.

She looked back at the closed door oddly, not understanding his comment. She turned back to the dark room. The boy must have enjoyed sitting in the dark because it didn’t sound as if he were asleep. He was listening to the storm. Lightening lit up the sky, and Jillian saw the boy looking for a match in the split-second of brightness. She waited patiently as he found a match and lit the only lamp in the room. They were both standing in partial shadows. She stepped more into the light.

“I assume yer Spot Conlon,” she began, trying to see him clearly through the darkness.

“Yeah, dat’s me. What kin I do fer ya?” he asked, his bed squeaking as he sat down on it.

She laughed a little. “Ma name’s Jillian Keodding. I seem to’ve misplace ma bruddah Christopher. I remembah ‘e said ‘e knew one a the newsies by th’ name a Conlon. I wondahed if ya’d seen ‘im,” she explained, stepping right next to the lamp so he could see her clearly.

He didn’t speak for a few minutes. Jillian couldn’t tell if he was thinking or staring at her. She could barely see him at all except when the lightening struck and illuminated the portion of the room where he sat. He finally spoke.

“Chris nevah said ‘e ‘ad a sistah,” he commented, standing and walking over to her. “I thought I knew all da pretty goyls in Brooklyn.”

She blushed a little but kept her eyes on him. “I figure he nevah mentioned me cuz ‘e don’t like that I earn the money fer our family. He hates school ‘n’ tries ta get kicked out all th’ time. He wants ta help, but ‘e’s got a bit of a tempah sometimes. He actually left this time,” she explained.

“I know how dat is,” he smiled, rubbing his hand along the scar under his shirt. His mood changed a little, back to serious. “Da guys give ya any trouble downstairs?” he asked, turning his back to her.

“Train was real polite, skeptical but polite,” she replied, smiling a little.

He looked back over his shoulder. “Dey’s careful ‘bout folks dat come ta see me. A couple months back, da bulls sent dis real classy goyl ta find me, real pretty. Dey been suspicious a goyls evah since. Sorry ‘bout dem,” he apologized.

“They’re more gentlemanly ‘an most a th’ boys I know,” she replied, laughing. “Many ‘v’um’d try somethin’ before askin’ any questions.”

He chuckled. “Ya ain’t like no goyl I evah met befoah,” he noted, smiling at her.

She smiled, blushing a bit more. “I work fer a livin’ ‘n’ take care a two men at home ‘n’ more ‘an a dozen men ‘n’ women at work. I s’pose I’m used ta takin’ charge ‘n’ speakin’ th’ truth, givin’ direct answers,” she shrugged.

Spot was about to respond but was interrupted by a knock at the door. “Yeah?” he called, turning to the door.

“Dere’s a kid ta see ya, Spot. Chris Keoddin’,” Train answered through the door.

Spot looked back at Jillian. “I guess we found jer bruddah,” he commented. She nodded and laughed. “I’ll be right down, Train,” he called back. Train left. “Let’s go greet yer bruddah.” He motioned Jillian toward the door. She opened it, and he blew out the lamp.

“Hurry up now. I aim ta give that boy a piece a ma mind,” she laughed as she stepped out into the hallway.

“I’m comin’; I’m comin’. I don’t wanna miss dis,” he answered as he followed her downstairs. He wanted to see what this girl was up to.

“Christopher Keodding,” Jillian began severely when she was halfway down the stairs.

Christopher cringed when he saw her stern face. “Uh, Jilly, hi,” he mumbled, backing away from her.

She stepped down into the lobby and folded her arms over her chest. “I’ve been lookin’ fer ya all evenin’. Where’ve ya been?” she demanded.

“Well… I… Uh,” he stammered.

She sighed irritably and walked over to him. “Look at chu, soaked ta th’ bone. We bettah git cha home,” she said, feigning worry but still appearing stern, and took hold of his arm.

“Aw, Jillian,” he whined, struggling against her firm grip on his arm. “I wanna stay here.”

She stopped and turned back to him. “You’ve a bed a yer own at home, dry clothes, too,” she explained, softening a bit.

“Not wit’ Papa dere,” he stated bluntly.

She sighed and understood his reasoning. “Fine, ya can stay here, but there’s a few conditions.” He nodded. She looked up at Spot. “Give ‘im somethin’ dry ta wear so ‘e doesn’t catch cold.”

He nodded. “Coise,” he complied.

“Second,” she began and turned back to her brother, “yer ta go ta school in th’ mornin’.”

“Aw, Jillian, c’mon,” he protested.

“No arguments on this, Christopher, to school in th’ mornin’ ‘n’ back home aftahwords,” she instructed. He nodded reluctantly. “Ya bettah have th’ table set when I get home er yer gonna have a stern talkin’ to, young man.” She pursed her lips and made sure he obeyed her. He nodded. She patted his shoulder and turned to the boys. “Good evenin’,” she said and headed for the door.

“Uh, Jillian?” Spot called, taking a few steps toward her. She turned back. “It might be a good idea if ya stays heh’ tanight, too. It’s stormin’ real hawd out dere,” he pointed out.

She shook her head. “I gotta get back ta Papa. He’ll be wakin’ up soon,” she informed, turning back toward the door.

“At least let me walk ya back,” he stated, nodding back to one of the shorter boys who instantly sprinted up the stairs.

“Oh, don’t be silly. Yer perfectly dry. I won’t have ya goin’ out in th’ rain jist ta show me home,” she protested.

“I’se walkin’ ya home,” he said more rigidly.

Jillian rolled her eyes and hurried out the door, pulling her shawl up over her head. Spot ran out after her once he’d received his hat and cane. She was stepping between the raindrops so quickly that Spot had to run to catch up to her. He grabbed her arm to stop her.

“I tol’ ju ya didn’t have to.” She paused. “Well, I s’pose now that yer wet ya may ‘s’well join me,” she sighed. “This way.”

Spot followed her several blocks through the rain, trying not to get too drenched. They finally reached Jillian’s tenement building. She pulled him into the stairwell to get him out of the rain and then spoke.

“Thanks fer walkin’ me home,” she said, taking her shawl from her hair and wringing it out over the doorstep before turning back to Spot. She shook her long hair out a little.

Spot stepped up to her and brushed the wet strands of hair out of her face, letting his hand linger on her cheek. “I’d do it anytime,” he whispered.

Jillian took hold of his hand and removed it from her face, taking a step back. “I’m sure,” she said as she stepped around him to the stairs. “I’ll stop by in th’ mornin’ ta make sure Chris’s off ta school. Don’t ya dare go tellin’ ‘im ‘e can skip it ‘n’ hang around on th’ streets all day er I’ll give you a stern talkin’ to, too,” she directed, looking at him sternly but almost joking.

Spot smirked. “I’ll make shoah ‘e gits off ta school,” he complied, tipping his hat to her.

“G’night, Spot,” she said and backed up the stairs.

“G’night, Miss Jillian,” he replied gentlemanly before heading back out into the rain.

She remained on the stairs a few moments longer and then went back up to her family’s apartment. Her father was still laying unconscious on his bed, so she just went to sleep herself.

Jillian woke with the sun early the next morning. She washed and dressed quickly, tying her hair back with a green satin ribbon. A few wisps of hair fell loose as she made her and her father some breakfast. He was still asleep when he went to check on him, but he was breathing comfortably, and he’d moved to a more comfortable position during the night. She left the bowl of porridge and loaf of bread on the table next to the bed and left him alone. She grabbed her shawl and her brother’s books and headed back to the warehouse on the waterfront.

When she arrived, Train was the one to greet her again. She figured that he was one of the “higher-ups” in the newsie ranks. Spot must have been the leader. He was visibly nervous when he greeted her, but he showed her up to Spot’s room anyway. The door was ajar, so she walked in without knocking. Spot was half-dressed.

“Jillian!” he jumped when he saw her.

“Where’s Christopher?” she inquired, barely noticing his bare chest.

He pulled his shirt on. “Well, ya see, heh’s da t’ing.” Jillian looked at him skeptically. “When we all woke up dis mornin’, ‘e was gone,” he mumbled.

Jillian fumed. “Ohhh, when I git ma hands on that boy… He’ll have a raw backside when I get through wit’ ‘im!” she replied angrily, heading back out the door.

“Jillian!” he called, following her out into the hallway as he buttoned his shirt up.

She turned back to him. “Oh, I’m not done wit’ you. As soon’s I find th’ li’l rascal, I’ll be back ta deal wit’ you,” she promised loudly, scowling at him.

“Jillian, don’t go gittin’ angry—“

“Oh, don’t tell me how ta deal wit’ ma own family. I left ‘im in yer care fer one night, ‘n’ ya lose ‘im. I should a dragged ‘im back home,” she interrupted, glaring at him one last time and hurrying down the stairs and out the door.

“She tol’ ju, Spot,” one of the boys laughed. The others tried not to laugh.

“Shuddup, Pint,” Spot spit back, watching her leave. “Nobody sells till we find dat boy,” he ordered, heading back upstairs to finish dressing.

“But, Spot—“

“I said nobody!” he yelled, slamming his door shut.

Later that morning, Bisquey and Christopher walked up to Spot at the pier. “I found ‘im, Spot,” Bisquey announced.

Spot looked over. “Good woik, Bisquey. Spread da woid,” he replied as he took hold of Christopher’s arm. Christopher looked at his feet sheepishly. “Yer sistah’s been right worried ‘bout cha.”

“I doubt dat,” Christopher mumbled.

“Why’s dat?” Spot wondered.

“It ain’t her way,” he answered, looking up at Spot. “Most likely she’s furious wit’ me.” He shrugged and looked back at his feet.

Spot smirked at the thought. “Where’s she woik at?” he asked.

“Henry Street,” he answered, keeping his head down.

“Let’s go see ‘er den.” Spot grabbed hold of Christopher’s arm and led him back to the streets. Christopher moaned. He didn’t want to see his sister’s anger. Spot pulled him along anyway.

They got to the factory where Jillian worked and walked inside. They were greeted by one of the supervisors. “What d’ya want, boys?” he asked gruffly.

“We’se lookin’ fer Jillian Keoddin’,” Spot replied.

“Whatta ya want wit’ ‘er?” he asked, looking over the boys.

“Tell ‘er I brung ‘er bruddah,” Spot answered, nodding to the smaller boy next to him.

The man nodded and walked a few feet down the hall. “Madison!” he called. Another man paused and looked over. “Get Keodding,” he ordered. Madison hurried off with a smirk on his face. He returned with Jillian a few minutes later. “Da kid found yer bruddah, Jillian,” he said as Jillian walked up the hallway.

Jillian turned her eyes toward the door, seeing the two boys. She glanced at Spot for a second and then looked down at her brother. “Christopher Keodding, this’s th’ last time ya run out. Ya hear me?” He nodded, not looking at her. She turned back to the man behind her. “Danté, may I have an hour off ta bring ‘im back ta school, make sure ‘e gets there this time?” she asked.

Danté nodded. “Take ‘s’long as ya need,” he answered. He turned back around and headed back to work.

“Thanks, Danté,” she called and yanked her brother out the door. The three of them walked down the street a few blocks before saying anything. “Christopher, why must ya be so difficult?” she demanded, stepping up to the schoolhouse. Christopher said nothing. She turned to Spot. “You wait here. I’ll deal wit’ you in a moment,” she ordered, pulling Christopher into the school.

“Right,” Spot called after them, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.

Jillian took Christopher down the hall to his classroom. “Well, well, well,” the teacher began, “if it is not Christopher Keodding.” She glared at her unruly student.

Jillian released her brother and whispered for him to go sit down. “I’ve brought him to class, ma’am,” she began with an icy tone to her voice. “I’d be much obliged if ya wouldn’t deride him so. It is not his fault for being late.” She decided to save her brother the embarrassment of skipping.

“And who are you?” the teacher asked disdainfully.

“I am Jillian Keodding, and I am his sistah. Th’ only reason he is late is because our father has a broken leg, and I cannot very well carry him to the hospital on my own,” she explained angrily but keeping to her manners and good grammar. “Good day, madam,” she finished, turning on her heel and heading out the door. She smirked sideways to her brother and disappeared out the door.

“Why, I never!” the teacher exclaimed and turned back to the chattering class. Most of the boys had begun to ask Christopher about his sister by this time.

Jillian rejoined Spot on the street a few minutes later. He stomped his cigarette into the dirt and licked the taste off his lips. He stood up straight and waited for her to approach him. When he saw the look on her face, he looked down at his feet.

“Spot,” she began, “thanks fer returnin’ my bruddah.” Spot looked up at her, smiling a little. “But that don’t mean I ain’t still mad at you.” His smile faded. “Now, since ya returned Christopher, I won’t embarrass ya publicly. I gotta git back ta work. I’ll yell at ya latah,” she decided, trying not to smile.

“I’ll walk ya back,” he offered, smiling at her.

“No. This time I won’t let cha. We both gotta git back ta work. You’ve got newspapers ta sell. Good day,” she replied adamantly and hurried back to the factory.

Spot was about to run after her but decided against it. He just smirked and headed off to sell his papers. He’d see Jillian again later.

Later that evening, just after dinner, Jillian appeared in the lobby of the warehouse again. Train gulped and walked up to her. “Chris ain’t heh’, Miss Jillian,” he greeted, being as polite as possible.

Jillian smiled. “I know, Train,” she replied, setting him at ease. “I’m actually here ta give Spot a piece a ma mind,” she added, glancing up the stairs with an annoyed look on her face. The boys laughed at the thought of Spot being chided. “He upstaihs?”

“I’ll show ya up,” Train said, turning toward the stairs.

“No,” she said, putting a hand on his arm, “I think I can find it on ma own.” She laughed mischievously, picked up her skirts, and ran up the stairs. She knocked on Spot’s door.

There was no answer, so she opened the door and walked into the pitch-black room. She waited patiently for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. She noticed a single figure sitting up on the bed, but she kept her eyes on the table. She fished a box of matches out of her pocket and struck one, lighting the lamp.

“Aren’t ya gonna say ‘hello,’ Spot?” she asked as she blew the match out, not even turning to him.

The bed creaked as he stood and approached her. “How’d ja know I was in heh’? I couldn’t even see ya aftah ya shut da door,” he said, smiling at her.

“My eyes adjust fastah ‘an yers,” she answered and turned to face him. He stood very close to her now. “I brought ya somethin’,” she said, stepping away from him.

“What’s dat?” he asked, watching her intently.

“Ma favorite book Huck Finn. It’s a bit of a read, but I think ya’ll enjoy it,” she answered, holding out the book to him.

He took the book, brushing his hands against hers. “What’s it ‘bout?” he asked, opening the cover.

“A boy named Huckleberry Finn ‘n’ a slave named Jim. They go raftin’ down th’ Mississippi ‘n’ get inta all sorts a trouble,” she explained, stepping beside him and turning the pages to a picture of the two adventurers.

He turned his head to look at her. She was very close now. He raised his hand and brushed her hair over her shoulder. “Thanks,” he said.

She stepped away again. “Thanks fer returnin’ ma bruddah. He won’t be comin’ back fer a while yet. He’ll be allowed on th’ weekends but not durin’ th’ week. Maybe I’ll even stop by, too,” she continued.

“Dat’d be real nice,” Spot said, moving closer to her. She stepped back some more. “I’d really like ta see more a ya,” he whispered as she stepped up against the wall. He slid his hand behind her neck and moved his face closer to hers. “I really would,” he whispered, kissing her sweetly.

Jillian didn’t protest. She was unsure for a moment; then she raised her hand to his neck and pulled him closer, kissing him back. He dropped the book and wrapped his arms around her little waist.

“Whatta ya t’ink dey’s doin’ up dere?” Pint asked, looking up at the ceiling at the sound of the dropping book.

“Well,” Train began, taking a drag on his cigarette, “dey’s eiddah kissin’ ‘n’ knockin’ stuff ovah er Jillian t’rew dat book she was carryin’ at ‘im.” He shrugged and returned to his card game.

Jillian finally pulled away from him, stepping further into the center of the room. “I gotta be goin’,” she said, heading for the door.

“Jillian, wait, don’t be mad at me,” Spot said hurriedly and took hold of her wrist.

Jillian turned back to him. “I ain’t,” she whispered, kissing him lightly. He nodded and released her wrist. She opened the door. “Next time I leave Chris here, ya bettah take bettah care a ‘v‘im,” she said loudly and sternly.

“Yes’m,” he replied, not near as loudly but loud enough for the boys downstairs to hear.

Jillian smirked at him and hurried back to the stairs, feigning a bad disposition as she left. The boys cleared out of her way. She headed back to her apartment. When she’d left, her father had not yet returned home, and she had to protect the two men from each other. She hurried on her way.

When she arrived home, she found her brother asleep in his room. She smiled and decided to change into her night gown. Just as she was removing her shoes, there was a knock on the door. She left her shoes beside her bed and went to the door, tucking her hair behind her ears. She opened the door and saw a tall, black-haired policeman at the door.

“May I help ya, sir?’ she inquired, startled at the prospect of a cop at her door.

“I’d like ta speak ta th’ head a th’ household,” he replied, removing his hat.

“I’m ‘friad ya are, sir,” she replied.

“Ya have no mother?” he said, looking at her oddly.

“No, sir. Now, will ya kindly tell me what this’s ‘bout!” she demanded, putting her hands on her hips.

“D’you know a Stanley Keodding?” he inquired, reading the name off a crumpled piece of paper.

“I do, yes. What’s ‘e done now?” she replied, sighing.

“I’m afraid ‘e’s dead, ma’am,” the officer informed sadly.

She sighed again and nodded. “I suppose I gotta identify th’ body now.” He nodded solemnly. “Wait here, please,” she said and disappeared into another room. “Christopher,” she said as she shook her brother.

He moaned. “Go ‘way, Jilly,” he mumbled, pushing her away.

“Wake up, Christopher! Papa’s dead,” she said more harshly, yanking the blanket off of him.

He sat up quickly. “Dead?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

“Yes, get dressed. We gotta go down ta th’ police station,” she instructed, grabbing her shoes from beside her bed in the adjoining room and pulling them on. She left him so he could get dressed.

Once he was dressed, they all left and walked down to the police station. Jillian pulled her shawl close to her body and kept her head high. Christopher never much liked their father, but he never wished him dead. It was all he could do to hold back the tears. Jillian put an arm around his shoulders as they walked along.

They were in the morgue about ten minutes later. Christopher couldn’t look at the body. He hid his face in his sister’s blouse. She, on the other hand, stared at the body. His face had almost been beaten beyond recognition, but Jillian knew the ring on his finger. She turned to the mortician.

“How’d ‘e die?” she asked quietly.

“Well, on first glance it would seem as if he’d been beaten ta death.” She nodded. “But he wasn’t. Further study shows that he died of alcohol poisoning. He must’ve been drinking, got into a fight, and then died some time later on his way home,” the mortician explained, gesturing a little with his hands.

She nodded. “He ‘as been drinkin’ more ‘an usual lately,” she commented, turning back to her father.

“So this man is yer father?” the policeman said, holding a pen and a report in his hands.

She nodded. “Stanley Philip Keodding, once married to Susan Elizabeth Harding, father of Jillian Sarah and Christopher Andrew Keodding,” she replied, reciting the names of her immediate family.

“His wife, this Susan Elizabeth Harding, where is she?” the policeman inquired.

“That I dunno. She left us ten years ago,” she answered plainly, stroking her brother’s dark brown hair.

The policeman scribbled a few things down. “Very well. Take whatever keepsakes from the body, ‘n’ the city’ll take care a the pauper’s funeral,” he said and walked out of the room.

Jillian slipped her father’s wedding ring off his finger and onto her own thumb. He wore nothing else expensive, but she took his boots for Christopher. He’d need them in a year or two, and she knew they wouldn’t be able to afford buying him a new pair. Her father’s boots were fairly new anyway. Once she’d retrieved the items, she led her brother back out into the street.

As they walked, Christopher composed himself and just carried the boots by the laces. Jillian glanced over to him and spoke. “Chris, ya know yer friend, Spot Conlon?” He nodded. “How old d’ya think ‘e is?” she asked, turning her eyes back to the street in front of her.

He shrugged. “I dunno, eighteen, nineteen,” he answered. Then he looked over at her oddly. “Why?” he wondered, smirking a little. “Ya like ‘im, don’t cha? I knew it! I knew ya did when I saw ya look at ‘im in da fac’try!”

She smiled and blushed a little. “I do, Chris. I do like ‘im,” she answered, pulling her shawl closer.

He looked over at his sister, curious. “What brought dis about, Jilly?’ he asked, furrowing his brow.

“Well, I been thinkin’ th’ las’ couple a months. I’m twenty years old. Most girls my age’re gettin’ married ‘n’ havin’ kids by now. It’s ‘bout time I really start lookin’ fer a steady boyfriend at least. I been puttin’ men off fer years cuz I had ta look aftah you ‘n’ Papa. Now that ‘e’s gone, I should think ‘bout findin’ one. Yer old enough ta look aftah yerseflf most times. Madison’s actually ast me a couple a times ta marry ‘im, but I don’t love ‘im. Yer friend Spot’s the first guy I actually really liked in a long time,” she explained, looking over at her brother. She sighed sadly, and a tear rolled down her cheek.

“Aw, Jilly, ya’ll find jerself a boyfriend,” he soothed, putting a hand on her shoulder.

She shook her head. “I miss Papa,” she whispered. “Sure, ‘e was a drunk ‘n’ a good-fer-nuthin’, but I loved ‘im.” Another tear rolled down her cheek.

Once they arrived at their apartment, Christopher went straight to bed. Jillian stayed up and wrote two letters, one to Christopher’s teacher, and the other to Danté. Both explained the circumstances and asked for both to be excused for a few days. The little girl across the hall would deliver Christopher’s letter, and Jillian would have Christopher bring Danté’s letter to Spot, and Spot, in turn, bring the letter to the factory. She wrote Spot a short note and folded it with the letter to Danté. She scribbled a short note to her brother explaining what he was to do and then went to bed.

In the morning, Christopher did as the note had told him to, leaving his sister to sleep. He hurried to the warehouse before any of the newsies left, meeting Train in the lobby. Train stepped into his way before he could go upstairs.

“Ya runnin’ ‘way from ya sistah agin, Chris?” he asked.

“Naw, but she sent me wit’ a message fer Spot,” he explained.

Train looked back at the others and then back at Christopher. He nodded toward the stairs. “S’long as Jillian ain’t gonna be mad,” he said, stepping out of Christopher’s way.

Christopher nodded and hurried up the stairs. He knocked on Spot’s door quickly. Spot opened the door while Christopher was still knocking. “What’sa mattah?” Spot asked, seeing Christopher’s expression.

Christopher pushed past Spot and pulled the messages out of his pocket. He handed Spot the one that was addressed to him. “It’s from Jilly,” he mumbled.

Spot took the letter and opened it, breaking the wax seal. He read over the scrawl and then looked back at Christopher. “Shoah, where’s da oddah lettah?” he asked as he folded the note and stuffed it into his pocket.

Christopher handed it to him. “Jilly said I got da next couple a days off school. Ya mind if I pals around wit’ Red?” he asked.

“Shoah, kid, go on. Jillian wants ya ta stay heh’ fer da nex’ couple a nights, too,” Spot replied, patting Christopher on his shoulder and sending him on his way. Spot looked at the letter before stuffing it into his pocket. He pulled his suspenders onto his shoulders, grabbed his hat, cane, and slingshot, and hurried out into the streets. He bought a small stack of papers and went to the factory, selling only a few papers on the way. He walked into the factory and was greeted by one of the workers. “I’se lookin’ fer a man by da name a Marshall Danté,” he said.

“He’s in ‘is office. Dis way,” the worker said and showed Spot to Danté’s office. He knocked. “Mistah Danté?”

“C’min,” Danté called. The worker opened the door, and Spot walked in. Danté looked up. “Kin I help ye?”

“Yessir. I brung a lettah from Jillian Keoddin’,” Spot answered, taking the letter out of his pocket and handing it to Danté.

“She awright?” Danté asked as he broke the seal on the letter.

“Her faddah died,” Spot said.

Danté nodded and unfolded the letter, reading it over carefully. He took put a blank piece of paper and scribbled several words down on it. He folded it and stuffed it into an envelope, sealing it properly. “I’m sorry fer ‘er loss,” he said and handed Spot the envelope.

“Yessir,” Spot mumbled, tucking the letter into his shirt. He nodded politely and left the office. He went back to his selling spot and sold the rest of his papers before lunch. He bought some fruit from a street vendor and ate some of it on the way.

In the apartment, Jillian was dressed and playing with her lunch. She’d put on one of her mother’s old dresses. She’d sewn it up since her mother had left, though. It was white with a lace-up bodice, the working laces in the back and ones for decoration in the front. The skirt hung to her ankles, to the floor as she sat. She’d left her golden brown hair down, cascading around her shoulders. She hadn’t cried, but she was quite melancholy. All she seemed able to do was play with the porridge she’d made. She just wasn’t very hungry. Of the hour she’d been playing with her lunch, she’d only eaten two spoonfuls. She finally sighed and pushed the bowl away.

There was a knock at the door. Jillian looked up, wondering who would knock at her door. She stood slowly and wandered over to the door. She opened it slowly, stunned to see Spot.

“Spot?” she breathed, hiding behind the door a bit.

“Kin I c’min, Jilly?” he asked, seeing only half of her face.

Jillian stepped away from the door and turned away from him, walking back to the table. She folded her arms over her chest and looked down at the table. Spot walked over to her, shutting the door and placing an apple on the table in front of her. He placed his hands on her shoulders and kissed the back of her neck softly. She spun around and just stared at him for a second. Then she hurried into her room and slammed the door shut. The lock was broken, so the door sprung back open. Spot followed her.

“Jillian,” he said softly, approaching her.

She turned around and looked at him. “Spot…” she trailed off.

“Shh,” he whispered, pulling her into his arms. He just held her and let her hold him. They both knew she wasn’t crying, but she just needed someone to be with her, and Spot was the prime candidate.

Some time later, Jillian pulled away from him and looked into his eyes. “Thanks,” she said, “I needed that.” She smiled a little.

Spot grinned and pulled her into a passionate kiss. “Kin I help ya outta dis?” he whispered, running his hands along the seams of her dress. Jillian said nothing. She just turned and moved her hair away from the lacing. Spot kissed her neck softly as he slowly untied the laces.

Later that afternoon, just as the sun was setting, Spot and Jillian lay in bed together. Spot was playing with Jillian’s hair, and she was just resting her head on his chest. He let his hand slid down to her bare back.

“Jillian?” he asked.

She turned and propped herself up on her elbow, lifting her head off his chest and looking down at him. “What?” she wondered, watching him carefully.

He copied her position but looked over at her. “Evah since ya walked inta me room t’ree days ago, I couldn’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout chu. It ain’t yer looks dat made me want ya so much. I known perdiah goyls.” She looked at him oddly but chose to let him finish. “It’s what ya said ‘n’ how ya said it. I nevah met no goyl so tageddah ‘s’you. Ya knows exactly what ta do ‘n’ how ta do it. Ya don’t care what oddah people say er think. Ya says what’s on yer mind ‘n’ show people dat yer da one in chawge. Dat’s what I love ‘bout chu,” he explained, looking down at the sheets as he played with it between his fingers.

Jillian smiled and turned his chin up toward her. “When I went lookin’ fer Chris, I nevah thought any a this’d happen. I didn’t even know yer name. All I knew was zat Chris had a friend in th’ newsies wit’ th’ last name a Conlon. It took me a while jist ta remembah that.” He laughed. “But, when I met ya, I couldn’t imagine evah fergettin’ yer name. Ya seemed so important, especially when ya tripped ovah da table.” They both burst out laughing. “I knew that anyone that liked sittin’ in th’ dark was worth somethin’ more ‘an a second glance,” she replied.

“I could a been sleepin’, ye know,” he pointed out, scooting closer to her.

“But ya weren’t. If you’d a been sleepin’, ya wouldn’t a been wearin’ suspendahs,” she replied, tracing her fingers along where his suspenders would have been had he been wearing them.

He smirked. “Ya noticed?” he whispered, moving closer to her.

“I’m real observant,” she whispered back, moving her hands behind his neck.

“Oh, really?” he mumbled, drawing her into a kiss. She giggled and nodded, kissing him back.

Spot stayed in Jillian’s apartment the rest of the night. Jillian tried to make them both dinner, but Spot kept interrupting. They ended up eating the leftover porridge from breakfast. After dinner, they played the few games that were still in the apartment. They played cards more than anything else until the went back to bed.

In the morning, Christopher returned to the apartment and found Spot sitting at the kitchen table drinking a cup of coffee. Christopher looked at him oddly and went into Jillian’s room. She was dressed and making her bed.

“Jillian?” he asked.

She spun around, surprised to see him. “Christopher, I thought you’d be out wit’ yer friends fer another day er two,” she said.

“I came ta git some clean clothes ‘n’ a bit a money,” he answered. He moved closer to his sister. “What’s Spot doin’ here?” he whispered harshly.

She shrugged. “He came by las’ night ta bring me a message from Danté. I ast ‘im not ta leave. He stayed ‘n’ helped me out,” she explained, going back to making her bed.

Christopher watched his sister. “What else happened las’ night, Jilly?” he wanted to know, knowing she wasn’t telling him the whole truth.

“Talk ta Spot if ya want anythin’ else. That’s how I saw it,” she replied, turning back to her brother.

Christopher raised an eyebrow at her and went back to the kitchen to talk to Spot. They spoke for about ten minutes. Jillian just kept tidying up her room to keep herself busy and out of their conversation. When they were finished, Spot and Christopher went back into her room. Christopher cleared his throat. Jillian turned and was instantly swept up into Spot’s arms and whirled around in the air. She was, to say the least, surprised. He kissed her lightly and set her back on her feet.

“He said we could, Jilly!” Spot exclaimed, hugging her tightly.

“Said we could what?” Jillian asked, pulling out of his grip and looking between the two of them.

“He said we could git marriet, Jilly,” Spot answered enthusiastically.

Jillian stared at Spot for a moment and then at her brother. She was a little too shocked at the moment. Then she suddenly smiled and kissed Spot slowly. She turned back to her brother after a few minutes. “Thanks, Christopher,” she smiled.

He shrugged. “Well, ya said ya liked ‘im, ‘n’ ya said ya was lookin’ ta settle down. I jist nevah thought it’d be dis soon,” he replied, laughing a little.

“Well, it’s like me friend Jackey-boy says; if it’s right, it hits ya like lightenin’. Well, it was lightenin’ out when we met,” Spot reasoned, looking over at Jillian with a grin on his face. She rolled her eyes and laughed. He laughed, too. “Well, I gotta git ta woik,” he suddenly said, looking around for his hat. “Ya both’s welcome ta stay at da house till we finds us a place, Jillian,” he added, finding his hat in the corner.

Jillian furrowed her brow and looked at him. “What’s wrong wit’ livin’ here?” she asked, curious and a little insulted.

Spot looked back at her, not understanding her reaction. “Ain’t da landlord gonna t’row ya out?” he answered.

She laughed and shook her head. “Naw, see, I hold th’ rent. I been earnin’ th’ rent money fer th’ past eight years. When we moved in ‘bout two years ago, I had it put in my name, not Papa’s. We can stay here ‘s’long ‘s’we want,” she explained.

Spot grinned. “Leave it ta me ta find a beautiful lady dat awready gots a place ta live,” he commented, kissing her lightly. “I’ll see ya tanight.” With that he headed out the door and off to work.

“Bye!” Jillian called after him.

Spot returned that evening with something special for his wife to be. He knew of an old antique shop on the outskirts of Queens and had stopped in before returning home. He’d gotten a good deal out of the old woman who ran it and had even gotten her to wrap it for him. He wasn’t very good at such things.

When he reached the apartment, he walked right in as if he already lived there. He found Jillian setting the places and Christopher stirring the soup on the stove. Spot kissed his fiancé on the cheek and held out his gift. She looked at him oddly before taking the gift. She turned it over in her hands and sat down in one of the chairs. Spot glanced over at Christopher, and they both watched Jillian unwrap the gift slowly.

Under the purple tissue paper was a red silk box. She set the tissue paper on the table and opened the box. A small smile graced her face. Spot’s expression grew as he watched hers. She just stared at the silver ring with the green stone.

“It ain’t no emerald, glass I think she said it was, but, when I saw it, I had ta git it fer ya. I didn’t get ya no ring befoah, ‘n’ I thought dat I should,” Spot explained.

Jillian just removed the ring from the box, set the box on the table, and slid the ring onto her right ring finger. She stood and gave Spot the best kiss he’d ever had in his entire lifetime. That’s when he knew that she loved it and him. She released him and spoke. “Thank you. I love you,” she whispered into his ear.

“I loves ya, too, Jilly,” he whispered back, smiling.

A few months later, Spot and Jillian were living comfortably in the little apartment. At their wedding, Spot had moved the ring from Jillian’s right hand to her left. Jillian had given him a simple silver band to wear on his finger, nothing too gaudy but just perfect. Spot was still the leader of the Brooklyn newsies; he just couldn’t bring himself to leave them. He liked being on top of things. His wife rarely went out to retrieve him from his perch on the pier because she understood that he needed to feel important to his newsies, and a wife coming around ordering him about was not the way to go. When she did wish to retrieve him, however, she sent one of the younger newsies to get him with a message from her. He usually returned home shortly after getting the message.

There was one time when she went to get him herself that neither of them would ever forget. They had been married for six months, and Jillian had told him that he was to be home early that evening. When he didn’t show, she sent one of the younger newsies to get him. When he still didn’t show, she grabbed her shawl and went down to the pier herself. The newsies tipped their hats to Mrs. Conlon politely because they knew that Spot would have a few words with them if they didn’t. When Spot saw her coming down the pier, he knew he was in trouble.

“Marc,” she called as she stopped just below his perch, using his given name instead so that he knew not to try anything.

He climbed down and approached her cautiously. “Yes, Jilly?” he asked nervously.

“Why won’t cha come home?” she wondered, noticing several of the older newsies accumulating behind him.

“Well, uh, see, da guys was gonna have a pokah game tanight. I wanted ta go,” he explained, trying neither to appear foolish or weak in front of his newsies.

“Marcus Conlon! You come home right now! Yer son needs ju,” she said loudly.

“Son? I don’t have a—“ He stopped short and stared at her, shocked. “Yer…? An’ I…?” She nodded. He laughed and picked her up into his arms and swung her around. When he put her back down, she spoke.

“Will ya come home now?” she asked in a soft voice.

He just grinned and nodded. “Yup,” he answered proudly. He put his arm around her shoulders and led her off the pier and back to their apartment. No one ever forgot that meeting, especially not any of the Brooklyn newsies. Their leader was about to become a father. Pretty soon, they’d have a new Conlon in their ranks. They had another reason to throw a good party.

Spot soon found another job at a restaurant and earned more money in a day there than he ever had on his best month as a newsie. The newsies still came to him for advice frequently, though, but quickly left with a simple look from Jillian. She intimidated the younger newsies even more than Spot did. Spot loved her all the better for it.

Christopher spent his days in school, his afternoons as a delivery boy, and his nights in the warehouse. He’d decided before Spot and his sister were married that it was better for all of them that he not live there. Most of his things were still at the apartment, but he kept enough of it at the warehouse so that he didn’t have to go back to the apartment every day and bother his siblings. He’d get them whenever he decided to marry.

Jillian continued to work at the factory, but she earned higher wages and was given a desk job when Danté learned about her child. Madison didn’t dare bother her anymore, not with her being Mrs. Marcus “Spot” Conlon. Spot wanted her to stop working, but she would hear nothing about it until after the baby was born. By that time, she was forced to quit because she had to care for her baby. All in all, the Conlons were happy.

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© 1997 Birdie Kelley

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