The Sullivan Family Secret

[Tellie]

Read and comment. This is the first part; I might change it up a little bit if I see fit.

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I took a deep breath as I looked up at the obviously handmade sign above the doorway: Manhattan Newboys Lodging House. This was it. Letting out the breath, I pushed the door open.

I saw a couple of boys - probably about eleven or twelve years old, from the looks of it - sitting on the landing of some stairs on the side of the front room that lead up to the second story. They'd been playing some sort of card game that didn't look familiar to me. However, they'd abandoned their game when they saw me walk through the door. As I approached the desk, they scrambled to their feet and raced up the stairs, crying for whoever else was up there.

I scrunched my nose up at the thin layer of dust that lay on the desk; I knew that the newsies' lodging houses weren't glamorous or anything, but that didn't change the fact that I'd grown up in clean homes and wasn't used to this sort of environment. I looked around for a few moments, and still the place didn't leave a good impression on me. It was small and dimly lit, only a single lantern in the corner. Cards were scattered all around the room, along with used cigars and cigarette butts that were driven into the wooden floor (which, by the way, creaked everytime I shifted my weight).

A small silver bell was sitting on the counter, next to a book that was lying open, facing the other side of the desk. I rang the bell, hoping that whoever ran this place would hear and come soon.

Unfortunately, they didn't come soon enough. As I waited, a horde of boys came trampling down the stairs, all gawking at me. A few even whistled. I shook my head in disgust and smiled in relief when I saw an old man come from the back room behind the desk. "Can I help you?" he asked me, a look of surprise crossing his face when he saw who was at the desk.

"Yes. I'm inquiring about a certain boy whom I've come to learn is a frequent lodger here," I told him, and the moment I finished speaking a few of the boys snickered. One even said, "Dat would be me! She's comin' ta take me home wit her!"

"And what 'certain boy' would that be?" the old man asked me, pulling the book closer to him.

"Jack Kelly."

A murmur ran through the boys at the mention of Jack's name.

"An' may I inqui'a as to why dat may be?" spoke up a boy standing at the landing of the stairway. I'd caught him looking me up and down earlier, and now he was making fun of the way I talked, so I glared at him for a few moments. He was short, held a cigar clamped between his teeth, and had what seemed to be an Italian accent. I immediately didn't like him.

"I honestly don't see how that's any of your business," I snapped at him. The newsies behind him snickered and elbowed him in the ribs.

"Racetrack may not need to know," the old man behind the desk said, "but I do. Why are you here to see Jack Kelly?"

I looked at the boys on the stairs. As far as I knew, any one of them could be Jack.

"My name is Sophia Margaret D'Mark Sullivan. I'm his half-sister."

----

"So, explain dis all again," Racetrack said, taking another puff of his cigar. "How're you an' Jack related?"

I sighed. Jack had been out with his girlfriend when I got there, and so I'd spent the past hour sitting on a bed up in the second story of the lodging house, telling the other newsies - who honestly weren't so bad, to tell the truth - about everything while they gathered around me on the other beds and on the floor.

"Jack's father was arrested when Jack was still a baby - "

"An' his mudder was dead, so Jack was sent ta da Refuge until he was old enough ta make a livin' sellin' papes," Boots, one of the young boys who'd been playing cards on the stairs when I walked into the lodging house, jumped in. He was sitting on the top bunk of the bed across from the one I was sitting in (which seemed to be one of the few that WASN'T a bunk bed).

"Right," I said, smiling at Boots. I'd already taken to him. "And Jack had been told that his father was sent to jail after he'd been arrested. But what happened was that he had a trial and was set free. But his father wasn't able to raise a son all by himself, and so he just up and left New York, moving to Virginia without even saying a word to the Refuge or anyone that he wasn't in jail."

"An' dere he became a hoity-toity rich fella," Boots said, grinning eagerly. It was obvious that he appreciated paying attention to stories more than some of the other boys did.

"Right. And after he became wealthy, he met, fell in love with, and married Cathleen D'Mark, the daughter of another wealthy businessman in Virginia. And they had me."

Racetrack nodded, taking a long drag off of his cigar. "How'd ya find out about ol' Jacky-boy?"

"Well, apparently my father had had a man keep tabs on Jack for the past few years. And whenever he'd found out that Jack was a big leader of the newsies strike that happened here a while ago, he figured he may as well tell my mother and myself. And when he did, I told him I wanted to come here and meet Jack."

"How'd he take it?" Kid Blink, another newsie who was very chivalrous to me, chimed in, leaning against the window. He was keeping an eye out for when Jack was approaching the lodging house.

I shrugged. "He was a little stunned at first. He probably figured I was too much of a 'princess' to want to come to New York and track down someone of Jack's profession and lifestyle....no offense," I said quickly. The newsies all spoke up at once: "Don't worry about it," "None taken," "She's a princess? I didn' know dat!"

"Anyway, my mother fell ill and has been in bed for about a month now, unable to move. About three days ago my father told me to pack up and get everything ready for New York. He claims my mother had asked him to let me go, but I think he wanted me out of the house while my mother recovered. But I don't care."

"So where youse stayin'?" Racetrack asked. Gosh, he sure was inquisitive....though I doubt he knew what that word meant, let alone how to spell it.

"The Grand Hotel," I responded. The newsies all "oooh"ed and "ahhh"ed in unison.

"Dat's a rich peoples hotel, all right," Skittery, who was sitting next to me, commented, driving a cigarette into the corner of the bed.

"Jack's never gonna believe dis," Racetrack said, scratching his head. "If he knew he had a rich sister stayin' at da Grand Hotel who was lookin' fa him, he'd hurry home from his date wit Sarah."

I shrugged. "I don't mind."

"'Cause ya get ta talk ta me," Skittery said, slinging his arm over my shoulders. I laughed and brushed his arm away.

"Jack's comin'!" Blink said suddenly, tapping the window. "Hurry!"

The newsies began scattering around the room, some pulling out cards to make it appear as though they'd been playing for a while, some flopping down on bunks and beds and mussing them, giving the appearance that they'd been laying there for a while. Racetrack took another drag on his cigar and waved his hand in my direction, then pointed at a small niche between a bunk bed and the wall. "Hide dere. I'll letcha know when it's time to jump out and surprise ya brudder by tuggin' my ear. Got it, Soph?"

I nodded. "Don't call me Soph!" I hissed as I positioned myself in the space between the bed and the wall as I heard the door open.

"Heya Boots. Whaddya hear, whaddya say?" a male voice rang out.

"Nuttin' much," Boots commented back.

Racetrack leaned against the bunk bed I was hiding behind. "Have a fun date wit Sarah, Cowboy?"

"Eh, we went ta Tibby's, is all. Ain't nuttin' special." A pause, then I heard some strange sniffing sounds. "Why do I smell flowers?....an' why is it comin' from youse, Race?"

"Well, ya know how Race likes da flowery perfume," Skittery jumped in. Racetrack gave a nervous little laugh.

"So dat's ya dirty little secret, eh Race?" Jack asked, and I heard the springs of a bed squeak....I could only assume that he'd sat down on it.

"Nah, not really," Racetrack said, giving his ear a tug. "Dis is." He stepped to the side, and I took a few steps forward, out of the niche.

I saw the boy who must've been Jack sitting on the bed that I'd been sitting on only moments before. He had brownish-blonde hair that was slicked back, and a red bandana tied around his neck. His face wore a stunned, shocked expression; apparently it wasn't everyday that a girl came out of the shadows of the bunkroom.

"Who's dis?" Jack asked, standing up, his eyes sweeping over me. A smile played on his lips. "Ah, so dis is da flowery smell. Race, you ain't been kidnappin' pretty goils from da upper side'a Manhattan, have ya?"

Racetrack and I shook our heads at the same time. "Cowboy, this is -" Racetrack started. I held my hand up to silence him, to indicate that I wanted to tell him this myself.

"My name is Sophia Margaret D'Mark Sullivan," I said, holding my hand out. Jack grabbed it and kissed the back of it, which surprised me. I figured he wouldn't know that that was proper etiquette when meeting a lady for the first time.

"Howdya do?" he greeted me, smiling.

"My mother is Cathleen Ann D'Mark, a native of Virginia, and my father is Jonathan Allen Sullivan, a native of New York....Manhattan, to be specific."

I saw the color drain from Jack's face as he dropped my hand.

"I'm your half-sister, Jack."

And he hit the floor, out cold.

[Brooklyn]

It amuses me I love it.

[Race]

haha Jacky-boy fainted! I like it Tell's MORE MORE! *hugs Racetrack* He amuses me in this.

[Tellie]

{Part TWO!}

----

I sat on my bed at the Grand Hotel, wringing my hands nervously in my lap. After Jack fainted, Racetrack had run over to him. "Cowboy! Cowboy, wake up, will ya?" He'd slapped Jack in the cheeks a few times, then looked up at one of the other boys. "Snipe, go get some watah ta throw on Jacky-boy heah, make 'im wake up."

He'd looked at me. "Maybe it'd be bettah if ya weren' heah when Jack wakes up. Might send 'im into anudder shock, know what I mean? We'll find a way ta getcha back heah whenevah he's recovah'd."

I'd nodded, and headed back to the hotel, where I'd been ever since. Now, I stood up and wandered over to one of the large, ornate windows on the south wall of my room. It was gilded and gold, with cream-colored curtains made of a soft, yet heavy, material. I parted them and looked out over upper Manhattan; carriages rode past with wealthy couples inside, the women holding parasols over their heads to keep their fair skin from burning. Businessmen in suits walked the streets, talking rapidly, their hands moving along with their mouths as they discussed the stock market, or whatever I imagined businessmen talked about.

As I looked out, there was a firm knock on the door to my room. "Miss Sullivan?" I heard a man's voice call out.

"Yes, come in," I replied, turning from the window and letting the curtains fall back into place.

One of the men who worked at the hotel walked in and eyed me up and down before he began speaking. I felt irritated with him from that alone. "There's a young gentleman downstairs who wishes to speak with you," he said, giving me a strange, false smile. Confused, I gave him a half-smile and nodded my head. "Thank you. I'll be down in a moment." He bowed slightly and headed back out the door, closing it behind him.

I imagined it was one of the newsies, coming to tell me that Jack was revived and wanted to talk to me. I looked at myself in the mirror one time, sighed, and then headed out the door and to stairs that lead to the lobby downstairs.

Descending the stairs, I looked out over the edge, looking for Racetrack or Boots, but I didn't see them, nor any of the other newsies. Sighing a little bit, I approached the hotel clerk who'd come to my room. "Where is the young man who requested to speak with me?" I asked him, and he simply pointed to the front, revolving doors.

"He's outside, smoking a cigarette," he replied, wrinkling his nose at the last word. I nodded and gave him another half-smile, then headed for the doors.

Pushing through them and heading outside, I looked around. I didn't see any of the newsies. I guess they left, I thought, and began to turn and head back inside.

"Hey! Youse!" I heard, and, frightened, I looked over to my left, clutching my silver bracelet in my hand; I'd die before I let that get stolen.

I saw Jack leaning against the wall of the hotel, a cigarette in his mouth. He looked at me, raised his eyebrows, and took another drag of the cigarette before flicking it on the ground and crushing it with his boot.

"Why da hell did ya come ta da lodging house an' say ya were my sister?" he demanded, coming off the wall and taking a few steps towards me. "Nearly gave me a heartattack."

"But....it's true," I insisted, backing up a step. "I am your sister."

Jack snickered. "I ain't got a sister," he said.

I shook my head. "No, no....it's true. Please, let me explain." I looked around and spotted a small, outdoor cafe on the corner. "Let's go over there, and I'll explain everything to you, I promise. Just please, hear me out."

He looked from me to the cafe and back to me. "Fine. If youse insist, I'll letcha explain all ya want ta. How's dat?"

"Thank you."

We headed over to the cafe and, without ordering anything, I began in on the story I'd told to the newsies back at the lodging house.

"....and so he'd been keeping track of you all these years, and whenever news of the strike broke out is when he informed my mother and me about you," I finished with a flourish. Jack had been sitting there the whole time, staring at me, not saying a word. I imagined he was listening attentively, but there was no guaranteeing it.

"So....ya really are my sister?" he asked, leaning back in his chair.

I nodded. "I really am, Jack. Your half-sister, but your sister, nonetheless."

He was quiet for a moment. "Come with me," he said suddenly, standing up and reaching his hand out. I looked at it for a moment, then took it, standing up myself. He lead me out of upper Manhattan, back to where the lodging house was. But instead of going there, he turned at an intersection. I was about to ask where he was taking me, when he suddenly stopped and held his arms out in front of him. "Heah we are."

It was a cobblestone circle enclosed partly with a black, wrought-iron gate. A statue of Horace Greeley - oh, I knew who he was from the books I'd read in Father's library back home - sat in the center. A group of boys, most of whom I recognized from the lodging house, sat either on the statue or around it. "It's Newsies Square," Jack said, smiling at me. "GUYS!" Jack screamed, and the chatter of the newsies quieted down. "I'd like ta intraduce ya ta Sophie....my sister."

I smiled and looked over at him. The boys all whooped and hollered, crowding around me in a circle, flinging questions at me left and right: "If youse is Jacky's sistah, then wheah have ya been all dese years?!" "Hey, she ain't bad-lookin'. COME TO TIBBY'S WITH ME!" "So ya related ta Cowboy? And ya not mental! WOW!"

I smiled at them all and tried to answer as many as possible - the ones that actually had answers, of course - and when they finally thinned out, I saw a boy who seemed to be about my age walking towards the square, his hands jammed in his pockets. "Jack!" he called, headed towards my brother, then stopped when he saw me.

I looked at him: he had curly brown hair and bright, piercing blue eyes that struck me even from the distance he was at - a good five or six feet away from me - and when he smiled at me, it was awkward and goofy, but it was warm and friendly at the same time. "Who's this?" he asked, beginning to walk towards Jack again.

Jack slung an arm over my shoulder. "Davey, dis heah's my little sister, Sophie Sullivan. Sophie, dis is David Jacobs, da walkin' mouth."

"Hello, David Jacobs," I said, smiling at him.

"Hi, Sophie Sullivan," he replied, smiling back at me even wider.

I don't know what it was, but something about those eyes stayed with me the rest of the day....

[Brooklyn]

Haha David....what a dork xD Just kidding. It was good I can't wait for more.

[Race]

YAY! Hey It's Davey! Who I still don't think his hair is curly enough. I love it! NEXT CHAPTER-ART THINGY!!