Absolutely, Without a Doubt

A wad of spit flies in a perfect arch over the rail on the Brooklyn Bridge before splashing into the crisp, blue waters below. I watch it with satisfaction. Spot would be proud.

Took him forever to teach me to spit like that. However I am not with Spot, just with my father. He is not happy that I smeared my lipstick by spitting and shows it by pulling me roughly away from the edge.

"Samantha Denton! That's hardly ladylike; spitting over the Brooklyn Bridge. What would Suzy say?" he demands, referring to my nit-picky nanny. He sighs, then messes with my bonnet, which is hanging around my neck. Christ, Sam. Pull your bonnet on for Petes sakes. You'll get heat exhaustion or a sunburn and ruin your pretty face. Here-open your parasol. The sun will fade your dress if you don't and it cost me a bundle to have made. Do you know how expensive dressmakers are these days? My father is babbling but I am used to this, especially after long days. I squirm inside my tight corset which is layered by four petticoats and a lining of taffeta with all this exquisite design around the hems. The dress itself is made of silk. It really is a pretty dress but I am hot and tired and I want to go home. I make a face and turn to my father.

"Do I have to wear this stupid corset? I feel like I'm going to fall over dead from lack of air. And why do I have to get all dressed up if you're the one with the interviews?" My father continued to stare out at the water running under the Brooklyn Bridge. He didn't even acknowledge that I had spoken. I continued to whine, hoping that it would make him notice me and take me home. "Father, I'm bored. We've been going to editor after editor and everyone's all filled up with writers. Why can't I go back home, put on my garb and stay in Brooklyn with Spot and the others? I hate being a girl!"

"Stop complaining," my father murmurs at last. "all right, Samantha. If you want to stop then we'll stop. I'll get us a carriage. Do you want to go back?" I look at my father, astonished. Then I grin.

"Absolutely, without a doubt!" I say, using my favorite expression and nodding enthusiastically. Finally! He must be more tired than I thought! It's hotter than the dickens and we've been walking all over New York and Brooklyn both, looking for a newspaper job. My father is usually a war-corespondent, but recently he lost his job at the New York Sun after being involved with a newsboys strike. They said he could go back to his old job if he cut off his ties with the newsboys, but then they changed their minds.

I met Spot because of the strike. He came to my father a while after it ended to see how he was doing, and we bonded instantly. Spot's always talking about the other newsboys in New York and I feel as if I already know them. Jack, Crutchy, Mush, Race, Davey...
The list goes on and on.

We're still looking for work for my father. Day after day after day. He drags me along to look good to editors that might give him a job. We see newsboys on the streets sometimes, but my father never looks at them, just hurries by without looking up. Once, when my father was inside a newspaper building, talking to an editor, a newsboy came up to me and asked me if I had a penny to buy a pape from him. He was short with curly blonde hair and a big smile. A cigar was hanging out of his mouth and his eyes looked as though they belonged to a fifty-year-old and tired. I told him I was sorry, I had no money, and he smiled at me, told me to have a nice day anyway, and then left. Just like that. I thought that they would be rough fellows with heavy Brooklyn accents that grabbed your arm and made you buy a paper if you wanted to or not. This one, I suppose, was different.

Back to the present. My father hails a carriage and we climb in. Just as the door closes, a rap sounds at the window. My father tells the driver to wait a minute, then, with a big smile on his usually solemn face, he opens the carriage door. A boy of about my age, 15 or 16, crawls in and wraps my father in a big hug.

"Skittery!" my father cries. This Skittery fellow grins at him and asks,

"Hey, Denton. How ya doin?"

"Fine, my boy. Fine. You?"

"Great," Skittery grins. My father is grinning so widely It looks as though his mouth is about to spilt open. Suddenly my father remembers that there are three in the carriage.

"Oh yes! Skittery! This," he says, proudly, gesturing to me, "is my daughter, Samantha. Sam, this is Skittery. He's one of the boys I worked with during the strike." I smile at this boy that looks much like Spot and his friends do, only this newsie must be about 6 feet tall! He reaches across my father, takes my hand, and kisses it.

"Good day, fair lady," he grins.

"Hello," I smile bashfully, and take my hand away from him.

"So, Denton," Skittery says, turning to my father. I'm sure the uddah fellas'll be wantin' ta see ya soon. When ya comin' back?" My father looks down and sighs.

"Well, Skittery. As soon as I get some kinda job back, I'll-"

"Aw c'mon, Denton. We ain't gonna bite. We was just talkin' 'bout it the uddah day, Race n' I. We was talkin' 'bout how we miss you and Spot." My ears perk at the mention of Spots name and I look at this new boy that suddenly seems incredibly interesting. "Haven't seen much of Spot lately," he continues as I stare at him. "Have you?" I turn to look at my father, who smiles down at me.

"Well, Skittery," he says jovialy, turning to face the inquisitive newsie. "I have seen Spot recently. In fact, I saw him the other day," He glances down at me again, his smile even bigger. "My daughter here, Sam, she likes to hang out with him on the pier with him and the other boys. It drives her nanny into hysterics, seeing her running around with her hair tucked under a zitful cap and a baggy shirt to hide the fact that she's a girl, but really, I see no problem in it. What do you think?" Skittery bends a monstrous neck around my father's chest and stares hard at me. I blush and pretend to be interested in the design on my parasol.

"I see no problem," he says. I look up at him and he catches my gaze. His eyes are the color of dirt and look much older than his age, like the newsie I bought a paper from a while back. Skittery's eyes twinkle mischievously. "Detnon, get out of the carriage," he says, still staring at me. "The udda fella's have to meet your daughter. Mush n' Race n' Blink'll go bananas, not to mention Jack.

"Jack? Jack's still here?" my father asks. Skittery's eyes open wide.

"Yeah! Yeah, Jack's still here. He's been busy lately wid Dave's older sister, Sarah, though, if you know what I mean, eh?" He grins and ribs my father, who smiles faintly. "Now c'mon!" Skittery cries, throwing open the door of the carriage.

"Let's go!" My father shakes his head.

"Sorry, my boy, I can't. Take Sam, instead. She'll have more fun than me, being she knows Spot so well and everything," he turns to me. "Tell you what, Sammy. I'll send Suzy to the front of the lodging house with your garb so you can be more comfortable, okay?" I nod happily. The day didn't look so boring after all!

"Here we are!" Skittery cries, running up the steps to a tall building that says NEWSBOYS LODGING HOUSE at the top. He pauses and offers me and arm to help me up the stairs. My skirts keep getting in the way. Darned these things!

Skittery leads me through the front door and up a flight of steps. He pauses in front of a big, oak door. Finally, he turns to me.

"Wait out here," he says. "I want it to be a surprise." He grins and then gently pushes me out of sight. Then he opens the door and strolls in. "Hey, guys!" I hear him cry to the inhabitants of the room. A muffled "Hey, Skittery," comes though the doorway. "I got a surprise for ya," he continues. I can almost hear him grinning. "Now don't crowd all around. You might scare her."

"Her?" The voices all cry at once. I try to swallow a laugh. What were they expecting, an elephant? Skittery's hand reaches around the door frame and beckons to me. I shyly step into the doorway next to him and look at all the open-mouthed, shocked expressions. What's wrong with me? I wonder. Why do they have to stare at me like I'm in a zoo? Then I notice one of the boys shuts his mouth and he actually smiles at me.

"And what is your name, pretty miss?" he asks. He isn't that bad looking, I decide. But he's not very good-looking, either. He's got jet black hair that's greased back, a wide smile, a heavy Brooklyn accent and a cigar hanging out of the corner of his mouth. Suddenly I realize they are all staring at me, waiting for me to answer. I clear my throat.

"Samantha," I say. "Samantha Denton."

"Denton?" someone says. "Are you related to Bryan?"

"He's my father. ...um, I was in Europe, visiting my grandmother when that strike thing happened. ...By the way, which one of you is Jack Kelly?" Silence. "Is there a Jack Kelly here?" I repeat slowly, questioning.

"Right here, sweetheart," a voice light with a Brooklyn accent above me says. I look up, startled, and see a boy of about 16 or 17 lounging on one of the upper bunks of the many bunk bed lining the walls. He's very good-looking, with a red bandanna and a cowboy hat on a string around his neck, and baggy black pants with a button down white shirt that's only buttoned by the last two buttons. He jumps off of the bunk and stands before me. I try not to show how frightened I am. "Whaddyah want?" he asks, almost kindly. Most of my fear melts away.

"Uh, Spot told me about you. I-"

"Spot? Spot Conlon?"

"Yeah, I-"

"How do you know Spot?"

"Well, I live by him and he's still associating with my father so we're pretty good friends, but anyway, I wa-"

"Spot's still talking to Denton? I thought he was mad at him."

"Well, he's obviously not anymore, so-"

"God, you'd think after the strike, bein' he was so upset at him for leaving us-"

"Stop interrupting me!" Silence. Jack looks at me, surprised.

"Yeah, sure," he says.

"Well," I say, trying to recompose myself. All the other newsies seem to be having fun, watching us. I take a deep breath. "Spot said that if I ever see you, I should tell you hi for him, cause he said he'd like to see you soon. I think he misses you, even though that's not how he put it. You know Spot." I explain. Jack nods thoughtfully.

"Yeah, I know Spot. How is he?"

"Fine."

"He sellin' a lot of papes?"

"Yeah, I guess. Is there someplace I can sit down? I'm really tired."

"Here!" a boy with brown, curly hair says to me. "You can sit on my bed." He leads me over to a bed in the corner. "I'm Mush," he says shyly, and I nod.

"Oh," I say politely, and sit down. It felt so good to rest my feet! I hadn't realized how tired I was. Suddenly a knock sounds at the door.

"Come in!" calls Jack. An old man enters.

"Uh, excuse me, boys, but is there a Samantha Denton in here?" he asks.

"That's me!" I said, jumping up, forgetting momentarily how tired I am.

The old man looks at me sorrowfully.

"I think you'd better come with me. Jack, Mush, Blink and Race, you come, too." We follow him out the door.

"Who is he?" I whisper to Mush.

"That's Kloppman. He owns the Lodging House. He's kinda like our grandpa or something, always bailing' us out when we get in trouble and lending an ear when we're upset."

I smile. "That's nice of him." Kloppman stops suddenly and I ran into Jack, who was walking in front of me, by accident. I look up and see Spot lounging against the front door. When he sees me, he gives off a small smile and strolls over to me, where he embraces me so tightly I can't breathe. I sense trouble. Something's wrong, I know it is, I thought worriedly.

"You're Samantha?" Kloppman asks me. Spot releases me from his tight grasp and I nod. "Well, this concoins you da most," he says, his voice thick with age. "I jes got woid from your nanny, who jes left, that there was an accident by the Brooklyn Bridge. Two carriages ran into each other. The one was holding gunpowder and the cigarette from the driver flew back and caught it on fire." He shakes his head sadly. "I'm sorry to say that it blew up," he continues. I have no idea what he's leading up to. I look at Spot, rough n' tough Spot Conlon with a rep bigger than all of Brooklyn, and am surprised to see him pressing his lips together tightly, as though to keep from crying.

"What happened?" I demand. Kloppman pauses and looks at me before continuing.

"The drivers for both got killed...but, you guys, that sadly is not all...In the other one was a passenger, who also got killed instantly." He sighed. "Samantha......that passenger was your father."

I couldn't breathe. I just stared at the old man's pitiful face, looking for a hint that this was all a joke. I was dimly aware of Mush's arm around my shoulder. Suddenly it all came into focus. Jack and Race, with tears streaming down their face, Spot wrapping me in a big hug, crying into my shoulder. Then the dam burst. I clutched Spot and wailed into his suspenders, wetting his shoulder with tears for my father. My only kin. I suddenly realize... I'm an orphan. No... No! This is all happening too fast! I feel like throwing up. This glorious afternoon is suddenly turning into the worst night of my life.

April 2, 1900:
Dear Diary,
I have been crying for three straight days. I'm still crying on the day of my father's funeral. Suzy quit the other day. She left with a quick explanation that did nothing to help me feel better about my father's death. "This house just ain't the same, Miz Samantha." she explained. "Jus' ain't the same widout good ole Mistah Denton 'round. Thas' why I gots ta leave. Ah made arrangements for you to stay wid dem newsboys in New Yahk. You'll be safe dah, hun. Jus' don' be forgetting me, all right? I sure as Moses is dead won't be forgetting' 'bout you." And with that, she was gone. Suzy had been my only link to my father, and she, too, had left me.
My rays of sunshine in this rainstorm of grief are Mush and Spot. They have been by my side since I first found out about my father's death. Actually, Spot left me for a while to go back to Brooklyn to see about some things, but for the most part he is always there. Mush, on the other hand, is always there. This, for some reason, soothes me. I have never before wanted someone with me day and night, but I have never before been without my father. I guess things change when you lose someone you love, especially twice.
Speaking of, I don't remember my mother's death- how could I? She died the day after I was born. Suzy has always been like a mother to me. She's been with me since I was two days old. And now she is gone. If it weren't for the kindness and patience of my newfound friends, I would be lost and utterly alone.
"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust." It's my fathers funeral, four days after his death. I haven't heard a word the priest has said. All I know is that I am in the cemetery, leaning on Mush for support, and I am miserable. Mush's arm encircles me and gives me a gentle squeeze. Spot comes up and presses a handful of dirt in my hand. He whispers some consoling words in my ear, but I don't hear him. I just stare dumbly at the dirt in my palm. Jack gently tosses his handful into the hole. I watch as first Spot throws his in, then Mush, Race, Skittery, Les, Davey, Blink, and the rest of the boys that I have met these last four days toss theirs in solemnly. I stare down at the soil in my hand. Mush reaches down and gently pulls on it. He holds it over the coffin, and opens my fingers to release the dirt. I watch as it falls, in slow-motion, on top of the black box. Repulsed, I turn away. I cannot stand another sight of- of my father's coffin.

May 15, 1900
Dear Diary,
It's been one month since my father's death, and though the sorrow still plagues me, I am slowly getting stronger. Kloppman has me doing odd jobs around the Lodging House, but I am jealous of the boys that get to leave every day and see the world. Why can guys do that and girls can't? Besides difference in anatomy and physical strengths, what do they have that girls don't?
As for Mush and I, we are like girl and beau. Even though I wish with all my might that that could be official, Mush hasn't said a word about it. But still, he has been a tremendous comfort to me these past weeks. He taught me how to fight, how to play poker (even though Race perfected it, Mush got me started), and how to talk "Brooklynese". I can wing out insults and sneers with the best of them, now.
The Delancey brothers, the guys who hand out the papes to the boys, are incredibly annoying, like a prick in my shoe that won't leave. Anytime I go anywhere, there it is, annoying me to death but I can't get rid of it. That's exactly what they remind me of. Morris is quiet and lets Oscar do all the talking. Oscar is always all over me, even with Jack or Mush or Spot hovering over my shoulder, continually telling him to get lost or leave me alone. But the boy won't listen! The instant Mush isn't right there next to me, Oscar shoots up out of nowhere, telling me how beautiful I am, and what losers the newsies are. I think I annoyed him today, though. He and Oscar were in their usual slouches near the distribution center after all the stores had closed down, and we were wandering the streets after a play we had all gone to see (Jack knows the lady, Medda, that owns the opera house and we can get in for free). Jack was with his girl, Sarah, and Spot was in Brooklyn. Mush left my side to see something that Skittery was exclaiming over, and suddenly Oscar was there, with his hand on my shoulder. I shrugged him off and ran over to Mush, telling Oscar over my shoulder to get lost.
"That's it," he said threateningly and stormed off. I was worried only for a second, at the anger in his voice. But I am safe, I know. I am also more happy than I've been in a month, with Mush at my side and Spot and Jack watching over me like two big brothers. I was walking across the Brooklyn Bridge, heading toward Brooklyn to get some groceries for Kloppman. Suddenly, a blunt object clobbers me. I scream as loud as I can.
"I'm going to die." The words spring up into my mind before I have time to think anything else. It's my last thought before the ground meets my face and everything goes black.
"Sam! Sam! C'mon, Sam, wake up! Sam, come on. It's Mush, Samantha! I'm here, it's okay, you're safe now. Oh Sam, please wake up!! Please!" Struggling to open my eyes, I find myself in Mush's arms.
"Whah- what happened, Mush? Am I dead?"
"Oh, Sam. I thought you were a goner!" Mush closes his eyes and lays his head against mine. "Don't ever scare me like that again," he says. He sounds like Suzy used to when she'd get mad at me for staying out too late with Spot.
"Mush, what happened?" I demand. Mush took a deep breath.
"From what we have figured out, Oscar grabbed you and pulled you away and Morris hit you but you screamed when he did and someone heard you and recognized you and got Jack, who was only about a block away at the time and-" he takes another breath and before continuing, "And I pulled you out and Jack and whoever that was beat up Oscar and Morris and then they got Spot who got me and the bulls took away the Delanceys and..." Mush's lip wavered. I haven't seen him this worked up in a long time, and that was at a horse race with Racetrack. But I didn't know I meant that much to him! I put my arms around his neck.
"Oh Mush, I would never leave you. You gotta know that! Never, never, never, in a million years," I swear. "And that's a promise."
Mush stared down into my eyes.
"What?" I ask indignantly, sharply. I could have bit my tongue off. Why am I always the one to ruin a bad moment?
"Sam?" he says slowly.
"Yeah?"
"What would you say if I asked you to be my girl?" Oh. My. God.
"Uh, I dunno. You'd have to ask me first." I say, kinda coyly like, a trick I learned from Medda (a friend of Jack's) Mush grins.
"Will you?" he asks. I pause. This was my chance to milk it for all it was worth- and it obviously was worth a whole lot.
"Absolutely...," I start, smiling at Mush's expectant face before continuing, "positively...without...a...doubt." I finish, smiling. Then I reach up and kiss him. After pulling away, I lean up, and spit a perfect loogie over the rail. It flies in a perfect arch before splashing into the crisp, blue waters below.

(Great story!- Sadie)

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