The bird of Manhatten

Chapter 11 - in which some Newsies are sick

November 1898
Manhattan, New York City
Jack's P.O.V.

I's standin', leaned against a wall, at one corner of da market.
Mags, next ta me, shivers, pulls her jacket tighter an' hops from one foot ta da other.
"It's so damn cold.", she complains. "I's gonna freeze before da end of da day."
"I thought ya like da winter.", I mockingly say.
"I like da snow, not da winter. If it would snow, it would be much warmer, which would be so much more pleasant."
"Whatever ya say." I chuckle at her choice of words an' yell "Extry, extry!", as some
passer-by come around da corner.
We sell some papes.
"Hey, Mags!", I yell ova ta her when I sold more two papes. "Lend me a hand?"
I earn a chuckle from her. But she comes and gives me her hands. They's warm.
Foa some reason her hands is always warm. Even in the coldest winter after a snowball fight.
No one can explain it, but everyone's glad it's like dat, because everyone's warmin' their hand at hers.

"I bet tomorrow someone's sick.", Mags says as we head home.
"What?"
"I bet we have a sick Newsie by tomorrow."
"Hopefully not."

Unfortunately, she's right.
In da evenin' Tumbler begins ta cough an' in da mornin' he has a fever.
Mags decides ta stay home wit' him an' asks me if I could sell foa her.
I nod an' she hands me ten pennies.
"Only ten?", I ask.
"Yeah. I also asked Blink, Mush, an' Bumlets, so no one has ta sell 80 more, ya know?"

Da next one ta be sick is Crutchie.
Shortly after, it gets Skittery, who is quickly followed by Bumlets.
We others try ta sell more, so they won't lose money an' Mags cares for 'em, cookin' soup an' makin' tea.

Skittery's P.O.V.

Now Bumlets' also sick.
We sit on our bunk, chattin', when Mags enters again.
She smiles at us, happy we'se healthy enough ta still talk, an' heads over ta Tumbler's bed.
He's sleepin'.
She lays a cold cloth on his fever heated forehead an' puts another cover over him.
Mr. Kloppman told her, it would reduce da fever.
Crutchie's sleepin' too, but he has only a light fever.
Magpie comes over ta us an' sits down at da bed next ta ours.
"I know, ya guys don't wanna hear it.", she says. "But ya really should sleep a little. Both of ya have a light fever an'-"
Bumlets' coughin' interrupts her an' she stands up wit' a worried expression.
"I'll get ya somethin' foa dat.", she says an' heads foa da door.
"Ya don't have ta-", he wants ta protest but she's already gone. "Damn.", he mutters an' I hear him layin' down again.

Five minutes later Magpie returns wit' a cup.
She commands Bumlets ta drink it, as soon as it's cool enough.
"What is dat?", he asks as he takes it.
"Tea.", she replies. "Ginger an' sage. Against da coughin'."

Two weeks later, we'se almost completely healthy again.
Da fever's gone an' so is da coughin'.
Tumbler has some colour on his cheeks again an' my nose stopped runnin'.
Jack even allowed us ta sell again tomorrow.
Everyone's happy, it wasn't worse an' no one died yet.
Now we'se sittin' on our bunks chattin', playin', laughin' an' so on like every evenin'.
But... Mags's not home.
When Bumlets an' I felt better, she began ta go out around noon an' come back late at night, never sayin' a woid where she goes an' when she'll come back. But she made us promise, not ta tell Jack an' we didn't, so, except for us, nobody notices her absence or if they do, they apparently don't mind.

Two hours later everyone's sleepin'.
Everyone except me of course. I's waitin' foa Mags ta return.
I have ta wait another solid hour 'till I hear steps on da stairs. Then da door opens an' Mags steps in quietly.
As I see her, I's seriously scared.
She's pale, her eyes sunken.
She trips, more than walks, through da room an' almost falls on her bed in da back.
Silently I get up an' walk ova ta her.
"Well, look at whom decided ta come home.", I whisper.
She jumps an' snaps her head up ta me.
"Skits! Ya scared me ta death.", she whispers back.
"Sorry. Ya ok?"
"Of course. Why?"
"Ya look tired."
"No shit, Sherlock. Ya know, what time it is?"
I quietly chuckle but continue more serious. "It's almost one o'clock. Mind tellin' me where ya was?"
"Please don't start like Jack.", she groans.
"I won't tell him."
"Ph, sure." She rolls on her side, facin' me.
Our hands touch an' I pull my hand away, scared.
Her fingers is ice-cold.
I regret it instantly, as I see her face.
She looks even more scared an' tries ta hide her hands in her pockets, but I quickly grab 'em, causin' her ta sit up. We sit there her hands in mine.
She looks away.
"What happened?", I ask. "Where were ya?"
She doesn't answer, but I can see her bitin' her lip.
"Magpie, why is ya hands so cold? Ya never have cold hand. Never."
"It's absolutely freezin' outside.", she mutters.
I let one of her hands go an' touch her forehead.
It's boinin'.
"Mags, ya got a fever."
"I know, Skittery." She shoves my hand away. "Please lemme sleep now."
I sigh but get up. "Good night."
"Night. Close da curtain please."
I nod an' close da curtain. Then I head over ta Jack's bed.
Empty.
He's on da roof. With Crutchie.
I sigh, unsure whether I should head up, or not.
'Screw it!', I think an' leave da bunk room.