Pulling her short-brimmed cap low over her eyes, Lisette Hanlin laboriously made her way down the creaking wooden staircase alternately pulling and pushing her bulky wooden trunk. The tenement apartment building around her was warm and audibly hummed with voices and movement, of the sweat and dirt of poor people working as hard as they could for the little they had. She could hear Mrs. Samson who lived beside the stairwell on the second floor, yelling something at her daughter Maria. Maria was four years old and could make dozens of artificial flowers a night. Everyone in the building was working on something, for something, hoping to scrape together enough money to improve their lives just that little bit they hoped for.

The trunk was not heavy, but it was large and rectangular, and one of its metal handles had broken off, making it difficult to carry. She lugged it dutifully through the entryway and out into the street.

Evening was coming on, and the vaguely hazy summertime sky was giving way to a myriad of colors in the west where it could be glimpsed between the tall façades that lined the cobblestoned street. She set down the trunk on its end to rest her arms for a moment, then hefted it back up and began to move down the narrow sidewalk. It was late enough that the walkway was not too crowded, and the few people who passed her slender figure carrying the large box smiled or wished her a good evening.

It took her the better part of two hours to struggle all the way to the Bay Ridge newsies’ lodging house, where she was going to seek lodging. She had already talked to a girl selling newspapers on her street, a beautiful, dark-complexioned girl named Juliet, who had told her there were vacancies in the girls’ bunkroom that she might be able to take advantage of. The sky had darkened overhead to a muted navy blue, with the braver stars twinkling through the film of cloudiness that had painted the sky with bright watercolors at sunset. She set her trunk down on the steps and exhaled heavily with relief, knocking on the door.

“C’min,” called a pleasant and musical voice, and Lisette pulled down on the brass knob and stepped into a lobby area that was cheerily lit by electricity and looked picture-book beautiful to her eyes used to dinginess and grime. A white-painted staircase rose to her left, and a sturdily built desk stood against the wall beyond the stairs. On her other side was a well-worn sofa with a pretty, young girl seated on it. The girl had brown hair in braided pigtails and smiled when Lisette entered.

“Hi there,” Lisette said as her lips curved into a smile of her own. “My name is Lisette. I was wondering if I could live here.” She laughed slightly at the awkwardness of her statement.

“Oh! I’m Morning Bennett.” The girl shyly unfolded her legs and stood, slender and medium-height, crossing to Lisette and taking her hand in greeting. “You’d probably better shut the door, though,” she added after a moment. “Otherwise bugs’ll come in.”

“I just have to get my trunk,” Lisette explained, ducking back through the door and dragging the wooden box over the threshold by its one handle. “It’s been terrible getting that thing over here, let me tell you.” She grinned at Morning, who laughed softly.

“Well, I know there’s room in the girls’ bunkroom so I’m sure you can head up there and look at bunks and such,” Morning explained in a quiet voice. “Charity is the leader of the newsgirls and she’s not home right now, but when she gets back to the house I’ll make sure to tell her you’re here. She can show you where to sign in and pay your rent and all that.”

“Thank you,” Lisette said genuinely. She glanced at the stairwell beside her. “Is the bunkroom upstairs?”

“Oh! Of course, yes, I’m sorry.” Morning looked somewhat flustered as her cheeks reddened. “I can take you up there if you’d like. Here, just follow me.” She started up the stairs, catching her skirt in one hand as she went.

“I’m just gonna leave this beastly box down here,” Lisette told her before taking the stairs two at a time after Morning. “I’ll get it later.”

more to come