Dear Rachael,

I know it's been a long time since I've written to you, but there always is that strong period of adjustment when you arrive in a new place. That time is when you wander the streets; completely unsure of where you belong I do believe that I'm still in that time. I must confess that I find New York cold and strange and the life of a newsgirl rough and unpleasant. There is not a soul here that I can take comfort in, it is indeed a hard place. I not only find myself lacking in loyal friends, but there doesn't seem to be much music in life lately. Someone would probably complain if I played my violin beside I broke my only A string. I often wonder if I made the right decision, not to go to my aunt's.

Your friend,

Cynthia

"Ouch!" I, Cynthia Bennett, screamed when I accidentally stepped on an old whiskey bottle. I looked over and saw, not a post office as I was expecting, but a grimy looking bar nearby. `Oh great,' I thought, suddenly realizing that I had gotten myself lost yet again. This was the third time this week that I had gotten somewhere and had no idea where that somewhere was. I tried to walk forward, but a sudden pain shot through my leg. I stopped and lifted up my foot only to see that some glass from the bottle had sliced a huge gash across the bottom and it was bleeding profusely. Then, just I sat down on the curb; it started to pour down rain. "God, why now? Haven't you tormented me enough?" I called out to the clouds that continued to dump water down in a strange attempt to drown this fate's puppet.

Suddenly a loud crash of thunder shook everything around me. Tucking the letter in the pocket of my skirt, I half hobbled, half ran towards the doorway of the bar. Every ounce of my being didn't want to be there, but it was either go in or brave a thunderstorm while completely lost. " Hello honey, are you okay?" a heavy older woman asked me as I hobbled in the door.

I must have looked pretty bad. I was standing there in a dirty blouse, a muddy and ripped up skirt, and to top it off I was soaking wet and my foot was still bleeding. "No," I said. As I said this, my face went extremely red. I'd rather die than have a conversation with a complete stranger, especially someone who obviously pitied me.

Then she did something that completely surprised me. She laughed. Not a giggle, not a small chuckle, but a loud, from the gut guffaw that made me extremely uncomfortable. "I'll be right back, got to get somthin' for that foot," she said. All laughter had faded from her voice and she was looking at me grimly. "Now sit down. I'll be back shortly." And so I sat down at the table. As I did this, my brain started buzzing and I was suddenly aware of a great many pairs of eyes surveying me. I made an attempt to look around the bar but I couldn't everything inside me started to turn to water as everyone continued to stare at what they considered an intruder. Soon the heavy woman returned with some bandages and a bowl of warm water. "Here dear." She washed my foot and then wrapped it up tightly in the bandages. She smiled at me and then took the other chair at the table.

"Hey Molly!" one of the other patrons hollered, "that one of your girls?"

"Of course not!" Molly, the kind-hearted woman shouted back. "Does she look like she'd be one of my girls?" Then she turned back to me with a smile on her face. "What's your name, honey?"

"Mo…Morning," I said softly, barely audibly.

"I'm sorry, doll, but I didn't quite catch that."

"Morning Bennett," I stammered a bit louder.

"Morning, that's a pretty name."

"My father used to call me that, his morning sunshine."

"I see." I don't know if she really did or not, but it didn't really matter. "Well, I'm Molly Ann McPherson. I live above the bar here."

"Oh, I see." I didn't.

She started to laugh again. She seemed to drift between complete seriousness and laughter extremely quickly and it made me very, very uncomfortable. "So, Little Morning Sunshine, do you play any music?"

Okay, scratch feeling uncomfortable. She had just hit on something I could actually talk about without crying or blushing. "Yes, I play the violin." I said softly.

"The violin!" She exclaimed loudly. Everyone in the restaurant turned to look at us again, but this time I didn't notice. I was on the subject of the only thing I loved. The only thing I truly cared about; nothing else mattered.

"Yes, the violin. I'm not very good, but I try very hard."

"Oh, I love music. Stringed instruments especially. I teach, violin, viola and cello. I can't teach bass though. I tried once, but it didn't work out." I tried to picture this woman holding a bass; the funny thing was she reminded me of one. I giggled at the thought. "So, honey, where do you live?"

"Bay Ridge," I stopped short. I was about to say `the newsies lodging house'. She made me comfortable enough to be open and that was frightening.

"Where at in Bay Ridge. I can't get you home unless I know where home is."

"The newsgirls lodging house." There I said it. If she was a serial killer than at least I had a nice conversation before I died. The others wouldn't stand a chance, but I didn't even know any of them.

"Oh, you're an orphan?" I didn't answer her. I just stared away. So much for subjects I could discuss without crying or blushing. "You didn't look like an orphan. You just look like a starving little thing, but not..." I must have started blushing because she stopped talking. "I'm sorry honey, sometimes I talk to much. Now, lets get you home before the storm gets worse."

After Molly Ann dropped me off at the lodging house I scurried up to the bunkroom as fast as possible and climbed up to my bunk. I looked around at the others. I didn't even know some of their names and I had been here almost a year. Of those that weren't still out selling I knew, and only by name mind you, Charity and Siren. `Maybe I should go to my aunt's,' I thought. No one would think of me as a "starving little thing" then. I could just find myself some rich older husband who just wants a wife to be seen and not heard, and live sadly ever after. I didn't want that, and I didn't want this. There had to be something in between!

As I sat there on my bunk with a knitted shawl wrapped around my shoulders, I tried hard to remember my mother. I wondered if she was really looking down on me from heaven as I had been so often told in my childhood. I didn't remember anything about her. I couldn't remember her face or her hair. I couldn't remember if she had held me as a child. It was all lost. I wondered to myself, `would she be proud of me?' I didn't care if father or anyone else was proud of me, just her. Don't take that the wrong way, I loved my father, but there is some bond between a girl and her mother that can never be severed, even by death.

I crawling under my quilt and pulled it up to my chin. As I did this I gazed up at the ceiling. I had actually tried to count the little dots in the paint before, in fact I'd done it on so many occasions; it always put me to right to sleep. I didn't feel like sleeping, right now. I didn't really feel like being awake either, but I had to choose one or the other. "God?" I asked aloud. It didn't look like anyone else was in the room. "Whatever's out there?" I tried again. I really wasn't sure anymore. "I'd like some help here. I think that there's something seriously wrong with me and I'd really appreciate a hand. I'm always nervous and I can't talk to anyone. Someone help me please." With that I rolled over on my side and tried to think about something happy, like when I used to be with Rachael and I wasn't afraid of everything all the time. "I want those times again," I whispered softly to myself.

Dear Cynthia,

Oh course you made the right decision, and yes it has been awhile since you've written to me. So many things have happened. Let's see where to begin? Ophelia was really upset when you left. She hasn't spoken to me since. I think you had to be the girl's only friend. Write to her okay? She just might talk to me again. Anthony Carlson is having some issues of his own. His dad thinks that if he doesn't get betrothed soon he'll be useless. The kid's only seventeen for crying out loud. I'm willing to bet, if you wrote to him he'd come to America to see you. Maybe, he might bring you back with him. Who knows? Maybe I'll come to see you. Don't be so depressed, be yourself and you'll make some friends.

Your friend,

Rachael

I read that letter about three million times, maybe more. I think that maybe I had it memorized and was reading in my sleep as well as every time I woke up. I wanted to memorize Rachael's handwriting. And the words struck me as extremely strange. Could I go back to England if I wanted to? Did I want to? Want did I want? Life just wasn't right, nothing was right anymore.

The only thing in my life that made sense anymore was my music. After selling what papers I could (shy people don't sell many papers, a lesson I learned all to quickly), I could usually be found at any local music store. I examined the music, considered getting new strings and my bow re-haired daily, and of course I listened to the others take their lessons. More than anything I wanted to start taking lessons again, but I would never be able to afford them, never.

"Is that you, Morning Sunshine?" asked a familiar voice one day. I turned from trying to memorize a copy of Beethoven's 5th Symphony to see Molly Ann McPherson looking over a brand new viola.

"Hello, Ms. McPherson," I said shyly, as usual.

"Call me Molly Ann or just Molly. That whole Ms. McPherson is a little too formal for me." She then turned to one of the employees of the store, "I want to see something that sounds good, not just looks good. Go get another one."

"I'm sorry, Molly Ann," I said quietly.

"It's no problem dear. Do they teach you here?" She seemed to have a hint of a bad taste in her mouth when she asked that question.

"Oh, no. I could never…"

"Here's another…" The employee began to say to Molly Ann and then she saw me. "What are you doing here, you street trash? That music is for paying customers and if you're not buying anything get out."

I turned to go when Molly Ann put her hand on my shoulder. Her hand was heavy and it stopped me from going any further. "How dare you talk to one of my students like that?"

"One of your students?" The employee asked. She seemed very shocked.

"Yes, one of my students. I was going to bring her by tomorrow to get her violin bow re-haired, but if your going to treat her like that…"

"No, No, Ms. McPherson. I didn't realize…"

"Obviously," Molly Ann shook her head in disapproval, "Now, we'll be leaving. I'll be back tomorrow." She kept her hand on my shoulder and led me out of the music store onto the Brooklyn streets. I looked gratefully at her and she smiled broadly. "I meant what I said. I'll teach you, if you want me too."

"Oh, I'd like that more than anything, but…"

"But?"

"I have barely enough money to stay in the lodging house and eat." That is unless I opened my trust, but I didn't feel like doing that until I was certain my Aunt wasn't looking for me anymore.

"Oh, don't worry about that. I'll teach you to play and I get the joy of seeing you grow as a person through music. That's enough payment for me."

"How can I thank you?"

"Just show up here tomorrow with your violin and bow. We'll get new strings and hair for your bow, even if you don't need it. It's nice to pamper yourself every once and awhile."

Dear Anthony,

I don't know why I'm writing this letter. I probably shouldn't be, simply because your father will probably tell my aunt where I am. That is why I'm going to include just a little bit of information about you, Anthony, sneaking out with Rachael. This way I won't be the only one who gets into trouble. Look at me, would you believe that shy, fragile Cynthia is blackmailing someone? I guess New York changes you. If I had someone to talk to maybe I'd be changed more, and for the better. I hate my shy self Anthony. I want to be different. I want to fit in here, and maybe make a friend or two that I can talk to. I want to change. Well, enough about me. Tell me about what's going on in your life. I hear from Rachael that Lord Carlson is a little angry because you haven't been betrothed yet. Write back to me Anthony; I really need someone to talk to.

Sincerely,

Cynthia Bennett

After I mailed a letter to Anthony I ran straight for the music shop. Molly Ann was waiting for me with that huge happy smile on her face. "Hello, Miss Morning Sunshine," she said. She took my violin case from me and I shudder involuntarily. "So, you're very attached to this I see?"

"Very attached," I muttered.

"Good, it's very important that you love your instrument as if it were your best friend."

"My violin is my best friend."

"Really? You're more alone in this world than I thought, little one"

"Tell me about it," I said with a laugh and then I gasped. I was shocked by my own boldness. Molly Ann just smiled even more and then she and I went into the store. I looked through some solo violin books while my bow was re-haired and my violin was refinished. Molly Ann sorted through strings and picked out a new one of each.

"These are the best brands," she said showing me the strings, "real cat gut."

"You don't have to buy these things for me."

"Of course I do. When I first saw you I said to myself, Molly there's a musician, but she needs your help. Now I believe that some people get callings in life. And I got a calling to help you reach your full potential. I went home and wondered if I should look for you again, but then there you were at the store. I knew right then I was supposed to help you." That came as a real shock to me. I wanted help and I was getting help, it was highly strange. Molly Ann brought me home again and told me to meet here back at the bar every Tuesday at noon for my violin lesson. She had to give me detailed directions because I didn't remember how I had gotten there the first time. I was really looking forward to this.

Cynthia,

I never thought I'd hear from you again. I really do miss you. My father said some things about you that I didn't agree with the night I met you and I've felt horrible about it since. You know, I've never been extremely outgoing either, especially when it comes to girls. I was so scared of you and the fact that you didn't say anything made me so much more nervous. My father and I are having some real problems lately. He wants me to marry the first girl I see, and I want to wait to fall in love. You understand don't you? I think that if my father keeps pressing the marriage issue I'm going to come to America. I won't tell him that obviously. Keep this between us okay Cynthia. I know I can trust you.

Love,

Anthony

"He is such an idiot," I said aloud. I was talking to one of the lodging house girls, a pretty blonde named Siren in the kitchen, being outgoing for the first time in my life and I was a little bit weirded out by that, and Anthony's letter of course. He signed it love?

"What's wrong?" Siren asked with a frown.

I sighed I didn't want to give to much away, but still tell her the story, "He says that if his father keeps pressing the marriage issue he's going to runaway, to America."

"So, he'd be coming here?" I just nodded.

"Wouldn't that sort of be good, then you guys would be closer together." I had told her we were old friends.

"It would and it wouldn't. I'd love to see him again, but he can't just go running off to other countries to hide from his father." Siren nodded in agreement. "I should probably write to him and tell him to stay where he is."

"Will he listen to you?"

"Probably not, but I could try."

"I'd try at least, if he doesn't listen it's his own fault"

"Yeah. I guess so. I just don't know...Maybe I want him to come."

Siren smiled at me "Do you?"

`Oh great,' I thought, `a blushing subject.' And to tip her off that it was such a subject I started to blush. "I think I might."

Siren smirked at me and laughed "Just friends?"

I must have started to blush even more. I could feel my face burn "Seriously, Siren, just friends."

"Yeah that's why you look like a tomato just now." I turned to hide my face, but she laughed. "Too late, I already saw."

"Oh darn," I said with a laugh, "I guess I'm caught."

"I'd say so, tell me about him." I tried to describe Anthony the best I could, leaving out adjectives like adorable and sweet, of course. I told her about the boy without a shy bone in his body and I realized I wanted him to come to Bay Ridge. I cared about him and I suddenly felt that I wanted to be close to him.

"No, Ms. McPherson I can't play this song," I said as I looked over a piece by Mozart.

"Molly Ann, and of course you can. You just have to try. Tell me Morning, have you ever taken a risk?" Molly Ann asked as she shifted through some more music

"Excuse me?"

"Have you ever stuck your neck out and taken the plunge into something you weren't sure about? Something that you weren't sure you were supposed to be doing?"

"Yes, and then I got shipped off here and lost my family," I said with a frown. It seemed that every time I took a risk I got punished for it. Why should I do things that I know Ill get punished in some way for?

Molly Ann looked at me curiously for a moment and then she just started to laugh. "You are full of surprises Morning. Now, I think we'll leave it here for today. I want you to practice really hard this week, and don't be so cynical. You'll have plenty of time for that when you're grown up."

I nodded as I packed up my violin and went down the stairs. I had been taking lessons from Molly Ann for a long while now and getting back and forth between the bar and the lodging house had almost become second nature. "The East River Bar" was in a rather bad part of the city, but I seemed to handle myself quite well, so far.

"Hey you," called a voice from somewhere behind me. Everything inside me suddenly turned into ice water. I wrapped my shawl tightly around me and tried very hard to move, but my feet wouldn't listen to me. Someone grabbed my arm from behind and pulled me back. I struggled to turn around and see what was going on, but I wasn't exactly the strongest person in the world. In fact, I'm pretty much one of the scrawniest little weaklings that ever lived. Suddenly I felt myself being spun around and thrown against the wall of some brick building.

"That hurt!" I screamed. I think that was the point, but to say something. I sat up and rubbed the back of my head. I could tell I was going to have a horrible headache later. I looked around thinking to myself that today just wasn't my day.

I was then abruptly pulled up to standing by the shoulders. "Hello pretty girl," said the sickly voice of someone who was obviously very drunk. I can't tell you how much I just wanted to hit him and run away while screaming "Good-bye creepy guy." But, you see, I couldn't even move. I was being held up against a brick wall by someone who was obviously stronger than me even though he smelled as if he has slept in alcohol. I tried to scream, that would catch someone's attention, but he just attempt to silence me by pressing his mouth against mine. Now my only defense was my legs and I started kicking wildly. My mind started to spin and the buzzing returned to my ears. I thought I was going to die and everything went black.

When I came to, I was lying alone in some grimy alley. My entire body was throbbing with pain and I got the feeling that I was going to die again. I looked around and realized with a sinking feeling that I had no idea where I was, what time it was, or what had happened while I was unconscious. One could guess though, when they found their blouse practically ripped to shred, but I just hoped I was wrong. I hugged my knees to my chest and started to cry. The tears flowed freely down my cheeks for the first time since my father died.

I grabbed my shawl, which had been thrown to the other side of the alley, and wrapped it around me as I went out into the street again. Nothing looked familiar, I wondered how far away from the lodging house I was. "Excuse me?" I called to a street vendor, "How far away is it to Bay Ridge?"

"Bay Ridge?" he looked at me strangely.

"Bay Ridge, Brooklyn?"

"Oh, that's a long way from here. You could take the trolley though."

"Thank you," I grumbled. I didn't want to here that I was a long way from Bay Ridge. I wanted to here that the lodging house was just around the corner, but I made my way to the trolley anyway.

When I got back to the lodging house I went straight to the bunkroom, bypassing all the chaos that tended to go on in the lobby. I climbed up to my bunk and wrote a long letter to Rachel telling her what had happened. As I sealed the envelope I started to cry again and I guess Siren heard me as she came in. "Morning is that you?" she asked.

"Yes, it's me," I said sadly in between sobs.

"What's wrong?"

"It's nothing." She didn't seem convinced; she just stood there with her arms crossed looking from the torn blouse on my bed to me. "Believe me Siren, you really don't want to know."

Siren didn't say a word; she just climbed up to my bunk and put her arm around my shoulder. "It'll all be okay, Morning. Everything will be okay."

My Dearest Cynthia,

I read the letter you sent to Rachael. I know I probably shouldn't have, but I'm so worried about you. I'm going to come to America. Don't you worry about me. Just take care of yourself and I'll be with you soon.

Love,

Anthony

It had been over a month since I got the letter from Anthony saying that he had definite plans to come over the ocean. I was beginning to think his father had found out, or that he had just changed his mind. I was playing my violin in the lobby and annoying people, except Tracker and Jumper, who seemed to actually be enjoying it because they weren't leaving, or laughing when I messed up horribly. That was when I heard a knock on the door.

"Who's going to get that?" Tracker asked.

"I will," I said putting my violin down on one of the chairs.

"I didn't mean you," Tracker said with a laugh, "You are to keep playing. It's relaxing."

I laughed and went to answer the door. The figure I saw standing there greatly startled me. It was a boy with sandy blonde hair and chocolate brown eyes behind a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. "Anthony?" I asked, very fearful that he might vanish in an instant.

"Cynthia!" He cried, throwing his arms around me. "I'm here now. Are you okay?"

"Of course I am." I said with a smile. Then I took his hand and led him into the lobby, "Welcome to America."