Daughter of the Refuge

Chapter Two

September, 1897

Samantha Snyder let out a groan as she peeled her broken body off the bloodstained floor of the Refuge. Sitting up, the fourteen-year-old glanced at the kids who sat around her, some crying, others staring into off into space. A couple of the younger kids were curled up together or in the laps of the older children, fast asleep. 

"Quite the dramatic entrance you took, Sam," a voice said beside her. She rolled over, her eyes meeting those of her best friend.

"What can I say Pete, I like to make my entrances in style."

"Blood covered and all," he flashed the girl a rare smile. 

"How'd ya get it here again, Peter? I thought we decided once you were released that you'd stop stealing."

"How else am I supposed to eat?" The boy retorted, a frown on his face.

"Maybe try being a newsies for once. Or some other job. There's always the factories." Peter scoffed.

"Like I'd survive a day in there."

"You're right, you'd probably punch one of the guards once you see the shape the other fellas are in." As much as Peter tried to hide it from people, he had a protective nature. It didn't matter who you were, but if you were in pain he'd beat up the idiot who caused it. He had received numerous beatings from the Delancey's for jumping in between them and the other kids. Samantha had witnessed it one too many times. 

The two of them had met over a year ago. Peter had been thrown in the Refuge after he had been caught stealing a loaf of bread from the bakery. Samantha had been completing her week of punishment for helping a Brooklyn newsie escape Snyder. 

Samantha smiled as she recalled the first thing out of Peter's mouth when he saw her.

"Well you ain't no street rat."

"I don't even know what that's supposed to mean," she replied. 

"Means ya pretty," the boy stated rolling his eyes. Samantha knew he wasn't flirting with her, but she couldn't figure out what he meant by those words.

"Yous saying no street girl can be pretty?" She asked sharply.

"Ain't neva said that. You've got a spark. Right-" he gestured to her blue eyes, the very eyes that she hated, being one of the few features she had inherited from her father "-dere."

"Yeah well you look like the Delancey's didn't beat ya hard enough. Wouldja like me ta give it a go?" she challenged. Peter smiled, a genuine smile.

"I think I'd like to keep my face as is, thank you."

"Smart boy," Samantha muttered. 

"So, what really happened?"

"Saved a girl from being sent 'ere. Delancey's didn't like that very much."

"Who was she? Is she okay? What'd she do?"

"Woah slows down, ya gonna choke on your words. Don't know 'er. Never seen her around before. She had an older sister, pretty short with shoulder length brown hair. Definitely a newsie."

"The Manhattan goil?" Samantha had only seen the girl once but she had spent a week in the Refuge during the time the girl's brother had been in the Refuge. 

"Nah, I don't think it was her. 'Sides, didn't ya say the 'Hattan goil has blonde hair?"

"Dirty blonde which in dark light can look almost brown. But that's beside the point. The goil?"