The Little Boy With Grown-Up Eyes

CHAPTER ONE: SCOTTY LAVELLE

Christmas Day that year of 1901 was the coldest day that New York City had ever seen. I was shivering on a park bench just outside of a residential neighborhood, wishing for a proper coat and a warm home. I had neither. My last hope was contained in the building not thirty feet away: the Newsboys' Lodging House.

With trembling hands blue from cold, I unfolded the newspaper ad. WANTED: ONE MAID AT NEWSBOYS' LODGING HOUSE. WILL BE PAID WELL.

I could only pray that no other qualified girl had taken the job before me. I desperately needed the money, not only to care for myself and- take care of certain business, but to send it to my sisters back in France. I had last seen them two and a half months ago; I'd spent about six weeks in New York. They were going to sail across the ocean and meet me in New York. We were trying to escape the famine currently ravaging the fields of France. Our mother had died recently, and my eldest sister, Brigitte, was expecting a child in February. My other sister Madeleine was watching over her. Our father came with me.

I felt it unfair, but at sixteen, I was the most qualified person for the job. Brigitte argued that I was beautiful and charming; Madeleine, that I spoke the best English. Both agreed that if one of us was to make the dangerous journey with our father, it should be me.

Remembering my dear sisters gave me the courage to rap on the door of the Newsboys' Lodging House. I stood patiently until the door was opened.

An elderly man dressed in his best suit greeted me with a warm smile. The rush of hot air from inside the building swam over me, smelling vaguely of oranges. It was all I could do not to run inside.

"Merry Christmas and a good morn to you, miss," the man said politely. "May I help you?"

"Y-yes," I chattered. "Mademoiselle Gabrielle Despereaux. I'm here to apply for the position of a maid?"

"I'm terribly sorry, miss, but the position has already been filled."

Tears welled up in my eyes. That was it. I was doomed to failure. Brigitte and Madeleine would be stuck in France, in the middle of the famine and with a child on the way. Papa would suffer a terrible fate. And I was to die alone and helpless in New York.

The man studied me. He noticed my worn blue wrap, trying and failing to serve as a coat. He noticed my chattering teeth, my greasy hair, my skin turning purple with cold. Finally, he said, "Would you care to come in?"

I nodded gratefully and went into the lovely warm home without another thought.

"My name is Dewey Adams," said the kind man. "I don't have a job for you, young lady, but I do have a home. This is the newsboys' home, but there are several newsgirls' lodging houses where you could stay."

"Thank you, sir," I answered, overwhelmed with gratitude. "Oh, thank you!"

Mr. Adams looked at me thoughtfully. "Let me finish some arrangements, and I'll have one of the newsboys escort you."

I nodded my thanks. It was too good to be true.

I turned and looked behind me. The large room was decorated in beautiful reds and golds, and a colossal fire crackled in the marble fireplace. Newsboys of all ages stood and sat around a large red loveseat, exchanging presents and laughter. It felt like a home, and I was instantly at ease.

I went over and stood by a good-looking newsboy with dark hair and a smart gray vest. He was puffing steadily on a cigar, despite the fact that he could be no more than fourteen.

He looked amused at my entrance. "Hello, Miss Despereaux," he said, tipping his cap to me. "The name's Lavelle. Scotty Lavelle."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lavelle." We stood in silence for a minute. Mr. Lavelle was clearly enjoying it, though, taking delighted puffs of his cigar and blowing smoke rings into the air.