Specs whistled aimlessly to himself as he headed back in the direction of the Lodging House. It was freezing out this evening and he recalled that there were only two weeks left until Christmas. He was startled from his thoughts, however, by the sounds of a struggle coming from what looked to be an empty tenement building. He entered cautiously, just in time to see a girl, with masses of curly red hair, shove a drunken man away from her. The man fell backward, hit his head on the leg of the bed and was knocked unconscious.

Specs saw the girl's eyes widen in shock and fear. "Oh my God," he heard her whisper. "I've killed 'im!"

"Naw, he's jus' out cold," Specs said aloud without meaning to. The girl's gaze snapped toward him and she gasped.

"I didn't mean to do it," she said, sounding terrified as she backed slowly away. "He's usually pretty bad, but he's neva been like this before and I just didn't know---"

"Hey! Don't worry 'bout it!" Specs exclaimed, holding up his hands as he entered the building. "I saw what 'appened. Ya might've been betta off if ya had killed 'im."

"Oh Lord, what's he gonna do to me when he comes to?" she moaned, looking down at the man, who was still sprawled across the floor.

"Jus' leave 'fore he wakes up," Spec suggested.

"But this is where I live!" the girl protested and Specs looked around.

All it was was one large room with a bed, a chair and a tiny stove that didn't put out enough heat to warm a mouse, much less the girl who stood in front of him. Specs then took a second look at the girl. She was so thin that it was almost sickening. Her green eyes were more prominent, but had no sign of life left in them at all. They were a dull green color instead of the rich emerald that Specs would have guessed them to be. Despite the cold draft that flowed freely into the room, all the girl wore was a single petticoat and a lacy chemise, both of which looked ragged and thin. The top button on her chemise was missing and the right shoulder strap had fallen down over her arm. The faint shadow of a bruise could be seen on her jaw and her lower lip looked as though it had just recently healed after having been split open. Still, though, she was pretty and looked as though she could be beautiful.

"Why don't ya come wid me, then," Specs said at last, thinking that a good night's sleep in the Lodging House and some decent food from Tibby's might do her some good.

The girl, however, only stiffened her back. "I don't work anyplace 'cept here," she said firmly.

It took Specs a minute to realize what she meant. "Hey now!" he protested. "I jus' meant dat ya could get a good night's sleep at the Newsboy's Lodging House tonight and some breakfast in the mornin'," he explained.

Still, she regarded him suspiciously. "I haven't met a man yet who's been willin' to help a whore like me unless he expected to get somethin' in return," she said.

"Well, then I'm glad ta be the first," Specs said, undaunted.

"Why exactly are ya helpin' me?" she asked and he shrugged.

"I dunno, I jus' like ta be helpful," he replied. "'Sides, it's almost Christmas. Ya know, goodwill towards men an' all dat."

Finally she nodded shortly. "All right, I'll come with ya."

"Hurry an' get your stuff 'fore he wakes up," Specs said, reaching out to help her gather her belongings. He started to hand her a blouse that had been tossed in the corner, then realized that all of the buttons had been torn off as a result of the blouse having been savagly ripped open.

The girl yanked the blouse from his hand before he could say anything and shrugged it on, pulling the front together as best she could. She found a thin, cotton skirt under the bed and pulled it on as well. Then Specs noticed that she wore no shoes or stockings of any kind.

"How do ya 'spect ta walk outside in dat ice an' snow widout any shoes?" he asked.

"I've been doin' it for two years," she shot back. "Why bother changin'?"

"Well here, then, at least take my coat," he said, tossing the jacket across her shoulders.

"What's your name?" she asked as she watched Specs bend over the unconscious man, checking on him.

"He's drunk as anything," Specs muttered. Then he answered her question. "Specs. What 'bout yourself?"

"Maggie," was the only reply she gave.

"Well, come on, Maggie. We've gotta get outta 'ere."

Maggie fell into step beside him, but was silent as they walked along the snowy path to the inviting Lodging House. Specs noticed her surprise as he led her into the Lodging House and she saw the sign above the door. He figured out pretty easily that she thought he'd been lying earlier and was instead taking her somewhere where her services could be called upon.

Hardly anyone was home yet when they entered, but Kloppman and Crutchy looked up from their game of chess, seeming surprised at the sight of Maggie with Specs.

"Hey Kloppman, dis 'ere's Maggie. She needs a bunk for the night. Ya got an extra?" Specs asked.

"'Course I do," Kloppman answered quickly coming over to them. Crutchy followed. "Do ya have any other clothes?" Kloppman asked her. "Those are pretty cold and wet."

She shook her head slightly and clutched Spec's coat more tightly around her shoulders.

"Well, I'm sure we can find somethin'," Crutchy said.

"Sure we can. First come out of that doorway before ya freeze to death," Kloppman said, taking her arm. If he felt her stiffen, he didn't mention it at all.

He rummaged around for a minute before handing her a shirt, a pair of pants, and a pair of socks. He handed them to Maggie, pointed her in the direction of the washroom, then motioned for Specs and Crutchy to follow him downstairs. Once they were downstairs, Specs quietly told them Maggie's story---what he knew of it. Kloppman shook his head sadly.

"There's too much of that in this city. I'll never get used to seein' it, though," he said.

A few minutes later, Specs knocked on the washroom door. When Maggie didn't answer, he slowly opened the door. When he saw her, dressed in the hand-me- downs, and staring into one of the mirrors, he paused.

"Ya okay, Maggie?" he asked softly.

She glanced towards him once, then looked back at her reflection. "Yeah," she answered. "It's just been awhile since I've seen myself---" she broke off and turned her head away, her red curls falling like a veil to hide her tears.

"Come on," Specs said gently, taking her arm and leading her into the bunkroom. He led her to her bunk and tucked her in. For Maggie, it was the first time she had been warm in weeks. Despite the corseness of the wool blankets, and the way the soft cotton sheets caught on her chapped hands, it comforted Maggie more than anything had in a very long time.

All the newsies were informed of Maggie, but not her occupation, when they returned that night. She was already asleep when they all entered the bunkroom and so they crept quietly around her, trying not to disturb her much needed rest. To them, she was only a homeless girl in need of some sleep and food, that Specs had stumbled across. They knew nothing about her circumstances nor her previous way of earning money.

**************

Everyone was very good about not awakening Maggie, but at around two that morning, she began to cough. It was not just something that could be remedied with a glass of water, however. She sat up, trying to keep from choking on the deep coughs that racked her thin frame. The others awoke and someone flipped on the lights. They saw her struggling to stop coughing, but they didn't know how to help her.

"I'll get Kloppman," Jack said, darting from the room. Blink sat behind her and held her shoulders and Specs knelt in front of her, literally afraid she would either choke or injure her lungs.

Jack returned with Kloppman and the old man ordered that she be brought to the washroom immediately. Specs, with the help of Blink, half-carried Maggie into the washroom and Kloppman began to fill the room with steam, by turning on every shower to the hottest temperature it would go. While Blink and Specs kept a tight hold on Maggie, he closed the door and slowly steam filled the room. The others waited anxiously out in the hall while the three men tried to stop Maggie's coughing.

The steam helped matters and when she had quieted somewhat, Kloppman sent Blink downstairs to retrieve a bottle of cough syrup. All four who were in the heat of the washroom emerged dripping wet, but Maggie, who was nearly collapsed by now, had been able to cease her coughing enough to breathe and now sounded only as though she had a mild chest cold. They gave her a dose of the syrup and Kloppman ordered that she be propped up against pillows, afraid that if she were to lay back down, she would choke again.

Slowly the others drifted back to sleep, but Specs, his bunk several yards away from Maggie's, couldn't help but watch her. He wondered how old she truly was. Now, in the peacefulness of her sleep, she looked young---about his age---but when he had looked into her eyes earlier that night, he had seen the eyes of someone many years older and a thousand times wiser.

**************

Kloppman woke everyone up quietly that morning and they were all careful not to disturb Maggie. The old man sent everyone out for a normal day, including Specs, who had wanted to stay.

"No sense in that," Kloppman told him. "She might sleep all day an' not a one of you boys needs to miss out on any more sellin' days than necessary. Ya can come back 'round noon and check on 'er, if ya want."

"All right," Specs said, seeing his point. "See ya at noon."

**************

At noon, Maggie was still asleep, but when Specs returned at five-thirty, Kloppman was just bringing down a dinner tray.

"She's awake, if ya wanna see 'er," he told Specs. "She slept most of the day, but I got 'er to eat a little something, at least."

"Dat's good. So ya think she'll stay awhile?"

"I don't know," Kloppman answered truthfully, then studied Specs face a little more. "Ya want 'er to?"

Specs quickly changed his expression to one of indifference and shrugged. "Doesn't matta, but I think she oughta, at least through Christmas. By den maybe she won't be so sick anymore."

Kloppman hesitated, then nodded, understandingly. He could also see right through Specs' mask of disinterest. "Well," he finally said. "Go on up an' see 'er. If she wants anything else ta eat, let me know."

"Sure, Kloppman," Specs said and they parted ways, Specs going up the stairs and Kloppman disappearing into the kitchen.

Specs was near the top of the stairs when he heard an unusual sound. As he crept closer to the bunkroom door, he recognized it as singing---soft, faint, and beautiful singing. He peeked around the door and saw Maggie, sitting up in bed, staring through the frosty window panes and singing quietly to herself. It was an unfamiliar tune and unfamiliar words. Half of it seemed to be in English and the other half in something foreign. He did notice that Maggie's accent had gone from being one of born and bred lower class New Yorkers, to being one of a lilting Irish intonation.

Specs completely lost track of time as he stood, unobserved, in the doorway, listening contentedly. His only regret was that his sketch pad and charcoal pencils were across the room under his mattress. Unaware that she was being watched, Maggie sang with a peaceful and even happy expresson on her face. There was just a touch of wistfulness in her eyes, though, and Specs wanted almost more than anything to capture it on paper. The one thing that held him back, though, was the knowledge that if he moved, and if she saw him, all traces of joy would be gone and she would retreat back into the cold shell he knew so well.

Maggie's voice trailed off at the end of the song and Specs still stood there for another few seconds, letting it absorb. Then he applauded quietly. Maggie's head jerked around and she saw him through widened eyes.

"I-I didn't know anyone was listenin'," she said. "Why didn't ya say somethin'?"

"'Cause it was too pretty a song ta interrupt," he answered. He moved to sit on the bunk across from her's. "Why didn't ya tell me ya could sing dat well?"

She shrugged. "It ain't important," she answered, glancing away.

"Well it was really good. Ya've got a great voice," he told her and thought he saw her blush faintly. But maybe it was his imagination.

"Thanks," she answered shortly.

"Are ya feelin' any betta taday?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Some," she answered, still not looking at him.

Specs sighed, a little frustrated, but still determined to bring her back out of that shell. He had seen what she COULD be like, but now he had to convince her that it was a fine way to be.

"What's your last name?" he asked.

"Why?" she replied, looking at him, though now suspiciously.

"'Cause I'm a curious person, I guess," he said. "Dere somethin' wrong wid wantin' ta know someone's last name?"

Maggie was silent for a long moment as she looked back out of the window at the snowfall. "Meara," she answered at last. "Dat's my last name."

"Who taught ya ta sing like dat?" he asked. "Dat wasn't some New York accent ya were usin'."

"My ma," she answered. Still short answers, disclosing nothing but what was asked.

"So she was Irish, I guess?"

Maggie looked over at him again, still rather suspiciously. Specs sighed again, aggravated.

"Look, ya wanna know some things 'bout me ta even it all up?" he asked. She only blinked, never taking her gaze from him. "Fine," he said. "My dad was Irish an' my ma was from Jersey. Dey both died when I was thirteen an' my brother was five. My dad jus' picked up a gun an' shot my ma den shot 'imself, right in front of me an' my lil' brother. He still gets nightmares about it. So do I."

Maggie trembled slightly, but said nothing. Specs realized just how harshly he had spoken and he stood quickly, moving towards the door as he muttered something to himself under his breath.

"Sorry, Maggie Meara," he said aloud as he headed out of the door. "I'm really sorry."

Maggie watched him leave.

**************

Specs wandered Manhattan, oblivious to the frigid air as he thought about what he had told Maggie. Some of the other newsies knew about his past. He had to explain it to them to explain the reason for Snipeshooter's occasional nightmares. He would awaken screaming for his mother or repeating what he had shrieked that night, nearly six years ago. They were brothers, though when around the other newsies, they acted just the same to each other as they did to everyone else. When you were a newsie, everyone was your brother and you didn't play favorites. The only time there was a noticible blood link between the two was whenever Snipes would have his nightmares. Then only Specs could calm him down and get him to go back to sleep. Newsies grew up faster than normal children in stable homes, but even an eleven year old---older and wiser beyond his years---could at some times be just as vulnerable as anyone else.

**************

Specs returned to the Lodging House a little late that night and entered upon a crap game in the middle of the bunkroom floor. Maggie observed it silently from her bed, but most everyone else was playing.

"Heya Specs! Ya wanna play?" Race called out. Undoubtably he was the organizer of it in the first place.

"Uh, no, dat's okay. Maybe another time. I didn't sell much taday," Specs fibbed quickly. Really he had just noticed the content expression Maggie had on her face and he wanted the opportunity to sketch it.

Race shrugged. "Sure, dat's fine."

Specs escaped quickly to his bunk on the opposite side of the room and pulled out his supplies. Art supplies were expensive and he conserved them as best he could. He needed another charcoal pencil, for his last one was getting shorter and shorter all the time, but he had just recently bought some paper and so decided that the pencil could wait. It had been a long time before any of the newsies learned of his talent, but now they hardly noticed when he would sit unobtrusively on his bunk and sketch away. He liked it better if no one knew he was drawing them. They never looked quite the same if they were aware of it, for then they always wanted to pose.

He drew Maggie more quickly than he drew his usual subjects, for there was a certain look on her face and in her eyes that he didn't want to lose. As the lead make quick, even strokes of dark across the paper, Maggie's form began to take shape, nearly an exact replica of her guarded and locked away expression. The wistful look was obvious in her gaze however, and her dark eyes stared out from the paper. The edges of the drawing were softly blended, fading away into oblivion, with only her face, hair, neck and shoulders drawn clearly. When he was done, which was not soon after he had begun, Specs stuck his pencil in the pocket of the shirt that was draped over the end of his bunk and studied his drawing. It was incredible---probably one of the best he had ever done. It was too bad that no one could ever see it.

He closed the cover of his sketch pad, hiding any view of his drawing, but even as he was falling asleep that night, he couldn't help but recall it in his memory, as vividly as if it were right in front of him.

**************

Following days went much the same---with Maggie looking as though she desperately wanted friendships, but at the same time, never losing that cold, guarded facade she wore. No one gave up completely, but Specs was the only one who never even slacked off in his attempts at talking with her. The one thing he never told her, however, was how often she was his model. He drew as many pictures of her as he had time to draw and to his eye, every one was better than the one previous. The one thing he never saw, that he wanted so much to see and capture on paper, was Maggie's smile.

After more than a week of sketching every minute he could, Specs decided to break down and use some of the money he had set aside in savings, to buy a new pencil. His present one was worn down so much that even holding it, much less trying to draw with it, was hopeless. On his way to the distribution alley one morning, he took a short detour that took him past the store where he usually purchased his paper and pencils. It was run by an old woman, who, at one time in her life, had been an excellent artist. Her hands shook too violently now for her to do anything of any merit, but she sold supplies, gave the occasional lesson and always enjoyed seeing Specs' art.

"Mornin' Miss Dreiser," he greeted her as he entered the small store.

She looked up and when she saw who her visitor was, she smiled broadly. "G'mornin' yourself, Specs," she replied. "I see ya've got some artwork to show me." She gestured to the papers tucked carefully under his arm and he nodded.

"Yeah, dat too, but I need a new pencil or two," he added.

"Well, what is it? One or two?" she teased.

Specs grinned and ran his fingers over the row of unsharpened pencils that were in a box on a shelf near the counter. Just the feeling of the undented, smooth wood, made Specs wish that all the newspapers in the world would disappear for just one day. So he could do nothing but draw for an entire day---twenty-four precious hours. And to have Maggie be his only subject.

"On'y one, I guess," he said with a bit of a dejected sigh. "Dat's all I can afford dis time."

He handed her his coins in exchange for one of the pencils which he stuck carefully in his vest pocket.

"Well, now that business is done," Miss Dreiser said, "why don't you let me see some of those masterpieces of yours."

Specs shrugged and handed them over. Then he watched as she looked them over. He truly wondered how good they were. He had brought only a few of his sketches---only those that he deemed the best ones. The rest were still under his mattress at the Lodging House. Miss Dreiser had always praised him, telling him what talent he had, but all of his recent pencilings had been done in such a rush, so he would not lose whatever certain look Maggie had then possessed, and he was afraid they were not very well done at all.

When at last the old lady looked back up at him, Specs noticed the funny quirk of her eyebrow and his hopes began to plummet swiftly.

"Well, I didn't think dey were great," he muttered. "I did 'em so fast an' all---"

"Specs, they're wonderful, possibly the best I've ever seen from ya," she interrupted.

It took a moment for that to register in his mind. "Really?" he asked, truly shocked.

Miss Dreiser nodded fiercely. "They're absolutely flawless, Specs," she said. Then, as he watched her, stunned, she went on. "This model---this girl---she must be very patient to sit for all of these portraits."

"Uh...well...she doesn't exactly know I've ever done any of 'er," Specs confessed.

Miss Dreiser's tell-tale eyebrow went just a bit higher. "Oh?" she questioned. "And why not?"

"She's not...real friendly wid anybody yet an'...well, I think she'd be a little scared if she knew," he said lamely.

Miss Dreiser successfully hid her smile. "So what is her name?" she asked. "Tell me about her."

"'Er name's Maggie Meara," Specs began, "an' she hasn't had anywhere decent ta live for more'n two years an' when I came across 'er, she was...well, pretty sick. She's still got a pretty good cough, but she's gained some weight an' is even prettier than ever---" Specs broke off suddenly, realizing what he had said aloud---something he had been saying to himself daily for the past week since he had found Maggie in that tenement.

Miss Dreiser smiled kindly now. "Ah, that's what I thought," she said wisely. "So is she as taken with you as ya seem to be with 'er?"

Specs' expression became slightly less lighthearted. "Well, she ain't friendly wid anybody, like I said, an' probably mostly not wid me. I ask too many questions, I think," he admitted. "She ain't had an easy life an' she doesn't like people askin' 'er questions 'bout it."

"Ya haven't had an easy life either, Specs," Miss Dreiser reminded him.

He nodded. "Yeah, but me an' Snipes are betta off than we've ever been 'fore. She jus' can't accept dat anyone would ever want ta be 'er friend."

"She'll come 'round, I promise," the woman consoled.

Specs nodded and picked up his drawings. "Thanks, Miss Dreiser," he said and gave her a quick hug before heading towards the door.

"Specs!" she called out and he turned back to face her.

"Yeah?"

"Here." She tossed something through the air and he reached up quickly to catch it. A second one of the new pencils.

He looked up from his hand to her, questioning her action.

"Go on, now," she said. "Great drawings deserve great pencils."

Then she winked. Slowly he grinned, then nodded, waving once more as he left the store.

**************

Maggie had been wondering a great many things about Specs, one of them being just what he was drawing every evening. At first she wasn't even sure that he was drawing, until she had studied the movement of his pencil a little closer. With some long strokes and other short ones, she recognized it as sketching. Now she only wondered what the sketches were of.

Once the newsies had abandoned the Lodging House for the day, Kloppman brought her some breakfast. He came to take her dishes away and try to chat for a few minutes before he returned downstairs, having had nothing that even resembled a conversation with the shrouded girl. As soon as she was sure his footsteps had faded far enough away, Maggie crept across the room, hoping none of the small creaks of the floorboards would give her away. She found the folder where Specs kept his drawings, under his mattress, and she flipped it open. After a long, stunned pause, she lowered herself to sit on his bunk, her eyes still fixed on the image in front of her.

It was herself. She literally couldn't move a muscle for several minutes as she studied every line and every shadow. If someone had told her that there were sketches being done of her, she would have been horrified, knowing in her heart that she wasn't nearly attractive enough to be worthy of someone's time to sketch her. She hated herself---she truly did. Why should she not? Until a week ago, her sole earnings had been made selling herself to whoever offered her a minimum amount of pocket change. She was lucky she wasn't dead now, from disease or beatings, but she almost wished she was. Then she wouldn't have to avoid mirrors, knowing that her cheeks were hollow, her face pale, her hair limp, and her collarbone too prominent. She wouldn't wish so desperately to be like some of the beautiful women who looked down on her so often. She wouldn't have to endure an abusive client for a few dollars---at the most. Usually she only averaged fifty cents or a dollar a night, if that. But mostly she wouldn't have to lock herself away behind a facade of indifference, pushing away anyone that wanted to help her...like Specs.

But as Maggie looked at the drawings of her---there were at least five---she didn't see any sign of the starvation she had endured, or the horrible head of wild hair that had always been her worst sore spot or the hands where she had always thought the knuckles were too knobby. All those faults and more were in the drawing---Specs hadn't changed anything nor had he invented things that were not there---but he had somehow taken everything she hated about the way she looked and made it seem beautiful. Goddess-like. There was an ethereal look about her in these drawings that had always escaped her views of herself in looking glasses. How had he been able to see it?

Hearing a sound on the stair, Maggie shut the folder hastily and put it back under Specs' mattress. She darted noiselessly to her bunk and feigned sleep as Kloppman came into the room to check on her. She heard him set a glass of water on the window sill above her, then leave, closing the door quietly behind him. She waited a few seconds, then opened her eyes, rolling away from the wall and onto her back. She had no idea how long she stared at the ceiling, trying to piece together everything that she had seen and discovered. For the first time in the two years she had been 'working', there was some hope flickering somewhere inside of her---a light pleading to be allowed to shine. But she didn't know how to let it through. There was someone who would have to show her.

***************

There had been a long lull between Snipeshooter's nightmares, Specs had noticed. The last one had been nearly three months previous and he hoped that perhaps they were gone for good or at the very least, they had gotten better. He himself suffered from them, but would only awake in a cold sweat. Never, to his knowledge, had he shouted or called out, as his little brother was prone to do.

Specs' hopes for an end to his brother's dreams, however, were shattered that night by a shriek and then a cry of, "Mama!". Falling out of bed, Specs stumbled across the dark room, hoping to calm Snipes before he had a chance to wake everyone up fully. At this first cry, some of the newsies had stirred or mumbled something as they buried their heads under their pillows, but none had ventured out of bed and the lights remained off. They all knew that Specs would calm him down, then they could all fall back asleep.

"Hey!" Specs whispered loudly, shaking Snipes' shoulder. "Hey, calm down, it's on'y a dream, kid."

Snipes opened his eyes and looked wildly around, finally realizing where he was and who all he was with. He still shook, though, and much as Specs tried, he refused to go back to sleep. Though he wouldn't say a word, this particular nightmare had obviously been worse than the others.

"Let me try."

Specs jerked around to see who had spoken those words and found himself face to face with Maggie. For a moment, he could only stare, shocked that she had talked and shocked that she was offering to help him and Snipes. Then he recovered, and nodded, moving aside to watch.

Maggie sat on the edge of Snipeshooter's bed and rubbed his back as he lay on his stomach. Then she began to sing, very softly, in the same gentle Irish accent that Specs had heard her use a week before. He sat back on the floor and watched in amazement as Maggie's voice lulled Snipeshooter---not to mention the rest of the newsies---to sleep again.

"Come by the hills, to a land that is fancy and free," Maggie sang, merely the melodious sound of her voice envoking visions of a far-off Emerald Isle none of them had even seen before. "And stand where the peaks meet the sky and the locks meet the sea. Where the rivers run clear and the bracken is gold in the sun. And cares of tomorrow must wait 'till this day is done. Come by the hills to a land where life is a song and sing where the birds fill the air with their joy all day long. The trees sway in time and even the wind sings in tune. And cares of tomorrow must wait 'till this day is done. Come by the hills to the a land where legends remain. Where glories of old stir the heart and may yet come again. And where the past has been lost and where the future is still to be won. And the cares of tomorrow must wait 'till this day is done..."

She continued, but Specs took his coat, slipped quietly outside and climbed the fire escape to the roof. He sat down on the cold concrete, leaning back against the small building that covered the stairs and let it block him from the wind. It bothered him every time Snipes would have a nightmare, not only because it scared the younger boy, but because it reminded Specs of what had happened to his parents and forced him to retreat back to that life.

He heard someone coming up the fire escape and looked over in time to see Maggie stepping out onto the roof, a huge blanket wrapped tightly around her as protection from the bitterly cold air. She approached him and when he said nothing, she slowly sat down, about a foot away.

"He's asleep again," she said quietly, after a long moment of silence.

Specs nodded. "Good. Thanks."

"You're welcome."

She looked away, off over the roofs of neighboring buildings to the Brooklyn Bride that was barely visible in the distance. She didn't want to look over at him, but she spoke to him anyway.

"I saw your drawin's," she said.

Specs looked over at her, startled. "What?" he asked, angrily. "Why were ya lookin' through my stuff?"

Maggie sighed. "I didn't look through all of your stuff, on'y your drawin's. It ain't a secret ta anybody where ya keep 'em, ya know," she shot back, finally looking at him---long enough to glare.

"Yeah, but nobody else goes snoopin' ta find 'em," he countered. Mostly it embarrassed him. He knew exactly what drawings she had found. The ones of her. Now he was perfectly willing for the ground to open up and swallow him.

"I'm sorry," she said, and sounded as though she really meant it. "Dey were good."

Specs looked surprised and his anger faded quickly away. "Those ain't the on'y ones," he said after a pause.

Now it was her turn to look at him, startled. "Dere's more?" she asked. He nodded. "Of---of me?" she asked hesitantly. He nodded again.

As Maggie watched, Specs reached into his coat pocket and pulled out several pieces of paper that had been rolled carefully. He wavered in indecision for only a minute, then handed them over to her. As she unrolled them, he took a lantern down from its peg on the wall and found the matches in a metal tin that was placed below the lantern. He lit the wick and the lantern glowed to life, providing enough light for Maggie to clearly see the drawings and for Specs to clearly see HER.

Maggie took her time, inspecting each and every drawing carefully. They were just as good, if not better, than the ones she had found that morning. Once again she could see that light and life that had eluded her whenever she had looked into mirrors. She sifted through the pile for a second time, then lowered them onto her lap as she raised her gaze to meet Specs.

"How do ya do dis?" she asked, simply.

He shrugged. "I jus' 'ave a talent for it, I guess," he replied.

"No, I meant---" she broke off suddenly and looked away.

"Meant what?" he asked gently.

Maggie looked toward him again, but still hesitated for a long moment before speaking again. "I meant...how can ya see me like dis?" she asked. "Is dis...really how I look?"

She sounded so doubtful and Specs could have replied with a simple affirmative, but he knew that there was so much more to her than what she saw in his drawings. Slowly he shook his head and he watched Maggie's spirits sink slightly.

"Oh," she said, so softly he almost missed it. "I didn't think so, I---"

"I ain't neva gonna be able ta draw well enough ta draw ya the way ya really look," he said, speaking exactly what had been on his mind for the past week.

She held his gaze for a long time. "You're serious, ain't ya?" she asked.

"Probably more'n I've ever been 'fore," he said.

Maggie dropped her gaze to the portrait on the top of the stack and stared blankly at it. Specs watched her for another beat before clearing his throat uncomfortably and looking away. She rolled the drawings up again and handed them to him as she stood.

"It's cold up 'ere an' it's pretty late too," she said.

She turned and walked back towards the fire escape, then noticed that he was making no moves to follow her, so she turned around to look back at him.

"Ya ain't gonna sit up 'ere all night, are ya?" she asked, incredulous.

Specs shrugged. "I ain't seen a sunrise in awhile," he answered.

He stared at her as she tried to decide whether or not he was sane. The blanket around her dusted the ground behind as it fell in a short train and her unruly hair---closer to auburn in the darkness of the night---was pulled back with a ribbon tied at the base of her neck, but locks of it fell in chunky curls around her face. These straying strands danced across her face as the cold wind whipped around her. Her cheeks were not so hollow as they had been a week earlier and they, along with the end of her nose, were tinged pink from the cold. It was a clear night and the thousands of stars in the sky lit a beautiful background behind her---their winking lights against the onyx heavens that were hued with blue.

"Ya really ain't gonna come down," she stated, breaking the spell that the quiet night had cast. Specs shook his head. Maggie waited another moment, then slowly walked back to where he sat, settling herself beside him, snuggling further down in her blanket, and leaning against the wooden boards of the building. "Then do ya mind if I sit 'ere wid ya?" she asked.

"As long as you're sure ya won't get too cold," he returned.

She shook her head.

"Then I don't mind a bit."

Then he witnessed something he had been on the lookout for since he had first met her. It came fleetingly, but it was there and he saw it. Maggie smiled.

**************

Maggie awoke later when Specs shook her shoulder. They had talked for nearly an hour after she had decided to stay on the roof, but then she had drifted off to sleep, even through her efforts of trying not to. There was something in the way Specs talked to her that she was unfamiliar, but very comfortable with. Unlike every other man she'd ever met, he wasn't interested in her as a prostitute, but as a real person with her own feelings and ideas and idiosyncrasies. He had further explained the reasons behind Snipes' nightmares and she felt waves of sympathy for him. Her own parents had died young, but to have seen your father kill your mother and then take his own life was something she couldn't even begin to fathom the pain of.

Now she lifted her head from his shoulder---surprised to find it there---and looked towards him.

"You're gonna miss it," he said simply.

"Hmm?" she asked, distractedly. She hadn't understood what he was trying to tell her. She had been to wrapped up in his gaze. Why had she never before noticed the way his eyes seemed so calming or the way that she felt as though they could see right through everything she was and had been on the outside---right to her heart?

"The sunrise," he said, startling her from this train of thought. "You're gonna miss it if ya don't look."

She followed his finger as he pointed to the horizon where the sun was just beginning to rise, dawn slowly encompassing the faded darkness of the early morning sky. As she continued to watch, she saw the light spread, giving way to a clear blue sky, and only hinting at snow clouds.

"It's beautiful," she said softly. "I don't know when the last time I saw the sunrise was,"

"The other day, when ya were singin'," Specs began and Maggie flushed slightly, keeping her gaze strictly on the horizon.

"Yeah? What 'bout it?"

"It was real nice---hell, it was the prettiest thing I'd ever heard," he said, deciding now was no time to beat around the bush about something so simple as a song. "Well...do ya know any others?"

Maggie looked thoughtful for a long moment. "I know thousands," she said, "but there was one dat my ma used ta sing all the time an' it was my favorite. I think it's called "Red Is The Rose"," she said.

"Would ya mind singin' it?" he asked. "It's jus' me. Nobody'll be up yet. Dey won't hear ya," he promised.

"No," she said, surprising herself as well as Specs. "I wouldn't mind." Then she began, softly and barely audible, her voice not needing any accompaniment. The song seemed filled with echoes of fiddles and drums and flutes all alone.

"Come o'er the hills, my bonny Irish lass, come o'er the hills, to your darlin'...You pick the rose, love, and I'll make the vow...And I'll be your true love, forever...Red is the rose, that in yonder garden grows, fair is the lily of the valley...." She went on and Specs sat, spellbound, whether it be from the song, the sunrise, or Maggie, he wasn't quite sure.

When she finished he allowed himself a few seconds to absorb it, then spoke. "You're really good, Maggie. 'Aven't ya ever thought 'bout singin' like in a theatre or somethin'...in front of people?"

She shook her head. "I'm too shy," she said. "I tried once, but I couldn't even get through the audition. Dere's on'y one thing dat I've always wanted an' it ain't ta sing in front of people."

"Then what?"

"No, ya'd think it's silly," she replied stubbornly.

"I wouldn't," he said. "I swear it. What is it ya want?"

"You first," she countered. "Isn't dere somethin' ya've always wanted?"

"I asked first."

She sighed. So he was as stubborn as she. "All right," she said, caving in. "All I've ever wanted was ta 'ave a cozy lil' apartment an' a family ta take care of---a husband an' kids dat needed me an' loved me. See? I knew ya'd think it was silly." She finished with a deeply flushed face.

"Dat ain't silly," he said quickly, but seriously. "I think dat's sorta the same thing ev'rybody wants."

"You?"

Specs shrugged, then nodded. "It's a lot like dat. All I've ever wanted was ta be an artist an' 'ave people buy enough of my art so dat I wouldn't hafta work any place else. An' I'd like a family too. Snipes has always been my lil' brother, but he's gettin' a lot older now an' doesn't need me as much. It's lonely not 'avin' anybody need ya. It'd be nice ta 'ave my own kids dat needed me." Specs looked over at Maggie and their gazes met. "The hardest part of ev'rything I want, though, is prob'ly findin' somebody ta share all dat wid," he added, very low and quiet.

Maggie didn't reply and Specs added nothing more. They only stared into each other's eyes for what seemed like minutes, but was only a few seconds, before Kloppman could be heard waking up the newsies downstairs. Then Maggie suddenly broke the trance and stood, wrapping the blanket closer around her. Specs stood as well and then helped her down the fire escape, neither speaking a word.

**************

Christmas Day found the newsies selling their papers as usual, but quitting earlier to go and visit with Brooklyn, as they had always done. What was Christmas without all of one's friends? Specs convinced Maggie to go and she agreed fairly quickly. She was coming out of that shell she'd been in for so long and it thrilled Specs to see the transformation. Once they had all bundled up as much as they could, considering how few possessions they had, they all trooped across the bridge to see Spot and the rest of the Brooklyn assembly.

The assembly was on the docks, as usual, but no one dared to even dip a toe in the frigid East River. It may have been Christmas, but the sun shone brightly and so despite the cold air, it was no where near freezing. Specs introduced Maggie to everyone in Brooklyn and she greeted them all nicely, if not a little shyly.

One of Spot's newsies was late and arrived a few minutes after Manhattan had. As he entered the area where they were all still standing, he greeted everyone. They returned his greeting out of sheer politeness, for no one was particularly fond of him. He was loud and rude and generally cynical.

"Hey all!" he said as he came to the group. "I see ya brought some entertainment wid ya. Good goin'."

Jack looked over at him, confused. "What are ya talkin' 'bout?"

The newsie jerked a thumb towards Maggie. "The girl, Jackey-boy," he said. "The harlot from Tenth Street."

Shocked silence descended on the Manhattan newsies as they all glanced at Maggie, their eyes full of questions. But the obnoxious Brooklynite seemed not to notice as he ambled closer to her.

"Hey doll, where ya been lately?" he asked. "I've missed ya." He reached out and cupped her chin in his hand. Maggie could only stand, frozen in place.

Specs didn't want to look over at her. He knew what he would see if he did. But his eyes had ultimate control and he turned his head to Maggie, who stood only a foot or less away. Her complexion had gone completely white and her eyes were enormous as she trembled. Until that moment, only Specs, Crutchy and Kloppman had known her secret. Now it had been exposed to all of Manhattan as well as Brooklyn and her entire rebuilding process had been halted and then demolished.

With a cry, Maggie took off towards the bridge, running swiftly, tears making her stumble.

"Maggie!" Specs yelled after her, but she didn't even slow down.

The Brooklyn newsie laughed. "Aw, let 'er go, she ain't nothin' but a two-bit whore anyhow."

Before anyone could react and before he had even thought about what he was doing, Specs found his fist striking the newsie in the gut. As the newsie doubled over at the furious impact, propelled by fierce anger, Specs ran after Maggie, leaving behind dozens of stunned newsies. They had rarely seen him fight voluntarily and his anger was shown even less often.

**************

Maggie was much quicker than Specs and he arrived at the Lodging House a minute after her, gasping for breath. Not hearing anything, he ran upstairs, his heart pounding for a reason entirely different than his run. He heard a small sound from behind the partially closed washroom door and he burst in, knowing exactly what he would find.

The blade of the razor glittered dangerously in the light as it came closer and closer to Maggie's pale, blue veined wrist.

"Don't!"

He was across the room in an instant, knocking the razor from her unsteady hand and sending it spinning across the floor. Maggie couldn't help but cry out as the sharp corner of the blade nicked her wrist. She looked briefly at the tiny cut from which a red droplet rose up and then began to run down. Then she looked up at Specs.

"Why did you stop me?!" she screamed at him. "Why can't you leave me alone?!"

"Stop it!" Specs yelled back. "Stop an' listen ta yourself! Look at yourself!"

Before she could reply, he had taken her shoulders from behind, pushing her towards the mirror. The struggle quickly became more forceful as Maggie realized where he was taking her.

"Stop! Let me go! I don't want ta see!" she protested loudly.

"Goddamn it, Maggie!" Specs exclaimed. "Open your eyes for a minute an' look at yourself!"

"I don't want ta!"

"Do it!"

Specs shook her roughly and she opened her eyes reluctantly, ther gaze falling on the reflection in front of her.

Much of her hair had escaped its pins and had tumbled over her shoulders. Her eyes were wild from behind her tears and her chest heaved, partially from her run, but mostly from fright.

"What do ya see?" Specs asked. "Tell me what ya see."

Maggie could barely shake her head, much less answer him. She saw the same thing she'd seen for years. The only things she thought were there until she had seen Specs' drawings. But now those images from the drawings were gone, and the only ones left were the old ones. The ones that told her over and over again how she had failed. The ones that laughed at her for ever even dreaming of normalicy. What had ever made her think she was worthy of a family and a real home?

"Neva mind," Specs said after a long moment, his voice much lower and calmer than it had been. "Don't tell me," he went on. "I know what ya see, but ya don't know dat ya've got it all wrong, Maggie."

"I---"

He cut her off. "I'm gonna tell ya what I see an' you're gonna listen." It wasn't a question or a suggestion. It was an order.

Still holding her arms tightly, knowing she would bolt for the door if he didn't, Specs began. "I see somebody who hasn't had a great life an' somebody who maybe made some wrong choices, but somebody who's still got a million chances ta make up for it---all of it. She's somebody who'd be sweet an' funny an' a really good friend if she'd let 'erself. She's beautiful but'd be gorgeous if she ever believed it when someone told 'er she was an' she's somebody who's got the same dreams an' hopes dat ev'ryone else has if she'd---"

He stopped as he realized Maggie's shoulders were still shaking, but now from tears. He stepped back and released her shoulders, observing. She sank slowly to her knees, burying her face in her hands and letting her hair fall over her face, hiding it. Specs watched her silently for a minute, before kneeling next to her and pulling her close, doing exactly what he'd wanted to do for two weeks. Her tears soaked through his vest and shirt, but he hardly felt it. He was very aware, however, of how soft her curls were under his hand as he smoothed her hair and how nicely she fit into the crook of his arm. She was crying silently and so when he spoke, he spoke in a very low tone, but she heard him more than plainly.

"An' she's made another person realize how lucky he is," he said quietly, "'cause it turns out dat it ain't so hard ta find somebody ta share dreams wid. Sometimes ya jus' come across 'em---in any way---an' ya jus' know, right from the start, dat dey're what ya've been lookin' for your whole life."

He lifted Maggie's face from his chest and wiped away the tears that were now drying on her cheeks. She gazed up at him, wonderment in her still somewhat teary green eyes as she allowed her mind time to piece together what he had just said.

"Are---" she couldn't even hardly begin, much less finish. He answered her unasked question, the same as if it had been voiced.

"Ya told me your dream 'bout a home an' family an' all," he said, "an' I told ya dat I had the same dream. What I didn't tell ya is dat I hadn't realized, 'fore I listened ta your dream, what mine really was. When ya told me your's, I realized dat mine was exactly the same, right down ta the same home an' same family." He paused. "I hardly know anything 'bout ya, but it doesn't even matter like I always thought it would," he went on. "I love you, Maggie. Will ya let me share all dat wid ya? Maybe not now...jus' someday?"

She waited a long time before she spoke and when she did, she didn't answer him right away. "All those things ya said, an' all the things dat ya drew in those pictures," she started, "is dat really how ya see me?"

Specs nodded, not even hesitating. "If I could do nothin' but draw ya ev'ryday, I would," he said, veraciously.

She must had recognized his truthfulness, for she seemed to accept his answer, then pause another minute, mulling it over in her mind, before she spoke again. "It doesn't matta at all ta you what I used ta do?" she asked, still uncertain, though weakening.

He shook his head this time. "None of it."

"When I would dream 'bout what I wanted, I neva actually thought any of it would 'appen," she said, glancing away slightly. "It was jus' somethin' ta keep me from---ta give me something ta think 'bout, I guess. Sometimes I thought dat I must be crazy ta think dat any of it was ever gonna come true. So why...now...is all of it---why does it seem so much closer now?" she asked, stumbling over her question, but getting it out and then looking back at him. "Why do I feel like it's all really gonna 'appen?"

Specs smiled a little. "'Cause it is," he answered. "It's all gonna 'appen, if you'll let me help. Will ya?"

He waited anxiously for her to reply. His mind ran quickly through possibilities---what would happen if she agreed and how it would hurt him if she didn't. Then he saw something that interuppted those thoughts right in the middle of them. It was something he'd seen only once before---her beautiful smile.

"Yes."