Title: Stolen
Author: Pegasus M
Rating: T
Author’s Note: I can’t imagine that this story will be well-received considering that this type has been done and has been done well. I’m still compelled to try and write such an origin story, though, because I feel that these characters that I’d created years ago deserve one and I'd like to use it as a personal writing exercise. Thank you to anyone who gives this a chance! This is the Thank You rewrite and retake.
Disclaimer: I do not own Disney’s Newsies or any of the characters from the wonderful movie.

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Prologue.
December 1886

It had begun to snow. Occasional soft flakes at first, quickly building into a heavy but silent storm of white streaks. Visibility was low and the wind blew the falling snow in disorienting circles. The icy crumbs stung his exposed face; he pulled his cap over his eyes, lowering his head and tightening his grasp on the large bundle barely cradled under his tweed coat.

His breath became labored as he trudged through the piling snow. The hot air escaped his lungs in short huffs. He knew he barely had any time left. He broke into a run. It was not until he finally neared his destination that he felt it was reasonable to slow down and catch his breath. Despite the snow blighting his vision, he was able to make out the street sign post before turning right, searching for Number Nine. The man finally stopped in front of a two storey home colored an ivory white, not a chipping of paint on its surface. With a bittersweet smile, he spied Christmas decorations through the partially curtained windows.

“This is it,” he said, peaking down at the child he held in his arms.

The man hesitated for a moment before walking up the path leading to the front door. He was careful not to make a sound, though the snow made his precautions nearly impossible. Ascending the steps to the porch, he crouched down and laid the bundled child on her feet beside the door.

She looked at him with wide, frightful eyes, the rest of her face covered by the two sheets wrapped around her small body. He had had to make do with those sheets; her clothes were not appropriate for the biting cold of winter. His heart dropped suddenly, looking into those innocent brown eyes, and he felt the urge to go against his better judgment, grab the child and run to the train yards.

“Don’t look at me like that. This is better for the both of – for you,” he sighed. “This is better for you.” He reached into his coat pocket and removed an envelope. “Here,” he said, searching through the folds of the blankets for her small fingers and curling them around the thin paper.

He looked at her with a sorrowful smile. His next words came out with a choke. “This is goodbye then.” He took a deep breath, leaning forward to wrap the sheets closer around her. “Learn from your old man, hmm? Be brave – braver than me, at least.” His hands fumbled inside his pockets but he quickly found that they were empty. Then, with a regretful expression, he said, “It only seems appropriate that I give you something to remember me by.” He shook his head, as though ashamed. “I’m sorry.”

The man had to tear his eyes away from the child’s, blinking back the moisture that had welled there. He stood up abruptly and rang the doorbell before sprinting down the steps, out of the front yard and down the street.

Several moments later, the door opened a crack, light escaping through the slim opening. Ms. Hutchins peeked outside.

“Who is it?” She frowned. “If it’s those pranksters from the next street down again, they’ll have….” She trailed off, her eyes catching on the lumped blankets on the floor.

“Oh! What – what is this?” The woman bent down and reached for the blanketed girl. “Hello, there,” said Ms. Hutchins, gazing at the girl curiously. “What are you doing there? How did you…?” The Nanny frowned as the girl continued to stare straight ahead as though she could not hear. She wondered if the girl was a mute when a voice even more cold than the winter air called from inside the house.

“Ms. Hutchins, would you like to explain to me why you are needlessly letting in this freezing draft?”

The Nanny straightened abruptly and spun around. “Mrs. Richardson! It’s just that…. There’s – there’s a young girl outside,” Ms. Hutchins tried to explain. She turned her attention back to the threshold and pulled the child indoors. She half-carried her inside the house and closed the front door, presenting the young girl to Mrs. Richardson.

The tall and slender Mrs. Richardson stood rigidly at the bottom step of the staircase.

“A girl?” she questioned. “And what is she doing here?” Her green eyes narrowed. “Is she yours?”

“No, no, madam. She – she was just standing outside when I answered the door, madam.”

Mrs. Richardson scrutinized the newcomer and frowned when she saw the child dripping over the floor. The girl was colorless, save for the flushed cheeks from the cold. The child’s lifeless appearance was accentuated by the gray clothes and the white sheets wrapped about her. She kept looking towards the door, clutching something to her chest…

“Ms. Hutchins, what is that girl holding?”

“It… it seems to be a letter, madam,” said the Nanny, after pulling the envelope away from the girl.

Mrs. Richardson strode towards the child and after another inspection, took the envelope from Ms. Hutchins, tearing it open with her bony fingers. She extracted the letter and her eyes flickered through its contents. Suddenly, the same bony fingers flittered to her chest as a smile crept to her lips.

“Ms. Hutchins, please go and tell my husband to meet me here in the foyer right now.”

The Nanny scurried away to fetch Mr. Richardson from his study. After several minutes, his lean and dominant form appeared from the end of the hallway, his face wearing an agitated expression.

“What is it?” he asked irritably. “I have a lot of – what is this?” he asked once he spied the child standing in the foyer. “And what is that on your face?”

But his wife’s unnatural smile remained, as she handed him the letter. He snatched the letter, still looking at his wife questionably. Removing his reading glasses from his vest pocket, he began to pore through the note.

When he finished, he looked to his wife, then to the child and after a pause, let out a triumphant laugh.

“So this is…?”

“Yes, dear. This is Ellie Summers. Alan Summer’s only child.”

He continued to laugh, shaking his head as though he could not yet believe it.

“I almost feel sorry for the man. I mean, there he was – Alan Summers, this nobody, and he wanted to work for me. A nobody. He barely had an education, I don’t know what he was thinking,” he said, still chuckling. “You wouldn’t understand the details, dear, but he was quite persistent, I’ll give him that. Barely had a dime in his pocket, and he wanted so bad to fit in with our group. I was almost embarrassed for him from all his antics. I pitied him and he thought I was his friend. Friend,” he repeated, wiping his eyes. He emphasized his point. “Do you remember, Ms. Hutchins? Do you remember Alan Summers? The man who called himself an apprentice attorney?”

The Nanny nodded slowly.

He continued. “He was an idealist. A fool,” said Mr. Richardson under his breath. He studied the Summers child. “A damn fool.”

“The letter says he’s going to try his luck out West,” said Mrs. Richardson.

“He can try,” her husband replied darkly.

Mrs. Richardson spoke again. “What should we do with the girl?”

He shrugged. “Why don’t you take care of it, hmm?” he said, and turned to return to his study, clutching the letter in his hand.

After he disappeared, Mrs. Richardson waved her hand as though inconvenienced by the thought. “There’s an orphanage --”

“If I may, madam,” Ms. Hutchins interrupted carefully. “Young Francesca could use a… playmate of sorts. A companion, if you will.”

“This girl will not stay with my daughter -”

“She can stay in the servants’ quarters… if that is all right with you,” she added quickly.

Mrs. Richardson hesitated as she thought over the situation.

“Then she will be the servant’s responsibility,” she said finally.

“Yes, madam.”

Ms. Hutchins breathed a soft sigh of relief. She had thought quickly, fully knowing that Mrs. Richardson would reject taking in a strange child. But Ms. Hutchins knew from taking care of the Richardson’s only daughter, Francesca, that a companion would be more than helpful. Already the child had been exhibiting signs of acting out for attention that she wasn’t receiving from her parents. Yes, Ms. Hutchins thought. A friend was just what Miss Francesca needed.

Mrs. Richardson took another look at Alan Summers’ child and ordered Ms. Hutchins to get the girl dried off before she flooded the floor. She turned to climb back upstairs, leaving Ms. Hutchins and the girl standing alone in the foyer.

“Why don’t we get you some dry clothes,” said the Nanny kindly, taking hold of her cold hands.

But the child did not budge. She had appeared confused ever since the envelope was taken away from her. And now, she was just beginning to realize that her father was not, as she had believed, coming back for her. A single tear droplet fell from her glazed eyes, her lower lip trembled with sharp intakes of air.

Ellie Summers finally began to cry.