Disclaimer: Disney owns Newsies and all the wonderful characters from the movie.

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. The harsh 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 of smoky vapor. He knew he barely had any time left and so broke into an awkward run, catching himself from slipping in the snow. It was not until he finally neared his destination that he felt it was reasonable to slow down and catch his breath. Despite the weather 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 rich 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 crunching of snow beneath his boots 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, merry eyes, taking delight in the soft flakes of white falling from the sky. The rest of her face was covered by the two sheets wrapped around her small body. He had had to make do with those sheets; her paper-thin clothes were not suitable for the biting cold of winter. Her eyes flitted to meet his, a curious question lingering in them. His heart dropped suddenly, looking into those unsuspecting 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 bulky envelope.

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 stairs, out of the front yard and down the street.

Several moments later, the door opened a crack, light escaping through the slim opening. The governess, 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," she gasped. "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 governess frowned as the girl continued to stare straight ahead down the street as though she could not hear. She hastily 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 governess straightened abruptly and spun around. "Mrs. Richardson," she addressed. "I apologize. But there is a young girl outside," Ms. Hutchins explained. 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?"

The governess couldn't help but hold her chin in the air. "No, no, madam. 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 seems to be a letter, madam," said Ms. Hutchins, 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 frown overcame her porcelain features.

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

The governess 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 uncharacteristic expression 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. What shall we do with her?"

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

"I almost feel sorry for the man. I mean – Alan Summers, a nobody. And he wanted to work for me. He barely had an education, and he thought he had the competence to work in law. Honestly, I don't know what kind of madness he had," 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 governess nodded slowly.

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

"The letter says he's going to try his luck out West," said Mrs. Richardson.

"Let him try his luck. He'll need it," her husband replied darkly.

Mrs. Richardson sighed, tired of her husband's longwinded speeches which obviously failed to attend to the more immediate matter at hand. She spoke again. "What shall we do with the girl?"

He waved his hand as if he couldn't be bothered with such details. "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 in the same manner, as though she couldn't bear to be inconvenienced by the task. "There's an orphanage -"

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

"This girl will not stay with my daughter," Mrs. Richardson said dangerously.

"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."

The elderly governess 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 couldn't just send the child to an orphanage—not when she knew Alan Summers to be such a kind man. And she 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 governess 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.

Author's Note: (Updated 02.10.10) I realize that this sort of origins story has been done, and done well, but I am still compelled to write one if only as a personal writing exercise. Thank you to anyone who gives this story a chance! I greatly appreciate it. :)