Mia would definitely have scars, but at least she wouldn't be totally disfigured. He put a small drop of morphine on Mia's tongue, enough to keep her from feeling the agonizing pain when she woke up, then wiped his hands and yawned. A quick glance at the beautiful pink and orange sky through the kitchen window told him dawn was only minutes away. He was exhausted.
"What are we going to do, Xavier? Next time he could kill her."
Xavier dropped onto the stool beside his brother and let his chin fall into his hands as he stared at Mia's sleeping face. Even scraped and still slightly swollen, she was a beautiful little girl. "I know. I've thought about it all night. I don't like it, but I have an idea."
Gerald turned his dark gray eyes on him. "I'm listening."
"You know the orphanage several streets over? The Wigg School and Foundling Home? We're going to take her there." He brushed Mia's soft brown hair away from her face. "It's the only way to keep her safe from him."
"As long as we make sure it's the owner and not the cook who finds her. I don't like the looks of the cook," Gerald muttered.
Xavier gave his brother a funny look. "When have you seen the cook?"
"I've seen her throwing out scraps to homeless animals. She talks to herself and the dogs but won't let the cats have anything to eat. I have to wait until she's inside before fighting one of the dogs off so the cats can eat, too."
Xavier bit back his smile, not quite sure who was more weird, the cook or his young brother. "We'll make sure Mia's back is healing before taking her and leave a note, giving her name as Mia Bradley and not Mia Young. That way, she can’t be traced back to Papa."
"How long do we have?" Gerald asked, his shaky voice full of pain.
"We'll take her at the end of the month."
Chapter 1
New York City, New York, 15 years later
Mia Bradley finished writing the last sentence of her history lesson on the large chalkboard at the front of her classroom. She laid the short chalk stub on top of the others in the small tray on the wall then wiped the white dust from her fingers on the damp rag hanging from the hook beneath the chalk tray. She turned to face her students.
Hearing the other classroom doors open and the older students begin their trek toward the dining room, she glanced up at the clock. She turned to her five small charges and walked around to the front of her desk. “All right, my dears. Before you leave to go to supper, I want you to tell me what I’ve written on the board.” She glanced at each of the children’s faces as they stared at the block letters behind her. “Can anyone tell me what it says?”
One little girl hesitantly raised her arm, and Mia bit back her smile. Of all the children, she hadn’t expected Amanda to volunteer. Normally, the shy blonde-haired five-year-old stayed silent while the others answered her questions.
“Amanda? Can you tell me what I’ve written on the chalkboard?”
“Am-America’s fight for indi-indi-pen-independence,” she stuttered in her soft voice.
Mia gave her a wide smile. “Very good, Amanda! That’s perfect! Tomorrow, we will learn about how America fought a terrible war against England to become the great country we are today. Now, put your primers in your cubicles by the door and you are all dismissed for supper.”
“Thank you, Miss Bradley,” the class said in unison. At once, five sets of feet scurried and scuffed across the scarred wooden floor as they raced to the door. Chuckling to herself, she walked around her desk again, plucked the rag from the hook and wiped the chalkboard clean. Rubbing away the cramping pain in her right arm, which usually appeared with any repetitive work, she organized her lessons for the next day. With a quick glance around the room, she turned the light switch and closed the door behind her.
Not hungry, she returned to the room she shared with Katriona, who taught life skills to the other students, as well as Jessamine and Leanna, two other teachers at the orphanage. She lay down on her bed. The news Madam Wigg had given them earlier that afternoon had been beyond unsettling. How could someone as vibrant and full of life as Wiggie be dying?
Mia pressed her face into her pillow and sobbed, letting loose the tears that had threatened to make an appearance all afternoon. Wiggie was the only mother she had ever known. Nothing ever seemed to stand in the woman’s way. She had never seen her sick a day in her life. How could she be dying? And for her to suggest they should leave to find new schools to teach in? It was preposterous!
Mia lay on the bed, exhausted from crying, exhausted from feeling. From what seemed like far away, she heard footsteps and the opening and closing of doors as she made a vow to herself. She refused to accept Wiggie was dying and would stay and make sure Wiggie had everything she needed for a full recovery. She couldn’t leave to become a mail-order bride just to find a new position, knowing that Wiggie faced a death sentence, although deep down, Mia couldn’t help but wonder if this was simply a ploy to get them to move on with their own lives. Her last thought before she drifted off was that quite possibly Wiggie wanted ‘her girls’ to find out there was something more to life than just teaching…like love? Mia wrapped the blanket around her tighter with a tiny smile playing over her lips. Of course, she would. That’s exactly what Wiggie would want.
A constant pounding intruded and Mia jerked in her sleep, the recurring nightmare refusing to release its hold on her. She lay curled up on the floor of a large, unfamiliar room. Someone close by yelled, hollering nonsense words, but she knew the pain was about to begin and braced herself. One, two, three—there it was. The first stabbing kick, then another. The agony breathtaking.
The pounding returned, this time louder and more insistent. Voices intruded. Familiar voices. She felt as if she were trying to breathe under water. She thrashed out with her arms and legs, fighting for air, fighting against something she couldn’t even name.
“Mia!” her roommate, Katriona’s, voice hissed in the darkness as she shook her.
Mia shoved her friend’s hand away from her shoulder. “I’m awake. I’m awake.” She grabbed Kat’s hand, her eyes wide. “Is it Xenia? Has she come back?”
“No. As far as I know, she’s still missing.”
Mia pulled her hand away, wearily rubbing her eyes. “I was sure she’d have returned by now.”
“We all were, and I thought you’d never wake up. Poor Brian has been knocking on the door for almost ten minutes.”