New York City, Mia, 3 years old, 1863

Xavier continued to wrap his sister's tiny arm with the starched bandages, careful not to jar the broken limb too much and make her suffer any more than she already had. Her pathetic whimpers as she sucked her thumb were enough to do him in as it was.

"Gerald, hold her arm while I get the water." He waited while his younger brother took a deep breath and reached for her hand with his, but Xavier shook his head. "No, not like that, she'll jerk her hand away and I'll have to start all over." He grabbed his brother's hand and held it firmly around their sister's forearm. "Don't squeeze. Just hold it steady. Rest your elbows on the table if you like and keep talking to her. She likes your stories of lions and hyenas chasing each other through the African savannah."

He grabbed the small bowl of water from the sink and set it down beside Mia's tiny body. "All I have to do now is wet down the bandages so the plaster of Paris powder will harden into the cast."

Gerald's gaze followed Xavier’s every movement as he slowly spread the water evenly across the bandages with his hands, forming a white paste, the chalky scent not unpleasant. "There. It's done. Now all we have to do is let it dry and make sure she doesn't move too much or her arm won't set right."

Gerald stared at the casted arm with a frown. "Are you sure you put the bone back together like it's s'posed to be?"

Xavier nodded. "I did it just like her leg and look how that turned out." As if reassuring himself, he ran his hands down her right leg, which kicked back, straight and strong in his light grip. Thankfully, she walked just fine and over time, the slight limp had disappeared.

"What are we going to do, Xavier? Papa's getting worse."

Xavier let out a sigh, sounding more like a grown man with adult worries instead of a ten-year-old boy. "We'll have to try to keep her out of his sight. We'll move her things into one of the back rooms. I can take the room next to hers and make sure she has what she needs."

"He can't keep hurting her, Xav."

Xavier met Gerald's hard gaze with his own. "He's not going to, Gerald."

---

New York City, Mia five years old

"Do you think Papa's going to keep his promise and get me a bicycle for my birthday?" Gerald kicked at the corner of a piece of brick that had broken off from one of the sidewalk pavers. It rattled and clunked along in front of them then settled, only to be kicked again until it hit a wrought iron bar and flew into the hidden yard behind it.

"I wouldn't count much on anything Papa says. He makes promises every year and doesn't keep any of them."

"There's always a first time, you know.” Gerald's small face scrunched up. “He could stop drinking one day. Maybe he’d ’member then that we’re kids and he’s supposed to take care of us, 'stead of us taking care of him."

They rounded the corner and turned onto their quiet street. Their two-story brownstone stood at the far end near the river. No one had built on either side of it, so it sat apart, sort of like their family. No one ever came over unless they needed their father for a medical emergency, which had decreased to almost never since their mother had died birthing Mia and their father's drinking had begun.

A high-pitched mewling intruded into Xavier’s thoughts, reminding him of a cat in distress. With a quick glance around the neighborhood, he finally met his brother's questioning gaze. "Do you hear that?"

"Sounds like Mrs. Timmons' cat had kittens again. Maybe she abandoned one? Want to go search for it?"

A bad feeling settled in Xavier's stomach, which twisted and turned into one giant knot. His hands clenched and unclenched, his steps quickening into a stride then an all-out run as he raced Gerald toward the house. Taking the front stairs two at a time, he burst through the door just as Mia let out a loud wail.

"Damn mongrel!" Their father growled, his words slurred. He staggered, dropped something, then kicked the small girl hard enough to scoot her little body several feet across the wood-planked floor. "That'll teach you to steal food!" He stumbled over to his chair in front of the fireplace and slumped into it, slinging his arm over his face. "Gerald, take that damn dog and drown it in the river. It's always underfoot and we can't afford to be feeding animals. Can't feed ourselves as it is."

Xavier rushed over and knelt down beside his sister, for the first time noticing her blood-covered body. He sucked air into lungs that almost refused to work, tears streaming down his face as he reached for her pulse. His hand shook so that he had a hard time feeling anything.

He took a deep breath and felt the steady thumping of Mia's heartbeat beneath his fingers. The breath rushed out of his lungs in a loud whoosh. "She's still alive."

"Thank God. But, Xavier, there's so much blood," Gerald whispered and glanced furtively toward their father.

Xavier looked up when he heard a loud snore. Their father had fallen asleep, clutching the silver-framed picture of their mother against his chest. On the floor beside the foot of his chair were two empty bottles of whiskey. Xavier shook his head and turned his attention back to Mia.

He gently moved the girl's dark hair away from her face, which was cut and swollen but, otherwise, all right. Thankful that she'd passed out from the pain, he checked her front side, which seemed to be unhurt, other than her newly broken arm and turned her over to see where all the blood was coming from. When he saw her back, everything in his stomach threatened to come up.

Gerald wasn't so lucky as he leaned in the other direction and promptly threw up.

Xavier stared at Mia's back in horror. He couldn't tell where the strips of her dress ended and her skin began. As his fury rose, he grabbed the whip his father had dropped when they'd run into the house and tossed it into the fireplace. The leather sparked and spit as it caught on fire.

He gently picked his sister up and as carefully as he could walked toward the kitchen. "Come on, Gerald," he said over his shoulder. "I'm going to need your help."

It took most of the night, but Xavier managed to clean Mia's back and even suture most of the strips of skin back together. Before Mama died, Xavier had wanted to become a doctor, too. He’d often gone along on housecalls with Papa, watching and learning, as his father set broken bones and carefully stitched up gaping wounds.

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."