Rosie couldn't bring herself to obey.

She knew the consequences of her actions would be severe, she knew she was only prolonging the inevitable. Rosie also knew she would be worse off for it in the end, but she couldn't convince her feet to knowingly carry her towards the deplorable excuse of a human being grinning madly at her from the shadows.

She just couldn't.

Mr. Hayes seemed to know this as well.

He didn't shout, he didn't get angry, those would have been preferable options. What he did do was rise slowly to his feet, filling the small space with his mountainous form, and he smiled.

"Perhaps some place more private would suit your delicate sensibilities?" he suggested, gripping the side of the long table, the only piece of furniture that separated the two of them. Rosie shuddered again, tears burned in the back of her eyes but she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

In a show of strength, perhaps to serve as a reminder, Mr. Hayes flipped the heavy wooden table on its side and sent it crashing into the opposite wall. The shelves rattled and the plates that Rosie had so carefully cleaned and stacked crashed down onto the floor.

It was as if the spell that had kept her frozen in place had broken with that simple act and Rosie first staggered, then stumbled backwards before finally getting her feet beneath her. She made a mad dash for the door but only made it a few paces before getting jerked clean off her feet by her hair.

Hayes had crossed the space in half the time it had taken Rosie to make her move and he now held a fist full of auburn curls he used to pull her close.

"You shouldn't have run," he said softly, though the grin still warping his features suggested he quite enjoyed the chase. "Come now, you kept me waitin' long enough. Did you really think you could avoid this?"

He spoke as he pulled her along beside him. "Time to do some real work around here, girl."

Hayes used his hold on her hair to guide her down a narrow hallway which ran the length of the farm house. At the end of the hall was a closed door which opened into his room, a place strictly off limits to the half a dozen kids who had the unfortunate privilege to call the place home. Some of the other kids speculated on what he might be hiding in there, a few even dared each other to go in from time to time, though none had ever dared.

Rosie had never held any interest in that room in the past, not even for a second, and certainly had none now.

As they drew closer, Rosie's struggle against his hold began anew. She reached back as far as she could manage and scratched at his hand and arm. She could feel her nails biting into flesh, but he hardly seemed to notice.

"Help!" she screamed in hopes that one of the other boys might come to her aid. "Someone, please help me!"

Hayes chuckled. "Yell all you want girl, you ain't the first, probably won't be the last..."

Rosie couldn't see it, but she heard the sound of the latch turn and the door creak as it was pushed open. Hayes took one step and there was a heavy thud, followed by what sounded to Rosie like an egg being smashed against pavement. She felt the grip on her hair go slack and then fall away entirely.

Scrambling away, Rosie was halfway down the hall before she stopped and looked back. Mr. Hayes was slumped against the wall, his face cupped in his hands. Blood poured through his fingers, the red a stark contrast to the muted, grimy colors of the walls and even Hayes himself. Despite his efforts to stem the flow, the blood pooled in thick puddles at his feet.

Movement in the darkness of the doorway drew Rosie's gaze upwards just as a cast iron skillet came flying out of nowhere to connect with the side of Mr. Hayes' head.

A sickening, wet crack was followed by a heavy thud as Mr. Hayes pitched forward and landed flat on his face on the floor.

The only other sound to resonate through the hall was the heavy clang of the skillet as it was discarded. Rosie watched, waiting, until a lone figure stepped into the dim light of the hallway. His face was pale and his eyes were wide with shock.

"Ollie!" Rosie cried.

He visibly jerked, Rosie's shout dragging him crashing back into the reality of the moment. She rushed towards him, her heart slamming against her ribs so violently she feared it might burst right through her chest.. He met her halfway and caught her in arms. She could feel him trembling as he hugged her close.

"I was afraid I'd be too late," he choked out, his voice thick with emotion. "I heard all the crashing, and then I heard you screaming. I'm sorry, Rosie, I'm so sorry."

"It's my fault," Rosie countered feeling the guilt from earlier rising up within her. "I shouldn't have said all those hurtful things to you, Ollie. I just..."

"Shh," he said, gathering her against him. "It's okay, it's all going to be okay."

Rosie didn't protest for she needed the warmth he provided to chase away the cold that had settled deep in her bones. When she thought about how close she had been to... well it made her physically ill.

Looking past Oliver she could see the unmoving form of Mr. Hayes where he lay sprawled across the floor in a pool of his own blood.

Was he dead?

"Ollie is he... did you..." she couldn't even bring herself to say the word.

That one small, damning word.

"I dunno," Oliver admitted, his voice quivering, "Even if I did, he deserves it for what he was gonna do to you, Rosie."

Rosie didn't know what to say, so she said nothing and instead buried her face against his shoulder. Oliver didn't speak, he simply held her until the shivering subsided and the tears that soaked through his thin shirt to wet the skin beneath stopped flowing.

"We need to go, Rosie," Oliver said at last.

Rosie knew he was right, there was no more room for argument.

Plan or no plan, money or no money, if Mr. Hayes survived his encounter with the heavy skillet, he was going to wake up with one hell of a headache. It'd be best if they were long gone before that happened.

Who knew what he would do if they weren't?

"I know," Rosie agreed as Oliver half carried-half guided her down the hallway towards the front door. As they passed other rooms, doors opened to reveal blank, tired faces watching as they made their escape.

They'll be alright, Rosie thought as Oliver used one hand to push the door open and the other to guide her out into the warm, summer night.

Oliver brought Rosie to the barn and had her sit on an overturned bucket while he took a moment to inspect her for injuries.

"I told you I'm alright," she insisted, to which Oliver simply shook his head.

"You always lie about bein' alright, Rosie," Oliver replied, no malice or anger, just acceptance and mild frustration. They were quiet for a time, Rosie fixing her gaze anywhere but Oliver. When he had finished, he stepped back and crossed his arms in front of him.

"I'm sorry I left," he said, breaking the awkward silence that had started to grow like a gulf between them.

"Where'd you go anyway? I waited for you when everyone came back from the fields..." Rosie began, falling silent when she saw that hint of a smile pulling at the corners of Oliver's mouth.

"You were waitin' for me?" he teased.

"It's not the way you think," Rosie snapped. She felt her cheeks growing hot and was grateful for the darkness. "I was worried, that's all."

"Uh huh," Oliver replied with a slow shake of his head. "I didn't go to the fields, I went walkin'."

"Where'd you walk that took you all day and night?" Rosie asked, but she suspected she already knew the answer.

"To the tracks," Oliver explained. "It's far, but not so far that we can't make it before dawn."

"Ollie..." Rosie began, not sure how to express her uncertainty about this half-baked plan of his. Sure, they could get to the tracks, they could even possibly manage to get on the train without getting themselves killed, but what then?

"Don't you see? It's the only way, Rosie, it's the only way to get far enough away, fast enough," he insisted, "If we try walking, Hayes will catch up to us for sure. I know you're worried," he wouldn't dare suggest she might be scared, "and I know you say I shouldn't be making promises, and I can't promise it'll be easy, but I can promise that I'll do everything I can to take care of you."

Perhaps it was his sincerity, or the way the moonlight filtering down from above highlighted the soft curve of his jawline set in fierce determination, or the confidence that shone in his eyes, but Rosie believed him.

She believed that he would do anything in his power to look out for her.

The very thought was terrifying.

Who in their right mind wanted that kind of responsibility?

"Before you say anything," Oliver continued, "I brought you something."

"You what? Oliver, you shouldn't have gone and done something so foolish," Rosie protested in an attempt to mask her curiosity and pleasure at receiving a gift.

Oliver, however, was no fool and knew her far better than she could ever know. "If you don't want it, I'll just take it back," he insisted, rocking back on his heels.

"You might as well just give it here," she said, frowning slightly, "since you went through all the trouble of getting it."

Oliver grinned. "Wait here," he said before dashing out of the barn and into the darkness.

Rosie did as he asked and waited, but not without some mounting anxiety. What if Mr. Hayes did wake up sooner rather than later? What if he came looking for them while Oliver was gone?

She shifted uneasily and after a few minutes she stood up and paced towards the barn door. She'd only taken a few steps when Oliver appeared with a bundle under his arm.

"Sorry," he said breathlessly. "It was hard to find where I dropped it in the dark. It's got a little dirt on the one side now..."

He held out the bundle to her and Rosie immediately recognized the soft feel of cotton beneath her finger tips. With her heart beating fast, she pulled at the rough hemp string with trembling, excited fingers. Once the last bit of twine had been undone, Rosie held up the garment, examining it as best she could in the moonlight. It was a dress, relatively new by the looks of it. It was practical and simple in its design and made of dark blue cotton with a row of silvery white buttons up the front.

"Oh Ollie," Rosie breathed, her fingers curling tight into the fabric. "It's the most... I don't know what to say."

"Do you like it? I wasn't sure about the size but it looked about right..." Oliver sounded uncertain, worried even. "If you don't like it, we can sell it somewhere and get you something else. I was gonna wait and give it to you for Christmas but..."

"I love it!" she exclaimed, leaning forward to plant a light kiss on his cheek.

Oliver made a dramatic show of staggering back, bringing his hands to cover his heart before collapsing against one of the barn's support beams. It groaned in protest reminding both of them about the instability of the structure.

"You get changed, I'm going to go inside and see if I can find some food to bring with us," Oliver said, reminding Rosie that they needed to go while the going was good. She nodded and waited until he had left to peel away the rotten, too small dress she currently wore. She tossed it aside, letting it fall where it would and eased the new dress over her head.

For a fleeting moment, Rosie felt like a princess in a fairytale as she eased the dress past her shoulders and across her hips, smoothing the soft fabric with her fingers. The hem of the skirt came to rest several inches below her knees and the garment itself was a bit loose, but that was alright, it meant there was room to grow.

Bathed in moonglow, Rosie twirled, the skirt fanning out around her. She felt silly, of course, but that didn't stop her from doing it again and again until she was dizzy and breathless.

"My, my, don't you look a pretty sight," a familiar, gravelly voice growled from the darkness.