She was a little girl.

She was scared.

He was thirteen when he fell in love for the first time.

She was a girl named Maisie who, in the opinion of Alexandra, lived in the "wrong part" of town and was therefore deemed unworthy of any kindness in her eyes. She was dirty, she was rough, and at twelve-years-old she swore more than any adult Jack had ever met. In the eyes of society, she was trash, and someone from the Finch family should not associate with her.

But Jack didn't care, he loved her. At thirteen years old, he already knew that he was going to marry her. His days with her were fun and exciting, and he knew he wanted to know her for the rest of his life.

She was a little girl.

She was scared.

She hadn't come to school one day. Jack didn't see her in the school yard, but he couldn't have said he was surprised. You see, her daddy had a reputation for beating on her and her siblings, and some days he forced them to stay home from school so that nobody would notice the black eyes, cut lips, or bruised necks. She never told anyone but Jack. One day she had had enough, had ran away to Finch Landing and her and Jack hid out by the lake near his house, until it got dark and Jack had to come back home. He had offered to invite her in, but she declined.

He doesn't think she went back home that night, though he knew she returned eventually.

He figured she was hiding out at home, waiting for the bruises to heal, or perhaps she ran away again.

No matter what, he thought he would see her eventually.

She was a little girl.

She was scared.

When he got home from school that day, all three of his older siblings were sitting at the kitchen table waiting for him. He was surprised – Atticus had moved out shortly after his eighteenth birthday to study law, and has lived in town ever since. He wondered if something special had happened. He remembered when Atticus first got elected onto the state legislature the entire family celebrated, and his father even celebrated with them! Ever since their mother's death when Jack was sick, it was almost as if his father ceased to exist to his children.

She was a little girl.

She was scared.

His siblings gave him weak smiles as he sat at the table with them. Caroline, who was seventeen, nudged his shoulder ever so slightly. "Zandra just made those biscuits you like," she told him. "the ones you can eat with milk and a lot of sugar on top—they're still hot, do you want one?"

He quickly glanced over at Alexandra. Since their mother's death, his oldest sister, who was now twenty, became some sort of substitute mother to him. Quickly, she nodded, indicating that he could have this treat that would potentially spoil his dinner. Excitedly, Jack began to rise.

"I'll get it, sweet," Alexandra said quickly, turning to where the biscuits were cooling off. He watched his eldest sister pour the milk and sugar over the biscuit with care. "I put some extra sugar on it," she told him, placing the bowl in front of him. With joy, he dug in.

She was a little girl.

She was scared.

His siblings exchanged glances. He noticed that Caroline was biting at the corner of her lip, drawing blood that began to form small bubbles, though she hardly seemed to notice. Atticus cleared his throat.

"Jack," he started, looking at his youngest sibling. Despite the ten years between them, Jack considered his brother his best friend. He looked up to Atticus, nearly worshipped him. Every time his brother was home all he wanted to do was to sit in his presence, to absorb his energy. "Jack, we've got to tell you something," he said.

"Did you win a big case?" Jack asked. "I want to hear all about it!"

Atticus closed his eyes, and gave a weak smile. "It's not about me," he said, finally opening his eyes. "Jack, I don't know how to tell you this."

Alexandra was sitting next to him, looking at him with sad eyes and yet a big, sympathetic smile on her face. It almost scared him. He noticed that Caroline's hands were clasping his shoulders.

"Did something happen to daddy?" He asked, almost embarrassed that he still referred to his father as daddy at thirteen-years-old.

She was a little girl.

She was scared.

"He's fine," Atticus confirmed, lifting the weight that had settled in Jack's chest. "Jack, it's about Maisie."

"Did her daddy do something to her?" He asked.

"How did you know about that?" Atticus asked.

Jack was beginning to feel nervous. "Well, she told me about it, but she made me promise not to tell anyone, even my family because she said if her daddy found out he would kill her—"

"That's a cruel thing for a person to do," Alexandra started. Her hand was pressed on her chest, her face was flushed. "To tell someone something so serious, and yet tell them not to tell—"

"She was a little girl," Caroline interjected. "She was scared."

She was a little girl.

She was scared.

Atticus did not need to say any words to get his sisters to quiet down, all he had to do was to give them a look. "Jack," he said, his voice was soft. He put his hand on top of his brothers. "Jack, I'm sorry," he said. "But somethin' happened and her daddy snapped, I don't know why or how to explain it, but he went into a rage and…well, Jack, he killed his whole family."

She was a little girl.

She was scared.

"I don't believe you," Jack said matter-of-factly. "I just don't, it can't be possible, something that terrible can't be possible."

His older siblings exchanged looks again. Caroline was crying now.

"Baby, I know it's hard and terrible and sad," Caroline said, her hand grasping tighter and tighter onto his shoulder. "But it did happen."

"No, it didn't," he said, grinding his teeth as he shook her arm off of his shoulder. "It couldn't have, I saw her yesterday."

"I know it's hard to believe," Atticus told him, his voice still calm and clear. "But Jack, I need you to listen—"

"It couldn't have happened," he said. "I know her daddy was awful but he wouldn't do this. I didn't tell on her, he had no reason to—"

"It's not on you, Jack," Alexandra said sternly, her face growing pinker and pinker. "It's not your fault."

"I'm afraid that people don't need a reason to do terrible things, Jack," Atticus said solemnly. "I wish with everything in me that you never had to see this side of life, but the world can be especially cruel this way."

Jack still didn't believe it until he saw the caskets go deep within the earth.

She was a little girl.

She was scared.

He was older the second time he fell in love. After Maisie, he swore that he would never love again out of fear of losing that person, but with her he couldn't help it. She had the sharpest wit but worst sense of humor out of anyone he knew, she snuck cigarettes when she thought no one was paying attention, could not hold down her liquor one bit, and had hair that was like strands of gold.

And she was married to his brother.

Atticus met Jean in Montgomery when he went to the capitol for the state legislature. Her daddy was the Governor of Montgomery and hosted members of the legislature at his home, where Jean apparently drank too much and knocked a lit candle onto the tablecloth – directly where Atticus was sitting.

Jack loved hearing Jean tell that story. Hell, he loved hearing Jean say anything. Her voice was light and airy, almost as if she was from some other world. Whenever she told a story, her hands would move in different directions – and she was prone to knock nearby things in all sorts of directions. In Alexandra's world, Jean was not the ideal Finch, but Jack loved her, imperfections and all.

She was a little girl.

She was scared.

It was a Wednesday night when he received the call. He had been sitting in his dimly lit kitchen, a Dickens novel opened to one side of him, though he was hardly paying attention as he fed his new kitten, Rose Alymer, milk from a bottle. Some would call him strange, but he paid them no attention.

The phones sharp ring made him jump, spilling milk onto the cat. Hissing, she strutted away from him. Women, he thought to himself.

After the fifth ring or so, he finally answered the phone. "Finch," was all he said.

"Sir, you have a call from Maycomb, Alabama," the operator said before Jack accepted the call. It was probably Alexandra, calling him to give him some town gossip.

"Jack," he was correct, it was Alexandra. Her voice, however, was not at its usual harsh tone. It was soft, almost sad.

"Well, isn't it my dearest oldest sister," he greeted her. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"I need you to be serious," she said.

"I'm as serious as I can be."

"You need to buy a train ticket home. Tonight. I will pick you up at the station in the morning when you come in."

"Are you alright? Did something happen—"

"Jean died today, Jack." She said. "She had a heart attack."

She was a little girl.

She was scared.

"That can't be," he said, leaning against the wall. "She's so young, I've only ever treated older patients who have had heart attacks."

"It ran in her family, Jack." Alexandra explained. "She had some sort of hereditary disease—"

"Even then, it couldn't have happened to her," he said. "Why, she's barely even thirty."

"I know it's hard," Alexandra said, each word coming out slowly – was she sad or impatient. "But there are things that can't be explained away with science or medicine, as much as we all would like."

"This is a cruel joke to play on someone," he said, his voice firm. He just couldn't believe it – it was impossible. Why, he had just been home to visit no more than two months ago, and Jean was completely healthy.

A shuddering sigh came from the other line. "Sweet, please just come home."