DECEMBER 1933

Part of Annie knew she was crazy not to be taking this experience—living at a billionaire's house, even if only temporarily—for all that it was. The Farrell lady, she'd gotten her such a nice coat, ten million times cozier than any of the blankets she'd ever slept under at the orphanage. And the staff—they were all so nice, at least from what she could tell. Nobody expected her to sweep, mop, or dust. She wasn't expected to do anything, aside from just be a child. It was her every dream, but it was also wrong, because this dream was supposed to have come true with Hannah and Molly at her side. And they weren't. She was here, surrounded by strangers, while her friends were back at the orphanage, just as cold, miserable, and hungry as they'd always been.

Meanwhile, there was enough food on the plate in front of her to last her for weeks.

"Is there something wrong with your dinner, dear?"

Miss Farrell caused her to jump as she was asked this. Too deep in her thoughts, she'd just been staring at the roast in front of her, not even sure where to start with the cutlery. Why were there two spoons, three forks, and three different kinds of knives? She wasn't the President or anything—she was just a crummy kid from a crummy orphanage.

"It's quite alright if roast isn't something that's appetizing to you," Grace continued. "I know new foods can take a little bit to get used to. If you're hungry for something else, I'm sure Mrs. Pugh would be more than happy to whip it up. She's an excellent cook."

Whip it up? And what about all of this?

Molly, Hannah, and me could share this and still not be hungry for an entire month.

"I—" Annie glanced up, looking between Miss Farrell and this Mr. Warbucks guy. She wasn't sure what to think of him quite yet. It certainly didn't seem like he knew all that much about kids—or cared for her presence at all. Yet, it was for his image that she was here? If he wanted to… improve that image, shouldn't he be trying to spend time with her? "Can I… go outside? I need some fresh air." she asked, shaking her head. Mr. Warbucks frowned, and Grace just gave her a kind smile.

"Of course, dear," she gestured down the hall from the dining room. "Would you like me to ask Mrs. Pugh to put up the roast and make something else?"

"Oh, no, that's okay…" Annie shook her head again, standing up and then all but darting out of the room. She wasn't actually in need of fresh air, not that she'd be able to find the doors to the porch in such a big place—she just couldn't stand to be stuck in that room with the two of them any longer. None of this was right. It was supposed to her, Hannah, and Molly having a happy ending right now. How badly she missed them. They knew her inside and out, there was hardly anything she had to explain to any of them. She wanted to be home right now, more than anything, and as that thought crossed her mind, it disturbed her. When had the orphanage become home? When had it become a place where she found any source of comfort, in literally any sense? It was cold. Drafty. Her worst memories were from there, because all of her memories were from there.

But she also did feel safe, when it was her, Hannah, and Molly. The three of them, against the world. Miss Hannigan could try her best to make them hate everything, but none of the girls would let the other two feel that way.

Tears pricked to her eyes now, as she trailed into the massive foyer at the mansion. It was so bleak in this place, too, she was realizing. She thought the orphanage was drab and gray because clearly Miss Hannigan had no money to decorate. But Mr. Warbucks had so much money he could probably buy an entire country if he wanted to, and everything looked just like it did in the orphanage. The dust was missing, but the lack of color wasn't. And she wasn't sure what to make of that. Why wouldn't Mr. Warbucks want to make his home feel happy, safe, fun?

Why was she seriously hoping with her entire heart that Grace and him would tire of her so she could go back to what she'd always known?

"Annie?"

She wasn't entirely sure how long she'd been in the foyer for when Grace came looking for her—or, when she'd sat on the bottom step of the marble staircase. Miss Farrell's eyes were soft, though, as though she could pick up on Annie's melancholia, and she smiled a little as she took a spot beside her.

"This place is rather overwhelming, isn't it?" she shook her head. "I remember thinking it looked like a train station when I first got a chance to really look around."

Annie scooted away from her, glancing down at her feet. "You should really probably just take me back to the orphanage," she said, softly. "If Mr. Warbucks wants to build his image, I don't think I'm the orphan to do it. The only kinds of orphans people care about are the real little ones. That's why I've never been adopted." Well, and that I won't let anyone but Mom and Dad take me. But that's a different story. "You've all been real nice, but…"

"I don't think what you're saying is true," Grace smiled a little wider. "You've got a certain spunk—I think Mr. Warbucks needs someone around him who can match his attitude."

Annie looked up. "Attitude?" she asked, not sure if she wanted the answer. Did that mean he was like Miss Hannigan? She hadn't come all the way here, to be separated from the only two people she trusted, to deal with the male version of her. Grace gave a small chuckle.

"Let's just say Mr. Warbucks can be stubborn, when he wants to," she said. "But he's like the rest of us, dealing with this Depression. Sometimes, we need a reminder of what really matters in life—and I think you might just be able to do that in a way I can't, Annie. When you grow up, you forget about a lot of the stuff that you used to care about as a child. I think Mr. Warbucks needs to change that."

"I don't like it here," Annie folded her arms over her chest. "The art all looks the same. Why have a bunch of money and buy paintings just so you can look at the same thing in a different frame?"

Grace smiled again. "Perhaps you can pick out some of Mr. Warbucks' next pieces."

"I'm not hungry," she gave Grace a pointed look, and now, she was fully aware that she was trying to push Miss Farrell's buttons. What could she say to get kicked out? She wanted the orphanage. As crazy as it sounded, she felt more like a prisoner here, in this beautiful house, than she ever had there. But, if she was fazed by Annie's attitude, Grace certainly wasn't showing it. Instead, she got to her feet, looking up the staircase towards where Annie had already been settled into a room half the size of Kansas.

"I can help you get ready for bed, if you'd like," she said. "Perhaps you could tell me a little more about yourself, as a bedtime story."

"I'm not a little kid," Annie scowled, then started up the staircase on her own. "I think I am gonna go to sleep, though. Tell Mr. Warbucks he serves real fancy food. I mean, I'm guessing it's fancy, I don't really know for sure."

Grace chuckled again. "Have a nice night, dear. Don't hesitate to bother anyone if you need anything."

Annie just whirled around, continuing up to the second floor. Heading to the right, where the guest suites were, a certain dread landed smack dab in the middle of her chest. She'd never had to be alone at night before. Ever. And, yeah, there were definitely times where she wished, more than anything, she could just have some privacy, for once, because it did get really exhausting to share a room with a dozen other girls. They tossed and turned. Snored in their sleep. Woke up crying from their nightmares. She'd never been able to have a singular night where she fell asleep to darkness and didn't wake up until it was light out. If it wasn't this, it was that. If it wasn't one of her roommates, it was Miss Hannigan. She'd always hated the noise, it made her feel as though she was about to crawl out of her own skin, but tonight, all she could focus on was how deafening silence was. She could hear her own heart beating, thump-thump, thump-thump, in the middle of her eardrum. She could hear her breathing. A pin could drop all the way over in England, and she'd be able to hear that, too.

Retiring to her quarters, she tried to tap into what she always did back in the orphanage. What were the silver linings right now? Maybe it was a horrible thing, for her to be here. But her entire life up to now had been one horrible thing right after another right after another, which meant she was more than well-versed in trying to make it seem better than it actually was. Maybe Hannah and Molly weren't with her—but she'd have stories to tell them when she got back to the orphanage, wouldn't she? They could laugh about Mr. Warbucks forever. And maybe if she asked Miss Farrell nicely enough, she could get her to buy coats for the two of them, as well. And then they'd never need a blanket again—they could just curl up under the fabric. Maybe Mrs. Pugh could teach her cooking secrets, and she'd be able to make their mush taste better. Maybe she could win Mr. Warbucks over, even. He'd never be her dad, but he could adopt Hannah and Molly. She'd feel so much better knowing they were safe. And then she could come visit, couldn't she? She could get to know the staff now, and then when she came to visit, she could hang out with them. It was a win all around. Some time out of the orphanage for her, and a forever home for Hannah and Molly, who didn't have the hope to hold onto that she did.

Yes, she decided. If she was selected to live at the Warbucks mansion, it was for a reason.

She would get them their happy ending—and somehow, someway, she'd find her parents afterwards, so they could all live happily ever after.

…

This optimism lasted in Annie for all of three hours, by which point she'd found herself staring up at her massive ceiling, unable to sleep, and still so mesmerized by how anxiety-inducing silence could be. The staff had long ago gone to bed, she was pretty sure. The last slamming of a door had occurred well over an hour ago, which meant, she was likely the only one on the entire grounds of the mansion who was still awake. How lonely, that was. Back in the orphanage, she could always count on one of the other girls being up when she was. Hannah would be keeping herself awake, just because she got overwhelmed sometimes, too, and night was the only time when things were—relatively—calm. Or, Pepper would be up just because she had the worst luck with falling asleep. Or maybe Duffy wanted to read a book, or Tessie had had a nightmare and wanted to talk about it. Whatever the case, there was always something else Annie could focus on. Always.

But in this huge room, swallowed up by the mattress, it was her and her thoughts and nothing else.

By three in the morning, the notion of this had became wholly unbearable. She was crawling out of her skin now, and what was supposed to be just a quick peruse through the halls of the mansion, to clear her mind and maybe get her tired enough to run in, quickly turned into Annie lacing up her old, tattered boots, wrapping her coat tight around her shoulders as she decided to walk her way back to the orphanage. This wasn't working out. This wasn't a good situation, for any of them, and what would make things okay again was her going back to her life and Warbucks and Miss Farrell finding another orphan. Why should she have to suffer for his image? She wasn't something to be paraded around. She was a kid—with feelings, and opinions, and fears.

And right now, she feared not being with Hannah and Molly most of all.

She was surprised, really, by how easy it was just to slip out of the mansion. Mr. Warbucks had bodyguards, and they were keeping watch by the front gates, but they clearly weren't expecting to have to look below their eye level for intruders—or, runaways, as it were—so Annie was able to walk right past them without them even so much as catching a glimpse of her fiery red hair. And then, she started running, for all she was worth. She wasn't sure which way the orphanage was, but that didn't matter. If she was going the wrong direction, she could find a Hooverville and ask them where she was supposed to be. The ladies in those places were always so nice. Well, they had been the two times Annie had snuck out and wound up finding one.

She'd be okay. And Grace and Warbucks, they'd find another orphan, a better orphan.

This wasn't the right arrangement, for any of them. That, she was absolutely sure of.

And sometimes, as an orphan, you had to take matters into your own hands because no adult liked to listen to a kid, and that only ever brought upon heartache.

…

"How in the blasted hell do you lose a child, Miss Farrell?!"

Oliver Warbucks was known for his temper—especially in recent months, and especially to his employees. He'd always maintained it was the only way to run a successful business. They had to know he meant business, that he wasn't afraid to fire you if you messed up. It kept the slackers in check, and gave the overachievers more of a reason to keep up with their streak, because even if he was harsh, Warbucks was also fair and tried to award his workers who helped him the most in whichever way was appropriate. Grace was more than aware of this model of running things, and she respected it, to a certain level—except, of course, for when she was on the receiving end of his anger, especially for a matter in which she had no control over.

"For the last time, Mr. Warbucks," she told him, as calmly as she could, "we didn't lose her—she ran away. I hate to say it, but I don't blame her, either. She—"

"You don't blame her?" Oliver's eyes just about bugged out of his head. "She's an orphan! What's so bloody awful about coming here that would make it acceptable to run away? Are the sheets too nice to sleep on? The mattress too soft? Oh, I know, I should probably feed her dirt, shouldn't I? Is that what she's used to eating?"

Grace pursed her lips. "You need to calm down, Mr. Warbucks," she said, in a much firmer tone than any she usually used. Over the years, she'd gotten more comfortable with calling her boss out when he needed it, but in the back of her mind, she always thought about the circumstances that'd led to her living here in the first place. She was indebted to Oliver, no matter how much he tried to tell her that wasn't true. She couldn't very well disrespect him, but right now, with the matter at hand, a cool head was the only way they could prevail.

"I am plenty calm, Miss Farrell," Oliver replied, coolly. "I just don't understand. We did this as a gift, yes? She came from an orphanage with nothing? Rags for clothing? Please, tell me, why can't you blame her for running from a place that promises the exact opposite of all of that?"

"You really don't see it?" Grace shook her head. "The orphanage is all she knows. For better or for worse, that's where she grew up. She shared a room with five, six, seven other girls, she always had companions. Then, I pick her up, unexpectedly, and all of a sudden, she's away from all of that. Okay, she's wearing better clothing—but she's no longer with the girls who make her feel safe. Wouldn't that be terribly lonesome?"

Oliver rolled his eyes. "This is why I made it clear I wanted a boy, Miss Farrell. Girls are far too emotional. When I left home, the only person I cared about was me. I had to live that way. You think too much about others, and you get bogged down. You'll never survive when you're so focused on taking care of everyone else."

"I don't think that's true," Grace sat down. "I think it's a testament, to the human spirit, to still choose to be warm towards someone else when your entire life is falling apart."

Another eye roll. "I don't pay you to tell me what you think, Miss Farrell, I pay you to help me be productive in my tasks. And, now what are we supposed to do?"

"We'll have to find her, of course," Grace sighed. "We signed paperwork making you legally responsible for her wellbeing for the next two weeks, so we're going to have to drive around until we find her. I'm assuming she was heading back to the orphanage. Perhaps I can check there, with Punjab, while you and the Asp drive around. She couldn't have gotten very far. Maybe she's in a park. Or, maybe she found the orphanage."

Oliver just shook his head. "The next time you think of bringing something home to improve my image, let's talk about a pet, not a child. At least a dog can't talk back."

"You hate the smell of dogs," Grace pointed out, smirking a little as she did.

"Go find her, Miss Farrell," he snapped. "And if she's not anywhere that we check, we're handing this to the police, and she's no longer my responsibility. Understand?"

"I'm sure we'll find her," she only replied, before smiling and turning to leave. Out in the hall, she gestured to Punjab to go downstairs with her, and as they climbed into the Duesenberg, she sighed.

Bring an orphan home, Grace. What could go wrong, Grace?

Perhaps Mr. Warbucks was right about the dog.

…

Stepping up to the front doors of Hudson Street for the second time in just as many days, Grace couldn't help but feel discouraged. Part of the reason she'd suggested this idea to Oliver in the first place was because she knew how horrid it was to grow up without an adult caring for you. It was her way of paying it forward, she supposed—only now, she'd lost the child, and she was coming back here to announce that failure to a woman who'd been anything but pleasant when she'd met her the first time. It was a cosmic joke that the universe was playing on her—and she was none too pleased.

"Oh, this is too good," Miss Hannigan sneered as she opened the door for Grace. "What is it, you're tired of the brat already? Come to pick another kid without nearly as loud a mouth?"

Grace sighed a little, shaking her head. "Unfortunately, it seems Annie wasn't quite as happy about the situation as I'd been hoping," she said. "She disappeared sometime after bed last night. I'm assuming that means she hasn't shown up here?"

Miss Hannigan snorted. "I lied," she laughed. "This isn't just good—it's great. She ran away on you? Christ. Now, do you see why I told you not to pick her out?"

Grace set her jaw. "So, she hasn't turned up?"

"Not that I'm aware, she hasn't," Miss Hannigan laughed again. "But, oh God, thank you for taking her off my hands. I don't have to worry this time. This is entirely your fault. Have fun with explaining this to the Board of Orphans, Miss Farrell. And if she does turn up, please, don't worry—she's all yours."

"Annie ran away?!" Grace heard now, a very small voice piping up from behind Miss Hannigan. Grace couldn't see the child the voice belonged to, but Miss Hannigan clearly wasn't anywhere close to fond of her, either.

"Scram, you," she snapped to the girl. "I'm having an important conversation here."

"Did Annie run away?" Another voice asked, older-sounding, and panicked to no end. "When? Why? What happened? We deserve to know, you ha—"

"Don't you have some dr—toys to play with?" Miss Hannigan laughed again, clearly hoping Grace hadn't noticed her near-slip. Grace furrowed her eyebrows.

"You wouldn't mind if I spoke with the girls, Miss Hannigan," she said, giving her a pointed look. "Would you? I just figure, they probably know a fair bit more about Annie than you or I. They may help me figure out where she went."

Miss Hannigan scowled. "She probably went to find her blasted parents again. Dunno why she's so stupid to hold out on that dream."

"Well, that's all the more reason for me to talk with the others," she plastered a smile onto her lips. "They probably know about Annie's parents, wouldn't you think?"

Miss Hannigan stared at her—and stared, and stared, clearly not wanting to give in. However, Grace more than held the upper-hand, as Oliver's secretary. One call to the Board of Orphans, and she'd not only be out of a job, she'd be homeless in two weeks flat. She had no choice in the matter, and she knew it, so she sighed, opening the door further for Grace.

"Annie's dormitory is upstairs, to the left," she said, through gritted teeth. "But I must ask that you don't stay long. The poor girls, they get overwhelmed with adults talking to them."

Grace smiled even wider, as sickeningly sweet as she could. "Not to worry, Miss Hannigan," she reassured. "I'll be sure to keep this brief."