Philip Watson was a verbally abusive man. His wife Madeline Wilhelm finally drew the line when he struck their eldest child, Gayle, hard enough to leave a rapidly purpling bruise. She ran away with their two daughters one day while he was gone from the house. She'd been planning it for weeks and although she hadn't informed her children of her decision they went with her with only minor hesitation.
They left behind a lot of personal belongings, but it was worth it to get away from Philip. Taking refuge in her supportive cousin Frank's home, a whole State away from Philip, Madeline sat in a lawn chair in the backyard sipping lemonade Frank's girlfriend was kind enough to make.
She thought about her girls. Gayle was black-haired, a trait neither Philip nor Madeline possessed; it must have been recessive. Madeline was blonde and Mary Jane, her younger daughter, was a dark redhead like her father. Mary Jane disliked her hair because of the resemblance to Philip. She often talked about dyeing it. Madeline insisted she was perfect the way she was, but didn't outright tell her no—it was Mary Jane's call in the end. Whatever helped her cope with the psychological scars Philip left on her.
Mary Jane, thirteen, was moody and sullen. Gayle, sixteen, strained herself trying to be optimistic at all times. Madeline blamed herself for keeping them with Philip for so long, for not trying to get them away sooner. Mary Jane would have moments where she seemed genuinely happy, but they were fleeting.
Mary Jane had the most gorgeous deep green eyes. Yes, also like her father. Madeline didn't see him in her eyes, though, she saw a young lady with the utmost potential to go places with her life. Mary Jane had always been interested in theater. If she tried hard enough, and Madeline was certain she could, she would be a wondrous actress someday.
Gayle was blue-eyed like Madeline. Her locks were cropped short. They were both pretty and bright people, which Madeline was proud of, despite the hell they'd gone through with a father like theirs. Gayle didn't quite know what she wanted to do with herself, indecisive. Sometimes she wistfully reminisced about her childhood dream of becoming a dancer.
Whatever she did, Madeline would be there for her. They were both asleep right now, it was late evening and Frank was at work. They couldn't remain with Frank for too long, no matter how generous he was. In at least a month she'd have to arrange to move in with someone else in their family. But who? Her older sister Anna Wilhelm lived all the way in Queens, New York, where Madeline was from originally, before moving to Pennsylvania with Philip, back when she thought she could trust him.
She resolved to phone Anna tomorrow. Something could be done. Gas and motel money to drive all the way to New York would be an issue. Madeline had faith. Something could be done.