The children reacted first. All at once, they abandoned whatever food they'd been waiting for and crowded around the source of the noise. The screeching still hadn't stopped, only grown in volume until it filled the entire town with the creature's pain.

Emma didn't cry at the horrible sound, nor did she run toward the protective comfort of her mother's arms. No, she raced to join the other children with her eyes firmly fixed on her destination, not so much as pausing when William called out to her.

William sprinted after her. While the children squeezed through gaps in the crowd with no trouble, he was forced to mutter apologies to the countless adults he bumped into on his journey toward the animalistic shrieking. Tiny feet stomped on his toes, and elbows dug into his sides as the last few stragglers ran to join their friends.

At last, he broke through to the edge of the town square. The children clustered around the epicenter of the screeching not with fear or curiosity but with cold smiles and clenched fists. Some tiptoed forward with rocks in hand, only for their peers' hushed whispers to make them drop the stones and move to block William's passage, their arms interlocking as they formed a wall of flesh.

Try as they might, the children could not prevent William from seeing the source of the sound.

Air hissed from the gap where one of little Peter Farnsworth's front teeth used to be as he crouched over the cobblestones. A snarl contorted his features as he glared at the creature thrashing against his grip. Though his body was just big enough to hide the damage he'd caused as he loomed over his victim, Peter made no effort to silence the cat's yowling.

"Peter!" The boy's head snapped toward his mother's voice, his face twisted in a rictus of irritation. "Let that cat go this instant!"

Ginger paws lashed out, tearing bloody scratches down Peter's arms as Baron writhed in his grip. Yet, the boy didn't let go. His fingers dug deeper into the creature's sides until yowls turned to screams. "It tried to hurt me," Peter said coldly.

Peter lifted Baron into the air with his hands clutching the cat's bony shoulders. William darted forward, shielding Emma's eyes with his hand. For one horrible, awful moment, he expected Peter to dash Baron against the cobblestones, smashing his skull.

"Enough!" Mr. Farnsworth barked. "Unhand that cat, or else I'll have you sweeping the whole town's chimneys all winter."

"Please let him go," Mrs. Norton said, her voice choked with tears. "Misbehaving or not, Baron's only a cat. I'm certain he didn't mean you any harm."

Despite the townsfolk's pleas, Peter refused to release his hold on the frightened feline. "Why should I? He's been nothing but horrible to us since we got here."

"It was mean to me, too!" Emma glared at Baron with her hands balled into fists. "He hates us."

All around her, children murmured their agreement. The cat was mean, they said. A horrible beast.

A monster.

Baron twisted free of Peter's grasp, yowling as clumps of fur ripped free. With one last hiss, he darted toward the Nortons' house, leaving blood-speckled paw prints behind him.

Peter moved to chase him, but the adults moved to block his path. For a long moment, William expected him to charge through the crowd, attacking anyone who dared to get in his way.

At last, Peter sighed, his hands still trembling with adrenaline.

"Stupid cat." With the original target of his anger gone, he glared at his mother. "Why did you let him get away?"

"He's just a cat, honey," Mrs. Farnsworth said gently. "Don't let him spoil your fun. Now, let's get you bandaged up."

"I'd best go after Baron," Mrs. Norton said. Her fingers trembled as she picked up a clump of orange fur from the ground. "Rascal he may be, but no cat deserves that."

Any hope the adults had of properly celebrating the children's return evaporated along with the sweat running down Peter's forehead as he rubbed a hand over the bloody scratches carved into his arms, his fingers coming away smeared with crimson.

###

The rest of the celebration passed in a dreary daze before everyone finally drifted home for the evening. Emma immediately locked herself in her room, claiming she needed a nap. The rest of William's family settled down to a simple supper of oats and vegetables. No longer accustomed to Emma's empty chair, William struggled to swallow past the tight knot forming in his throat. She was still there. Still safe.

"I hope you're happy," Father grumbled before taking a long swallow from his tankard full of ale. He'd already downed a mug or two at the celebration, the alcohol still coloring his cheeks and sharpening his words. "Everything was going fine until you started running your mouth. If it weren't for you, Emma wouldn't be acting like this."

William stared at his plate. Saying anything wouldn't do him a lick of good, not even an apology. All he could do was eat his supper and hope Father only used his words to express his anger.

"He didn't do anything, Philip." Mother found William's hand under the table and gave it a gentle squeeze. She knew he'd never do anything to upset his sister, especially after they'd all been through so much.

"Exactly! Instead of making sure Emma enjoyed herself, he was too busy trying to stir up a fuss for no reason." Father's knife screeched across the plate as he cut into a carrot. "She was gone for a year, yet he's the one it feels like we didn't raise."

Mother gasped. "Philip! How could you say such a thing?"

"Because he's right," William said quietly.

Father hadn't raised him, at least not in the way most fathers raised their sons.

While other fathers taught their sons how to properly stoke a fire and how to tan a rabbit's hide, his had taught him when to keep his mouth shut and how to tend to a cracked rib. Most boys his age would have gone to Dr. Hughes for help mending a broken nose, but he'd known how to stifle the bleeding and set the cartilage. The injury still ached and had left his nose slightly crooked, but it was healing well enough.

He'd long since given up trying to decipher why his father thought so little of him. All he could do was weather his displeasure and do his best to keep Father's attention off of his mother and sister.

Father looked him up and down, every inch of his broad frame filled with contempt. "It's high time we raise you properly. No son of mine will fritter away his days with some blasted instrument. From now on, you will earn your keep. I will not tolerate you lazing about any longer, boy."

William bowed his head. "Yes, Father."

The three of them ate the rest of their supper in silence. For a long while, the only sounds in the kitchen were chewing and the quiet clinking of cutlery. Emma's share of the meal sat untouched in front of her empty seat. The steam had long since evaporated from her plate, leaving her oats and vegetables cold and unappetizing.

Father wiped his mouth after finishing the last of his supper. "After all that work everyone put into trying to make those children happy, the least Emma could do is join us at the table."

"She's had a long day, Philip," Mother said quietly. "Rest might suit her more than food right now."

"That may be so, but she is a part of this family, too. She ought to sit with the rest of us." Father pushed away from the table with a grunt. "Regardless of where she's been, we can't allow her to act spoiled. If she's not going to act like a member of this family, I will have to remind her of what is expected of her."

"I'll get her," William blurted out. Though he wilted under the weight of his father's stare, he refused to look away. "You're right, you shouldn't have to trouble yourself with her. Let me handle it."

Mother's lips curled into a trembling smile as she reached for her husband's tankard. "Why don't I refill your ale, dear? I'm sure it won't take William long to convince her to join us."

"After all that fuss in the square, I suppose I have earned another mug." Father scratched the bristly black stubble lining his jaw. "Very well. Go get your sister, boy, and be quick about it. If you don't bring her to the table by the time I finish my drink, I'll fetch her myself."

"I will, Father, thank you." William stifled a sigh of relief as he retreated from the table. He'd stalled him for now, but his stomach quivered at the thought of what would happen if he couldn't coax Emma out of her room.