The redhead jumped. It was four in the morning; no one else should have been awake, but here she was, watching her younger cousin rub sleep and confusion from her eyes. Florence was by no means a child anymore, Makenzie noticed. She was growing up to be a wonderful young woman. And she was clever. Wicked clever. Perhaps more than anyone else Makenzie had ever known or would ever know. She was the best of them. “What are you doing up?”
“Couldn’t sleep,” Florence reported. Her bright eyes caught sight of the suitcases. “Where are you going?”
“Oh, just…” Makenzie fumbled. “Traveling, I guess. I… I think I need to go out on my own for a while, Flo. You guys have been really good to me, but I want to just… explore, I guess. Alone.”
“Can’t you go at a more sensible hour?” the Aladren inquired logically. “Just head out after the boys and I are on the wagon. Say goodbye to everyone else.”
“I don’t really want to make it a big production. Plus, your parents will want to know where I’m going and if I’ll write, and… I don’t know, and I don’t want to.” It wasn’t the full truth; she had a few stops planned along the way, but there were a lot of gaps to fill. “It’s easier this way.” Honestly, part of it was cowardice - perhaps it was an inherited trait, a Hartfield trait despite her mother’s claims that she was all Newell - that drove her off quietly, but she couldn’t stand to see their reactions, Anastasia in particular. She wanted to be long gone before then.
Florence nodded with surprising understanding, a wisdom beyond her years. “I don’t agree, but I know I can’t change your mind.” She paused. “Before you go, can you do something for me? I was thinking about asking you to braid my hair in the morning.”
Makenzie smiled. “Go get your brush. I’ve got time for you.”
***
“You wish to withdraw how much?”
“All of it,” Makenzie repeated. “Everything. Please and thank you.”
The small banker was flabbergasted, but she supposed she shouldn’t have been too surprised. It was a lot of money she was withdrawing - her entire inheritance, or what was left of it after legal and illegal paging through the Newell family estates, checking to see how far her father’s corruption went, if it was only influential or if it was financial - but the only bank they trusted was a Michigan exclusive company, and she did not intend to remain in state. “I can show you my identifications again, if you’d like,” she suggested, shifting through her purse.
“No, that.. That will not be necessary, Miss Newell,” the banker amended. “Just a moment longer, and you’ll be on your way.’
“That would be wonderful, thank you.” And soon enough, with money in tow, Makenzie was on her way.