The Sword Bearer Read Free Page A

the soldier. Was this his father? And if he was, why was there no photo of his mother? Why, oh why had his grandmother not told him before? It was wicked to feel angry with someone who had just died, and he was shocked by the strange tumult inside him. He loved Grandma Wilson. He always had loved her, but why... ? His thoughts chased themselves in circles.
    They were interrupted by knocking at the front door. Footsteps hurried to open it and he heard Mrs. Smith say, "Come in, doctor. She'd gone when we found her. It was young John as really found her, but she was cold already." Their voices grew muffled as the kitchen door closed.
    There were other comings and goings. John kept listening but grew confused. Mrs. Smith was saying something about "washing her" and "laying her out," and he supposed that "her" meant his grandmother.
    Other phrases floated up from below. There was some talk about "the Methodist minister" and about "the lady almoner." John pricked up his ears when he heard someone say, "No. 'Is muther died when 'e was born, an' we don't know where th' father is. We don't even know if 'is father ever knew about 'im. They was married secretly but the old lady never did believe it, an' 'e was in Paris after the war. There was a rumor 'e was goin' to Canada. That's what the young couple wanted, but Mrs. Wilson lost contact with 'im. Έ was a right nice young feller. It's strange the old lady never took to 'im."
    So his mother was dead. John felt no grief, only that it seemed as though pieces of himself were being taken from him one by one so that he felt smaller and less real. His father never knew about him? The thought was terrifying. Would he be in Canada? Or still in Paris? In Canada probably. Deep within him he clung to the thought that his father was still alive. But if he was alive, and if John did find him, how would he convince him he was his son?
    Yet as the long minutes passed desperation hardened inside him. However long it took and however much it might cost, he would get to Canada. He stared at the faded brown picture, trying unnecessarily to memorize the thin features he already knew so well. Was it his father? Somehow, somewhere he would find this man. Even if the man wasn't his father, he would know something about him.
    Other talk from below alarmed him even more. Words like "orphanage" and " someone will 'ave to look after 'im. Έ can't be let on 'is own. Oo's goin' to feed 'im?" made his stomach sink Clearly he would have to get away if he was going to Canada. But how? He knew he must not stay in Pendleton but must leave early the next morning. How he knew he could not have told you. But he knew. He had a father. His father was not in Paris. He would be in Canada. In any case Canada would be the first place to go.
    How much money did it take to get to Canada? He opened his small money box and counted his savings again. Two pounds, ten shillings and sixpence-ha'penny. That wouldn't get him far. It might not even get him as far as Liverpool. Maybe he could borrow from his friend Peter who had four pounds saved up. Would that be enough? Or could he get a job as a cabin boy on a ship bound for Canada?
    More words drifted up from below. "The minister said 'e would 'ave to come at eight-thirty tomorrow morning an' the almoner said it would be all right with 'er. They'll decide what's to be done with young John. Mrs. Wilson's all paid up for the burial. She paid regular into th' club, an' 'er account book is 'ere."
    John was having a problem breathing and his head ached. The loss of Grandma Wilson had begun to frighten him. Somehow he would have to make his escape early the next morning before the minister and the lady almoner arrived. The train would be best for Liverpool. If he could get to the station before they found out that he was gone ...
    Footsteps ascended the staircase and Mrs. Smith came through the door. "You must be really 'ungry, luv," she said kindly, setting a cup of steaming cocoa and a