“You fell off before?”
“Yes, twice. The bike’s too big, and I shouldn’t have ridden it when the tyres were flat, and the road was bad and they came off in the end and after that it...it wasn’t very easy to...
Pietro, watching her throughout this speech, was appalled by what he saw. Questions rushed to his lips and he choked them back. Later; for the moment, it was enough to recognise that she—like himself—was being driven by necessity. She would not ride on a machine of that kind, so many miles, unless something compelled her. She was, perhaps, running away...but it was plain to see that she was almost at the end of her resources.
“See—” Pietro went round recovering their fallen property. He dragged the bicycle out of the ditch, handed it to Julia to steady and then stuffed brushes—clean, dusty, muddy or bent brushes into his suitcase. He looked for his hat, saw its crown appearing out of the mud in the ditch, and decided to treat it as abandoned. He opened the suitcase again, selected a clothes brush and, kneeling before Julia, dusted the worst of the dirt from her skirt. He borrowed her handkerchief and cleaned her cuts as best he could and then, ignoring his own lamentable state, flashed his beautiful white teeth at her in his enchanting smile.
“Now, my idea!” he said. “I am sick of carrying this box; if you will take him and sit on the bicycle, I will push you—and him.”
“Oh—no! I’ll walk,” protested Julia. “You can’t possibly—”
“Oh, no, no, no, no! That will not do,” said Pietro. “We have to push the bicycle and carry the box—yes? So we shall have two birds with one stick—one stone. Why shall we push this bicycle with no one upon it? I am too big, so you cannot push me; so you will sit up on it and I will push you. Now see how well we shall go.”
Too tired to argue, grateful beyond words for the thought of progressing, even for a short distance, without having to use any effort, Julia, assisted by her new friend, sat perched side-saddle, the suitcase balanced on the handlebars, while Pietro walked firmly beside her, pushing, guiding the bicycle. It was slow, but it was progress. It would take time, but they would get there.
She let a feeling of relief and repose flow over her. She had knocked a man into a ditch, but instead of the abuse, and worse, which she dreaded, he had proved a forgiving, an understanding man—a benefactor.
A foreigner, she thought, as the rest steadied her nerves and allowed a tiny spark of curiosity to kindle.
“Are you going to Greenhurst?” she asked.
“Yes. Greenhurst. My what you call Headquarters is there—my office. I go there to tell them the names of the ladies who wish to have brushes.”
“Will you be able to get other ones for the ones that are spoiled?” she asked, anxiously.
“Of course, of course, of course! If I ask, they will give me more,” said Pietro, with a confidence he was far from feeling. But the future was the future; it had never worried him before and it would not worry him now. This little girl—this little miss—still she thought only of him and not of herself. It was extraordinary. She was well brought up, so much was plain; a scarecrow she may look now, but it was clear to see that she was of good family; he knew good family when he saw it—who should not, who had waited all his life on good families?
Questions welled up in him, and went unvoiced. She was alone with him on this lonely road; she was too tired to care, but presently she would remember; if he asked questions about her—her name, her business—she would become alarmed. He must keep between them a distance —not physical, for that was impossible, with his shoulder against hers—but he would speak only of general matters. He would discourse.
Pietro discoursed—of Italy, of his native village, of his impending voyage to join his brother in New York.
But discoursing, under the circumstances, was killing work. As Pietro flagged, Julia revived, and so it came about that, bit by bit, mile by mile, he learned more and more of the reason for her being here on a too-large bicycle upon a too-long road. Listening, his heart rose within him, and he forgot his fatigue, forgot his ruined clothes and his ruined prospects, forgot the dusty road and the miles still before them. His body marched, but his spirit knelt—for this, he told himself, this was heroism. This thin child with the freckled face and the unkempt red hair— she was of the stuff that made heroes. Alone, she had set out to save her home. Alone, she was on her way to oppose fate; alone, she meant to battle, to stand up to this sister who so coldly, so heartlessly would throw away that most precious of all gifts—a home. This little creature...a one-woman crusade...Ah! it was magnificent! He, Pietro Faccini, would enrol himself on her side. He would say something to this sister. Only wait; her ears would burn. Before he went out of their lives, he would use his gift of discourse—he would place himself behind this brave, this incomparably courageous little miss, this Julia, this gallant little signorina.
The thought banished fatigue; Pietro’s speed increased to four miles an hour. On! On! Courage, Miss Julia; here are reinforcements, here an ally, here a humble follower. On...!
To read more, please look for “The Lark Shall Sing” by Elizabeth Cadell on kindle, kobo, paperback, and audio! You can also purchase this book on audio by going to audible.com
Also by Elizabeth Cadell
My Dear Aunt Flora
Fishy, Said the Admiral
River Lodge
Family Gathering
Iris in Winter
Sun in the Morning
The Greenwood Shady
The Frenchman & the Lady
Men & Angels
Journey's Eve
Spring Green
The Gentlemen Go By
The Cuckoo in Spring
Money to Burn
The Lark Shall Sing
Consider The Lilies
The Blue Sky of Spring
Bridal Array
Shadow on the Water
Sugar Candy Cottage
The Green Empress
Alice Where Art Thou?
The Yellow Brick Road
Six Impossible Things
Honey For Tea
Language of the Heart
Mixed Marriage
Letter to My Love
Death Among Friends
Be My Guest
Canary Yellow
The Fox From His Lair
The Corner Shop
The Stratton Story
The Golden Collar
The Past Tense of Love
The Friendly Air
Home for the Wedding
The Haymaker
Deck With Flowers
The Fledgling
Game in Diamonds
Parson's House
Round Dozen
Return Match
The Marrying Kind
Any Two Can Play
A Lion in the Way
Remains to be Seen
The Waiting Game
The Empty Nest
Out of the Rain
Death and Miss Dane
About the Author
Elizabeth Vandyke was born in British India at the beginning of the 20th century. She married a young Scotsman and became Elizabeth Cadell, remaining in India until the illness and death of her much-loved husband found her in England, with a son and a daughter to bring up, at the beginning of World War 2. At the end of the war she published her first book, a light-hearted depiction of the family life she loved. Humour and optimism conquered sorrow and widowhood, and the many books she wrote won her a wide public, besides enabling her to educate her children (her son joined the British Navy and became an Admiral), and allowing her to travel, which she loved. Spain, France and Portugal provide a background to many of her books, although England and India were not forgotten. She finally settled in Portugal, where her married daughter still lives, and died when well into her 80s, much missed by her 7 grandchildren, who had all benefitted from her humour, wisdom and gentle teaching. British India is now only a memory, and the quiet English village life that Elizabeth Cadell
wrote about has changed a great deal, but her vivid characters, their love affairs and the tears and laughter they provoke, still attract many readers, young and not-so-young, in this twenty-first century. Reprinting these books will please her fans and it is hoped will win her new ones.
Afterword
Note: Elizabeth Cadell is a British author who wrote her books using the traditional British spelling. Therefore because these books are being published worldwide, the heirs have agreed to keep her books exactly as she wrote them and not change the spelling.
Family Gathering Page 23
