The Secret at Pheasant Cottage by Patricia St. John

Author:Patricia St. John [St. John, Patricia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Moody Publishers
Published: 2021-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

9

The Most Amazing Day

We had a school holiday on Whitmonday, so I went to see Mr. Smith. I found him, as usual, bent over his writing, looking tired and worried. But he always seemed glad to see me and always found time to share some new poem or story that he had enjoyed.

“Well, Lucy,” he said, “have you come to tell me about your great secret?” He flung himself back in a comfortable chair and I perched happily on the arm, because I had gradually come to talk openly to Mr. Smith as I talked to no other grown-up.

“Well, yes,” I replied. “I’ll tell you now because it’s all over. But I shall have to begin right at the beginning and tell you about my father. You see he did something very wicked when I was about three, and he went to prison.”

I glanced at him anxiously to see whether he was very shocked, but he only said, “Go on. Tell me more.”

So I told him my story all over again, just as I’d told Don and the warden, and, like them, he listened quietly until I had nearly finished—so quietly, with his head so bowed, that I thought perhaps he was asleep, so I stopped talking.

“Have you gone to sleep?” I asked softly.

He looked up quickly. “No, I’m not asleep,” he said. “I’m just listening. But Lucy, tell me this. If he was such a bad man, why do you want to see him again? You’re happy with your grandparents. Wouldn’t it be better to forget all about him?”

My eyes filled with tears. This was what I had sometimes thought myself, but Don, and my own heart, told me that my reason was wrong.

“He’s my dad, isn’t he?” I almost shouted. “And even if he’s been bad I’m still …” I couldn’t say any more, for tears were streaming down my face. Mr. Smith pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to me, and after a few moments I was able to go on. “I didn’t forget him. I went … and it was terribly difficult. But he’s forgotten me. He’s been out two months now and he hasn’t come. If he’d wanted me, he’d have come quick, wouldn’t he?”

Mr. Smith leaned forward and said quietly, “He’ll come, Lucy, and he’ll be a lucky man to find such a brave, faithful, loyal daughter waiting for him. You see, when people come out of prison they are sometimes ashamed and afraid. After all, from what you say, your grandparents don’t seem to think much of him, do they? What would they do if he came?”

“They … they said I could choose,” I sniffed. “But they wouldn’t want me to go. And … well … he was a bad man, wasn’t he, to have gone to prison? And they want me to grow up good. And I couldn’t leave them. I wouldn’t know what to do!”

I still felt like crying, for the whole problem seemed too great to be solved and I didn’t know where to turn.

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