Lionheart Read Online Free

abandoned and alone.
    “I would not presume to say I know what you are feeling, Alicia. I can tell you this, though, that I know what it is like to lose a brother. I have grieved for three of mine, and for a sister, too. . . .” Despite herself, her voice wavered at the last, for the death of her sister was still a raw wound. “I wish I could tell you that the pain will eventually heal. But that would be a lie. This is a sorrow you will take to your grave. In time, though, you’ll learn to live with it, and that is all we can hope for.”
    She waited then, to no avail. Trying a new tack, she said quietly, “The world must be a very frightening place to you now. I cannot begin to imagine how alone you must feel. But you are not as alone as you think, Alicia. I promise you that.”
    Again her words were swallowed up in silence. She was usually good with children. Of course she’d never dealt with one so damaged before. “We share something else in common, lass. I was your age when I first came to Sicily, just eleven years old. I remember the journey all too well, for I had never been so wretched.” She was following her instincts now, speaking in the soothing tones she’d have used to calm a nervous filly. “I was so sick, Alicia, feeding the fish day and night. Were you seasick, too? It got so bad for me that we had to put into port at Naples and continue our journey on land. For years I had dreadful dreams about that trip and my husband had great difficulty in coaxing me to set foot on a ship again. I remember arguing with him that the Almighty had not intended man to fly, or else he’d have given us wings, and since we did not have gills like fish, clearly we were not meant to venture out onto the sea, either. He just laughed, but then he’s never been seasick a day in his life. . . .”
    She continued on in that vein for a while, speaking lightly of inconsequential matters in the hope of forging a connection, however tenuous, with this mute, motionless little girl. At last she had to concede defeat, and after exchanging regretful looks with Sister Heloise, she started to rise from the chair. It was then that Alicia spoke. Her words were mumbled, inaudible, but they were words, the first anyone had heard her utter since her brother drowned.
    Trying to hide her excitement, Joanna said as calmly as she could, “I am sorry, Alicia. I could not hear you. Can you repeat yourself?”
    “I am twelve,” Alicia said, softly but distinctly, “not eleven.”
    Joanna almost laughed, remembering how affronted she’d been to be taken for younger than she was, a mortal insult for most children. “ Mea culpa ,” she said. “But in my defense, it is not easy to tell how old you are when you will not look at me.” She waited, then, holding her breath, until the bed creaked and Alicia slowly turned away from the wall. Joanna could see why the nuns had mistaken her age. She had round cheeks, a rosebud mouth, and freckles sprinkled over an upturned nose, a child’s face, innocent and open to hurt. Joanna doubted that she’d begun her flux yet, for her lean and angular little body showed no signs of approaching womanhood.
    “I am Joanna,” she said, for she’d found that with children, the simplest approach was often the best. “I am here to help you.”
    Alicia had to squint, for she’d not looked into direct light for days and sun was flooding into the chamber, enveloping Joanna in a golden glow. She was the most beautiful woman Alicia had ever seen, and the most glamorous, with flawless, fair skin, copper-color hair covered by an embroidered silk veil, emerald-green eyes, and graceful white fingers adorned with jewels. Alicia was dumbfounded, not sure if this glorious vision was a figment of her fevered imagination. “Are you real?” she blurted out, and the vision laughed, revealing a deep dimple that flashed like a shooting star, and assured her she was very much a flesh-and-blood woman.
    The flesh-and-blood