Read Francesca of Lost Nation for Free Online Page A

was a mess. There were crisscrossing stitches straight across and slightly underneath his hairline, set off by a gruesome set of bruises in various shades of purple and green. He was gaunt and slack-limbed, and his energy level dragged much like his broken leg. He limp-shuffled along, leaning heavily on a wooden cane.
    Why anyone would drag a sad-faced man like that to a party was a mystery to me. He cast a definite pall over the festivities. We were all polite to him, of course.   Francesca even attempted to draw him out a little. She had always possessed a compelling empathy for injured creatures of every description.  
    Thankfully, he had the presence of mind to keep to himself and spent most of his brief visit sitting on the porch, sipping from a hip flask. When the Mosleys left shortly after supper, the party breathed a collective sigh of relief.
    I was not allowed to drink alcohol, but in all the confusion, I managed to sneak a gulp or two of that stomach-warming brew of lemonade and cider. At first, it made me giggle, but after the third guzzle, everything and everyone in the room had turned sideways. I squished myself into a corner and sat quietly for a while, trying to deep-breathe my way back to normal vision.
    After dessert, Isaac Teems struck up some music on his fiddle, and Francesca joined him on the upright piano for a spirited rendition of one of her favorite popular songs, “Ac-cent-chu-ate the Positive . ” 
    Daddyboys also managed to get Rachael and Maude to sing a duet as he growled his way happily across their pretty harmonies on the song, “Don’t Fence Me In,” until the room exploded with laughter.   
    Francesca was forced to provide piano accompaniment or spoil the evening, which she could not bring herself to do. So she played the song as properly as she could with clenched fists.
    The evening ended with my father waltzing my mother around the living room to the tune of “ La Vie En Rose. ” They were lovely, like newlyweds. It must have been just like the first time they ever danced together, and I got a little lump in my throat watching them. 
    My parents looked fine side by side — the tall, thin, broad-shouldered man and the small, plump blonde woman. I realized that my parents were in love. It was something I had never considered before, picturing them in a romantic way. Suddenly, I understood that they had a deep feeling for one another that had very little to do with me.
    Without warning, I burst into besotted tears. The combination of hard cider and the realization that my parents were leaving for a wonderful adventure without me was just too much.
    Mommy rushed over and hugged me, and Daddyboys said maybe it was time little ones should be in bed. He scooped me up and carried me to my room, cradling me tenderly in his arms. They undressed me as I hiccoughed and sobbed and waited at the side of my bed until I quieted down.
    As I began to fade off, I heard my mother say, “She looks so small, doesn't she, Clay? I'll miss her terribly.” And then, I was asleep.
     
    *   *   *   *   *
     
    I still felt dizzy and queasy the next morning as I eased myself gingerly out of bed. I found Francesca in the kitchen with my parents and Great Aunt and Uncle gathered around the dining table. They were looking over the checklists one more time, giving a final look-see to passports, travel arrangements, phone numbers and the magazine’s address.
    “Good morning, Sarah dear,” said Francesca, without looking up. Then to Daddyboys, “Do you have your money? Now, you be careful with that. There are pickpockets all over the big cities these days!”
    Turning to look at me for the first time, she asked, “Sarah, what on earth? Are you feeling ill?”
    “I’m fine,” I mumbled. Everyone was now giving me “the look” — very much like the one doctors display when confronted by an interesting diagnosis. Aunt Maude poured me a glass of orange juice, which tasted just right to my dry