““It’s Grandfather’s journal,” I said. “He began it the morning after he and some others walked over the Pyrenees. He was on his way to join the other Canadians who were fighting in the Fifteenth International Brigade.” I let my hand slide gently over the words on the page. “He wrote me and my cousins letters before he died. He wrote the way he talked, and reading them was like he was still alive. This is different. He sounds so young and enthusiastic, but old somehow too. I guess that’s how peo...ple wrote back then.” “It is a voice from a different time,” Laia said. “He was young, just like Maria, but he must have had much enthusiasm—and courage—to bring him all the way here from Canada.” Laia shook her head in wonder. “They were the same age as us and they were in a war. Perhaps young people grew up more quickly in those days.” “I guess they had to,” I said. “And I thought coming here on my own to look for Grandfather’s things was a big adventure.”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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