Walking through the town of Lucerne, Evelyn made her way towards the Chapel Bridge. She liked watching the play of sunlight over the river and looking at the views of the town from over the water. April in Switzerland could be chilly, but they had had a spell of mild weather. Her light coat was more than enough to keep her comfortable. Tomorrow she would head back to England, back to the new house and her grandchildren. She had written weekly and several of their letters had found her as she made her way through Greece, and Italy. She missed them dreadfully. They were all she had left of Kate.

Stepping onto the covered bridge she paused a moment to look up at the paintings under the peaked roof and let her eyes adjust to the dimmer light. The sides of the bridge were open and people would stop to look out as they strolled across. There was a spot just past the tower where she liked to stand to look in both directions. As she approached she saw that someone else was already there, an elderly man wrapped up in a coat and scarf. He seemed to be busy writing in a large book. As Evelyn got closer she saw that he wasn't writing he was sketching. He was intent on his work so she started to pass and go on to another spot.

Suddenly a gust of wind rifled the pages of his sketchbook almost knocking it out of his hand and making him drop his pencil. The pencil rolled across the floor of the bridge and stopped by her feet. She picked it up to give it to him and instantly amended her first impression. It was true that he had a head of thick silvery hair and his mustache was almost white, but the face was relatively unlined. He was about her age and he had the bluest eyes. The smile he gave her when she went to hand him the pencil made her heart race. It had been a long time and Evelyn was astonished to discover that a look could leave her breathless. Cheeks warm she handed him the pencil and tried not to gasp when his hand touched hers.

"Thank you," he said.

"You're English!" she said in surprise. "I mean you could be German or Italian or...um I...well we are in Switzerland. I suppose you could be Swiss..." Her voice trailed off and she felt her face blushing even more.

"Yes," he replied laughing, "I'm English. You too from the sounds of it."

"Yes," she agreed. "I am. I'm English...from London."

"Me too," he said, "though prob'ly not from your part of town."

Evelyn smiled. The man seemed familiar but she didn't know why. The accent was odd. She was picking up a patois of other inflections. He may have been born within earshot of the Bowe bells but he had been living farther afield for a while.

"London is London," she said. "It's nice to meet someone from home when you're this far away."

"It certainly is. I've been gone a long time and I'm lookin' forward to goin' back. I don't think we've been introduced." He took off his hat and gave her a little bow. "Herbert Alfred at your service ma'am. Most people just call me Bert."

"Oh!" exclaimed Evelyn. "Now I know who you are! You're Jack's father!"

Seated in a small cafe on the edge of the lake Bert looked at the woman sitting opposite. He had ordered coffees and pastries, pleased that he had reached a point in his life where he had the means to offer such a treat to someone so attractive. "I shouldn't be surprised," he said. "Jack is just one of those people. I can't go anywhere and not meet someone who knows him. It was the same when he was a boy. We'd go someplace I'd never been and people would wave and say 'hello.' But for the life of me I can't figure how you knew we were related. Was it the name?"

"Yes," said Evelyn. "I recognized the name. But I kept trying to figure out why you seemed so familiar and then I knew. You two are a great deal alike."

"I've heard that before," said Bert. "It always surprises me."

"But why?" asked Evelyn. "I'm assuming that Jack favors his mother—It's not so much his looks, it's the smile and the way he speaks. You both have the same spirit I think."

"I suppose," said Bert. Evelyn was right he thought remembering the pictures stored away in London. Jack did favor his mother. For now he decided not to explain to this attractive woman sitting across from him that Jack was his adopted son.

"Tell me how you met Jack," he said. "I bet it's a good story."

Evelyn nodded. It was the very best of stories.

Finding a home for the piano had been just one of Evelyn's worries. It was amazing what a person could accumulate in forty years. There were so many things to be sorted and decisions to make about what to keep or give away. The kitchen had been particularly daunting. Had they ever really used all those pots and pans and gadgets? Some of them she didn't even recognize. The days when she had employed a cook and a maid were long over. Mrs. Smith came in three times a week to do the cleaning and cooking. On the other days Evelyn had learned to make do with eggs and what she could warm up from the leftovers.

"Eats like a bird," Mrs. Smith had confided in Ellen. "It's a wonder the wind don't blow her away poor thing. I tries to make extra on the days I'm there otherwise she prob'ly wouldn't eat at all. Hard for her all by herself in that big old place. Sooner she moves the better."

Mrs. Smith had helped her pack what she would need for the new house. The rest they had sorted into piles and boxes to donate or give to someone else. Fortunately, there was an abundance of second hand stores, charities and church jumble sales in London. Evelyn had just dropped off an armload of clothes and a box of kitchen utensils at St. Matthew's when the sound of voices and music from a piano caught her attention. Curiosity got the better of her and she followed the music to a Sunday School room in the basement.

Someone was having a piano lesson. She watched unobserved as a young man with dark hair and eyes explained the fingering of a measure and demonstrated how to play it for a stolid faced youngster sitting on the piano bench. The instructor was bright and personable though judging by his clothes and the state of his shoes he wasn't making much money as a piano teacher. The boy on the bench watched and then tried to play the music. He didn't catch on very fast and the young man was forced to repeat the demonstration several more times.

As Evelyn watched unseen she noticed four other children of varying ages seated in the room all watching intently. All four seemed mesmerized and two of them fingered the measures silently as the teacher continued the lesson. A few minutes later the lesson ended and the boy on the bench solemnly counted a few coins into the teacher's hand. Evelyn withdrew from the doorway and waited. As soon as the young man left the room the quiet erupted into a torrent of children's voices and the sound of the piano as they all took turns playing the music.

The teacher stood a few moments listening then headed towards the exit. He stopped when he saw Evelyn standing there.

"Young man, do you realize what you are doing?" she asked. "You've just given a lesson to five children for the price of one." As soon as she said the words Evelyn knew she must have come across as an interfering busybody.

"I'm sorry," she said contritely, "Please forgive me. It's none of my business."

The young man looked at her and then smiled, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. "Shhh," he whispered, "You're not supposed to know."

It was silly thought Evelyn to like someone immediately without knowing their name or even having spoken to them, but she liked this man at once. She smiled back.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Let's go upstairs and I'll explain," he said heading out the door. "The kids back there are the Walker family, Myra, Theo, Oswald, Robert and Amy. The dad died a couple years ago and their mum makes ends meet as best she can doing laundry and mending. The kids help out doing odd jobs but money's tight and everything goes back into the household to pay the bills. A while back they found an old wreck of a piano outside of a pub and dragged it home. Somehow they got it into the house. Begged their mother for lessons, but she told them they were too expensive. So they came to the store where I teach to find out how much they cost."

The young man smiled at the memory. "They showed up one day and asked how much for a lesson and after I told them they went away and came back a few days later. Said that Oswald, the middle one, wanted to play and would I teach him. I said yes and the other four stayed while he took his lesson. Took me until the third time before I figured it out. Their mother lets them keep a little back from their jobs and they pool it all together so one of them can take lessons and the other four watch."

"And you don't care?" asked Evelyn

"I do, but I don't. It's not something I'd put up with if the family could afford lessons, but they can't and I admire their ingenuity. The kids came up with the idea all by themselves—their mother was upset when she found out and was going to make them stop. But I convinced her to let them keep going."

"I suppose Oswald is the most musical."

"Oh no, that's the beauty of it" said the young man. "He's the least talented of the bunch. They chose him because he needed the most help and I'd have to repeat myself more often. This way they all keep up."

Evelyn was laughing. "So who's the most talented do you think. Have you heard them all play?"

The young man nodded. "Myra, the oldest one. I think there's some real talent there. If I could work just with her she could really take off and do some advanced work. Then probably Robert. It's hard to tell with Theo and Amy, they're the quietest. It would help too if I could find them a decent piano. The one they have is beyond help."

"Is their piano really so bad?"

"The worst. That's why I do their lesson here rather than the store. The rector let's them stay and play afterwards."

"Maybe I can help."

"And so you see it was meant to be," finished Evelyn. "You might even call it a miracle. Jack came a few days later and looked at my piano, then brought a couple of his friends to move it. I went with them and met the family. They're really quite delightful and they were so happy. Of course we maintained the fiction that it's only Oswald taking lessons, but as we were leaving Myra was playing. Jack is right. She's very good."

"I suppose there was some music that went with the piano," said Bert his eyes twinkling.

"Well of course," said Evelyn in a serious voice, her eyes twinkling back. "I didn't need any of the music once the piano was gone. The bench was quite full. Jack looked it all over to make sure it was appropriate."

"I'm sure he did," said Bert smiling. And I bet that both of you added considerably to the collection he thought silently to himself.

"It was so nice to know the piano had a good home." Evelyn's face clouded. "But then I found out my grandchildren wanted it."

"Grandchildren?" asked Bert startled. It wasn't an association he had made with the woman at the table. He supposed she must be old enough but no, she was definitely not his idea of a grandmother. He realized then that she reminded him of the Gibson girl—that ideal female from his youth. Tall and slender with her hair piled on her head, but gracefully aged into a mature and very attractive woman his own age.

"Yes, my daughter's children. She passed away a year ago. I found out she had planned to ask me for it so they could have lessons."

"I'm so sorry," said Bert.

"Thank you," said Evelyn blinking back the tears. "I miss her terribly. You're so fortunate to have Jack to go home to. Will you be leaving soon?"

"Not right away, but soon enough. I promised to be home for a wedding. But you've got grandchildren. That's a good thing. I keep thinking it would be nice if Jack settled down and had a family. I'd like a few grandchildren to spoil."

"They are fun," Evelyn agreed. "And," she said her expression brightening, "I told my son in law I would pay for lessons so I'll see Jack before you get back. Would you like me to take him a letter or a message?"

"That'd be nice. I've got a letter started," said Bert. "I could bring it by this evening. I'd sure appreciate it reaching him before I got home."

They talked then about their travels and where they had been. Bert had been in Africa and Egypt and was working his way slowly back to England. He had numerous sketchbooks packed in his trunk and he showed her the one he was working in today. Evelyn was impressed. There were many views of Lucerne, but none of the famous lion. Bert said he planned to draw it but hadn't had time. Evelyn said she was going there for one last look before she left. Would he like to come with her?

They finished their coffees and strolled slowly through the town until they found themselves in front of the majestic sculpture carved into the side of the hill. While Evelyn walked around the park Bert set to work sketching. He worked quickly, doing several thumbnail drawings and some smaller detail studies of the lion's face and mane. These were just preliminary exercises. He planned to come back and do a proper drawing later.

Evelyn admired the sketches. Then Bert turned the page and showed her the quick gesture drawings he had made of her as she walked around the park. She blushed again and the two of them sat together companionably watching the play of light over the lion and the water in front of it. This was all a new and unusual experience for Evelyn who had been carefully chaperoned and properly courted as a young woman. She had spent little time alone with her husband before they were married, and she wondered what the modern rules were for spending time with an attractive, single man and if they really mattered at her age?

As for Bert he knew that today had been special and he felt a need to capture the memory out of the moments that had come before and would come after, much like the lion was carved into the hillside in front of him. He walked Evelyn back to her hotel, promising to leave the letter at the desk if she was still out with her sister, and wished her goodbye and safe travels. He almost asked if he could call on her when he got back to England but held back suddenly unsure of himself. Here they were equals and fellow travelers, but would it be the same when they got back to London where he had been a chimney sweep and she was a proper lady? It would take some figuring out but he knew he would see her again.

Jack, he thought walking back to his rooms in town. Jack knew Evelyn and was going to give her grandchildren lessons. Maybe he should leave earlier than he originally planned. He had promised to be home in time for Angus's wedding. What if he ran into problems? There could be delays and it would be better to arrive a week or so early then to be late and maybe miss it. Yes, he thought, much better to arrive early.

"Winds from the East, mist coming in," he hummed to himself. "Like something is brewin' about to begin."

An East wind always meant something magical—usually a visit from an old friend. Well, he had put that dream aside a long time ago. This time the wind had brought something entirely new. He made up some different words for the end of the song.

"Can't put me finger on what lies in store, but I think what's to happen never happened before."