Return to the Island: An utterly gripping historical romance
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“I would, but I doubt you’ll be doing much gadding,” Caro replied wryly. “Gracie and Andrew will be home in a few weeks, and in any case, there’s too much work to be done here. I can’t miss a whole day out.”
Ellen laid a hand on her arm. “You work so hard, Caro. Everyone does.”
“And you work the hardest, Ellen. It seems as if you’re always weeding the garden, or working the mangle.”
“I’m glad to help.” She far preferred being busy than left alone with her thoughts, wondering what her future held, or if it really could be on her beloved island.
“And Mother is glad you’re back. I am, too. It helps, to have the company.” She hesitated, her eyebrows drawing together. “You won’t… you won’t go away again?”
“And where would I go?” Ellen answered with a soft laugh.
“Back to Glasgow. You have a house there, don’t you? And that art school would want you back, I’m sure. Mother showed us the bit in the paper about your exhibition years ago now, but still. You could have that all back again.”
“Did she?” Ellen shook her head wryly. “I didn’t know she’d even seen the article.”
“Your landlady sent it. She was terribly proud of you, and we were too, of course.”
“Dear Norah.” Ellen smiled and then sighed. “It all seems a long time ago now. Another life.”
“So you don’t have a hankering to go back to Glasgow, live a glamorous city life as a lady artist?” Caro spoke teasingly, but even in the darkness of the hallway, Ellen saw the real worry in her eyes.
“Not a bit, Caro,” she said firmly. “When I came back here, I was coming home. I felt it, deep in my bones. I enjoyed my days in Glasgow, but even though I was born there, it never felt like home the way Amherst Island has. I’m staying here for as long as you’ll have me.”
“You know how long that is,” Caro answered, drawing her into a quick hug. “Forever, or at least until you marry and have your own family.”
“I hardly see that happening,” Ellen answered with a rueful laugh. “I’m twenty-eight years old, most certainly on the shelf.”
“And I’m already twenty-two,” Caro acknowledged. “And not many men left to marry, at that. But who knows what the future may bring? We both can hope.” Caro did not sound particularly optimistic.
“Yes, of course,” Ellen said firmly. “Especially for you. You’re a young woman yet, Caro. I’m sure the men will be lining up to dance with you at the barn dance next Saturday.”
Caro’s lips twisted wryly. “The few men that are left, and even those that are don’t seem to want to dance. But I’ll be there, kicking up my heels, don’t you worry!”
Ellen smiled and said goodnight before going to her own bedroom. Caro’s determined pragmatism had helped to lift her own flagging spirits.
She’d meant what she’d said about staying, yet as she readied for bed she thought of her life back in Glasgow, the life she could have had, first as Henry McAvoy’s wife, before he’d drowned when the Titanic had sunk, and then as a lecturer at the Glasgow School of Art, living in her cozy little house with her friends Ruby and Dougie, holding exhibitions at the Society of Lady Artists in Blythewood Square, taking tea at Miss Cranston’s Tea Rooms. It all seemed so pleasant now as she faced the struggles of the farm, of Peter’s blank face, of Jed’s unfriendliness.
She sat by the window, letting the cool night air sweep over her. She could smell the damp soil of June and the freshness of the lake water, hear the distant call of the whippoorwill, and she closed her eyes, letting the island’s smells and sounds seep into her, imbuing her with strength.
No matter all she had once hoped for and lost, this was home and always would be.
Chapter Three
The next morning, Ellen took Captain Jonah’s little boat to Ogdensburg, and then the train to Kingston. She wondered, as she watched the surface of the lake ruffle up into whitecaps, how long Jonah would be offering his rather ramshackle ferry service. There was talk, now that there were over fifty motorcars on the island, of having a “proper” ferry service to Kingston, with the ability to transport cars. The days of driving them over the ice, with half the island waiting and marveling at such a miracle on the far shore, were nearly over. Enterprise and industry were coming even to this loved yet forgotten corner of the earth, a prospect which brought Ellen both excitement and a little tinge of sorrow, as change always did.
In Kingston, Ellen breathed in the city sights and smells, from the clanging of the tram cars down Division Street to the chiming of the bells of Queen’s University. It had been eight years since she’d last been in the bustling city, when she’d been a young nursing student at Kingston General Hospital, determined to make a name for herself.
She’d ended up leaving the program after just one year, when she’d become ill with typhoid, and then she’d met dear Henry on a train to Chicago to visit her father, and the course of her life had been changed yet again. He’d seen her sketching and invited her to submit a portfolio to the Glasgow School of Art; she’d done so, and just a few months later she’d traveled to Glasgow to take up her place.
Now Ellen headed for the smart office building of Kingston’s trademark limestone and the offices of the McCaffertys’ bank, hoping to secure a different kind of future for the McCaffertys—and herself.
“Of course we can put up some of the land for sale,” the man who handled the McCaffertys’ affairs said after he’d gone through the paperwork.
Ellen sat on a hard chair in front of his desk, clutching her reticule tightly as people bustled all around the big limestone building, its vaulted ceiling and marble floor giving it an air of wealth and security that was sadly lacking in so many other parts of Canada.
“But I am afraid, Miss Copley, that the price of land is deflated these days. Quite deflated.” He spread his hands helplessly. “So many are selling, you see, and it is likely only another islander would want the land you’re offering, as it’s not a sizeable enough parcel to attract mainland buyers.”
“We offered it to our nearest neighbors already,” Ellen confessed. “But they have trouble enough managing their own patch.”
“That’s the story the country over. Not enough able-bodied men to work the land, and yet not enough jobs for the wounded soldiers who have returned and need to work. It is a sorry conundrum indeed.” He shook his head, seemingly truly regretful, even though he looked comfortable enough in his three-piece suit, a gold pocket watch gleaming at his waist.
“Indeed it is,” Ellen answered. “But considering our debts, which are substantial, I believe we have little choice but to sell at least some of the acreage and hope that it might attract interest.”
“And if it doesn’t?” the man asked as he raised his eyebrows in polite but determined inquiry. “Will Mrs. McCafferty consider selling the entire property? Because, while the price would be lower than it would have been before the war, an entire smallholding, with the farmhouse included, would attract considerably more interest.”
Ellen’s chest tightened at the thought of selling the McCafferty farm. To lose it forever, the only place she could really call home… and what of Rose, and all the McCaffertys? They’d all been born in the front bedroom, they’d lived and loved and lost in those dear rooms.
How many times had she walked up the maple-shaded lane as the sun had slanted between the green, leafy boughs and the weathered white clapboard of the farmhouse with its green-roofed porch had come into view? She could not bear the thought of losing it, and she didn’t think any of the McCaffertys could, either.
“Let us hope that it does not come to such desperate circumstances as those,” she replied stiffly. “In the meantime, let us put the agreed acreage up for sale and see what interest it brings.”
“I shall see to the paperwork,” he promised, and Ellen made to leave, feeling more discouraged than before. She’d been hoping to return to the island with good news, but it seemed that was difficult to find anywhere these days.
“Ellen! Ellen Copley, fancy seeing you here!”
Ellen turned around, a smile splitting her face when she saw who was coming towards her, eating up the pavement with his long, eager strides. “Lucas! What are you doing in Kingston?”
“Had some business to attend to, a client of mine who is a professor at Queen’s. I’m here for a few days, and I thought I’d come to the island afterward.” He stood in front of her, looking much the same as she’d last seen him in France a year ago now. His sandy brown hair was gray at the temples, but his blue eyes were as friendly as ever, his smile as sincere, his expression one of genuine warmth and affection.
“It’s been a long time since you’ve been back on the island,” Ellen said, trying to keep a slight note of accusation out of her voice. She didn’t understand why Lucas had stayed away, especially when it was clear that Jed and his father were struggling so much. Still, it wasn’t her place to speak of it. She smiled and added lightly, “I’ve been there three months and haven’t seen neither hide nor hair of you.”
“I’ve been busy, I’m afraid,” Lucas replied, his eyes shadowing briefly. “Getting things sorted at the office. Everything’s in a terrible muddle after the war, so many men coming back to claim jobs, so many estates left in disarray.” He made a face. “And so many men not coming back at all. But I’m going to travel on to the island tomorrow. What about you? You haven’t mentioned in your letters whether you’re going back to Glasgow or not.”
“I’m not planning to,” Ellen answered.
“Not even for the art school?” Lucas asked with a frown, and then he took her by the arm and drew her away from the bustling crowds on the pavement. “We can’t conduct a conversation out here on the street. Have you had lunch?”
“I was just thinking about finding somewhere,” Ellen admitted.
“Let me treat you, then,” Lucas said, and before she could demur, he was drawing her away from the street and towards a restaurant on Princess Street with white linen tablecloths and waiters who were more smartly dressed than she was.
“This is far too elegant for the likes of me,” Ellen protested as a waiter placed a heavy napkin in her lap and Lucas proffered a menu.
“You underestimate yourself,” he answered easily. “It’s so good to see you, Ellen. And, by the sounds of things on the island, you deserve a little treat.”
Ellen sighed and opened her menu. “I wish I could give all the McCaffertys a treat,” she said and scanned the offerings. Crab Cocktail, Chicken à la Reine, Leg of Mutton with Creamed Cauliflower… Her mouth watered. Rose’s meals were solid, homegrown fare, and delicious at that, but she hadn’t eaten in a restaurant since she’d come to Amherst Island.
“Has it been very hard?” Lucas asked quietly and she closed the menu.
“Hard enough.” Briefly she told him about the possibility of selling the land, as well as the need to do it. “But it’s not just that,” she continued after a moment. “I feel as if the war will never end. I know it has, of course,” she said hastily, “but the effects go on and on. Peter…” She stopped, remembering her cousin’s bleak look in the dark kitchen and Lucas frowned.
“Peter?”
“He’s suffering,” Ellen said quietly. “Nightmares and restlessness. Sometimes he just stares into space…”
“The thousand-yard stare?” Lucas surmised and she drew back, startled.
“Shell shock?” Despite Peter’s moods and silences, she had not considered such an unwelcome possibility. “Oh no, surely not as bad as that—”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have suggested it.”
And yet Peter did exhibit some of the classic signs of shell shock. Ellen had certainly seen enough during her time nursing at Royaumont, although it had taken years to admit it was a distinct diagnosis. But Peter, dear Peter, suffering from that dreadful condition? It would be so much easier if he was just having a hard time, as so many other ex-servicemen were, settling back into civilian life.
“Let’s talk of more pleasant things,” Lucas suggested. “Such as what to eat. Our waiter is eyeing us expectantly. Have you decided what you’d like? I insist you order all three courses.”
“I couldn’t—” Ellen protested and Lucas shook his head, all mock severity.
“You must. I will be put out, otherwise.”
Ellen pursed her lips, torn between a deep, yearning pleasure at the thought of abandoning all her cares for an hour or two and simply enjoying such a fine meal, and a niggling irritation that Lucas could afford three-course dinners in elegant restaurants while his family struggled to keep their farm afloat. Did he not care about island life any longer?
They ordered their food, and as the waiter left, she asked one of the questions that had been burning in her heart since she’d first come back to Jasper Lane. “Why haven’t you come back to the island, Lucas?”
“I told you,” he answered. “I’ve been busy.”
“It must be busy indeed, not to be able to see your own family.”
The easy smile left Lucas’s face and he looked away. “Are you cross with me?” he said after a moment, his voice deliberately light.
“Not cross. That sounds like a child’s response.”
“Disappointed, then!” He held his hand to his heart as if she’d dealt him a mortal blow, still keeping his tone light and even laughing. “That’s far worse. How shall I survive under the frowning eye of Ellen Copley’s displeasure?”
Ellen couldn’t help but smile at Lucas’s obvious theatrics, but she could tell he was avoiding taking the topic seriously—or giving her a straight answer, and she decided to drop it for now. “I shall look forward to seeing you there shortly,” she said. “Will you be staying for the barn dance at the Hewitsons on Saturday night?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Will you save me a dance?”
“Maybe,” Ellen teased. “If you’re lucky!”
“I hope I am,” Lucas answered, and for a second, no more, his gaze rested on hers in an unnervingly meaningful way. The days of Lucas insisting he loved her were long past, Ellen knew. They’d been so young, only nineteen, when Lucas had, in his first year at Queen’s, told Ellen he’d fallen in love with her. He’d said so again, more or less, in France, but Ellen had chosen to dismiss that declaration as a product of war and all the uncertainty it had brought. Certainly since then Lucas had said nothing of any deeper feelings.
And as much as she loved Lucas, Ellen had believed it hadn’t been in that way, and she’d told him so. The truth was, back in Kingston and even a little bit in France, she’d still been in love with Jed, a heartache that had gone on for years until she’d finally forced herself to move on. Now when she thought of Jed’s surly rebuff yesterday, Ellen wondered how they’d ever truly been close. It seemed like a lifetime ago and, she reflected sadly, in truth it was.
“So tell me why you aren’t returning to Glasgow,” Lucas said as their first course arrived and they both dug into their crab cocktails. “I thought you’d take up your position at the art school. Weren’t they keeping it for you? And you had a house, as I recall…”
“I still have a house, and my friends are living in it,” Ellen answered. Wistfully, she thought of Ruby and Dougie and the jolly times the three of them had together, gathered around the kitchen table as the nights drew in.
“So what is keeping you from returning? It sounds as if your life is there now, Ellen, not on the island.”
Ellen took a bite of crab, trying not to let Lucas’s well-meaning remark sting. “It may seem like that from afar,” she agreed slowly, “but it didn’t inside.” She tapped her chest lightly. “Besides, I don’t know that I could be a lecturer at the School of Art when I have not put pencil to paper in years.”
“Haven’t you?” Lucas looked di
smayed by the news; he’d always been a staunch supporter of her artistic ambitions, such as they’d been.
“No, not since before the war. I simply couldn’t.”
He nodded slowly in understanding. Although Lucas had been in intelligence for much of the war rather than on the front lines like Jed, he’d seen his fair share of the horrors too, Ellen knew. “But the war is over now,” he said after a moment. “And you have always been inspired by the island.”
“Which is partly why I returned,” Ellen explained with a smile.
“Have you drawn anything since you’ve been back?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No, not yet. I’ve been kept busy helping with the farm and the never-ending chores that need to be done. I haven’t had a moment even to think about drawing.”
“That’s a pity—”
“It is what it is.” Ellen heard the hard note entering her voice and she knew Lucas did too. Spending hours drawing and daydreaming seemed like an offensive luxury now, an insult to the McCaffertys and how hard they worked. Couldn’t Lucas see that?
“Well, I won’t bang on about it,” Lucas told her with a laugh, reading her mood correctly. “It’s only I know what talent you have, Ellen, and I know how much it means to you. But if you’re not intending to return to Glasgow, I for one can’t help but be pleased. I’m glad you’re back on the island, for my sake, if not your own.”
“Even though you hardly come back yourself?” Ellen couldn’t keep from asking, and Lucas smiled and shook his head.
“Not that again, Ellen. I have duties in Toronto that keep from me from the island.”
“I know, but—”
“I promise you, I shall be back tomorrow,” Lucas assured her. “And dance with you on Saturday night!”
Ellen smiled at that, glad that her friendship with Lucas at least remained untarnished. As for Jed… well, there was no real reason to think overmuch about Jed. And yet she couldn’t stop herself from asking Lucas a little while later as they had their dessert, “Will Louisa return to the island, do you think?”