by Hewitt, Kate
Moving as gingerly as she could through the Lymans’ vegetable garden, she reached Maddie and then slipped the rope around her thick neck, breathing a sigh of relief when the silly cow didn’t resist. Now to get her back home, and as quickly as possible.
“Come on, Maddie.” Ellen pulled the rope, but the cow didn’t budge, a pea shoot dangling from the corner of her mouth as she chewed with placid determination. “Come on,” Ellen urged, a bit desperately now.
Maddie let out a resistant moo. Ellen felt like screaming or stamping her foot or both. How could this be happening now?
“Move, you absurd animal!” she cried, only to hear the slap of the Lymans’ screen door open and shut, and then the heavy tread of a man’s boots.
“Need some help there, Ellen?” Jed asked dryly.
“I wouldn’t mind, actually.” Ellen turned to look at him; Jed stood on the porch in his shirtsleeves and suspenders, his expression unreadable and not particularly friendly. “I’m sorry about your peas. We’ve had an early crop already, so I’ll bring some over later.”
He shrugged one shoulder as he came down from the porch. “Doesn’t much matter, I suppose. We haven’t got a woman to manage the garden, in any case, and much of it has run to weeds, as you can see. Maddie is welcome to those. No one else will be pulling them out.”
There could be no denying the weary bitterness in Jed’s tone, and with Caro’s words from last night still ringing in Ellen’s ears, she found herself asking, her eyes on Maddie as she didn’t dare look at Jed, “Is… is Louisa going to come back, do you think?”
Jed was silent, and Ellen felt the tension thrumming through him. “Doesn’t look like it, does it?” he finally answered shortly. “Now, let’s get this cow home before the stupid beast ruins the rest of my garden.” He yanked on the rope and, sensing a stronger master, Maddie trotted obediently after him.
Ellen walked next to Jed, one hand on Maddie’s now-docile head as she snuck glances at the boy she’d once counted as a friend, the man she’d once loved. His expression was both obdurate and grim, his eyes shadowed with a pain Ellen knew he would never express. Her heart ached for him, and yet he remained utterly unreachable. Would he always remain so?
“Jed,” she said as they approached the fence where Maddie had broken through. “Why don’t you come to supper one night? Rose would love—”
“I’m busy enough as it is,” Jed cut her off, his tone brusque. “Now you’d best get this fence mended before Maddie comes through it again.”
Ellen sighed, swallowing her disappointment at his curt rebuff. “Yes, of course, I’ll make sure Peter sees to it today. I’m sorry about Maddie.” She stood there, her skirts and boots muddy, her heart still sore, longing to say something that would reach Jed, to jostle him out of the gray fog he seemed to be determined to immerse himself in. Then she heard the McCaffertys’ wagon rumbling up Jasper Lane, and her heart lurched for an entirely different reason. “Our guests…”
“Don’t want to keep them waiting,” Jed said, his mouth twisting. “Especially since Lucas arranged it so they’ll save your farm.”
Without waiting for a reply, he dropped Maddie’s rope and turned to walk back the way he came. Ellen watched him go, wondering at the new bitterness she’d heard in his voice. Was Lucas doing nothing to help his own family’s farm, even as he put himself out for the McCaffertys?
She didn’t have time to dwell on it then, however; three well-turned-out ladies in wide skirts, cinched waists and elegant hats were emerging from the McCaffertys’ buckboard, looking slightly harried from the bumpy ride but interested, at least, in going inside the farmhouse.
Taking a deep breath, Ellen hurried across the field towards them.
By the time she arrived at the house, their guests had been ushered into the front hallway and were staring around in what Ellen feared was bemusement. She thought she’d been looking at the McCaffertys’ farmhouse through critical eyes, but in that moment she realized afresh how shabby and secondhand everything was—even the glass jar of daisies on the table by the door looked too homely, picked that morning, already dropping petals.
“Welcome to Jasper Lane,” Caro said with a wide smile, a determined glitter lighting her hazel eyes. “We hope you’ll be happy here. We’ll show you your rooms and give you an opportunity to refresh yourselves before afternoon tea, and then Miss Copley, lately from the Glasgow School of Art, will be leading your art lessons!”
At least one of the women, with her hair swept up in a graying bouffant under a wide-brimmed hat, made an appropriate noise of approval, while the older sister with iron-gray hair scraped back into a bun and a face as sour as a lemon looked distinctly unimpressed. The third lady, who looked about ten years younger than the others, had a dreamy and rather vacant expression and seemed not to have heard, but Ellen blushed all the same. Caro had made her sound grander than she was, especially considering she had three inches of mud on the hem of her dress, and her boots were still caked in the stuff.
While Caro showed the three women to their rooms, Ellen hurried upstairs to change her dress and boots, and then hare back downstairs to help Rose with the tea things.
“Do you think it’s going well?” she whispered to Rose as they arranged fresh scones on a plate.
“I don’t know,” Rose admitted. She looked flushed and excited, her hands twisted in her apron. “It seems to be, although did you see that one with the enormous ostrich feather in her hat? She turned her nose up a bit, I think, and I can’t really blame her.” Rose looked around anxiously. “Everything is a bit worn, isn’t it? The runner in the hall is nearly threadbare. I didn’t notice until now, when Mrs. Gardener nearly tripped over it.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Ellen said firmly. “Who cares about a runner?” Yet silently she vowed to get it replaced before the next lot of guests came—if they came. Perhaps they never would.
Soon, the women were coming back downstairs, and Caro led them to the front parlor, chatting easily about island life and the interesting sights they might see there.
“The views from the South Shore are quite the best—I’m sure you’ll want to paint or sketch from that vantage point. And there have been known to be fossils found on the beach.”
“It all sounds fascinating,” the older woman with the elegant updo, who had earlier introduced herself as Viola Gardener, assured her in a carrying voice, and Ellen and Rose exchanged quick, relieved smiles.
Afternoon tea was mostly a success, with Viola, the woman with the bouffant hair, exclaiming over Rose’s fresh scones—her aunt, Ellen thought proudly, had always had a light hand with pastry dough. Even Edith, the older sister who continued to look so sour, had managed to put away two.
When they’d finished their tea, all three women were determined to go for a stroll, sketchbooks in hand, leaving Ellen no choice but to accompany them. She hadn’t planned on giving an art lesson the day they arrived, assuming the women would take the rest of the afternoon to rest and refresh themselves, but she agreed with alacrity when they all looked at her expectantly.
“Of course, if you wish to sketch now, I can take you to a pretty spot on the property,” she said hurriedly. “Although I thought you would wish to rest before dinner…”
Patience, the youngest of the three, smiled warmly at her, but Edith gave a deliberate sniff.
“I should think we want to get our money’s worth.”
“Oh, Edith, enough about money,” Viola said with a laugh. “Didn’t you hear Miss McCafferty say that Miss Copley has taught at the Glasgow School of Art? I’ve read about that renowned institution in the papers. We consider ourselves fortunate indeed to be under your tutelage, Miss Copley.”
“Oh, well…” Ellen blushed and trailed off uncertainly. Although she’d been offered a teaching position at the school, she’d never actually taken it up and she couldn’t help but feel she was there under false pretenses, not that she intended on illuminating any of the ladies to the truth of her
situation. “You’ll need sturdy boots and a hat,” she told them, and Patience, who was a bit dreamy and silly, looked surprised.
“A hat? But it’s already nearly six o’clock. The sun won’t be high for much longer.”
“Not for the sun,” Ellen said apologetically. “But for the black flies. I’m afraid they can be quite a nuisance at this time of year.”
“Flies…!” Edith exclaimed, but Viola just laughed.
“We are in the country, my dears. What did you expect? Now, let us get ready at once. I, for one, am quite looking forward to having a little adventure, and before supper, as well!”
Within just a few minutes, Ellen was leading the three ladies outside, each with a sketchbook under her arm. It was a lovely evening, with shreds of golden cloud racing across the horizon, and a breeze off the lake fortunately keeping the worst of the flies away.
Ellen had already decided to take them to a tall maple tree on top of a hill beyond the cow pasture, as it had the best and highest view of the south shore from all the property.
Unfortunately, as it meant walking through the cow pasture, Ellen had to warn the ladies not to step in the cowpats, something Edith found distasteful in the extreme.
“We are in the country, Edith,” Viola reminded her. “Once again, I ask, what did you expect?”
“Not to tramp through a field like a farm laborer,” Edith shot back, and Ellen’s heart sank. As kind as Viola seemed, her older sister’s sharp, disapproving manner seemed likely to make the trip a failure. She certainly didn’t sound as if she was going to recommend Jasper Lane to her friends and acquaintances back in Toronto.
Ellen tried to keep her spirits up and her manner cheerful as they left the cow pasture behind and started up the hill, with Edith and Patience both huffing and puffing dramatically, although Viola was able to match Ellen’s less-than-brisk pace.
“You mustn’t mind Edith,” she told Ellen with a smile. “She complains about everything. She takes pleasure in it. It doesn’t mean she isn’t enjoying herself. In fact, I suspect that the more she complains, the more she enjoys herself. But that is just a theory.”
“I’m afraid she has some cause to complain,” Ellen replied ruefully. “You must know that you are our first guests—we are not at all experienced hoteliers.”
“And nor would I expect you to be. But—oh!” Viola stopped as they crested the hill, one hand pressed to her generous bosom as she took in the view from the top.
In truth, it was a wondrous thing to behold, and certainly to draw. Everything brimmed with green life, the fields stretching onto a powder-blue sky, sunlight glinting off the aquamarine surface of the lake in the distance, making it shimmer. Looking at it all made Ellen’s heart feel as if it could burst—she didn’t want to leave this wonderful place. She didn’t want any of the McCaffertys to leave it. If only this holiday were a success! If she could win over Patience, and Edith too…
“How absolutely lovely.” Viola gave her one of her warm smiles before starting over. “I barely know where to begin in drawing it! Come, Edith, Patience. Have you ever seen something so magnificent?”
“I believe the views in Tuscany were better,” Edith replied sourly, and Ellen choked back a laugh. Tuscany…!
“Yes, but we are in our very own Canada,” Viola returned patiently. “And it is as lovely as Tuscany, if not even more so. Come and admit it, Edith!”
“It is pretty enough,” Edith allowed, and Viola shot Ellen a knowing, triumphant smile.
“I knew you would think so,” she said, and settled on a patch of soft grass, her sketchbook on her lap.
The other two women followed suit, and Ellen breathed a sigh of relief as they all opened their sketchbooks—until each one turned to her with an expectant look on her face, Edith’s beadily so.
“What shall we draw?” Viola asked simply, pencil poised, and Ellen stared at her blankly.
“Why, the—the view, I suppose,” she stammered. It seemed obvious to her, and yet the three sisters were looking as if they needed to be told what to do in every particular.
“Yes, but where should we begin?” Viola asked. “With the lake or the tree or the grass right in front of me? I am afraid we are terrible amateurs, Miss Copley. We will need complete instruction.”
“Ah, yes, of course.” Like donning an old dress and finding it still fit, Ellen began to bend herself to the shape of her role. “It is best to begin with the largest shapes and outlines, and then add detail as you go along. Broad strokes to start, to get the spirit of the thing, and then fill it in.”
Taking Viola’s pencil between her fingers, she drew a few quick strokes to give shape to the trees on the horizon, and something in her came to life. She’d forgotten how a pencil felt between her fingers, how the lines seemed to spring from both her heart and hand.
“Like this—do you see?”
“Oh, you are a magician!” Viola exclaimed, and Edith and Patience both scrambled over to examine her work, while Ellen flushed and insisted she was nothing of the sort, even as she longed to take back the pencil and sketch some more herself. It had been a long time since she’d felt that deep-seated craving.
“It’s not bad,” Edith said with another one of her sniffs, and Patience set to drawing the large maple on top of the hill, with the clumsy, simple lines of a child.
Soon, Ellen was hurrying from lady to lady, encouraging and instructing as best as she could.
“Miss Copley, I’m having trouble with the shape of this tree,” Patience called. “Could you help?”
Patience, Ellen had seen immediately, was a lamentable artist, but she tried to help as much as she could. Edith drew with severe, stark lines and no subtlety, which was about what Ellen would have expected, and Viola took great enjoyment in drawing all over the page, although Ellen would not recognize it as the view from the hill.
“Why does the tree look so big in comparison to the lake?” Viola asked as she proffered her drawing to Ellen, who studied it thoughtfully for a moment. Viola was certainly the most spirited and friendliest of the sisters, a woman in her late forties with deep lines by her sharp blue eyes and a quick, ready smile.
“I believe it’s a matter of perspective,” she murmured, and with a few quick pencil strokes, she showed Viola how to draw the tree in relation to the sky and lake.
“Oh, but you are clever!” Viola exclaimed. “Isn’t she, Edith?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Edith replied sourly. She wasn’t drawing any longer, merely sitting looking stern with her sketchbook on her knees.
“Don’t mind her,” Viola whispered. “She’s just annoyed she’s having a lovely time.”
Ellen smothered a laugh at that assessment. Edith certainly did not appear as if she were having a lovely time. “I shall take that into account,” she whispered back with a grateful smile.
Viola sat back to study her appraisingly, making Ellen want to squirm under the older woman’s seemingly knowing gaze. “I’ve been wondering what kind of woman had captured Mr. Lyman’s interest so thoroughly.”
“What!” Ellen stared at her, shocked and appalled by the obvious insinuation. “Oh no, I am afraid you have misunderstood. It's not like that between Mr. Lyman and me at all…”
“Isn’t it? Lucas Lyman had been most concerned on your behalf. He has seemed most insistent that we would find this to be a pleasant place.”
“And I hope you do find it so,” Ellen answered a bit stiffly. She had a sudden, horrible feeling that the only reason Viola Gardener had come at all was to satisfy her curiosity about Lucas’s alleged love interest. And while Lucas might have felt that way about her once, Ellen was quite sure he didn’t any longer, not after all these years.
“Oh my dear, I assure you we do.” Viola laughed and patted Ellen’s arm. “Please, don’t look so affronted. Is there any help for a middle-aged matron’s curiosity? We are here because we are enjoying ourselves.” She threw her sister a humorous look. “Even Edith.”
&nbs
p; Ellen’s thoughts were still in a turmoil as they walked back to the farmhouse under a setting sun for the evening meal Caro and Rose had been hard at work preparing. Could it be that Viola Gardener and her sisters had merely come to have a look at the woman the handsome junior partner of her husband’s law firm recommended? If so, Ellen doubted whether they would have any more bookings. There were precious few people in the world who needed to have their curiosity satisfied on that score.
Her insides tightened with anxiety at the possibility that this might have all been for nothing, a mere lark on Viola Gardener’s part. As for her sisters, Ellen could not see them recommending Jasper Lane to anyone, no matter Viola’s insistence that Edith really was enjoying herself.
The only hope, Ellen realized, was to convince Viola to abandon her curiosity and actually truly enjoy the holiday, recommend it to friends. She seemed an amicable woman, so surely that was a possibility?
Fortunately, supper went well, with all three sisters perking up considerably when they viewed Rose and Caro’s impressive spread—Chicken à la King, followed by an apple and pear crumble with fresh cream from Maddie that morning.
After the meal, they retired to the front parlor to enjoy some quiet, and Peter laid a fire, as a chill had come over the fields with the setting of the sun.
Ellen retreated to the kitchen with Caro and Rose, all of them breathing large, gusty sighs of relief before they started on the washing up.
“Only six more days to go,” Caro whispered, which for some reason sent both Ellen and Rose into a fit of giggles.
“Ssh, they’ll hear us,” Rose hissed as she wiped tears of laughter from her eyes. “I don’t even know why I’m laughing—I think I’m just so plum tired.”
“Miss Edith has the face of a prune,” Caro said, dropping her voice even lower. “But she had two helpings of dessert.”
“She’s one that will always be hard to please,” Rose acknowledged. “But Viola seems so very nice. Oh, I hope the rest of the week goes by without too many trials. I fear it’s going to feel like a very long week.”
