Return to the Island: An utterly gripping historical romance

by Hewitt, Kate

  “I… I have an inheritance.” She bit her lip, realizing she’d never spoken to Jed about Henry McAvoy. “From my late fiancé.”

  His eyes widened as his impassive gaze scanned her face once more. “You had a fiancé? No one ever said.”

  “No one has ever known. It was before the war, in Glasgow.” She swallowed hard. “It wasn’t actually official. He’d asked me to marry him, and I was going to accept when he returned from a trip to America. He died on the Titanic.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jed said quietly, the words sincere.

  Ellen nodded jerkily. Henry McAvoy’s death still hurt after all these years, but it was a dull pain. Their romance had been brief, tender and sweet, but little more than a spark too swiftly extinguished. “I would happily use that money for Peter,” she said.

  “If the McCaffertys accepted it.”

  “They have to! If Peter’s health, his very life, is at stake…”

  Jed shrugged, seeming indifferent even now as he took a sip of coffee.

  Ellen bit down on her frustration. What would it take to reach this man? “Won’t you please help him, Jed?”

  “I’m not a doctor, Ellen. Far from it.”

  “I know, but you spent four years at the Front. You know what a man suffering from shell shock looks like. More than I do, perhaps, since men in such a state weren’t often treated at a hospital. If you really do think that’s what it is…” Ellen took a deep breath. “You could tell Caro and Rose and the rest of the McCaffertys. Perhaps they’ll listen to you, a proper islander, more than they would me.” She couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice.

  “Oh, Ellen.” Jed shook his head, his features softening with sadness. “The McCaffertys love you, you know. They always have. This thing with Peter isn’t about you not being family.”

  “What is it, then?” Ellen asked, hurt vibrating in her voice. Caro’s coolness had affected her more than she wanted to admit to Jed or even to herself.

  “Fear,” Jed said simply. “They know the truth and so they’re afraid to look at it too closely. I know what that’s like.” He looked away, the set of his face grim, and Ellen’s heart gave a painful little twist.

  “Do you mean… do you mean because of the war, or… because of Louisa?” she asked quietly.

  Ellen held her breath, waiting for Jed to answer. After what felt like an endless moment, he gave a terse nod. “We were troubled long before she left me,” he said in a low voice. “Even before the war started.”

  “But it must have been made worse by Thomas’ death,” Ellen said softly.

  “Don’t,” Jed said. “Don’t let’s talk about that.” He put down his coffee cup and briefly, so briefly, put his hand on top of hers. “I’ll do what you say. I’ll talk to Peter.”

  Chapter Ten

  Three days after Ellen’s conversation with Jed, Gracie, Sarah, and Andrew all came home, and Ellen put her worries about Peter aside to enjoy the celebrations. Rose cooked one of the chickens and made a chocolate cake and it was lovely to have the house full of love and laughter again, the way it had been when Ellen had been a shy, lonely child, welcomed into the bosom of this rambunctious family, finally feeling as if she belonged somewhere.

  Since she’d stopped trying to talk about Peter, Caro had softened towards her, although Ellen still sensed a reserve from her cousin that she knew hadn’t been there before. She just hoped Jed was right and it was fear rather than lack of affection that was motivating Caro’s coolness.

  Sarah, Gracie, and Andrew had all greeted her with exuberant hugs at least. She’d seen them all several times since her arrival back on the island, but no one would have guessed it from the enthusiasm with which they greeted her now. Their warm embraces were a balm to Ellen’s battered soul, as was the laughter and conversation that flew across the kitchen table the evening of their arrival, as everyone finished their dessert and Rose put on the kettle.

  “Don’t go putting on airs,” Andrew warned Gracie as he leaned back in his chair, plates scattered with chocolate crumbs in front of everyone. “Now that you’re a university girl.”

  “Airs? Me?” Gracie raised her eyebrows, her blue eyes sparkling with humor and audacity. She’d always been whip-smart and sassy, and now that she was nearly grown-up, Ellen could see what a beauty she’d become, with her black curls and bright eyes, just like Dyle’s. She’d have half the men at Queen’s setting their caps for her, Ellen was sure.

  “And what about you, Sarah?” Ellen asked. “Are you enjoying teaching at Gananoque?”

  “Oh, yes.” Sarah smiled, the opposite of her younger sister, with her soft cloud of brown hair and hazel eyes, her quiet, shy ways. “Yes, I love teaching, although there are a few boys in my classroom who’d like to get the better of me. They put a frog in my desk drawer on the very first day, but they’d forgotten I was a country girl.”

  Ellen laughed. “I’m sure you put them in their places.”

  “I did,” Sarah assured her, her smile widening. “Never worry about that! I may be quiet, but I know when to use my voice.”

  “Will you stay at Gananoque?” Ellen asked.

  “They’ve offered me a two-year contract, and I’ve accepted. That is if…” She glanced inquiringly at Rose, who was spooning tea leaves into the big brown pot.

  “Don’t ask me what the fate of this farm is, love, because I’m sure I don’t know. If we get more bookings, we might just be able to hold onto this place. Especially with Ellen being such a marvel! Mrs. Viola Gardener was singing her praises the whole week long.”

  “She wasn’t,” Ellen protested, blushing. Viola had been complimentary, but she felt embarrassed by how Rose seemed to attribute the week’s success solely to her. They’d all worked hard.

  “These women wouldn’t be coming if they didn’t have a proper lady artist to show them how to sketch and draw,” Rose said seriously. “None of this would be possible without you.”

  “And it might not again,” Caro interjected. “We haven’t had another booking yet.”

  Ellen glanced at her and saw the way her lips were pursed. Was Caro envious, she wondered, feeling that Rose was giving her more attention or praise? Was that part of the reason she’d been so prickly? Or was it really just about Peter?

  Ellen looked back at Peter, who had seemed more lighthearted since his siblings’ arrival, leaning his chair back on its legs and smiling faintly as both girls regaled him with stories of their adventures as independent young women. Ellen experienced a pang of bittersweet memory—once, she’d been like them, full of excitement and anticipation for what lay ahead, and all the possibilities that had been open to her. It had been a long time since she’d felt like that. The war, along with too much loss and grief, had put paid to such carefree notions.

  “Washed up at twenty-eight,” she muttered ruefully as she dumped the dirty dishwater outside after supper. She supposed it wasn’t that old, even if it felt like it. Most women her age were married with several children by now, but Ellen doubted she ever would be, especially with the dearth of eligible men since the war. There certainly wasn’t anyone on the island she could think of that way.

  She straightened, putting her hands on the small of her back to ease the crick that had formed there, smiling wryly as she considered her predicament—an old maid before she was thirty, living in a ramshackle farmhouse, with not a soul about she could even dream about in that way. Well, she supposed there were worse places to be.

  It was a tranquil summer’s evening, dragonflies humming in the air, the setting sun turning everything to gold. Peter and Andrew were out in the barn seeing to the animals, and Ellen had shooed Gracie and Sarah from the kitchen, insisting they put their feet up with Aunt Rose in the parlor while she saw to the washing up. Caro had set off for the Wilsons again, intending to stay the night if needed.

  “I keep thinking about those poor children,” she’d told Rose while Ellen had filled the sink with soapy water. “All alone, with just their ill ma
m, and they haven’t much money, let me tell you. They’re as good as dressed in rags.”

  “Why don’t you bring them some of your old dresses?” Rose had suggested. “You could cut them down and sew them to size. I’ll help.”

  “That’s a lovely idea,” Caro had said, brightening. “They could certainly use a few more things.”

  “I can help too,” Ellen had offered with an uncertain smile, and Caro’s gaze had skated over her.

  “You’ve never been much good with a needle,” she’d said, not unkindly, and Ellen did her best not to feel hurt. It was true enough, anyway.

  Caro had left soon after with her things for the Wilson children, and with everyone in the parlor, Ellen now looked forward to a few quiet moments in the kitchen. The last few days had been happy but fraught with work and care, and she was glad simply to be, watching the sun set over the lake and putting the kitchen to rights.

  Whatever Caro was feeling, she told herself, it would blow over. They’d all been under such pressure these last few weeks, with the fear of losing the farm looming over their heads, and then the demands of their guests taking all their time. Never mind that it had been three days since Viola Gardener and her sister had left; Caro would come round. And if she didn’t, Ellen decided, then she would talk to her. They’d always been close. She did not want to lose that precious connection now, simply from want of trying to hold onto it.

  The washing finished and the kitchen tidied, Ellen went into the parlor, pausing in the doorway to view the scene with a deep-seated contentment. Gracie was curled up one end of the shabby horsehair sofa that had been in the room since Ellen had first arrived, over fifteen years ago, and Sarah was sitting on the other, an open book forgotten in her lap. Rose, as ever, was darning something, but she seemed to have forgotten that as well, for her needles lay in her lap and her face was alight with laughter. Andrew was sprawled in a chair by the fire, Peter was sitting on the piano stool, his long fingers playing a few discordant notes as he listened—the piano hadn’t been tuned in years. Her family, she thought, and she didn’t care whether she was an off-islander or not. This was her family.

  “Oh Ellen, come join us,” Rose entreated with a laugh as she beckoned to her with one hand. “Gracie has just been regaling us with the most amazing stories from university. She and her college chums have been daring each other to do the most ridiculous things—wrapping each other in bandages, for a start!”

  “We had to have some fun,” Gracie protested, laughing, “when they turned Grant Hall into a military hospital and had us all rolling bandages! Although the matron was cross. But the bandages were perfectly fine—we didn’t harm anything or anyone, I promise.”

  “I’m sure, I’m sure,” Ellen answered as she took a seat on the sofa next to Sarah. “It all sounds like a wonderful time.” She smiled at Peter, who smiled back faintly and played a few more notes.

  It was so pleasant sitting there, listening to Gracie’s self-important chatter as she tossed her black curls, dark eyes sparkling defiantly, so like Dyle. Ellen wondered if she’d ever possessed such passion. She didn’t think she had, even during her Glasgow days, when she’d been determined to pursue her art. She sighed and tucked her legs up under her on the sofa. Goodness, but she was feeling old tonight.

  Sarah suddenly leaned forward to place a hand on Ellen’s, her eyes warm with affection. “Oh, Ellen, it’s so good to have you back with us, just like old days. Just like the way it’s supposed to be.”

  Ellen looked at her in surprise, a smile spreading slowly over her face as she took in Sarah’s warmhearted sincerity. “It’s good to be back.”

  And it was. Sitting there in the cozy room, with laughter in the air, Ellen could almost forget Caro’s harsh words.

  “Ah, Gracie,” Peter said dryly, “you shall have all the Queen’s boys eating out of your hand before you finish your freshman year.”

  “I hope so,” Gracie returned with another toss of her curls, and Peter laughed.

  Ellen heartened to hear the sound. Perhaps she had been overreacting about the funny turn he’d taken. He seemed perfectly at ease and happy now, if only a little remote, and as Ellen sat back in her chair, she wanted to let the worries and cares that had been near to tormenting her these last few days slip away, like pearls off a string. She wanted simply to enjoy these lovely moments, because she knew they came all too rarely, and they were so very precious.

  The next morning, Ellen woke early to dazzling sunlight and headed down to the kitchen to get the day’s work started. Rose had been looking tired lately, and she hoped her aunt might have a rest while she got breakfast on, and saw to the morning chores.

  The air was fresh and cool at this time of day, although with the promise of heat later. It would be a good drying day, Ellen thought, with the breeze coming off the lake. Perhaps she would do the sheets on her bed, and her Sunday dress as well, whose hem was still caked in mud.

  Indeed, the morning passed in a pleasant round of chores, with Gracie and Sarah stumbling down, but Ellen insisting they sit down and relax. She was happy enough to bustle about, making breakfast, collecting the eggs, and putting the bed sheets into soak, stopping only when she saw Bert on his trusty bicycle, waving another telegram.

  Rose, who had been sitting at the kitchen table with Sarah, the cat in her lap as she sipped a cup of tea, gave Ellen a glance that was filled with both anxiety and hope. “Do you think…”

  “There’s only one way to find out,” Ellen said cheerfully, and, wiping her hand on her apron, she went to the front door.

  Bert handed her the telegram from Toronto, craning his neck to try to read it. “Do you think it’s more of those fancy people of yours, Ellen?” he asked.

  “They’re not mine, and I’m afraid I have no idea, Bert, but thank you for the telegram,” Ellen said crisply, and put it in her apron pocket. She had no intention of Bert hearing another telegram read out and then passing their business to everyone on the island yet again.

  “Have a good day, then,” he said rather sadly, and then wobbled off on his bicycle.

  “Poor Bert,” Sarah said with a smile as Ellen came back into the kitchen. “I think he lives vicariously through all the telegrams, not that many come to the island. What does it say, Ellen?”

  “I don’t know, because I haven’t opened it,” Ellen replied, laughing as she took it out of her pocket.

  “Read it, Ellen, do,” Rose implored, and Gracie nodded, curious now, too.

  “Do you think it’s another booking?”

  Ellen opened the telegram and scanned the few lines. “It isn’t another booking,” she said, looking up with an incredulous smile, almost wanting to laugh out loud. “It’s three.”

  “Three!”

  “Goodness gracious!”

  “Oh, my.” Rose pressed a hand to her chest. “I never expected… How will we manage?”

  “Gracie and Sarah will go into the back bedroom, just as we said,” Ellen explained practically. “And I can sleep on the floor—”

  “On the floor! Ellen, you mustn’t!”

  “No, you can have the box room,” Peter said as he came into the kitchen from the barn, having overheard some of the news. “And Andrew and I can make up some beds in the hayloft. That’s most sensible.”

  “You can’t spend the winter in the hayloft,” Rose protested.

  “And so we won’t. It’s midsummer, and neither of us will mind,” Peter replied.

  “Speak for yourself,” Andrew returned as he followed Peter in from the barn, but he was smiling. “It’s good news, Mum,” he told her as he gave her cheek a smacking kiss. “Be happy.”

  Amidst the continuing exclamations of surprise and delight, no one heard the sound of someone coming up the front steps. Ellen turned only when the front door was flung open, hard enough to bang the wall, and Caro stood there, panting, her face flushed and her hair in disarray.

  “Ellen,” she cried, “you must come quickly. It’s Iris Wilson. I t
hink she has the Spanish flu!”

  Everyone fell silent as they took in this dreadful news. They’d all read about the deadly disease sweeping through the world, killing millions, more even than the war, but so far tiny Amherst Island had escaped its terrible notice.

  “Are you sure, Caro?” Ellen asked. “How would she ever have managed to catch it?”

  “She went to Kingston, before she took ill, to sell something, I think. Maybe then?” Caro shrugged helplessly. “I don’t rightly know, but she’s taken a turn for the worse and she’s ever so hot.” Caro’s face was pale, her golden-brown hair in tangles as she gazed at Ellen anxiously. “I read about the symptoms in the newspaper.”

  “We all have,” Rose interjected, her face drawn into frowning lines of concern. “It’s terribly serious. Have you called the doctor?”

  “Iris can’t afford a doctor’s fees,” Caro said grimly. “And neither can we, for that matter. And you know Dr. Stephens won’t be called out anymore if you haven’t got the money.”

  “He can’t afford it, poor man,” Rose said quietly. Gone were the days when services could be paid for with a sack of potatoes or a chicken.

  “Doctors can’t seem to do much anyway,” Sarah remarked quietly. “There have been some cases of influenza in Gananoque—it really can be terrible.”

  “Will you have a look at her, Ellen?” Caro implored, wringing her hands in a most un-Caro-like way. “You’re a nurse. You’re the most experienced one among us. Surely you would know.”

  “It’s never been up to me to diagnose anyone,” Ellen warned her shakily. “I just gave medicine and changed bandages. But I’ll have a look at her. Of course I will.”

  Andrew hitched the wagon and drove them across the island, up to Emerald, where the Wilsons had a small, shabby farmhouse of weathered clapboard, half-hidden beneath some overgrown ash trees. The fields that rolled down to the sparkling blue-green waters of Lake Ontario had once been neatly tilled and sown, but now all but two were fallow, choked with goldenrod and wild sumac.