by Hewitt, Kate
“Iris hasn’t had any help,” Caro explained quietly as she and Ellen alit from the wagon, and Andrew tethered the horses. “She’s not able to make ends meet on her own, with no one to farm the land. She had a vegetable garden, and she sold some eggs, but that’s all. And now this…” She shook her head. “It’s bad.”
It was bad, Ellen realized with a rush of pity, as she stepped across the threshold of the Wilsons’ small farmhouse, so different from the busy, happy bustle of Jasper Lane, and saw what greeted her. Three woebegone figures sat at the kitchen table, all tangled hair and runny noses, with nothing but a few slices of stale bread between them smeared with a bit of lard. The jam Caro had bought that morning had already been eaten, with their fingers in the jar, judging from their sticky hands and faces.
They gazed at Ellen with wide eyes, too hungry and frightened to say anything or perhaps even feel curious about this new stranger entering their lives.
“Hello, little ones,” Ellen said with a kindly smile. “I’m here to help your mother. You know Caro already. She’ll see to you.” She turned to Caro and whispered, “Tell Andrew to ride back to Jasper Lane and bring a basket of food. Rose will make one up. They look half-starved, poor things.”
“I fed them beef stew last night,” Caro said with some affront, “and bread and jam this morning.”
“They still look as good as hollow,” Ellen replied, and reluctantly Caro nodded.
“There’s nothing in the larder as far as I can see. I’ll tell Andrew to bring more.”
She hurried out and Ellen waited until she’d come back to see to the children before she headed upstairs. Iris was in the front bedroom, the windows overlooking the sea, although they were now closed, the curtains drawn shut so the room was stifling, the air stale, smelling of sweat and sickness and damp.
“Hello, Mrs. Wilson,” Ellen said as she took in the wasted figure lying on the bed, her nightgown soaked with sweat and her eyes glazed and dilated from fever. “My name is Ellen Copley. I trained as a nurse and served on the Front, in France. I’m going to look you over now, and see how you are.”
Ellen didn’t need to do much of a checkup to see that Iris Wilson was dangerously ill. Besides the bright spots of color on her gaunt cheekbones, her face was pale and waxy and her breath rattled through her lungs, each one drawn with terrible effort. Her skin was hot to the touch, and she barely seemed to notice Ellen as she checked her reflexes, her pupils, and listened to her lungs and heart.
Caro appeared at the doorway, her hands knotted together. “She wasn’t like this yesterday,” she said unhappily. “I wouldn’t have left her like this.”
“I know, Caro,” Ellen replied gently. She could see well enough that Caro felt guilty for the state of Iris Wilson and her children, even though she’d been by every day with food and medicine. “From the cases I saw during the war, I know it can come on quickly.”
“So you do think this is influenza?” Caro dropped her voice, even though Iris had fallen into a restless slumber, her eyelids fluttering, her hand twitching against the sheet.
“It might be,” Ellen agreed heavily, “but I can’t be sure. Whatever it is, it looks bad. Let’s do our best to make her comfortable, at least. We can sponge her off, and change her nightclothes and sheets.”
Half an hour later, Iris seemed a bit more comfortable, dressed in a fresh, albeit patched and faded, nightgown, with the only other set of sheets on the bed and the dirty ones bundled downstairs, which Caro promised to put through the mangle later in the day.
“Are you going to stay here?” Ellen asked as the three children, revived by a meal of thick slices of ham, fresh bread and butter, and an apple crumble from Rose’s own larder, tumbled outside to play. Caro had washed their faces and plaited the girls’ hair, warming to her role as substitute mother.
“What else can I do?” she asked as she began to wash the dishes. Ellen found a broom and started to sweep. “Someone has to look after these children, and I don’t see anyone else offering.”
“There’s no kin, I suppose?”
“I asked Iris that before she took so poorly. Her husband’s brother is in Oshawa. He’s injured, though, and can’t do any farming work, as far as she knows.” She sighed. “This place belonged to Iris’s family. They bought it in ’05, having come from Hamilton. Her parents are dead now and she has no brothers or sisters anymore. They’ve all died—one in the war, one from a fever before, and one as a baby.” She shook her head as she listed the litany of grief. “So, no, there isn’t anyone.”
“Perhaps you should let the brother know?” Ellen suggested. “Just in case?”
Caro nodded soberly. “I could try, although I don’t even know his name, and Iris isn’t sensible enough now to tell me. Do you think she might…” She swallowed. “Do you think she might die, Ellen?”
“It’s in God’s hands.” Ellen sighed as she swiped at the loose strands of hair that had come out of her bun. “I know that sounds trite, but it’s the truth. There’s only so much a person can do, even the most skilled doctor, and I am far from that. If she does have influenza, and in truth I think she does, then I honestly couldn’t tell you her chances, but I’ll warrant they’re not good.”
Caro’s face took on a pinched look. “Poor woman.”
“Yes. All we can do is pray.”
“It feels like precious little now,” Caro returned bitterly. “After everything that’s happened… I sometimes wonder what God is doing about all this.” She swept one arm out towards the dirty kitchen, yet encompassing so much more.
“Don’t lose your faith, Caro,” Ellen said softly. “Heaven knows, I’ve struggled too. But it’s at times like this when it can be the only thing keeping you upright.”
“I suppose so.”
For a second, Ellen thought about asking Caro if she was angry with her, and seeking to mend whatever had been broken between them, but with Iris so ill upstairs, and the children just outside, it hardly seemed the right moment. She kept sweeping the floor instead, her heart heavy with the weight of others’ sorrows.
“And if she does die?” Caro asked eventually. “What will happen to these poor children?”
Ellen shook her head helplessly. She had no idea what would become of the Wilson children, but she could guess. They’d be shipped off to St Mary’s in Kingston, an orphanage for the destitute, or perhaps Toronto’s House of Industry, where the poor were given food and shelter in exchange for work. Neither option was at all desirable, and yet Ellen doubted there was anyone on the island who could take in three more mouths to feed, no matter how many good intentions they might have.
“I’ll do my best to take care of Mrs. Wilson,” she promised Caro. “But in the meantime, you should find out her husband’s brother’s name and address, if you can. He’s the most likely person to help, even if he is injured.”
Chapter Eleven
When Ellen returned to Jasper Lane, having left Caro in charge of the Wilsons, she was hit by a wave of nostalgia and thankfulness that, in her tired and grimy state, nearly felled her. She swayed against the kitchen door, taking in the sunlight slanting through the windows, a bowl of shelled peas on the table, the cat curled up in front of the old blackened range. Everything about the scene was so homely, and threadbare though it all was, Ellen felt it was rather wonderful, and she was so grateful that she’d been given the chance to live here and be part of this family. Would the Wilsons be given such a chance?
“Ellen, you look done in,” Rose exclaimed as she came into the kitchen. She took Ellen by the shoulders and gave her a quick, tight hug. “I’ve just heated some water for a wash. Go upstairs and have a few moments to yourself. There’s so much to do.”
“Is there?” Ellen felt too weary to think about what those tasks were. Briefly, she recalled the bookings they’d been so excited about, before Caro had rushed in with her awful news. “When are the first guests coming?”
“They want to come in just three days, would y
ou believe,” Rose said as she bustled around the kitchen, pulling out pots and pans. “But don’t worry. We’ll be ready this time. Now that I know what to expect, I feel much more confident. And the Gardener sisters must have had a nice time, to recommend us? A woman is coming all the way from New York, with her daughter! Apparently she’s school chums with Viola from long ago, and Viola sent her a telegram telling her she had to come and stay.”
“Imagine,” Ellen murmured.
“Who would have thought it could all happen so quickly! But you look as if you could fall asleep right there against the door,” Rose half-scolded. “Go upstairs, Ellen, for pity’s sake, and have a wash and a sleep. The world will wait.”
“Thank you, Aunt Rose.” Ellen smiled, feeling quite suddenly near tears.
“My goodness,” Rose exclaimed as she took her by the shoulders once more. “Is it poor Iris, Ellen, that’s affecting you?” Her expression grew somber. “Will she pull through, do you think? I’ve never seen a case of the ’flu, just read the stories in the paper like everyone else.”
“It’s the children, actually,” Ellen confessed shakily. “They’re so little—the oldest one can’t be more than eight. What will happen to them, Aunt Rose, if Iris dies? There’s no family, not to speak of…” She shook her head as a shudder went through her. “I can’t help but think that it could have been me, facing an orphanage or worse after my father left. If Ruth and Hamish hadn’t taken me in… if you hadn’t sent for me… I’d have been shipped off to an orphanage or workhouse. They’re terrible places, especially for children—”
“But we did send for you,” Rose said firmly. “You were a far cry from an orphan, Ellen Copley, even though I know you often felt like one.”
“I know.” Ellen smiled through the mist of tears she hadn’t expected to shed. “I’m so blessed, and yet when I was younger, I resented Aunt Ruth and Uncle Hamish so much! Aunt Ruth was so stern and severe, but she could be kind, too, and I never really got a chance to tell her how grateful I was. I’ve never thanked them, not properly…”
“They knew,” Rose said quietly. “And they loved you, in their own way. Some things don’t need to be said.” She pursed her lips as her eyes took on a similar sheen to Ellen’s. “Dyle didn’t tell me he loved me all that often. He wasn’t that kind of man. He whistled as he worked and he loved a joke, but when it came to finer feelings… But I knew, Ellen. I always knew. I never doubted for a minute that the man adored the very air I walked on, and glad I was of it, too. And your Aunt Ruth knew you loved her, too. She had a funny way of showing her own feelings, I’ll grant you, but she loved you like a daughter. It was hard enough trying to keep you here when she wanted you, and not just to tidy after her! I know you thought that, but it wasn’t true. She loved you.” Rose gave her another hug. “Now, upstairs with you, before we’re both bawling like a couple of babies.”
Upstairs, Ellen washed off the worst of the dirt and grime, stripped down to her petticoat and lay on the bed, the sunlight streaming through the windows, and was asleep within minutes.
When she awoke, it was to sounds of excitement and laughter downstairs, making her feel for a second as if she’d tumbled back in time. She was a child again, listening to the loving sounds of a big, busy family, longing to be a part—and she could be.
Smiling in expectation, Ellen dressed hurriedly, tucking her hair up as she came down the stairs to a kitchen crowded with McCaffertys.
“What’s going on?” she asked, looking at Gracie’s bright, snapping eyes and Sarah’s shy smile. Andrew was loitering by the door, along with Peter. “Has something happened?”
“Tom Howard has firecrackers,” Gracie told her. “For Dominion Day. He’s going to set them off down by the beach across from Nut Island tonight.” She tossed her dark ringlets. “And we’re all going to go. We’ll take lemonade and cookies, and the boys will build a bonfire. It will be such fun, Ellen.”
“I’m too old for such nonsense,” Rose said with a smile. “And in truth I can’t abide such a racket. But the rest of you ought to go along. It’s a treat, to be sure.”
“You will come, Ellen, won’t you?” Sarah implored. “It wouldn’t be the same without you.”
Ellen could think of better things to do than stand in the dark listening to loud things go off, but she could see how excited Sarah and Gracie were, and they had few enough treats as it was. A bonfire would be nice. “Of course I’ll go. What about Caro?”
“Andrew rode over to the Wilsons and asked her if she wanted to come, but she won’t leave Iris. I said I’d come and stay, but she’s adamant.” Rose smiled faintly. “The truth is, I think she’s taken a liking to those three tykes. God bless their mother.”
“And Andrew? Peter?” Ellen asked. “You’re both going?”
“We’ll all go,” Peter said as he came into the kitchen, with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. “Why not?”
Ellen glanced at him uncertainly; there was a strange, almost wild glitter in his eyes that she didn’t understand. She certainly hadn’t seen it in her months at Jasper Lane, yet she could hardly remark on it, or ask Peter if he really wanted to attend the outing. Why would he go if he didn’t want to?
It was already dark by the time they set off down Jasper Lane for the beachfront across from Nut Island, where Tom Howard had proposed for everyone to meet.
Even though it was the first of July, there was a coolness to the night air, and clouds covered the stars, the moon sliding between them like a stately ghost. Despite the cheerful and excited chatter of all those around her, Ellen felt a touch of foreboding, although she couldn’t have said why. Perhaps it was from seeing Iris so ill that morning, or worrying about what would happen to the Wilson children, or simply that she was still so tired. Or maybe just old, Ellen acknowledged with an inward, rueful grimace. She was twenty-eight years old, and Tom Howard, if she remembered correctly, was barely twenty.
As they walked down the dirt road towards the beach, the wind whispered in the maples and birches and the moon, when it emerged from behind the clouds, cast a pearly sheen to the placid surface of the lake in the distance.
“All right, Ellen?”
Ellen turned in surprise to see Jed coming alongside her.
“Jed! I didn’t realize you were coming to see the fireworks as well.”
“Tom Howard was in my regiment,” Jed answered. “A young lad—he joined up in ’16, as soon as he turned eighteen. His brother Neal died at the third battle of Ypres.”
“I’m sorry,” Ellen said quietly. She remembered Neal, a quiet, bookish boy compared to his younger brother’s more boisterous personality. It was hard to imagine him in the trenches with a rifle in his hands, clambering over the top…
“We all lost someone,” Jed answered with a shrug. “More than one, in many cases.”
“Yes,” Ellen agreed.
They walked in silence for a few moments, and a surprisingly companionable one at that, considering how Ellen never knew what to expect from Jed.
“I spoke to Peter,” Jed said after a moment. They’d dropped a bit behind the others, who had moved ahead, eager to get to the beach and see the firecrackers. “Like you asked me to.”
“You did?” Ellen was surprised; somehow she hadn’t expected Jed to follow through, and Peter certainly hadn’t mentioned it. “Thank you, Jed, for doing that. Did it… did it help?” The worry in the pit of her stomach felt like the slow seep of acid. “Do you think he does have shell shock?”
“He didn’t seem like it, when I saw him,” Jed answered frankly. “No thousand-yard stare, no sudden shakes or upsets, but it was a sunny day in the middle of a farmer’s field.” He shrugged. “Like I told you before, I’m no doctor, Ellen.”
“I know.”
“No one fights in a war and comes home without scars,” Jed continued quietly. “Peter’s are just a different kind to mine.” He gestured to his empty sleeve and Ellen’s heart twisted at the grim, resigned look on his face
.
“Does it… does it pain you very much?” she dared to ask, hoping he wouldn’t get angry the way he once might have.
Jed was silent for a moment. “Sometimes,” he said at last. “Ghost pain, like I can feel my fingers. Odd, really, like a mockery.”
“I remember men experiencing that back at Royaumont,” Ellen told him. “Phantom pain, they called it. It was so disconcerting for them—it gave them a sort of terrible hope, for a few moments anyway, when they forgot…” She trailed off, realizing she might have said too much, for Jed’s face had closed right up.
“Well, you get used to it,” he said in a final-sounding tone.
“Yes,” Ellen pressed, “although getting used to something doesn’t make bearing it any easier.”
Jed did not reply and they lapsed into a silence that was not entirely comfortable, but not as fraught as others had been, and they walked the whole way to the beach together.
Moonlight spilled over the sand and the gentle shush of the waves lapping the shore were a comforting backdrop to the excitement buzzing among the young people gathered there, eager for some entertainment after so much hardship and suffering.
Tom was brandishing the promised firecrackers as everyone chatted and laughed, waiting for the show to begin.
Ellen and Jed hung back, content to be on the fringes of the group. Ellen was conscious that she was older than most of the people there by nearly ten years, and Jed by even more. And she felt older, wearier and more careworn than those whose faces were alight with excitement at the prospect of seeing the precious firecrackers shooting off. Yet Ellen knew she couldn’t begrudge them their fun. Life had been hard, and promised to continue to be so. Everyone needed to get their pleasure where and when they could, however small it was.
She looked around for Peter and Andrew, but she couldn’t see either of them in the darkened crowd.
“Here it goes!” Tom called out in excitement, and there was a collective intake of breath as the firecracker lit up and then went fizzing upwards with a loud bang, lighting up the night sky with a shower of brilliant sparks. Ellen glanced at Jed, who was watching the show with his usual impassive expression. Everyone else was laughing and pointing, enjoying the bright display.
