by Hewitt, Kate
“He can stay now, if he likes,” Dr. Stanton said. “Everything is ready. You can send his things on. It’s often the best way.”
“Oh, but—”
“This is what I want, Mum,” Peter said, sounding almost gentle. “I’ll stay from today. Don’t worry about me. I’m going to get better and come home to you, I promise.”
Rose did her best to hold back her tears. “If you’re sure…”
“I am.”
It felt surreal to be saying their goodbyes only moments later. Dr. Stanton showed Peter to his room, which he would share with another patient. Rose looked around the sterile surroundings, clearly trying to come to grips with it all and failing.
Peter, however, seemed content enough, and more than ready for them to leave, and soon enough they were out on the street, a depressing drizzle blanketing the cityscape in yet more gray.
“It’s happened so fast,” Rose said, pressing one hand to her cheek. “So much faster than I ever expected. I thought today would be just to look, to see…”
“But like Dr. Stanton said, it’s better this way,” Lucas said kindly. “And it’s good news for Peter. We know that, even if it is so very hard to say goodbye.”
“Yes.” Rose smiled at him gratefully. “Thank you so much, Lucas. You and Jed both have been such a support to us.”
“As you have, through the years, Rose. Now, let me take both of you ladies to tea before you make the train.” Lucas had suggested they stay the night, but in the end neither Ellen nor Rose had wanted to stay away from the farm for that long, and they would be leaving on the evening train in just a few hours.
The hotel Lucas took them to was fancy indeed, all velvet chairs and damask tablecloths, with crystal and silver as well. Lucas ordered tea and scones, sandwiches and cakes, yet Ellen found she could barely eat a bite.
Her head continued to ache, and her whole body as well. Perhaps she was coming down with a cold, or maybe she was just exhausted. Either way, she looked forward to collapsing into bed that evening, even though that seemed like a long time away, with the train to Kingston to catch, and then the ferry.
“Ellen, you really do look worn out,” Rose said when Ellen had refused a delicious-looking éclair. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have had you come with me today. Sarah could have come—”
“She’s looking after things at home,” Ellen reminded her. “And our guests, which is a far more demanding occupation, I fear.” Besides, they both knew Sarah possessed too gentle and sensitive a nature for such a visit as this.
“Still.” Rose frowned. “You need some rest.”
“We’ve the Weltons to deal with when we return.” Ellen shook her head, trying to be cheerful, even though she felt like wilting. “I’m fine, Aunt Rose, honestly.”
But she had to admit she didn’t feel fine, and when she stood up from the table, to leave for their train, her head swam and for a brief moment she staggered. Lucas reached out to steady her with one strong arm, and Ellen tried to smile at him.
“Thank you, I don’t know what came over me…” she began, only to have her head swim again, and the world begin to blur at the edges in a way that felt most alarming, as if everything were slowing down, losing focus.
“Ellen!” Rose said, her voice rising in a cry of frightened distress, and then Lucas’s arms were around her as the world blurred completely and Ellen crumpled to the floor.
Chapter Twenty
The world was fading in and out. Every time Ellen blinked, she felt as if something had shifted or tilted, colors, lights, and sounds all blurring together into an indistinguishable mass. She heard voices, sometimes close, sometimes distant, and on occasion the sound of sobs suppressed, choked tears.
Periodically, she felt a cool hand on her forehead or cheek, fingers laced with her own, and a feeling of comfort, of safety, would suffuse her, although she couldn’t speak of it or even open her eyes. Any impressions were fleeting, however, and she always sank back into oblivion after only a few moments, craving the enveloping darkness like a warm tide washing over her, drawing her under.
For the few moments she was awake, she felt as if she were swimming through treacle, each breath labored and difficult, before she gave up and returned to the comforting depths of darkness—and sleep.
And then slowly, so slowly, the world around her began to sharpen into focus; she felt as if she were swimming up towards a light or a sound, searching, searching, trying to remember what had happened…
“Ellen… Ellen?” Rose’s tearful, incredulous voice hit all her senses and she felt Rose’s hand press her own.
Ellen blinked slowly and saw she was in a large, bare room; tall, sashed windows let in bright sunlight. Her whole body ached, and her mouth was desperately dry. The sunlight was so bright she had to turn her head away, the pillowcase scratchy under her cheek. In the distance, she heard the low murmur of voices, the squeak of a wheel.
“Where…” It was all she could manage, her voice no more than a thread of sound.
“You’re in the hospital, in Toronto,” Rose said, hurrying to explain, her voice still full of unshed tears. “Ellen, you’ve been in and out of a fever for nearly a week! Oh my darling, we’ve been so worried. So very worried. We thought we might lose you…”
Ellen’s eyes fluttered closed as her aunt’s words sank in. A week… she’d been ill for a whole week. She tried to sift through the blur of memories and finally latched upon the last clear thing she could recall… standing up in the restaurant where she, Aunt Rose and Lucas had had tea after they’d admitted Peter to the military hospital for soldiers suffering from shell shock. She and Rose had been meant to catch the train, but all Ellen could remember was looking at Lucas as the world went woozy.
She opened her eyes again and licked her dry lips. Rose peered at her in eager concern, new lines of worry furrowing her dear forehead.
“What… what happened?” Ellen managed in a rusty croak.
“Let me get you some water first.” Rose poured a glass of water from the pitcher by Ellen’s bed, one of six in the ward. The others, she saw blearily, were occupied by patients like herself—most of them asleep, looking wan and pale, barely moving or even visible under their sheets.
“Thank you, Aunt Rose,” Ellen said after she’d taken several life-sustaining sips while her aunt held the glass to her lips. “I feel… much better.”
“I think it will be a while before you feel that,” Rose answered with a shaky smile. She sat back down on the chair she’d pulled up to the side of the bed. “But thank goodness the fever has broken and you’re going to be all right. We feared the worst, you know.” Rose’s lips trembled and she pressed them together. “I hate to confess it, but we did, Ellen. We really did. For a while, when the fever just wouldn’t break…”
“We…?” Ellen repeated, frowning. Surely the others hadn’t come all the way from the island to sit by her bedside, even if she had been as ill as Rose said?
“Lucas and I. He’s been here every day, Ellen, coming after work to sit with you, and sometimes staying through the night, even though one of these starchy nurses didn’t think it proper. But he was that worried, and it was that close, I’m afraid to say. I don’t know what I would have done without him here. He’s been a rock, truly.”
“Oh…” Ellen flushed and squirmed inwardly to think of Lucas being so devoted, and while she had been so ill, so helpless, tossing and turning, feverish and moaning…! She must have looked a complete fright the whole while. She felt like one now, as weak as a kitten, and as wrung out as a wet dishrag. When she glanced down at her hand resting on the bedsheet, she saw how it looked like a claw, skin stretched tautly over bone.
“And of course everyone back at home has been worried, as well,” Rose continued. “I sent a telegram when you first took ill, and the whole island’s been praying for you. I’ll send another today, to let them know you’re out of the worst.” Rose let out a shuddery sigh. “Thank the good Lord.”
�
��How is Peter…” Ellen asked. She hated to think of everyone concerned for her when it was Peter who needed attention.
“He’s doing well, I think. I visited the hospital after your fever had broken. Dr. Stanton said Peter was settling in well, but it was best if we didn’t see him for a little while.” Rose’s voice hitched, but she continued determinedly, “We can write letters, of course…”
Ellen nodded slowly, doing her best to absorb all the news. Her brain felt as if it were working so slowly, like the laborious turning of gears. “And what of the Weltons…”
“Oh, don’t you worry about them. They’re long gone, thank goodness. In the end, Mrs. Welton said she quite liked her stay, or so Caro said in her letter. She wrote yesterday.”
Caro… was she still angry at her, Ellen wondered, for interfering with Peter? She couldn’t ask Rose.
“Who knows,” Rose said, smiling, “perhaps Mrs. Welton will book again?”
Ellen tried to laugh, but only managed a throaty rasp. “Have I had the influenza?” she asked, and Rose nodded.
“That’s what the doctors said. You must have caught it from poor Mrs. Wilson, when you were nursing her, God rest her soul.”
“Yes…” Ellen remembered Iris Wilson’s poor, desiccated frame with a tremble. Had she been as ill as that? “I only hope no one else catches it,” she managed in a whisper. “Those poor, frail children… they wouldn’t last a minute…”
“Caro said everyone was as right as rain so far. She’s decided to take the children back to Jasper Lane until Iris’s brother turns up, since our last booking cancelled, and she wrote that there has been no end to the bread and butter and gingerbread they’re all putting away.” Rose smiled at this, and Ellen smiled back—or tried to.
“I’m glad to hear it, although I’m sorry about the booking.”
“It doesn’t matter, Ellen. We’ve enough put by for now.”
She drew a ragged breath, words becoming an effort, her vision darkening at the edges. “Will Iris’ brother ever turn up? Caro wasn’t even sure she knew where he was…”
Rose nodded soberly. “Yes, who knows if he even received that telegram. The last address Mrs. Wilson had for him was from before the war. But, still,” she reached for Ellen’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, “all that matters is that you’re on the mend, Ellen. I’m so, so glad.” A tear fell from Rose’s eye and she dashed it away with a little laugh. “Look at me, falling to pieces, and when you’re getting better. What a daft woman I am sometimes.”
“I’m sorry to have given you such a scare, Aunt Rose.”
“Oh love, what could you have done about it? We’ve worked you too hard, I fear. You’ll be needing a good, long rest once we get you back.”
Ellen smiled faintly, unable to respond for she felt herself falling back into sleep, as if being tugged by some invisible yet determined hand. It felt good to sink back into those welcoming depths of oblivion.
“Sleep now,” Rose said softly, patting her on the shoulder as Ellen felt herself slip away. “Sleep, my dear Ellen.”
Four days later, Ellen sat in a chair in the ward’s day room, a rug over her knees as the summer sunshine poured through the window and bathed her in its needed warmth. She’d been in the hospital in Toronto for ten days, spending most of them asleep or in a doze, and now still feeling as weak and helpless as some poor, newborn creature.
When the nurse had brought a washbasin and a mirror to her in bed, Ellen had stared at her reflection in ill-concealed horror.
“I’m nothing but skin and bone!” she’d exclaimed. She’d touched her once glossy chestnut waves, now straggly and limp-looking, hanging down in dirty ropes. “And I’m going gray…” she exclaimed as her fingers found a few unwelcome, glinting strands.
“You’ll get your looks back,” the nurse had said robustly, and dipped a flannel into the warm water in the basin before handing it to Ellen. “Or most of them, at any rate.”
It was hard to feel so tired and worn out, Ellen reflected as she gazed out at the buildings of Toronto, now gleaming under the sunlight. She’d been ill before, seriously so, back when she’d been a nursing student in Kingston. It felt like a long time ago, ten whole years, and all she wanted now was to be back on the island, being of use to those she loved, instead of sitting here like a lump, utterly useless, and so far from Jasper Lane.
“Hello there, lazybones.” Ellen turned at the sound of Lucas’s laughing voice, a smile lighting her face as he came towards her, taking off his hat as he did so. He’d visited her every day she’d been in the hospital.
“I do feel lazy,” she admitted. “I’ve done nothing but lie about for well over a week, and yet I don’t feel strong enough to do anything else.”
“The doctors don’t want you doing anything else, and neither do I,” Lucas answered firmly. “You’ve been very ill, Ellen. You need to rest.”
“Yes, but I want to get back to the island. To home.” She spoke the word with feeling, realizing afresh how much she meant it. “Aunt Rose told me that the last booking was cancelled, and she’s been stuck in Toronto for so long, having to look after me—”
“You speak as if you’re a burden,” Lucas said gently as he drew up a chair next to her. “And you’re not.”
Ellen bit her lip, not wanting to revisit their old conversation about her place in the McCafferty family, or how insecure she sometimes felt about it, especially in light of the argument she’d had with Caro before she’d left for Toronto. “I just want to get back,” she insisted. “There’s so much to do.”
“And if Aunt Rose or any of the McCaffertys have anything to do with the matter, you won’t be doing any of it.” Lucas studied her, a serious look in his light blue eyes. “Do you know how close we came to losing you, Ellen?” The throb of feeling in his voice had Ellen biting her lip and looking away.
“I suppose I’m stronger than I look,” she said a bit unevenly.
“And I thank God for that. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, to have to watch you toss and turn in the height of a terrible fever, and know there was nothing I could do but watch and wait and pray. I felt completely powerless, and I hated it.”
“Sometimes that’s all anyone can do,” Ellen said. “Watch and wait and pray.” She turned to look back at him, willing the slight flush to fade from her cheeks, and the intensity of the moment to ease. “Thank you, Lucas, for being with me when I was ill.”
“There wasn’t any other place I’d rather be.” The intent look in his eyes had the flush returning to her face.
Surely Lucas didn’t feel that way about her anymore? No matter how he’d told her he cared about her, she couldn’t believe he still had the youthful romantic notions from their days at Queen’s. They’d both lived what felt like several lifetimes in the years since then, and Ellen had always assumed Lucas had moved on from his romantic affections for her. She’d hoped he had. But now…
“You’ll always be one of my dearest friends, Ellen,” Lucas added, and Ellen smiled, doing her best to ignore the slight flicker of disappointment his words caused her. She was being silly, thinking there was more going on than Lucas’s kind and sincere friendship, for which she was so very grateful. She depended on him. She didn’t want or need anything more from him than that.
“And you mine, Lucas, truly.”
He nodded, smiling, and Ellen smiled back, doing her best to banish the strange, stubborn feeling of something close to disappointment she felt. Of course she was glad he was her friend. What more could she possibly want from him?
“I spoke to the doctor before I came in here,” Lucas resumed after a moment, “and he said he thought you could be discharged in another few days. Convalesce at home instead of here.”
“Oh, really?” Everything in Ellen brightened at that welcome news. “That’s wonderful, Lucas! I would so much rather be at Jasper Lane. I can’t wait.”
“Yes.” Lucas’s smile was whimsical and just the tiniest bit sad, making El
len wonder what he was really thinking. “Yes, it really is the most welcome news, I know.”
Three days later, a weak and wobbly Ellen boarded the train to Kingston with Aunt Rose. Lucas had accompanied them to the station in a taxicab, ever solicitous and concerned for Ellen’s still flagging health, and promising to return to the island to check on her as soon as he could free himself from work.
“You will take care of yourself,” he admonished sternly. “And not run about, trying to do everything. The world does not rest on your shoulders, you know.”
“I’ll make sure she doesn’t,” Rose promised, holding onto Ellen’s arm. “She’s to stay at bed for at least another week.”
“A whole week—” Ellen protested, albeit feebly. The journey from the hospital to the station had tired her out considerably, and she already longed for bed.
“Yes, a whole week, and two or three if necessary,” Rose said rather fiercely. “Everyone insists, Ellen. We won’t lose you.”
“And I shall be visiting as soon as I can, to make sure you’re doing as you’re told,” Lucas informed her.
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” he interjected, his voice both gentle and firm as his gaze rested on her for another moment. “And I will.”
As Ellen settled into the second-class carriage and watched Lucas wave goodbye from the platform, a lump came to her throat. She was so very fortunate, so very blessed, to have friends and family who cared for her so deeply. No matter what Caro had said in a moment of anger, she knew she belonged on Amherst.
Impulsively she turned to Aunt Rose and clutched her hand. “Thank you, Aunt Rose, for staying with me all the while I was ill. It was so very kind of you.”
Rose smiled, looking both surprised and a bit misty-eyed. “Why, child,” she said. “Where else would I be?”
“You could have gone back to the island. There are so many demands on you—the guests as well your own children—”
“My own children?” Rose repeated, her voice sharpening with incredulity. “Ellen, my dear, surely you know you’re as good as my own child by now? I’ve raised you, Ellen Copley, and I’ve loved you just as my own, right from the first moment you arrived at Jasper Lane, all those years ago.” Rose’s voice was fierce. “I hope you know that, and know it well.”
