Down Jasper Lane (Amherst Island Trilogy Book 1)

by Kate Hewitt

  Ellen nodded, running her fingers along the smooth marble-topped counter. She’d come to realize that running a successful general store required a great deal more than simply standing behind the counter and taking orders.

  Many of the farmers traded their goods for merchandise, and only last week Ellen had watched Uncle Hamish wrestle a pig into his barn while the happy farmer drove away with a wagonload of tinned peaches and several bolts of chambray.

  Several times a week the store took deliveries from Rutland, and Hamish went to the depot to oversee the unloading of goods from the train.

  Hamish was in his element, however, when he could put on his big white apron and measure flour and sugar, slipping sweets to the children while the old timers sat on the pickle barrels on the porch and played checkers with rusty bottle caps.

  Then, with his thinning hair and ruddy cheeks, he reminded Ellen of a beardless Father Christmas. Thinking of it now, she longed to draw her uncle in the store, could even picture the way her charcoal would cut across the paper. She sighed aloud, and Hamish looked at her with a half-smile.

  “Cheer up, sweetheart. He’ll write.”

  She nodded mechanically as her heart plummeted once again. For a moment, she’d almost forgotten about Da. Had he already forgotten about her?

  “Why didn’t he, though?” she asked quietly. “He wasn’t going to leave till noon. Why did he sneak out like that?”

  “I don’t rightly know.” Uncle Hamish scratched his head. “I can tell you this, though. Scenes always made your da uncomfortable. It was ever like that when we were boys.”

  Ellen looked up at her uncle with a start. She’d somehow forgotten that Hamish was Da’s brother and had known him since he was in the cradle. They were so different.

  “What do you mean, scenes?” she asked.

  “Well... crying and carrying on and such.”

  “I wasn’t going to cry!” Ellen protested indignantly, and Hamish was hasty to appease her.

  “Not tears, just the thing itself. Saying goodbye. As I recall, when we left for America, he said goodbye as if it were any other day, and went off to work, whistling.”

  “I suppose I know what you mean.” Now that she thought about it, Da had never liked any emotion. Even when Mam had been at her worst, she’d always smiled bravely and Da would look faintly relieved.

  “Where’s he gone, exactly?” Ellen asked after a moment. She recalled the brochure with the desert scene on its front, but she hadn’t read it properly.

  “Out to New Mexico. New land is opening up there, for cattle farmers and the like. There’s plenty of land, but it looks a hard place to me. Dry and hot as—well, you know. Hot.” He smiled, abashed, and Ellen frowned.

  “It must be quite far, then.”

  “Couple thousand miles. Your da will take the train till it stops, I expect, and then he’ll start laying the rails. Eventually they want a rail line all the way from Santa Fe to the border of Mexico.”

  “He doesn’t lay rails,” Ellen said quietly. “He repairs engines.”

  “I’m sure he’ll put his hand to that as well,” Hamish said a bit too heartily, and Ellen fixed him with a determined stare.

  “Will he come back, Uncle Hamish? Do you think he will? Tell me the truth.”

  Uncle Hamish rubbed his chin uneasily. His gaze didn't quite meet hers, and Ellen knew what that meant. “Ah, Ellen, what a question! Of course he’ll come back. It’s hard for a man to come to this country, you know. He’s got to find his place. It was Ruth who thought of fixing up a store, and I was lucky enough to like it. But your da needs to find his place, and it wasn’t here. Even I could see that.”

  “Then where is it?” Ellen asked quietly, even though she knew by now that her Uncle Hamish couldn’t tell her. “I don’t suppose they have schools and places for children along the rail lines.”

  Uncle Hamish looked horrified for a moment before he managed a weak chuckle. “No, indeed. But there’s a school here, a new one, built of brick only a few years ago, and you’ll do just fine there.”

  Ellen knew she’d asked too much of her uncle, and with a small smile she set about dusting the long rows of shelves. Even though her heart still felt like a stone within her, the thought of school cheered her a little, although there were a few nerves jangling around inside of her when she thought of all the other children she didn’t know, children who seemed so different from her, girls like the ones at the social who had giggled at her from behind their hands.

  She’d seen Hope at church and occasionally in the store, but their friendship hadn’t gone beyond that. Her mother seemed to keep a stern eye on her, and as far as Ellen could tell was not keen for the girls to develop the friendship. Perhaps her accent was too thick or her hair too unruly.

  “Chin up, Ellen,” Hamish called to her as she halfheartedly dusted a shelf full of Mrs. Alston’s Rheumatic Bitters. “I see Elmer Pyles’ wagon outside and I’ll need you to take those chickens to our coop!”

  The first day of school was one of those clear, crisp September days where it felt as if nothing could possibly go wrong. Ellen tried to keep hold of that shiny feeling as she slid out of bed, her feet falling into a puddle of sunshine. Aunt Ruth had laid out one of her new navy dresses and had even put extra starch in the collar.

  Ellen dressed, brushing her hair till it lay flat and then tied it back neatly with a new white silk hair ribbon Uncle Hamish had given her last night, along with two new pencils and a composition book.

  “In my day, we had slates,” he told her ruefully, “but it’s all paper now.”

  Ellen rifled through the stiff pages and smiled, the ache that had been in her heart since her father had left easing for a moment. “Thank you, Uncle Hamish.”

  Downstairs Aunt Ruth had prepared pancakes with syrup bartered from one of the farmers, a golden pat of butter swimming in the middle.

  “We don’t have pancakes every morning, mind,” she said severely, but an awkward smile cracked her stern features, and surprised, Ellen grinned back.

  She felt, if not happy, then almost content. Hopeful too, even if she was more than a little nervous of what lay ahead. But it was better than feeling sad.

  The Seaton Central School was a four room brick-fronted building on Maple Street, a short walk from the General Store. A few years ago, it had been a one-room schoolhouse like the dozen others scattered around Seaton, serving the local farm children.

  As Seaton grew, Uncle Hamish had told her, the one-room schoolhouses closed, and the children were driven in, or more likely walked, to the Central School. Recently Vermont had passed a law requiring children between the ages of eight and fourteen to attend school, but Uncle Hamish had told Ellen that everyone looked the other way during harvest time.

  When Ellen arrived at school, children had already started forming lines to be let in to the imposing building. The schoolyard was nothing more than packed-down dirt with grassy patches and a flag pole, but to Ellen it conveyed the impression of importance all the same.

  Ellen looked at the different lines of children, and saw that they were separated by age. Quickly she hurried into the line for oldest children, behind a prim-looking girl with two beribboned plaits.

  “Ouch!” Ellen grabbed her head, turning around in surprise. A gap-toothed boy grinned at her, her hair ribbon in his hand.

  “Got you. You’re the Scotch, aren’t you? Seen you at the store.”

  “Yes, I am.” She held her hand out with stiff dignity. “Please give me back my ribbon.”

  “How’re you gonna make me?” the boy taunted, holding it above his head.

  “Look, Artie Dole wears ribbons!” Two boys farther back in line cackled, and Ellen’s tormentor scowled.

  “I wasn’t wearin’ ‘em, anyway,” he muttered, tossing the crumpled ribbon back to Ellen, who took it and smoothed it out with trembling fingers. This was not how she’d wanted to start her first day of school.

  The whistle blew, and the lines
of children began filing through the now open double doors. It was too late to tie her hair back, and so with a dark look at Artie Dole, Ellen slipped the ribbon into her pinafore pocket.

  The classroom for twelve to fourteen year olds was a bright, sunny room with ten desks, each meant for two pupils, and a chalkboard at the front.

  As everyone found a seat, girls linking arms with their friends, Ellen realized there were thirteen pupils in her class, and she was the thirteenth. Swallowing hard, she slid into a desk alone at the back.

  “Good morning, class, and welcome to a new school year! I am your teacher this year, Miss Evans.” The teacher smiled at everyone in turn, and with relief Ellen decided she liked the look of her.

  Miss Evans was young and pretty, her dark hair caught up in one of the newer, looser styles. She turned to the chalkboard, and Ellen saw a boy in the back slip another boy an alarmingly large bullfrog.

  Miss Evans turned around. “I’ll have that frog, please, Jeremy Bentham.” She held her hand out, smiling, but there was a steely glint in her eye that Ellen rather liked. Shamefaced, the boy walked up front to hand Miss Evans his contraband frog. She took it firmly with two hands, deposited it out the open window, and then turned back to her class.

  “Now, then. Shall we start with a hymn?”

  The morning passed quickly enough, with Miss Evans administering tests to the children to see how proficient they were in all the subjects.

  Ellen managed her penmanship well enough, but she struggled with her arithmetic. Since she’d left school several years before, she hadn’t had a chance to catch up with her learning, though she’d read nearly any book she could get her hands on. That didn’t teach her multiplication tables, she soon discovered.

  When everyone was dismissed for lunch, Miss Evans called her to the front. Ellen stood by her desk as the other children filed out of the room, more than a few shooting her covert, curious looks that didn’t seem too friendly.

  “Hello, Ellen.” Miss Evans smiled kindly, but it had too much compassion in it for Ellen to feel comfortable.

  “Hello, Miss.”

  “You’ve just arrived here, haven’t you? I know we haven’t met formally, but I know your aunt and uncle, of course.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Did you go to school in Scotland, Ellen?”

  Ellen squirmed, a hot blush creeping over her cheeks. “I did, but I had to stop when I was eleven My mam was ill.”

  “I see.” Miss Evans looked down at something on her desk, which Ellen quickly saw was her arithmetic paper. It had a great deal of crossed out answers on it, and she squirmed some more.

  “I think you’re a very bright young lady, Ellen,” Miss Evans continued after a moment. “And I’m sure you would do very well in this class. When you read aloud for me, it was really quite perfect, despite your accent.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” Ellen waited, for Miss Evans was looking at her with a faint frown line between her brows.

  “I’m afraid, however, your arithmetic and grammar are simply not up to task,” she continued. “I can’t have you continue in this class at your current rate of progress.”

  Ellen’s stomach dipped. But it was only the first day! “You mean I have to go home?”

  “No, of course not. You may go in the class for the ten to twelve year olds. And when your arithmetic and grammar improve, you may join us again.” Miss Evans smiled kindly. “It happens quite often, dear, especially with the farm children. They take time off for the harvest, and it’s difficult to catch up. You understand, I’m sure.”

  She did, but it did not make it any easier, or less humiliating, when Ellen transferred her pencils and composition book to the other classroom.

  Mr. Phillips was her new teacher, and he regarded her sternly, without a flicker of warmth in his small, shrewd eyes.

  “Weren’t up to scratch, were you? We’ll soon get you in shape, little miss.”

  Taking her lunch pail out to the yard, Ellen decided she liked Miss Evans much better.

  The rest of the day passed in an unhappy blur. As much as she hungered for knowledge, administered by Mr. Phillips’ stern hand, she found it much less palatable. Even worse perhaps was the blatant unfriendliness of the other children. No one was actually unkind, and no one bullied her. Ellen thought she might have preferred that. Instead, in their little clumps in the schoolyard, they regarded her with cautious curiosity, or worse, indifference. To them, she was a nobody, not worth approaching or befriending. Ellen wondered how anyone made friends in this town.

  “Why, we don’t,” Hope said in surprise when Ellen had gathered up the courage to talk to her. She glanced worriedly over her shoulder at the cluster of girls she’d been talking to, whose heads were bent together as they whispered. “We’ve all known each other forever. No one really moves to Seaton, you know.”

  “No one? But what about the mill? Or the quarry? Lots of people work there.”

  Hope wrinkled her nose. “Oh, yes, but...”

  Ellen stared at her. “But what?”

  “They’re different, aren’t they? Practically like gypsies. They come and go and I don’t even know if their children go to school at all.”

  “They might have to work instead,” Ellen said sharply and Hope shrugged.

  “In any case, I don’t think you’d get many of those children here. They probably have their own places. Mama doesn’t even like to go to the store when they’re in there.”

  “She doesn’t sound like a very nice person,” Ellen said sharply. “My father worked in a rail yard.”

  “Did he?” Hope’s eyes were wide. “Oh, I didn’t know!”

  Somehow Hope’s apologetic ignorance didn’t make Ellen feel any better. She’d thought people couldn’t be that much different the whole world over, but now she wondered. She might have left Springburn, but could Springburn leave her?

  Ellen walked home alone that afternoon, dragging her feet through the dust. She knew Aunt Ruth would scold her for dirtying her shoes, but somehow she couldn’t dredge up the effort to lift her feet.

  School, that great, shining promise, now seemed just another thing to dread. Even Hope, her one possible friend, had apologized and run straight back to a bunch of girls who had sashayed past Ellen, their noses in the air.

  Why couldn’t she fit in? She knew she was different, and she was even willing to change herself a bit if necessary. But Ellen possessed a deep and glum certainty that it didn’t matter. The problem was, everyone else knew she was different, and they wouldn’t let her change. At that moment America didn’t seem so wonderful after all, and Ellen almost wished herself back in Springburn, amidst the clamor and coal dust. At least there she’d known she belonged, even if she hadn’t wanted to.

  FIVE

  A few weeks after school started, Ellen woke up in the night to a ferocious storm. Rain lashed the window and thunder cracked overhead. She stood by the window and watched the trees lining Main Street bend and sway in the wind. She wondered where Da was. Had he reached New Mexico yet? Was it raining there? Did it even rain in the desert?

  Ellen doubted it. She’d looked on a map at school, and New Mexico was far, far away. As far away as Scotland was, only separated by an ocean of land.

  It wasn’t until the rain pattered to a stop that Ellen heard the low murmuring of voices downstairs. It had to be the middle of the night, but Ruth and Hamish were obviously awake. Hesitating only a moment, Ellen opened her door and tiptoed downstairs.

  “I don’t know what she expects us to do,” Ruth said, her voice as strident as ever. They were sitting in the kitchen, and Ruth’s long, silvery blonde hair was bound in a plait that lay over one shoulder.

  “I expect she just wants some help,” Hamish replied mildly. “Five little ones all down with the scarlet fever. It sounds bad to me.”

  “They’re over the worst of it, apparently,” Ruth replied, “or so it says in the letter. I don’t suppose her good-for-nothing husband helps at
all!”

  “There’s nothing wrong with Dyle,’ Hamish said, “except that he’s Irish.”

  Ruth harrumphed, her sharp eyes glancing over Hamish’s shoulder to rest on Ellen’s toes, visible under the kitchen door.

  “Ellen Copley!” she called. “Come in here at once! How dare you eavesdrop on us?”

  Ellen came forward reluctantly. “I’m sorry, Aunt Ruth. The storm woke me up and I heard voices downstairs.”

  “And you didn’t think to make your presence known?” Ruth replied with one eyebrow arched. Ellen hung her head.

  “I... I didn’t think.”

  “That’s not a surprise,” Ruth snapped, and Hamish held up one hand in appeal.

  “Ruth...”

  “Well, she’s hardly the brightest child!” Ruth replied, her glance raking over Ellen. “Still in the younger class, and Mr. Phillips has no plans to move you up at all, or so he told me when he came into the store. Seems to think you need a lot of help.”

  Anger burned, a hot lump in her chest, but Ellen forced her voice to stay calm. “I suppose I do.”

  “Of course, I don’t know what good it will do,” Ruth continued relentlessly. “You’re thirteen soon, aren’t you?”

  “Next month.”

  “And I expect you’ll stop school after next year. There’s no point going on, is there, the way you’ve been getting on? Artie Dole is two months younger than you and Mr. Phillips says he’ll be ready to move up before Christmas.”

  Ellen tried to keep her face blank as she shrugged, but inside she felt as if her fragile hopes were being torn to shreds. No school after next year? She realized she’d assumed since she wasn’t needed on a farm, she could continue school for as long as she liked, perhaps even go to the high school in Rutland. Formless dreams as of yet, but now dashed in their infancy. It seemed as if nothing good happened here.

  Ruth’s eyes narrowed as she gazed at Ellen thoughtfully. “Of course, there could be another way...”