Down Jasper Lane (Amherst Island Trilogy Book 1)

by Kate Hewitt

  THREE

  By the last day of school before Christmas, the snow was knee-deep and still falling thickly. This was unusual for the island, which generally enjoyed milder temperatures than the mainland, and farmers were kept busy shoveling snow off their roofs to keep the shingles from buckling, and paths clear to their barns.

  Ellen, however, loved the snow. She loved the way it cloaked the island, so the trees and bushes and fences were just soft shapes under the pillowy whiteness. She loved the ice-encased branches silhouetted against a bright, blue sky and the way the lake became a flat, endless stretch of snow.

  She spent hours at her window with her sketchbook, her pencil racing across the page, as she struggled to capture a world made beautiful by cold.

  Rose had written Ruth as promised, and there hadn’t been a reply yet, which had left Ellen feeling alarmed but Rose had seemed confident. “Silence is as good as a yes,” she said with a wink. “We’ve got you now, so you’re staying.”

  Ellen was greatly looking forward to Christmas. Back in Springburn, Christmas had just been another day in the year; Da might have managed to bring home some sweets but not much else. When Ellen had been little, her mam had made a special meal, and had put a few presents in Ellen’s stocking, perhaps even an orange. Yet those days seemed so distant Ellen felt as if they’d happened to another person, a different Ellen, a sadder and smaller one. Surely she was different now.

  In any case Christmas at the McCafferty farm was another thing entirely. Although there wasn’t much money for presents, there were still lots of wonderful things: cookies and pies and a huge Christmas tree that they’d cut down themselves, bringing it home on the big sled. There was a great, fat goose for Christmas dinner, currently hanging in the ice house, waiting to be trussed; there were Christmas crackers for the table, and a bowl full of oranges stuck with cloves that filled the house with a warm, spicy scent.

  Now, as school let out for a fortnight, there were whoops of joy as children poured from the little building into Stella’s Front Street, several boys with skates tossed over their shoulder, eager to try their blades on the cleared space on the shallow inlets of the lake, which had frozen hard last week.

  Ellen walked slowly home with the McCaffertys and Lymans, as had become their habit. Jed almost lazily threw a snowball at Lucas, who only just managed to dodge it. He threw one back, halfheartedly, as he wasn’t one for foolery the way Jed was.

  “What are you getting in your stocking then, Ellen?” Jed called. “A broom and dust pan?”

  “And you’ll be getting a lump of coal,” Ellen returned. She knew Jed liked to tease her about being the McCaffertys’ little maid. It didn’t bother her now, because she knew she was much more.

  A boy whose father worked in the post office came running up to them, his face red with cold. “A telegram’s come,” he announced breathlessly. “For the McCafferty farm. Pa said to give it to you before you got halfway to home.”

  Ellen thanked him, trepidation flooding her happy heart, turning it to ice. Her breath came in frosty puffs as she stared down at the single sheet of paper.

  Train fare to be reimbursed. Stop. Ellen to come home by Christmas.

  Ellen looked up, her face pale. A telegram. Ruth must really want her home... except Seaton wasn’t home, and never would be. Amherst Island was. And now she’d have to leave, just when everything was becoming so exciting. She’d miss Christmas Day, and the cooked goose and the crackers... She’d made little presents for everyone, and now she wouldn’t see anyone open them. And Patch would miss her terribly. Ellen’s mouth puckered as she tried to hold in the tears.

  “What is it, Ellen?” Caro demanded, pushing her way towards her. “Why do you look so funny?” She snatched the telegram from Ellen’s numb fingers, her mouth forming the words soundlessly. “But you can’t leave! Not before Christmas!”

  “I’m not I can sure disobey Aunt Ruth,” Ellen answered as she blinked back her tears. “But maybe Aunt Rose will have something to say about it.”

  Ellen hoped Aunt Rose had a few tricks up her sleeve to keep her with the McCaffertys for a while, but there could be no doubting the cold, hard truth that faced her with that abrupt message.

  Time was running out.

  For the next week, Ellen pushed the thought of returning to Seaton out of her mind. Rose had sent a telegram to Ruth, insisting she could not part with Ellen till after the syruping, in April. Ruth had replied, her reluctance coming through even in a telegram, that this was barely acceptable.

  “Three more months, then,” Rose told Ellen cheerfully, and with the snow knee-deep and all of the Christmas festivities to look forward to, three months seemed like a lifetime.

  Christmas was everything Ellen had hoped it would be. Caro nudged her out of bed while it was still dark and the floorboards were freezing. Wrapped up in their dressing gowns and slippers, everyone tumbled downstairs to open their stockings; Ellen was delighted with the little treats in hers. There was a new box of pencils, a bag of lemon drops, and in the stocking’s toe, a whole orange.

  After stockings, there was breakfast and chores to be seen to, even on Christmas, and then there were even more presents under the tree. Ellen received a dress, cut down from one of Rose’s but as good as new; three new hair ribbons, in different shades of green; and best of all, a pair of Rose’s old ice skates which she was desperate to try out.

  “And this came from Seaton just yesterday,” Rose said with a smile, as she brought out an impressively large parcel wrapped with brown paper and tied with string.

  “Oh, open it, do, Ellen!” Caro urged, and Peter could not keep himself from undoing the string.

  Ellen could not imagine what her aunt and uncle might have sent her. Since they had not acknowledged her birthday, she’d assumed Christmas would pass the same way. Now she carefully pulled off the lid of the box, and then gazed in silent surprise at the dress lying swathed in tissue paper within.

  “Oh look!” Caro breathed, and Ruthie reached out to stroke it.

  “Try it on, Ellen!” Sarah cried, and carefully Ellen lifted the dress from the box.

  It was a beautiful thing, made of crimson velvet, with a satin sash and a stiff lace collar. It was really quite the most beautiful dress Ellen had ever seen, much less owned. She stroked the soft material, just as Ruthie had.

  “What a lovely dress,” Rose said. “And look, there’s a note.” She reached in the box for the envelope that had nestled among the folds of tissue paper and handed it to Ellen, who opened it and read silently.

  Dear Ellen. I made it a little bigger than your autumn dresses, for you’ve surely grown since we last saw you. It should last the winter at least. Your loving Aunt Ruth and Uncle Hamish.

  Yet this dress was nothing like the serviceable dresses of navy muslin that Ruth had made up for Ellen back in September. This dress was luxurious and elegant and expensive, and Ellen was almost reluctant to wear it.

  “I don’t want to get it dirty,” she said, and Rose laughed.

  “We can always clean it, Ellen, child. Wear it to church this afternoon, or to the village dance at New Year’s.”

  “Oh yes, Ellen,” Caro cried, “wear it to the dance!”

  Ellen nodded and put the lid back on the box. She felt strangely discomfited by the present; Aunt Ruth had surprised her, and she wasn’t sure she liked it. She realized, with a pang of guilt, that she had not sent them presents. It had not even occurred to her. She’d bring presents for them when she returned, Ellen decided. An embroidered handkerchief for Aunt Ruth, and some pipe tobacco for Uncle Hamish. This made her feel a little better, if still a bit uneasy.

  The rest of the day passed in a happy blur, and after the enormous and delicious meal Rose had made—Ellen had done both the potatoes and the swede—they all dressed in their Sunday best for church, piling into the horse-drawn sled to make the snowy journey to St Paul’s, the Presbyterian church in Stella.

  Ellen had been to church before,
of course, every Sunday. She sat in the pew with all the McCaffertys and mostly let the hymns and the preaching wash over her.

  Yet that Christmas, as creamy white candles flickered at the end of every holly-decked pew, she felt a strange softening inside of her, and she silently fumbled for words.

  Dear God.

  She shifted in her seat, unsure if God really wanted to hear from her after so long a silence. She thought of her mam’s face, smiling even in her pain, and Da’s determination to leave. The kindness everyone on the island had shown her, and the warmth and love she’d experienced at the McCaffertys. And then, suddenly, she thought of the beautiful velvet dress she’d received only that morning.

  Dear God, she tried again, the words coming slowly but with certainty. Thank you for everything. And please keep everyone safe—all the McCaffertys and Jed and Lucas too, and even Aunt Ruth and Uncle Hamish. She paused, frowning in thought, and then added silently, the prayer heartfelt, and Da too, wherever he is. Watch over him, God. Please. If you can.

  She supposed, being God, he could.

  The day after Christmas everyone piled in the sled once more, and pulled by the McCaffertys’ two bay horses they headed for the lake. A large area had been cleared by Stella’s waterfront, and it seemed as if half the island was there on Boxing Day, trying out their new skates.

  Although the lake didn’t freeze from shore to shore in the course of a normal winter, the shallow inlets and bays froze hard enough for skaters to enjoy themselves without fear of falling through.

  “It looks like we bought out Sears Roebuck’s catalogue with all these skates!” Dyle said with a wink, and then made a big show of bumbling all over the ice, even though everyone knew he was one of the best skaters there, and had won a race last winter.

  Ellen stood by one of the braziers set up along the perimeter of the rink with Lily McAndrew, warming her hands. She wasn’t quite ready to venture out on that slick expanse. She’d most likely fall head over heels.

  Jed skated by, stopping neatly with a little spray of ice. “Cold, Ellen?” he said, his eyes glinting. “Or just cold feet?”

  Ellen lifted her chin. “It’s true I’ve never skated before,” she replied, “but I’m willing to try.”

  “Let’s see you, then,” Jed dared her, and Ellen swallowed nervously. The last thing she wanted was to skate for the first time with Jed Lyman looking on, but it seemed as if she had no choice... not if she wanted to keep her dignity.

  Although, Ellen acknowledged glumly, her dignity would suffer if she fell flat on her face, which, gazing down at the slick ice, seemed perfectly possible.

  “Leave Ellen alone, Jed,” Lily said, her hands on her hips. “She doesn’t have to prove nothing to you.”

  Jed just smiled, although to Ellen it looked more like a smirk. He arched an eyebrow, his hands on his hips, as comfortable in skates as if he’d been born wearing them. “Well, Miss Bossy?”

  Ellen hesitated, and Jed held out his hand. “You can skate right to me. I’ll catch you when you fall.”

  When, not if. “Sure you will,” Ellen retorted, and for a tiny second Jed looked almost hurt.

  “I mean what I say.”

  They’d gathered a little knot of spectators now, mostly children, watching with an avid curiosity that made Ellen’s stomach plummet sickeningly. She hated being the center of attention, and she knew she couldn’t back out now. Lily grabbed her arm.

  “Don’t listen to him, Ellen,” she urged but something in her, whether it was pride or determination or just plain stubbornness, made Ellen shake off her friend’s hand. She wasn’t going to let Jed Lyman get the best of her, not in any way.

  “Very well,” she said and pushed off. The first step she took was easy. Her skate cut neatly through the ice and she sailed in a perfect line towards Jed. She heard Caro cheer and Sarah clap, and she gave Jed a dazzling, triumphant smile.

  Then she put her other foot down, meaning to push off again, but somehow the ice felt more slippery now, and the movement upset her balance so she began to wobble. She flung her arms out as her heart leapt into her throat and then she made the mistake of looking down. The ice looked very hard and far away, and she could see the black-looking water underneath. She pushed her skate forward again, wobbling worse now, and Jed reached forward to catch her by the arms before she hit the ice face-first.

  Ellen felt his arms close around her shoulders and slowly he righted her. Her face flamed, bracing herself for Jed’s mockery. But to her surprise, he merely murmured in her ear, “Not bad, Miss Bossy.”

  Ellen straightened and stepped away, wobbling once more before she finally righted herself and thankfully managed to stay still. “I suppose I need a bit more practice,” she said, keeping her head held high, and Caro skated up to her, lacing her arm with hers.

  “Of course you do, Ellen,” she said. “We all do. But that was brilliant.”

  Not quite looking at Jed, Ellen let Caro lead her away.

  The New Year’s dance was a merry affair in Stella’s village hall, and Ellen was looking forward to it with great enthusiasm. All the McCaffertys would be going, everyone in their Sunday best—or even better, for Ellen was wearing her red velvet dress.

  “Oh, Ellen,” Caro breathed when Ellen came down the front stairs in the dress, her hair tied back with a matching ribbon she’d found later among the tissue paper. It had touched her, that ribbon, because she knew her uncle had thought of it, and for a moment she’d missed him, with his easy smile and troubled eyes, as if he wanted to do the right thing but wasn’t sure how.

  Ruthie stared at her with wide eyes. “You look bee-yoo-ti-ful!”

  Everyone laughed, and Ellen did a little twirl, her heart fair to bursting. She felt beautiful, a far cry from the girl she’d once been, with tangled hair and coal smuts on her face. Just look at me now, Aunt Ruth, she thought, and then felt guilty for wanting to show up her aunt, who had given her the dress in the first place.

  By the time they arrived at the hall and tumbled out of the sledge, the dance was well under way. Trestle tables were loaded with all sorts of pies, cakes, and bowls of punch, and a little band in the corner was getting up a merry tune with a banjo and a couple of fiddles.

  Ellen stood in the doorway and surveyed it all in wonder. Couples danced on the cleared space in the center of the hall, and she wondered if anyone would ask her to dance. She found her gaze searching, almost of its own accord, for Jed.

  She spied him almost right away, standing in the corner, as she’d expected. He wore a suit, but it didn’t look right on him somehow. Ellen was used to seeing him in his plain trousers, suspenders, and homespun shirt. The suit, she noticed, was a little too small, and his hair had been flattened down with water to no avail, for a cowlick still stuck up determinedly in the back. Even so, Ellen thought, he looked quite handsome; the suit was small because at fifteen he was starting to develop the muscles of a man, his shoulders broadening, his hands and feet bigger too. Jed looked like he didn’t know what to do with either.

  Ellen wondered if he would ask anyone to dance.

  “Ellen? Would you care to dance?”

  Startled, Ellen turned to see Lucas smiling at her. He wore a suit too, but unlike Jed’s his was too big, his narrow shoulders seeming lost in the large jacket. It must have been an old one of his father’s, or perhaps Jed’s. At thirteen, the same age as Ellen, Lucas was still slight, a full head shorter than Jed. He blinked at her now, smiling uncertainly, clearly nervous.

  Ellen glanced once more at Jed. He was watching them, she realized, but when he caught her looking at him he just scowled and turned away. Fighting a ridiculous sense of disappointment, Ellen turned back to Lucas. “I’d love to dance, Lucas. Thank you.”

  Lucas led her onto the cleared dance floor, awkward in his self-consciousness, but when they actually started to dance Ellen realized he was quite good. Far better than she was, at any rate. She’d never really danced before. She stumbled through the steps, begi
nning to blush.

  “I’m awful,” she said with an embarrassed laugh. She’d stepped on Lucas’ foot twice.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Lucas told her, and somehow that was better than him lying and saying she was a good dancer when she so obviously wasn’t.

  “How can you dance so well?”

  “Ma taught us when we were little, in the kitchen. She’d hum the tune.”

  It painted a nice picture, especially since Maeve Lyman was still laid up in bed, and had been for much of the winter. “Did Jed dance as well?” Ellen couldn’t help but asking. She snuck another glance towards the corner of the room, but she couldn’t see him.

  “Ma made him,” Lucas told her, “but he didn’t like it much.”

  Ellen could easily imagine that.

  After the dance was over, Lucas led her over to the refreshments and fetched her a glass of punch. Ellen took it with murmured thanks.

  “So have you any resolutions?” she asked him. “1905! It’s hard to believe.”

  “Learn as much as I can,” Lucas replied with a smile. “So I can take the entrance examination for Glebe Collegiate next year.”

  “You’ll go to high school,” Ellen said with just a trace of envy, for surely more schooling was not in store for her. In April she’d return to Seaton, and Aunt Ruth had made it clear that she’d be lucky to stay another year, and try for her Year Eight certificate. Even if she did get her certificate, she’d be done with her education after that. Ellen swallowed hard, just to think of it. What would she do with her days? Cook and clean and help in the store, she supposed. Make herself useful, but it didn’t fill her with the same glow that helping here did.

  “Won’t you go, Ellen?” Lucas asked. “You could take the examination next year. Then we’d be in Kingston together.”

  “I wish I could. But I don’t know if my aunt and uncle will ever let me return.” The lump in her throat seemed to thicken so even swallowing was impossible. She stared down at the cup of punch cradled in her hands.