by Kate Hewitt
“Lucas?” Ellen shook her head. “Good gracious, Louisa, you see stars in everyone’s eyes! I’m not even fifteen yet, after all. I don’t want to fall in love with anyone.”
“I turned fifteen in April,” Louisa replied. “And you can go ahead suit yourself, Ellen Copley. So will I.” She leaned back against the wagon, still smiling smugly, and Ellen felt a chill of foreboding that wiped away any pleasant memories of the night they’d just all enjoyed.
ELEVEN
Two weeks after the wedding Maeve Lyman slipped quietly from this world. Nearly half the island came to the little cemetery at St Paul’s on a rainy day in August to pay their respects to Maeve and show their loyalty to the Lyman family. Ellen’s heart ached at the sight of Lucas and Jed standing so tall and straight by their father, looking like the men they were fast becoming.
As the minister spoke of victory in death Ellen wondered if she should pray. Her prayers had remained vague and intermittent, cast up towards God with a rather dubious air. Yet now, looking at Jed and Lucas, she felt a deep need for God to do something, or at least for her to tell Him.
Please God. Help them.
As tears stung her eyes, she knew that was all she could manage.
Early that evening Rose sent her over to the Lyman farm with a raspberry pie, two pint jars of strawberry jam and a pot of beef stew. Her arms ached from carrying it all, and yet as she stepped onto the back porch her burden was forgotten for through the window she saw Jed sitting at the kitchen table, his shoulders bowed, his head in his hands, his fingers driven through his hair. His moment of grief felt intensely private, too private for Ellen to interrupt and she wondered if she should just leave the food outside the door.
She took a cautious step forward and one of the floorboards creaked. Jed looked up, and his gaze arrowed right in on Ellen. She froze, all thoughts flying from her head. Then Jed rose from the table, impatiently rubbing at one eye with the heel of his hand.
“You’d better come in, Ellen Copley, with all that.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and Jed just shrugged as he took the basket of food from her.
“This is very kind of you,” he said, dutifully, and now Ellen was the one to shrug.
“It’s not much, and Rose made most of it anyway.”
“Still.” He unpacked the basket, putting the items in the pantry.
“Where is everybody?” Ellen asked. The farmhouse seemed very dark and quiet.
“Pa’s in the barn, seeing to the animals. Who knows where Lucas is.”
Even though he spoke neutrally enough, Ellen still detected contempt in Jed’s voice, a tone she had long become familiar with from both the Lyman boys.
“Everyone grieves in their own way,” she said, and Jed let out a short, sharp laugh.
“That so? I suppose you’re right.”
“I only meant...” She swallowed. “Now that your mam’s gone you all need to stick together, Jed. Get along better than you ever did before.”
His eyes narrowed. “Thank you kindly for your advice.”
“I’m speaking from experience,” Ellen said quietly. “I know after my mam died my da and I didn’t stick together. Looking back I wonder if I could have done things differently.” Her throat ached with the effort of her words, yet despite Jed’s closed expression she forced herself to continue. “And he lit out for New Mexico just a couple of months later. I haven’t seen him since.”
Jed’s face softened although his voice remained gruff. “That sounds like it was more your pa’s problem than yours.”
“Maybe so. Anyway, I’m sorry, Jed. Sorry for your loss. At any age it’s hard to lose your mam.”
He nodded slowly. “That it is.”
They remained there unspeaking for a long moment, and then hesitantly, awkwardly, Jed reached out and put a hand on Ellen’s shoulder. “I’m sorry for your loss too, Ellen,” he said quietly. “It may have been some years ago now, but it’s still a hard thing to bear.”
She nodded, her throat too tight for her to speak, and then they heard the heavy, booted tread of Mr. Lyman on the porch stairs and Jed pulled his hand away and Ellen stepped back.
Summer seemed to come to an end abruptly, the days passing by in a blur of activity. It seemed to Ellen that one moment it was hot and drowsy, the raspberries dripping fatly from the bushes, the evenings long and lazy and warm. Then, suddenly, the air was crisp and the oak leaves tinged with yellow, and the postman brought a letter from Seaton that had equal parts worry and dread curdling in the pit of Ellen’s stomach.
She read it on the front porch, where she’d been sitting with Rose, shelling peas and enjoying the late summer sunshine.
“And what does Ruth say now?” Rose asked, one eyebrow raised, and Ellen tried to smile.
“She—she says I’ve passed the entrance exam to Rutland,” Ellen said, and something caught in her chest as she scanned the lines.
Miss Evans has informed us you have passed the entrance exam to Rutland. If you would still like to go to high school, we can make arrangements here.
It almost sounded, Ellen thought, as if Ruth wanted her back. Except why should she? It would be more expense, and Ellen wouldn’t even be in Seaton. No doubt her aunt was just doing her Christian duty, dispensed with a grim smile as always. Yet still Ellen felt a surprising pang of something that was almost homesickness for Seaton, for Ruth and Hamish and what could have been.
Rose put down the bowl of peas and gave Ellen a level look. “You don’t seem as pleased as I would have expected at such news.”
“I—I don’t know.” She didn’t know what to make of these developments. What did Aunt Ruth want of her?
“Well,” Aunt Rose said. “You know you’re more than welcome to stay here with us. You could apply for Glebe—having passed one entrance exam, they might not be so particular! She paused, a faint blush touching her pale cheeks. “I daresay we could manage to help you with boarding and such.”
“That’s very kind of you, Aunt Rose.” Too kind, especially when Ellen thought about the tin Rose kept above the range, a tin that never seemed to have enough money in it. It reminded Ellen of the old flour tin they’d kept for the fare to America. She let out a little sigh. She’d thought a lot about her future over the summer, although she hadn’t wanted to. “I want to go back to Seaton,” she said slowly. “It feels right to do that, for Ruth and Hamish’s sake.”
Rose nodded, her eyes alight with both understanding and compassion. “That seems wise. And will you go to Rutland?”
Slowly yet with both certainty and regret, Ellen shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“You’re not?” Rose looked genuinely surprised. “I always thought you were clever enough, certainly.”
Ellen glanced away. Sunlight slanted across the wooden floor of the porch, and she could hear the distant sound of the children’s laughter ringing from the meadow.
“It’s not that,” she said, taking another handful of fat pea pods. “I just don’t want to.” That wasn’t strictly the truth, but she wasn’t going to admit that she didn’t want to burden anyone with the cost of her education. She didn’t want to be beholden to either the McCaffertys or the Copleys. She needed, for once, to make her own way. Just like Da had done.
“Then what shall you do?” Rose asked.
Ellen gazed down at the pea pods. She’d thought a great deal about her future, about what was sensible and what she wanted to do. School no longer seemed an option, despite Aunt Ruth’s surprising generosity. “I’ve thought about going to nursing school,” she admitted quietly. “I know there’s a fine one in Kingston.” She’d also heard that student nurses were given free room and board, and could earn a bit of money serving private patients during their few free hours. It seemed a very practical, if not completely appealing, prospect.
“Nursing school!” Rose exclaimed. “I had no idea.”
Ellen ducked her head. “I’ve had some experience, nursing my mam.”
Rose was a silent for a moment, her face softened with a tenderness that made Ellen squirm a little. “Of course you have.” She turned back to the peas, her movements brisk. “I believe you need to be eighteen to go to nursing school. What will you do for three years?”
Ellen looked at her in dismay. “I had no idea you had to be as old as that,” she admitted. “I thought you only had to be sixteen.” She’d envisioned spending another year with Ruth and Hamish, helping them in the store and doing something to pay back their generosity, before going to nursing school. But three years... the prospect of working in the store for that long made her heart sink.
“They changed the law a few years ago,” Rose told her. “To encourage young women to finish their schooling, actually.” She slid her a sideways smile. “If they want to.”
Ellen shook her head. “I’ve made up my mind about that.”
“Then I have another idea, if you’d like to hear it.” Surprised, Ellen nodded. “What if you came back to the island after you’ve spent some time with Ruth and Hamish? Dr. Bandler is the island’s only doctor, and I know for a fact he’s always short of help. You could work with him and gain a bit more practical experience before heading off to Kingston, if they accept you. He’d pay you, as well. Only a little, mind, but still something.”
Ellen sat back, startled by the sudden, specific direction her life seemed to be taking. “I suppose I could,” she said slowly. To live on the island, with the McCaffertys, for two years or more! And even earning her own money, paying her own way before she went to school... Finally she saw a way forward that didn’t seem like nothing more than a dismal gathering of days.
Rose smiled. “Why don’t you think about it for a few days? I need to get supper started—will you bring in the children?”
Ellen nodded, her mind whirling with new thoughts. If she agreed to Aunt Rose’s plan, she would never go to high school or university. Not that she’d really been thinking of something like Queen’s, yet Lucas’ hopes had infected her a little with their boldness. Up in the hayloft anything had seemed possible.
Possible, but not practical, she now told herself sternly. She couldn’t afford to have her head in the clouds. A nurse was a sensible occupation for a young woman such as herself, with few resources in this world, and she would count her blessings if Dr. Bandler took her on.
Rose took Ellen to see Dr. Bandler the very next day. He had an office on Front Street in Stella, a stone’s throw from the ferry office where Ellen had first waited that September nearly two years ago.
She’d met Dr. Bandler before, of course; he’d made a handful of house visits to Jasper Lane, and she’d seen him at church and various island functions. Yet she’d never needed to visit his office herself, and now she gazed round at the shiny, metal instruments and the pamphlets about eating green vegetables and drinking milk with an air of uneasy awe. She picked one up on the dangers of patent medicines and glanced at the bold type, feeling a wave of sadness for both Da and Mam.
“Those medicines are as good as poison,” Dr. Bandler barked, coming up behind her so Ellen jumped. His bright blue eyes peered at her from behind small, round spectacles. “False hope in a bottle, that’s all it is.”
“And expensive, at that,” Ellen replied, replacing the pamphlet back on the shelf with the others. “My mam tried every medicine in the chemist’s, and not one of them helped her.”
“And nor would they. Just opium and alcohol, mark my words.” He moved around the desk, his bald head gleaming under the electric light of the office. “So you’re Ellen Copley.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And so, Ellen Copley, you fancy yourself something of a nurse?”
Ellen flushed. “No, sir. Not really. I just nursed my mam, when she was ill.”
His sharp expression softened a little. “Your Aunt Rose told me about that. And you’re not squeamish, are you, when it comes to blood and bruises and bones?”
Ellen swallowed. She hadn’t seen too much of any of those when she’d tended her mother. “I don’t consider myself squeamish, sir, but I haven’t had too much experience with bones and blood and such.”
Dr. Bandler smiled. “And I hope you won’t have too much experience with any of them, here. But you’ve got to be prepared, Miss Copley. You’ve always got to be prepared.”
“Yes sir, I suppose you do.”
“And I can’t have any high strung miss in my office, you understand, not when a man might be dying.” Something of the alarm she felt at this statement must have showed in her face, for the good doctor hastened to add, “Not to say there will be a man dying in here. But just in case. Just in case.”
“I see,” Ellen managed, and he indicated she take a seat in front of his desk. Ellen sat down carefully as Dr. Bandler folded his hands on top of his desk and surveyed her with a more kindly air.
“So you’ve had some experience taking care of your mother.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And she passed on, I presume?”
Ellen swallowed. “Over two years ago now, sir.”
Dr. Bandler nodded. “It’s a hard thing, and I’m sorry for your loss. But death comes to us all, Miss Copley. As a nurse you’ll see more of it than you’d like, so it’s good you’ve already had some experience.”
Ellen said nothing. What could she say to that? Dr. Bandler’s expression sharpened. “I feel I must tell you, Miss Copley, that working in a doctor’s surgery requires much more than simply sitting by a bedside, bathing a forehead or making tea.”
“Yes—”
“Not,” Dr. Bandler cut her off, the speed of his thoughts making Ellen’s head spin, “that that was all you were doing. But in a doctor’s office, you’ll find you come across all sorts of patients—expecting mothers, farmhands with broken arms, children with scarlet fever.” He smiled wryly, and Ellen knew he was recalling the McCaffertys’ experience with that illness when she’d first arrived.
“All those different situations should be good experience for me,” Ellen said, and Dr. Bandler nodded in approval.
“Indeed. I’m afraid I can’t offer you much in the way of recompense, but I can pay you a small wage and the experience, should you decide to attend nursing school at the proper time, will be valuable.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Now your aunt tells me you’re returning to the States for a time?”
“Yes, sir, to visit my aunt and uncle.”
“No high school for you?” he asked a bit shrewdly, and Ellen forced herself to meet his gaze squarely.
“No, sir.”
“Well, I’ve always said a formal education is overrated. Life, in my opinion, is the best education on offer.” He smiled and slapped his desk with both hands. “It’s settled then. Write to me when you expect to be back on our island, and I’ll get you started.”
It sounded almost too simple. “I think I’ll stay with my aunt and uncle in Vermont at least until May,” Ellen said tentatively.
“Then you can start in June!” Dr. Bandler returned cheerfully. “June first, 1907 How does that sound?”
Far away, Ellen thought, wondering if she should stay on the island after all. As tempting as that seemed, she felt deep in her bones that she needed to see Aunt Ruth and Uncle Hamish, live with them properly again. She couldn’t even explain to herself why. “Thank you, sir. I’ll try and be a credit to you.”
‘I’m sure you will.” He rose from behind his desk, and Ellen felt a little startled that the interview had been conducted with such alacrity.
“So... that’s all?” she asked a bit uncertainly.
“That’s all. I know a good egg when I see one.”
Ellen had never heard herself described as a good egg, but she took Dr. Bandler’s meaning. He stuck out his hand for her to shake and then she was on her way back to Jasper Lane.
That night, curled up by the window of her bedroom, her pencil tapping her teeth, Ellen gazed at the nearly blank page on her lap.
She hadn’t written anything else. She didn’t know what to write, how to explain her choice not to go to high school when her aunt and uncle had as good as offered her a place at the high school in Rutland.
Would they be disappointed or relieved? And what if they didn’t want her back? What if returning to Seaton made her feel more like a burden than ever?
“Then I’ll just return to the island, straightaway,” she told herself, but she felt nervous all the same. She could just hear Ruth saying in that sharp voice, And I suppose you’ll want us to pay your train fare back to that wretched island, won’t you?
She closed her eyes, conjuring Ruth’s face, the stern line of her mouth, the flintiness of her eyes, but for some reason all she could see in her mind’s eye was Ruth as she’d drawn her, her expression resolute but weary, a certain vulnerability in the curve of her cheek and rounded set of her shoulders.
And Uncle Hamish, with his slipped sweets and jolly smiles, the nervousness and perhaps even sorrow shadowing his faded blue eyes. Did he want her back? Sighing, Ellen put the paper aside. She was an artist, not a writer, and tonight it seemed the words wouldn’t come.
A knock sounded on the door, and then Louisa peeked her head around the corner. “May I come in?”
“Of course.” Ellen tucked her ink bottle and paper away, out of sight.
“Aunt Rose told me you’re returning to Vermont,” Louisa said. “But not for high school.” She leaned against the door and watched Ellen speculatively.
“Yes, I am. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Louisa. It has all happened so quickly—”
“I’m sure.” Louisa’s smile was a little twisted. “I suppose you’ll have a grand time, coming back here and working for the doctor. This is home to you, isn’t it?”
Ellen’s glance slid inadvertently to the unfinished—unstarted—letter. “Yes,” she said quietly, “it is.”
Louisa sighed. “I wish it were for me,” she said, and Ellen almost felt sorry for her, until she added, a haughty note in her voice, “perhaps it will be one day.”
