Return to the Island: An utterly gripping historical romance

by Hewitt, Kate

  Tom let off another firecracker and another, with accompanying bangs and sparks, to many cheers and lots of laughter, and Ellen began to relax, enjoying the unexpected show, when Jed suddenly grabbed her arm.

  “Ellen.”

  “What is it?” She turned to him in alarmed surprise, and Jed nodded at a familiar figure at the edge of the beach, stumbling away from the firecrackers. “It’s Peter,” he said in a low voice. “The noise and light must have reminded him of the war. Those firecrackers sound a lot like shells going off.”

  Ellen’s stomach clenched with worry. “Oh, no—”

  “I’ll go after him,” Jed said, and Ellen watched in misery and fear as he hurried after Peter, and then was swallowed up in the darkness.

  Chapter Twelve

  The next morning, Jed appeared at the back door of Jasper Lane, looking even more grim-faced than usual, and Ellen’s heart started to thud. She hadn’t seen him since he’d taken off from the beach after Peter; by the time Ellen had arrived home with the others, a pale-faced Rose had told Ellen that Jed had brought Peter home and tucked him up in bed.

  “He talked to him as if it was still the war,” Rose had whispered, wringing her hands. “As if he was his officer, and he was taking him back to his bunk. It was… it was so odd, Ellen, because Peter believed it. He was talking about the trenches, as if they were right there.” She gestured to the front yard, looking as if she could cry.

  Ellen had pressed Rose’s hand in sympathy and comfort. “It was the firecrackers, Aunt Rose. The noise and sound. It brought it all back.”

  “But he didn’t seem to realize the war is over…” Rose had pressed her lips together and turned away. There could be no denying that something was really wrong, no matter how much Caro or anyone else wished it otherwise. The thought did not bring any relief, just more sorrow.

  Now Jed stood in the doorway, his hat in his hands, his expression serious. “May I talk to you, Ellen? Rose? Where’s Caro? She ought to be present, I think.”

  “She’s stayed at the Wilsons, to take care of those poor children as well as Iris,” Ellen said. Caro had been spending more and more time at the Wilson farmhouse, and Ellen wondered if she preferred it—being the only one in charge, the one to swoop in and save everyone. It wasn’t a particularly generous thought, and yet she couldn’t help but feeling a twinge of resentment that Caro seemed set on reminding her of her place outside the family, and yet then disappeared to take care of someone else’s.

  It was barely eight o’clock in the morning and Ellen already felt exhausted. She needed to return to check on Iris, and help Rose get ready for the guests arriving tomorrow, and now Peter. There was so much to do, so much to worry about, and she felt as if she could collapse from it all. “What is it, Jed?” she asked. “Are you here to talk about Peter?” Of course he was, and yet she felt the need to ask.

  “Come in, come in,” Rose urged before he could reply. “I’ll make us coffee.”

  Jed came inside, the screen door banging behind him. “Where is everyone else?”

  “Peter’s still asleep, and Andrew is out in the fields. Sarah and Gracie have gone into Stella for some shopping. We have guests coming tomorrow.”

  “Then I’ll make this short.” Jed stood in the kitchen, not even taking a seat, although Rose had already started to fill the kettle. “Peter’s not well, Rose.” He gave his neighbor a direct look. “I think he needs specialized treatment.”

  Ellen felt a wave of relief at this admission, even though the uncertainty filled her with fear. She glanced at her aunt and saw that Rose’s face was pale, her lips set, as she put water on to boil on top of the range. “What kind of specialized treatment?”

  “There are hospitals for men like Peter,” Jed said quietly. “Men who have trouble recovering from everything they saw and heard and did.”

  “You’re talking about shell shock.” Her voice trembled, but she gave Jed as direct a look as he’d given her.

  “Yes,” he answered steadily. “I am.” Rose didn’t say anything and he added quietly, “There’s no shame in it. Plenty of brave men experience the same. It’s no reflection on them or their courage or fortitude.”

  “I know there’s no shame,” Rose answered sharply, drawing a ragged breath. “I’m not like that, Jed Lyman. It’s just… Peter.” Her voice broke. “How can he… and yet I should have realized sooner. I knew something was wrong, but I just kept hoping it would get better on its own.” She shook her head, looking near tears. “How long has he been suffering like this, and I haven’t done anything?”

  “The important thing, Aunt Rose,” Ellen said gently, “is that he gets help now. I’m glad Jed has told us.”

  “But what kind of help? Will he have to go away?” She looked between them, her eyes wide with apprehension.

  “There’s a military hospital in Toronto,” Jed said after a moment. “I could write to Lucas about it.” He glanced at Ellen, his expression inscrutable. “Or you could, Ellen, seeing as you’re such friends.” It almost felt like a rebuke.

  Ellen shook her head. “I don’t mind who does it, Jed. I just want to help Peter.”

  “We all do,” Rose said. “Whatever needs to be done.” She looked troubled, and Ellen knew she was thinking about the money such a hospital would cost. She wanted to tell her aunt that she would pay for it out of the money Henry McAvoy had left her, but she knew Rose would resist and, in any case, she wouldn’t say anything in front of Jed. He was so spiky about certain things, money being one of them.

  “I’ll look into it, then,” Jed decided with a nod.

  The water had boiled for the coffee, but Rose seemed too shocked and upset to do anything about it, and Jed didn’t look as if he wanted any, anyway.

  Ellen looked around the sun-dappled kitchen, everything so familiar and dear, and felt a wave of sadness that they’d got to this point. That Peter might need to be hospitalized, that everyone had changed and suffered. She allowed herself a moment of nostalgia and regret and then she drew herself up, determined to get on with the day.

  “I should go to the Wilsons.” Ellen glanced at the clock above the range. “Caro will be waiting for me. I do hope Iris has taken a turn for the better in the night. Thank you, Jed, for coming here.”

  “I’ll drive you in the wagon if you like,” Jed offered, surprising her. “It will take at least half an hour to walk that far.”

  “Only if you’ve time…”

  “I’ve time.”

  Ellen pressed her cheek to Rose’s in farewell before gathering her shawl and a basket of food for the Wilsons. She and Jed started back to the Lyman farm, across the field towards the copse of birches slender and white against the sunlight.

  “How is your father?” she asked as they walked the old path, the pond shimmering under the July sunshine. “Is he coping all right? I haven’t seen him much of late.”

  “He’s fine,” Jed answered. “Struggling on as everyone seems to be these days.”

  “It’s hard, isn’t it?” They walked for a few moments in silence before Ellen continued stiltedly, “Thank you, Jed, for coming to see us this morning, and also for going after Peter last night. I’m ashamed that I didn’t even think about how the noise of the firecrackers would upset him.”

  “Why would you?”

  “I heard the shells too,” Ellen reminded him. “I know I didn’t fight like you or Peter or any of the island boys did, but I remember the Front, evacuating from Villiers-Cotterets with the bombs going overhead…” She gave an involuntary shiver as the memory assailed her—the orange sky, the earth-shaking thuds, the fear so overwhelming it had felt as if she were frozen.

  “Of course you remember.” Jed sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound as if you hadn’t been there.”

  “I wasn’t fighting the way you were,” Ellen said. “I don’t mean to compare my experience to yours.”

  Jed gave her an unexpected quirk of a smile. “It’s not a compe
tition.”

  Ellen smiled back, managing a little laugh. “No, I suppose not.” She let out a gusty sigh. “Some days I wish we could all go back to before the war, when we were children. Do you remember how we all played around the pond? It seems like such a simple time now, and I know we’re far from children, but I miss those days.”

  “So do I.” Jed’s voice was so low Ellen almost didn’t hear the three simple, heartfelt words. She glanced at him, startled by how sincere he’d sounded, but he was staring straight ahead as they walked past the pond, and on to the Lyman pasture.

  As they approached the farmhouse, Jed went for the wagon while Ellen waited by the front steps, enjoying the sunshine on her face and trying not to give in to the worry that was cramping her stomach—the Wilsons, Peter, the guests coming tomorrow… For a few minutes, she wanted to close her eyes and not to have to think about any of it. She’d enjoyed the walk with Jed, companionable as it had been, a small oasis of comfort in the midst of a busy, care-filled day.

  “Ellen.” Jed’s voice sounded surprisingly light as she opened her eyes. He stood in front of her, the horses hitched to the wagon. “I thought you’d fallen asleep there for a minute.”

  “For a minute I almost did.”

  Jed stretched out his hand and Ellen took it, trying to suppress the flurry of feeling his dry palm sliding across hers created in her. The last thing she needed was for her old feelings for Jed to be reignited. He was married, after all, and therefore completely off limits, even if Louisa intended to stay in Vermont. And besides that, her own heart was too battered and bruised to take another round with anyone, much less Jed Lyman. Much better to be an old maid. Much safer.

  Jed helped her up in the wagon before hauling himself in next to her, holding the reins loosely with his good arm.

  “How are the Wilsons?” he asked, and Ellen shook her head.

  “Not good. Mrs. Wilson has the ’flu.”

  “Is it bad?”

  “I can’t really say, but it doesn’t look good. Fever, delirium, nausea, aches and pains…” Ellen shook her head. “There’s not much I can do, but Caro feels better if I have a look, and they can’t afford the doctor.”

  Jed called to the horses and they started down the road from the Lymans’ to where the Wilsons lived on the north side of the island. It was a beautiful summer’s day, the sky hazy and blue, the sun lemon yellow, the lake shimmering beyond the rolling fields. The air smelled sweet, of hay and daisies.

  “It’s so peaceful,” Ellen said as she looked around. “Never going back to those golden days, I wish I could stay like this forever, just enjoying the moment.”

  Jed glanced at her. “You sound as if you have the world on your shoulders.”

  “Not the whole world. Just a few people, perhaps. Peter… and Rose and the others. And the Wilson children… what will happen to them, if Iris dies?” The pressure that had been building in her chest broke out in a sudden, unexpected sob, and Ellen pressed her hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me…”

  “Don’t be sorry.” Jed pulled the wagon to the side of the road and then, to Ellen’s surprise, he put his good arm around her, drawing her against his shoulder. The feel of his chest against her cheek, the earthy, comforting smell of him, made another sob escape her and she closed her eyes.

  “I really wasn’t expecting to cry…”

  “You can’t take care of everyone, Ellen Copley, although heaven knows you try.” His voice was both rough and gentle as he kept her against his chest, his good hand stroking her hair. It felt far too nice to be held, to relax for a moment and let someone else carry her burdens. Someone strong, whom she knew and trusted and even loved.

  Yet Ellen knew she couldn’t indulge herself for more than a minute or two; someone would see them, and the gossip would fly across the island, as well it should. Jed was a married man. This was wrong. There could be no other way of looking at it, no matter how nice it felt.

  She pushed herself away from him for a sniff. “Thank you for that. And I am sorry for falling apart. I didn’t mean to. We’d better get on to the Wilsons.”

  Ellen busied herself tidying her hair, which had come undone when she’d had her head pressed against Jed’s chest. She didn’t look at Jed, but she felt something simmering from him, something that made her heart skip an uneven beat.

  It felt like a very long moment before he clucked to the horses and they started down the worn, dirt track again.

  Caro looked both worried and worn out as she came out onto the porch to greet Ellen, her eyes narrowing slightly as she caught sight of Jed, who nodded a greeting to her before turning back to Ellen.

  “Will you be needing a ride back?” Jed asked.

  Ellen’s cheeks warmed as she answered, “No thank you, Jed. I don’t know how long I’ll be and I’m glad for the walk.”

  He nodded again and then was off, the horses trotting back down the lane, while Caro gave Ellen an assessing look that she did her best to ignore. There was nothing unseemly about Jed giving her a ride across the island, and Caro couldn’t possibly know about that moment when he’d held her, although judging from her expression, Ellen thought she could have guessed.

  “How is Iris?” she asked as she came into the farmhouse. It looked much cleaner, thanks to Caro’s effort, and Ellen put the basket of food on the table as the three children gathered round. They were all washed and well-dressed, with neat hair and faces that looked filled out even since yesterday, thanks to Rose’s good food and Caro’s care.

  “She seems more peaceful this morning,” Caro said as they headed upstairs to where Iris was, in the farmhouse’s bigger bedroom. “Although she was suffering terribly last night, moaning and groaning and burning right up. The fever broke this morning, when I bathed her and changed her nightdress, but I think it’s started to come back up again.”

  “You’re doing all the right things,” Ellen assured her as she glanced at Iris lying so still in the bed, the rise and fall of her chest barely visible under the worn quilt. “And there’s nothing more we can do, Caro. Either she’ll get better or she won’t.” Ellen bit her lip. “And I pray that she will, because I know her children need her.”

  She rested her hand on top of Iris’s and gazed down at the woman’s face. Her eyes had fluttered open a few times while Ellen had checked her over, but she hadn’t really regained consciousness, and that worried her. Iris needed the sleep, but what if she was sinking deeper into her illness—and into death? Ellen wasn’t sure if this peaceful stillness was a good thing at all; she’d seen it before, in soldiers with life-threatening injuries. When they stopped fighting against the pain, it usually meant their bodies had given up.

  She turned away from Iris to wash her hands at the basin on the bureau. “What about the husband’s brother? Have you found anything out about him?”

  “I found an address in the kitchen drawer,” Caro said. “A boarding house in Oshawa. I suppose he must still be there.”

  “Will you write him?”

  “Have we time? Perhaps a telegram would be better.”

  Ellen nodded slowly, accepting as Caro was that Iris’ days could be very well numbered. “Yes, I suppose it would.”

  “Could you send the telegram, Ellen?” Caro asked. “I can’t leave Iris, or the little ones, for that matter.”

  “Yes, of course, but, Caro, don’t you think you need help? You’ll wear yourself out here.”

  “I’m fine.” A familiar stubborn note entering Caro’s voice. “I want to stay. Please, just send the telegram, Ellen.”

  Ellen gazed at Caro for a moment longer—her expression was set, her arms folded, a hard look in her eyes. She thought about telling her about Jed’s conversation this morning, and the possibility of Peter going to a hospital, but it didn’t seem like the right moment. It never did, she acknowledged, but hopefully Iris would recover, and Caro would come back home. Glancing around the shabby little farmhouse, she couldn’t deny that Caro
was needed here.

  “I’ll send it,” she said quietly, and then she took her leave.

  Chapter Thirteen

  By mid-afternoon the next day, the McCafferty farmhouse was as clean as it could be, thanks to all their efforts, and Ellen was standing on the front porch with the others to welcome their new guests from New York City—Elvira Frampton and her daughter Imogen. A cloud of dust kicked up at the end of Jasper Lane and Ellen squinted to see Andrew coming back with the wagon, and two women sitting next to him, looking fine indeed in their traveling suits and matching hats, all in the very latest fashion.

  “Do you think they’ll be terribly stuck up?” Rose murmured, her confidence seeping away by the second. “These women look even grander than the Gardeners! And we’re so homely here…”

  “Viola Gardener liked it here well enough to recommend us,” Ellen reminded her. “Homely is what they’re looking for.” At least she hoped it was. “We’ll be fine.”

  Within minutes of Andrew pulling up to the front of the house, Ellen was reassured in her belief. Elvira Frampton was a kind-looking woman with sandy gray hair piled up on top of her head and a frank, no-nonsense manner. Her daughter Imogen, seventeen years old and made in the same mold, was just as friendly, and despite their fashionable ensembles, there was a down-to-earthness about them that filled Ellen with both relief and hope.

  “The view here is utterly delightful,” Elvira exclaimed as she stepped onto the front porch. “And it’s just as delightful to meet you all. Viola said I would love it here, and I already know I do.” Her gaze turned appraisingly to Ellen. “And you must be Ellen Copley.”

  “Yes…” Ellen was a bit taken aback at the way Elvira spoke, as if she already knew her.