Return to the Island: An utterly gripping historical romance

by Hewitt, Kate

  “What on earth…” Ellen stared at her aunt blankly. “Visit? But…” She’d never told Rose about the visit, and she’d assumed, with her illness and everything else, that it would never happen.

  “Lucas told me about her invitation to you, when we were back in Toronto,” Rose explained. “How you wanted to go but didn’t feel you could.”

  Ellen flushed with anger. “He shouldn’t have told you that, Aunt Rose. He said he wouldn’t.”

  “I’m glad he did.” Rose laid a hand on her arm. “You’ve worked so hard for so long, Ellen, and carried the weight of the world on your shoulders. And the truth is, we couldn’t have managed without you. I’ve come to depend on you, more than perhaps you’ll ever know.” Rose’s lips trembled as she smiled. “But you’ve worked yourself down to the bone and you need a proper rest. New York is the perfect answer. I insist that you go.”

  Ellen blinked back sudden tears, feeling like a child. “Why do I feel like you’re sending me away?” she whispered.

  “Oh Ellen, dear Ellen, no!” Rose gathered her into her arms. “Never that. I’m doing this for your sake, because I love you so very much.” She leaned back to gaze intently into Ellen’s tear-filled eyes. “I told you before that I love you like one of my own. My very own daughter. Never doubt that, Ellen. Never.” Rose pulled Ellen back into her arms and hugged her fiercely.

  Ellen closed her eyes as she pressed her cheek against Rose’s shoulder, savoring her aunt’s loving comfort, her arms around her. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I love you too, Aunt Rose. So much.”

  “Then it’s settled. You’ll go next week, when you’ve gained back a little bit more of your strength.”

  “But the farm—and the holidays—what if more guests book?”

  “We’ll manage, Ellen. Guests can still sketch if they need to, or take country walks. Andrew has often given a tour of the island, and in any case, we’ve made enough this summer already to tide us over.”

  “I could help more—” Ellen protested.

  “I don’t want your money,” Rose said firmly. “Save it for a shopping trip in the city! You must have some new dresses, of course. Mrs. Frampton mentioned the theater as well as the opera.”

  Rose’s eyes sparkled as Ellen sat back in the rocking chair, dazed by this sudden turn of events. Before she’d fallen ill, she’d daydreamed about traveling to New York at Elvira Frampton’s invitation, but she’d never thought it would become a reality. She felt a mixture of growing excitement and trepidation at the prospect. Despite the fact that she’d lived in Glasgow, France, Vermont, and on her beloved island, she still felt like an inexperienced homebody. How would she manage in the big city? She’d never even heard opera before.

  “You’ll be fine, Ellen,” Rose assured. “And you’ll have a wonderful time. I can’t wait to hear about all your adventures when you return.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Four days later, Andrew drove Ellen to the ferry landing at Stella, her trunk in the back of the wagon. She was wearing one of her best dresses and a wide-brimmed picture hat that Rose had adorned with some lavender ribbon and a few silk flowers. Ellen felt both elegant and ridiculous, especially sitting next to Andrew on the old buckboard, the horses trotting down a dusty road. Although she still felt somewhat fatigued, a new excitement was firing through her veins at the prospect of the adventure ahead.

  She’d said goodbye to all the McCaffertys, as well as the Wilson children, who were still at Jasper Lane while the Ladies’ Society debated where to send them, and last night Jed had walked over from the Lyman farm to say his own farewell.

  “Jed!” Ellen hadn’t been able to stop smiling as she saw his familiar figure on the front porch as dusk dropped over the fields. “I wasn’t expecting you.” As it was the busiest time of a farmer’s year, Jed hadn’t stopped by Jasper Lane since Ellen had returned… not that she’d been expecting him to call.

  “I thought I should say goodbye.” A small smile tugged at his mouth. “Who knows how long you might be gone?”

  “I’ve only been invited for a month,” Ellen answered as she stepped aside to let him into the kitchen. “Would you like some coffee?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Jed had leaned against the kitchen table, one booted foot crossed over the other, while Ellen made the coffee. The McCaffertys were all in the front parlor, but Ellen didn’t call to them to let them know Jed had arrived. He’d come to say goodbye to her, after all, and she was grateful for the quiet moment.

  “So, are you going to get notions into your head, now that you’ll be staying in such a big city?” Jed had asked her, that old teasing lilt in his voice that Ellen remembered so well.

  “I promise I won’t.” She’d handed him a cup of coffee and then cradled her own between her hands. “The truth is I’m practically petrified about going. I feel like country mouse.”

  “You’ve been a city girl before.”

  “Yes, and I was just as frightened then. But I came back to the island, didn’t I?” She’d cocked her head as she’d looked at him. “I’ll come back again.”

  “I hope so.”

  Jed had held her gaze for a moment until Ellen had looked away and they’d both sipped their coffee. She’d felt a prickle of something—pleasure and trepidation mixed together. There was nothing untoward about their conversation, nothing at all, and yet…

  “Jed!” Rose’s voice had rung out sharply as she came into the kitchen, her narrowed gaze moving between Jed and Ellen. “I thought I heard voices. You should have come in and said hello.”

  “I was just saying my goodbye to Ellen,” Jed had replied. Ellen saw that there was a faint flush of color to his cheeks. He’d drained his coffee and put the cup in the sink. “But I’d best be off now. I’ve still got the animals to see to. Good evening, Rose.” His gaze had skated towards Ellen and then away again. “Ellen.”

  “Goodbye, Jed,” she’d murmured.

  The only sound was the squeak and slap of the screen door, followed by the heavy tread of Jed’s boots on the porch steps before a rather chilly silence had descended on the kitchen. Ellen went to the sink and began to wash the cups. She could feel Rose standing behind her, staying silent, and she’d felt compelled to say something.

  “It was nice of Jed to come by.”

  “Yes.” Rose had paused. “Very nice.”

  Ellen had half-turned and saw how disapproving her aunt looked. “Aunt Rose…”

  “Jed is a married man, Ellen, even if Louisa never steps foot on this island again.”

  “I know that!” Ellen had flushed with humiliation as well as some anger. “Of course I know that. I have never done anything untoward in that regard, and neither has Jed.”

  Rose had nodded slowly. “I know,” she’d said, and then her voice had gentled. “Of course I know. But our hearts are wayward things, Ellen. They can lead us astray without us even realizing where they’re going.”

  “I know that,” Ellen had said stiffly, and with another nod, Rose had left the kitchen.

  Ellen had finished the washing up, seething with resentment that Rose had felt compelled to give her such a warning, as well as a guilty shame. Did she have feelings for Jed? She didn’t think she did anymore, but she’d enjoyed even just those few moments together. It had felt, with such bittersweet poignancy, like old days, when Jed had teased her, when they had smiled and laughed together, when they’d been such good friends. She hated that Rose’s words had tainted it, turned it into something almost sordid.

  Now as they approached Captain Jonah’s little tugboat, Ellen tried to push the whole episode out of her mind. Rose had been her usual, loving self this morning, and Jed she had not seen at all. She had a month ahead of her to explore and experience, and she didn’t want to waste time thinking about the what-ifs of the past.

  “Take care of yourself, Ellen,” Andrew said as he loaded her trunk onto the ferry. “Don’t forget us in New York.”

  “As if I would!�
�� Ellen exclaimed. “I’m not going for as long as that, Andrew.” Although she hadn’t yet booked her return ticket, and Elvira Frampton had assured her she could stay for as long as she wanted, Ellen had already resolved not to stay for more than the month originally planned.

  “Even so,” Andrew said, and gave her a quick hug, before touching his hat in farewell.

  It felt strange to be leaving the island again so soon. The lake whipped up into lacy white froth as the boat churned through the waters. Ellen held onto her hat as the sprightly breeze threatened to blow it right off her head, and her feelings veered between hope and sorrow, fear and joy.

  The train journey to New York felt like traveling through time, all the way back to where she began, when she’d landed on Ellis Island with her father and her heart full of dreams. Dreams that had been broken and then remade; would the same happen again? What dreams did she even have anymore?

  She’d told Peter she was tired from the war, tired in a way that made it hard to hope or to dream. Yet as the train pulled into a busy Grand Central Station, Ellen felt her spirits lift in a way they hadn’t in a very long time. Here was a new chapter, another chance. Who knew what kind of dreams she could have here?

  Certainly her experience of New York was far grander than before. Thomas, Elvira Frampton’s manservant, met her at the platform, took her valise and led her to a gleaming Pierce-Arrow coupe parked right outside the station.

  It was a short drive to the Framptons’ opulent townhouse on Fifth Avenue, overlooking the park, now a lush, verdant green in the last halcyon days of summer. Elvira was waiting in the front hall as Ellen mounted the steps.

  “Ellen, dear Ellen!” She hurried forward to embrace her, kissing her on both cheeks. “I’m so very glad to see you. And so very sorry to hear of your dreadful illness. Thank heavens you are well again!”

  “Yes, thank you,” Ellen murmured, trying not to gape at the entry hall’s luxurious decorations, everything gilt and marble, a sweeping staircase leading to the upstairs. She hadn’t been in a house as nice as this since she’d gone to a ball in Glasgow with Henry McAvoy, back in 1911, and she’d felt entirely out of her element then.

  “There’s tea and cake in the parlor,” Elvira continued as Thomas took Ellen’s things upstairs. “But first you’ll want to refresh yourself. Let me show you to your room.”

  Elvira led her up the stairs, while Ellen marveled at all the paintings and antiques, the plush carpets, the burnished wood. The anxiety she’d been feeling about this trip eased, replaced by a burgeoning excitement.

  “You must be exhausted,” Elvira said as she guided Ellen along the upstairs corridor. “Train journeys are always so fatiguing, and when you’ve been ill… Here we are.” She threw open a door and led Ellen into an enormous bedroom with a canopied bed with jacquard bed coverings and a matching wardrobe and bureau set in gleaming mahogany. It was the largest and most elegant bedroom Ellen had ever seen. “There’s an adjoining bathroom,” Elvira said, opening a door to a room with a deep bathtub and a sink with gold taps. “Feel free to wash the worst of your journey away.”

  Then, with a flurry of silk and a whiff of perfume she was gone, and Ellen sank onto the canopied bed in the center of the room, feeling overwhelmed by it all. She’d known the Framptons were wealthy, of course, but she’d had no idea of the depth of luxury she’d been catapulted into. What must they have thought of shabby Jasper Lane!

  She let out a little laugh at the thought, shaking her head, and then she rose from the bed and went to the window, pushing aside the drapes to take in the view of a bustling Fifth Avenue, the wide street teeming with cars, the cobblestone sidewalk along the park with people. Everyone, Ellen thought, was going somewhere.

  A spark of excitement kindled in her soul and she unpinned her hat and took off her suit jacket, rolling up her sleeves so she could wash her face. Perhaps later she would try the bath—she’d never had one with running water. At Jasper Lane, they still had to heat water over the stove and haul it upstairs for a bath.

  Once she’d dried her face and fixed her hair, she decided to find Elvira. She looked forward to becoming reacquainted with her hostess, and discovering what plans she had for her in this great and gracious city.

  “You look much refreshed,” Elvira exclaimed as Ellen came into the drawing room, an elegant space of generous proportions, with silk drapes at every window, and a grand piano tucked in one corner.

  Ellen paused to examine several objects displayed in a Chinese curio cabinet. “You have so many lovely things,” she remarked as she admired a small, perfectly carved jade elephant. “I could spend every day simply taking in all the beautiful things in your home.”

  “Well, I would be very disappointed if you did that,” Elvira replied with a laugh. “I have such plans for you, my dear. Of course, the city completely empties in August—everyone removes to the Hamptons, and there’s very little society to be had, thanks to this wretched heat. Are you wilting?”

  “I’m fine,” Ellen assured her as she took a seat on an armchair with a pattern of striped silk.

  “Still, there are some amusements to be had,” Elvira promised her. “The Van Alens are having a ball at the end of the month, and afterwards we are going to Sands Point. We have an invitation from the Guggenheims to stay at Hempstead House.”

  Ellen smiled faintly as she took a sip of the iced tea Elvira had poured for her. It was surprisingly sweet. “That all sounds amazing, Mrs. Frampton—”

  “Elvira, of course!”

  “I fear I am not used to such high society,” Ellen felt compelled to confess.

  “Oh, you shall fit right in, Ellen, I assure you,” Elvira replied. “And I have already spoken to the curator of a small gallery on Madison Avenue to exhibit your sketches. You did bring them?”

  “Yes,” Ellen admitted, although she’d felt a bit arrogant for doing so. “But I don’t think—”

  “Nonsense! I insist. You are going to be the belle of the ball, my dear. The belle of the ball.” Elvira glanced at the door as it opened and her daughter Imogen came into the room. “And here is the other belle of the ball! Imogen, come and say hello to Ellen.”

  Ellen rose from her chair as Imogen clasped her in a light hug and kissed her cheek. She was far quieter and less vibrant than her mother, but there was a frankness about her face and a sincerity in her eyes that Ellen liked.

  “How lovely to see you, Ellen. My mother has been so excited.”

  “I just hope I don’t disappoint,” Ellen said. Already she was feeling overwhelmed by all of Elvira’s plans.

  “You could never do that,” Imogen assured her, and Elvira rang the bell for the maid to bring more cake.

  The next week passed in a flurry of excitement and outings. Elvira took Ellen everywhere—parading through Central Park, shopping on Fifth Avenue at the grand block-long department stores of Bergdorf Goodman and Arnold Constable and Company.

  “When I was last in New York, in 1911,” Ellen told her, “all these stores were downtown, in the Ladies’ Mile. How it has all changed!”

  “The city is constantly changing,” Elvira agreed. “I remember the Ladies’ Mile, back when I went shopping in a horse and carriage!” She let out a little laugh of incredulity, and Ellen hid her smile. Back on the island, she still traveled around by horse and wagon. “It’s all warehouses there now,” Elvira continued. “Completely unfashionable. Everyone has moved uptown, to be closer to the park.”

  Despite Elvira’s lamenting of the lack of society during the hot summer months, there were parties to attend, and trips to the opera and theater; twice they dined out at elegant restaurants, being served by white-jacketed waiters. And as she’d promised, Elvira had shown her sketches to a gallery owner, who had thought they held much promise, and was considering having them be part of an exhibit in the autumn, although Ellen wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t simply been trying to placate a wealthy and well-connected customer.

  At first, as she�
��d navigated this glamorous and glossy new world, Ellen had felt clumsy and gauche, and was sure everyone else could notice. How could she, a railwayman’s daughter from the sooty yards of Springburn, have ended up here?

  But as the days passed and Elvira’s easy affections smoothed every interaction, Ellen felt herself relax, and the luxury that had overwhelmed and shocked her at first began to simply be enjoyable. Three weeks slid by with her barely even realizing they’d gone.

  Since she’d arrived, she’d received several letters from Amherst Island—Rose had written twice, filling her in on all the island news—the Wilson children were still at Jasper Lane and Jack Wilson was fighting for them, Sarah had gone back to Gananoque and Peter had written a cheering note and thought he might return by Christmas.

  Lucas had written her from Toronto, describing his regular visits to Peter and amusing her with his little asides and anecdotes, so she could almost imagine he was sitting right next to her, chatting in his easy way. He’d commanded her to “suck the marrow out of the city,” whatever that was supposed to mean, although whatever it was Ellen thought she was surely doing it. She was glad he’d told Aunt Rose, in the end; she realized she’d needed this adventure.

  Even so, while she knew Lucas thought she was wasting her talent on Amherst Island, she still couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. Although, she admitted ruefully, after several weeks immersed in this luxury, she certainly was starting to.

  One humid, hazy afternoon, while they were taking tea in the elegant Palm Court, Elvira reminded her of the trip to Sands Point in a fortnight.

  “It will be so lovely to get out of the city, after all this heat.”

  Ellen paused, conscious that she could not continue imposing on the Framptons forever, pleasant as that sometimes seemed. “I don’t know if I shall be here then, Elvira,” she felt obligated to say. “I’ve already been here for nearly a month. I wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome.”