by Kate Hewitt
There was the sound of footsteps in the hall, and then Aunt Ruth opened the door. Ellen looked up guiltily, Celia still in her hands.
“Now you look a bit more presentable.” Aunt Ruth’s eyes narrowed. “What is that dirty thing you’re holding?”
Ellen clutched the doll. “It’s my rag doll, Celia. Mam—”
Ruth plucked Celia from her hands. “It’s dirty, and most likely contaminated from the ship. I suppose all manner of dirty little immigrants held it?”
“No, only me—”
“We’d best burn it, just in case.” Ruth’s face softened slightly, and her lips curved in a smile Ellen didn’t trust. “You can pick a new doll from the store. We’ve got some lovely ones, with porcelain faces and glass eyes. They put this old thing to shame.”
Ellen drew herself up. Rage was coursing through her, and she fought to keep her voice steady. “Thank you very much, Aunt Ruth, but I’d like to keep my doll all the same. My mam made it for me and I don’t have much left from her.”
There was a moment of silence that seemed to Ellen worse than any rebuke. She could hear the breeze blowing the curtains against the wall, a small, pleasant sound so at odds with the way Ruth smiled coolly at her, her eyes like flint.
“Very well, Ellen, since you feel so strongly about it. But the doll will have to be boiled in the washing, in any case. I won’t suffer dirty things in my house. And I don’t countenance disrespect in a child.” Ruth turned, her skirts swishing across the floor. “Come downstairs when you’ve composed yourself. I’m showing your father the store.”
Ellen counted to ten before following her aunt. Her heart was still beating fiercely, and she strove to keep her face as pleasantly expressionless as possible. At least now she knew where she stood.
The Seaton General Store was a two story building, a large sign in painted red letters out front, with a wide porch underneath that displayed barrels and bins of fresh fruits and vegetables along with a few wooden rocking chairs now rocking slightly in the summer breeze.
Inside was just as impressive. A long, polished counter ran along the back, behind which were shelves stacked straight to the ceiling.
There was everything imaginable in that store, Ellen saw. It put the Cowlairs Co-op or even Hoey’s Department Store back in Springburn to shame.
She walked by sacks of beans and rice, tins of every food imaginable, from Arbuckle’s Ariosa Coffee to Gold Medal Flour, with the slogan ‘Don’t get counterfeits, get gold medal’ written in curly gold script on the front.
Behind the counter were what looked like a hundred glass stoppered jars, each filled with a different kind of sweet. Ellen read an advertisement next to stacks of chewing gum: ‘Wrigleys: Get the Parasol, Not the Girl!’
“We did an offer,” Hamish explained kindly, for he had come to stand beside Ellen. “We gave away a free parasol for every one hundred packs of gum bought.”
“One hundred packs of gum?” Ellen repeated incredulously. “But who would ever...?”
Uncle Hamish chuckled. “They saved, of course. The boys, especially. Wanted something for their mothers.”
Ellen nodded slowly, although she could not imagine anyone buying so much gum, much less chewing it all, even in their whole lifetime. She’d never had so much as a single piece.
“Why don’t I get you something?” Hamish suggested in a conspiratorial whisper. “What do you like? Humbugs? Lemon drops? Licorice twists? Or what about jellybeans?” He went behind the counter and took a little waxed paper bag from a large stack. “What’ll it be?”
Ellen watched as Uncle Hamish beamed at her, and the rows of jars with their brightly colored sweets seemed to blur in a dizzying rainbow. She swallowed nervously.
“Er... jellybeans, please.”
Uncle Hamish took a large metal scoop and poured a multicolored stream of jellybeans into the little bag before closing it with a twist. “There you go. Welcome to Seaton, Ellen. Welcome to America, for that matter!” He smiled, satisfied, and Ellen clutched the bag and smiled back at him.
“Try one,” Uncle Hamish said, and with an uncertain little laugh, Ellen popped one into her mouth.
She’d had sweets before, of course, but not very often and the sudden burst of sugary flavor made her eyes widen. Uncle Hamish chuckled, pleased.
“Look around, Ellen. We’ve got just about everything.”
Still holding her bag, and nibbling a jellybean every few minutes, Ellen continued to wander around the store. She passed by buckets of nails and screws, rows of rakes and hoes, coiled ropes and balls of string and twine. Another row was filled with medicines... Dr. Morse’s Indian Root Pills, Chamberlain’s Cough Remedy, and Brown’s Iron Bitters (for All Manner of Wasting Diseases). She stared at them hard for a moment, knowing they hadn’t worked for her mam and a little angry that her aunt and uncle stocked such false hope in their store. Then, her mouth set into a firm line, she moved onto the next row.
Further on she came to Austen’s Forest Flower Cologne, which smelled lovely even without pulling out the stopper, and Ladies’ Lavender Soap wrapped in purple tissue paper and tied with a satin ribbon.
Then there were the toys... balls and hoops, checkers and chess sets, and a row of proud, porcelain dolls that truly did put poor Celia to shame. Ellen didn’t like any of them.
In the next row she stopped in front of the bolts of fabric and reels of hair ribbon, satin, silk, polka-dotted, and striped. She gazed longingly at a bolt of flower-sprigged cotton.
“Lovely, isn’t it?” Aunt Ruth asked, coming to stand beside her.
“Yes...” Ellen couldn’t resist stroking the fabric, and gasped in surprise when Aunt Ruth slapped her hand.
“You mustn’t touch, Ellen,” she said calmly. “See, look what you’ve done.”
Ellen saw a small smear on the cotton, and realized it was from eating the jellybeans. She hid her sticky fingers in her skirt.
Her hand stung, and so did her cheeks, with shame. “I’m sorry, Aunt Ruth.”
Aunt Ruth nodded, seemingly satisfied by her response. “Now you know.” A bell jangled on the front door and Aunt Ruth turned away. “Elmira Cardle, so good to see you. And I see you’ve brought Hope, as nicely turned out as always. Come meet my niece, Ellen. No doubt you can be a pleasing influence on her.”
Ellen stepped forward, willing herself not to blush at her aunt’s implied rebuke. A girl about her own age with fat yellow braids, wearing a pink cotton dress, stood there, smiling uncertainly. Her mother, a stout woman in forest green with a smart green and white striped apron, bristled proudly.
“Say how do you do, Hope.”
“How do you do,” the girl murmured dutifully.
“I’m pleased to meet you,” Ellen replied, trying to keep her voice as clear as possible. Still, Mrs. Cardle exchanged a quick look with Aunt Ruth.
“You arrived recently, dear?” she asked, and Ellen nodded.
“She came with me.” Da strode forward, and Ellen felt a wave of relief at seeing his cocky smile, his sure handshake once more. “I’m Hamish Copley’s brother, Douglas is my name. We arrived this very day.”
“I see.” There was a coolness to Mrs. Cardle’s voice as her gaze swept over Douglas and she said, “I’m sure any friend of the Copleys is a friend to us.” Even though she’d washed her face and brushed her hair, Ellen felt as if she still had the coal dust of Springburn on her. Perhaps in Mrs. Cardle’s view she did.
Douglas nodded, and the Cardles moved on to conduct their business in the store. Ellen saw her father grin and wink at her, and she smiled back. Some things wouldn’t change, she thought, not between her and Da, surely. At least she could hold onto that.
Later that evening, after Ellen had helped Aunt Ruth with the washing up, a chore conducted in brisk silence, she joined Da on the back porch. He sat on the bottom step, his legs stretched out, his face thoughtful.
“Have you ever heard it so quiet, Ellen?”
“The crickets are lou
d,” Ellen replied, sitting next to him. Their chirping was an incessant whine in her ears. She was used to the clamor and clatter of the city, not these strange noises of nature.
“Ah, but I don’t mind the crickets. It’s the city noise I’m glad to be rid of. That unholy din. A sound of misery, it was.”
Ellen nodded, and Da gave her a quick smile. “You’re glad to be here? Your room is just as we said it would be. Imagine that.”
Ellen could only nod again, resting her chin on her knees. Her feelings were so mixed up, a tangle of terrible sorrow and wild joy, and over all of it a desperate uneasiness. Her room was lovely, but it wasn’t quite the way she’d pictured it. She didn’t feel the way she thought she would. And as for her aunt and uncle... she didn’t know what they felt or thought about her. Or perhaps she was afraid she did.
“I’m glad, Da,” she said, and then, compelled by honesty, added quietly, “I think.”
To her relief, Da only chuckled. “I know it’s strange,” he said in a low voice, “and Ruth always was a wee bit prickly. But you’ll stay on the right side of her, Ellen. You’ll be all right.”
He spoke as if he were reassuring himself as much as her, and a vague sense of unease crept over Ellen. “What about you, Da?”
“What about me?”
“You’ve always said I’m to go to school, but what about you? Will you work in the store?” Somehow she couldn’t imagine her father behind those gleaming counters, wearing an apron and measuring out jellybeans or square-headed nails.
“Ah, Ellen, don’t worry about me.” Her father gazed out at the hills, now inky purple in the twilight, an embroidery of stars above them. “I’ll find my way. We both will.” But he didn’t look at her as he said it.
“What way?” she pressed, and her father only shook his head.
“We’ll see... we’ll see, eh?” He let out a chuckle that Ellen knew was meant to reassure her but somehow didn’t. “We’ll see what’s in store. Your mam always said God has a plan, didn’t she?”
“I’m not sure I like God’s plans,” Ellen said and Douglas gave her a rueful smile.
“But He’s in charge, isn’t He?”
“I suppose so.” Ellen knew she sounded doubtful and Douglas sighed. “I should have sent you to kirk more. Your poor mam would turn in her grave if she knew how I neglected you.”
“But Mam’s in heaven, isn’t she?”
“Yes, of that I’m sure. Your mam was a good woman, Ellen. Never forget that.”
“I won’t.”
The screen door squeaked open and slapped closed, and Ellen turned to see Ruth. “It’s time little girls were in bed,” she said sharply, then softened it by adding, “you look fit to droop, Ellen. Tomorrow’s a busy day. I thought you could visit Hope Cardle, and we must see about your things.”
“My things?”
“You’ll need some new dresses and the like for school,” Aunt Ruth said briskly. “Nothing fancy, mind.”
Ellen could not suppress her grin of surprised delight. New dresses—and a possible friend? At that moment all her doubts banished like mist in the summer sun. “Thank you, Aunt Ruth!” She almost reached forward to embrace her aunt, but stopped at the last moment and ducked her head in thanks instead.
“Upstairs, miss.” Aunt Ruth’s lips twitched in something like a smile, and after a second’s hesitation she patted Ellen’s shoulder. Grinning back, Ellen hurried upstairs.
She would get used to it here, she told herself as she slipped into her thin nightdress. She would come to love it. She would.
Ellen lay in bed, watching the moonlight shift patterns across the pale wood floor, and tried to cling to her sense of hopeful certainty.
Yet as sleep descended, she couldn’t shrug off the faint unease caused by the way her father had looked to the hills and told her not to worry.
THREE
“Sit still, child,” Ruth said, her voice caught between annoyance and something that almost sounded like amusement.
Ellen immediately stopped wriggling, though her shoulders positively itched to twist and turn, to catch a glimpse of the girl in the mirror who looked so grown-up in navy muslin.
Aunt Ruth had been as good as her word, using the morning to fit Ellen with three new dresses. First they’d gone over to the store, and Uncle Hamish had taken down the bolts of cloth while Ruth sized them with a beadily knowledgeable eye.
Ellen had held her breath, not saying anything, not daring to ask for the pink sprigged cotton with the little clusters of yellow flowers. When Aunt Ruth clucked her tongue and chose the navy muslin, her spirits had fallen, just a little bit, but she smiled all the same.
New dresses were new dresses, after all.
“They’ll do, I suppose,” Ruth said now, taking pins from her mouth and sticking them firmly into a little yellow pincushion. “They fit at any rate, and they should last through the winter. You’re a small thing, aren’t you?”
Ellen shrugged, remembering how the immigration officer had almost sent her back because of her smallness.
In a quick, strong movement, Ruth took Ellen’s chin in her hand, startling her. “You may answer when I speak to you, Ellen. Otherwise you’re being rude.”
“I—I didn’t know you asked me a question,” Ellen stammered, and Ruth’s eyes narrowed.
“I said you were small. You may answer, ‘Yes, Aunt Ruth’.”
Uncertain and a little afraid, Ellen nodded her head like a puppet, her chin still held in her aunt’s hand. “Yes, Aunt Ruth.”
“Very good. Children must always respect their elders, Ellen. I don’t know how you were brought up with your mother half in her grave—”
“My mother,” Ellen said, her voice shaking, “was as good a woman as you could please. She read her Bible every day, right until the end.”
Ruth frowned at this interruption, but she nodded and let go of Ellen’s chin. “I remember Ann Copley as being a good, devout woman, poor soul,” she said. She gave Ellen a small, parsing kind of smile. “The dresses should be ready in a few days. There’s an ice cream social on the village green on Saturday. You can wear the navy to that.”
Since they were all navy, Ellen didn’t see the need to respond—until she saw Aunt Ruth’s expectant gaze. “Yes, Aunt Ruth,” she said dutifully, and her aunt smiled rather tightly.
“Do we eat ice cream at the social?” Ellen asked, realizing at once that the question sounded stupid, especially when Aunt Ruth raised her eyebrows incredulously.
“Of course we do. What do you suppose it’s called an ice cream social for?”
“It’s just I’ve never eaten ice cream before. Is it very cold?”
This question seemed to displease Ruth, for she pursed her lips and jabbed a pin in the dress pattern. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
Ellen watched her aunt covertly, the strong lines of her jaw and throat, the way her hands moved gracefully across the fabric. She must have been very pretty when she was young, and even now she possessed a sort of queenly beauty.
She wanted to say something, something about how the feelings inside her were so strange—joy and excitement and a terrible confusion and even grief all mixed up into one tight ball of emotion that always seemed to get stuck in her throat, but the determined set of Ruth’s mouth, the cool distance Ellen saw in her eyes, kept her from saying anything at all.
While Ruth busied herself with the dress patterns, Ellen wandered out into the little yard. She liked to sit on the porch steps and breathe the clean air, away from prying eyes. She watched the chickens scratch in their little yard. That morning she’d asked Aunt Ruth if she could gather the eggs.
Ruth had pursed her lips, eyeing Ellen thoughtfully, before giving one decisive nod. “I suppose you could, couldn’t you?”
“Do they have names?” Ellen asked and her aunt looked at her as if she’d sprouted another head. Ellen was getting quite used to that look.
“No, of course not, child. Many of them will be supper
eventually, after all.”
Ellen decided she would still name them. She just wouldn’t tell anybody.
Now she kicked at the steps and wondered what she should call them. The speckled one who always flapped her wings could be Breezy. Ellen sighed in sudden, pent-up frustration.
Perhaps it was a silly thing to do. What she’d really like to do was draw the hens, and in her mind’s eye she could see the bold pencil lines and imagine how she would shade the sun slanting across the dusty yard.
Ellen knew she could ask Uncle Hamish for paper, but something kept her back. She wasn’t ready, somehow. She hadn’t drawn anything in so long, since before Mam had become really sick.
Mam would want me to keep drawing. Ellen could almost hear Mam’s voice, telling her she had a gift, a gift from God she should use well.
Yet she’d been wasting her gift for years, it seemed, first doodling on scraps of paper and then doing nothing at all. Yet now with the fresh wind blowing over and the sun shining so bright she thought she might like to draw again. Still she didn’t move, just sat on the steps and let the sunlight wash over her.
Even with the prospect of new dresses and ice cream, she still felt uneasy, like when food wouldn’t settle in your stomach. The truth was, she wasn’t quite sure she fit in here... or if she ever would. She hadn’t even dared to sit on the front porch yet, for fear of being watched like she was an oddity in a zoo or museum. She hadn’t liked the way Mrs. Cardle had looked at her in the store yesterday, as if she were something almost dirty.
Ellen knew she wasn’t like the people here, who ate ice cream and rode in motorcars and did things she hadn’t dreamed of back in Springburn. Her accent was too strong and raw, her manners strange and perhaps even coarse compared to what they were used to, but she knew underneath—she hoped anyway—she was still the same. Eating ice cream didn’t make you that different, did it?
This was her home now, Ellen reminded herself, for better or worse. She would just have to get used to it, and, she determined resolutely, it would have to get used to her.
The day of the ice cream social dawned bright and hot. Ellen twirled in her new dress, even though there wasn’t enough fabric to make it float out. Still, she pressed her hands down the soft, new material and took in a deep breath of pure pleasure.