by Kate Hewitt
“Like it, do you?” Ruth asked, a faint thread of laughter in her voice. Ellen smiled up at her.
“Oh, yes, thank you, Aunt Ruth. I’m sure it’s the nicest dress I could ever have.”
Aunt Ruth pursed her lips in a gesture Ellen was becoming used to. “Well, perhaps we’ll make something flowered for you in the spring. No doubt you’ll have grown again by then.”
Ellen found her father in the kitchen, sticking his tongue out in concentration as he tried to flatten his hair with a bit of water from the pump.
“I look a sight, don’t I?” he said ruefully, and then whistled softly. “Ellen Copley, if you aren’t the loveliest thing I’ve seen this side of the Atlantic!”
Ellen laughed in delight and twirled again. Her hair, brushed hard by Ruth’s relentless hand, lay against her shoulders in shiny chestnut waves. Aunt Ruth had found a matching navy hair ribbon, even if it was plain cotton.
“You look fine too, Da,” she said, and he made a face.
“I’m not used to this dressing up. I think I prefer my work coat, grease stained as it was.” There was a wistful look in his eyes that made Ellen prickle in alarm.
“But you’ll get used to it, won’t you?” she said in what she hoped wasn’t too pleading a voice. “You do look smart, Da, in a tie and those new trousers.” Douglas had also been given goods from the store.
He glanced down at her, a gentle smile softening his features. “Oh, aye, I’ll get used to it. Have to, won’t I?”
Ellen nodded, but a faint uneasiness continued its prickling along her spine. Since their arrival in Seaton her father had not worked in or even familiarized himself with the store. He hadn’t met anyone that she could see. In fact, he hadn’t done much of anything at all, besides sitting out on the porch and whittling away at a piece of wood, whistling tunelessly, his gaze on the distant horizon.
Sometimes, at night, Ellen would gaze out at the star-pricked sky and think of how large the world was, how the sky covered them all, from sleepy Seaton to the noisy rail works of Springburn. And she wondered where her father belonged, because she was beginning to suspect he couldn’t be happy in either place.
Ruth and Hamish entered the kitchen, Ruth looking imposing and grand in a summer dress of lavender silk, Hamish pulling at his celluloid collar.
“Well, then.” Ruth looped her reticule over one silk-clad arm. “Shall we?”
The whole town seemed to be out on Seaton’s one main street, as far as Ellen could see. Girls and boys in their Sunday best, with scrubbed faces and straw boaters; women bearing baskets of food or cake platters, chatting amiably while their husbands loitered and laughed, hands stuffed into trouser pockets.
It was hot, hotter than Ellen had ever known, and the sun shone down on her bare head. Aunt Ruth had given her a straw hat with a navy ribbon tied round its brim, but Ellen was afraid to wear it. She couldn’t see properly with the thing on, and she didn’t want to trip and ruin her whole outfit, so she held it in her hands. Besides, there was her perfectly tied hair ribbon to think about.
Everyone was making their way to the village green across from the church, a large white building with a spire that seemed to pierce a sky so blue it looked to crack right open.
Long trestle tables had been set up on the grass, with big buckets set in ice—whole chests full of ice—and inside the most delicious-looking ice cream, softly whipped mounds of pink and brown and white.
“This is my niece, Ellen Copley,” Aunt Ruth introduced her to a series of forbidding-looking matrons, their faces sober as they inspected her dress, her shoes, the hat she held awkwardly in her hands. Da seemed to have disappeared with Uncle Hamish, leaving Ellen to trot obediently after Ruth, having been reminded to speak only when spoken to and not before, which she couldn’t imagine doing anyway.
Finally, after Ellen had been introduced to so many names she couldn’t remember and her head ached from the heat, Ruth dismissed her. “You may go get some ice cream, Ellen, and introduce yourself to the children while I take some refreshment.”
Ellen walked away from her aunt with a certain amount of trepidation, for now that she was free she didn’t know where to go. She wanted to try the ice cream, but what if she made a fool of herself? She wished she knew where Da was, for she thought she'd enjoy sharing the experience with him, but she couldn’t see him anywhere, even though Uncle Hamish was now fetching Ruth some lemonade.
Squaring her shoulders, Ellen marched to the chests holding the ice cream. She’d faced much worse than this. She’d haggled with every peddler and street seller in Springburn, and nearly always came out the victor. Why was she so afraid of this world?
Because it’s so strange, a timid little voice inside herself answered. And I’m not sure it likes you.
A jolly looking man in a striped apron was serving the ice cream. Ruth had pointed him out to her as Mr. Edwards, the man who ran the barber shop and ice cream parlor.
“And what may I get you, missy? Vanilla, chocolate, or strawberry?”
“Strawberry, please.”
He smiled as he handed her a dish with two glistening pink mounds. “You must be the new girl living with the Copleys,” he said. “A relation, are you?”
“A niece,” Ellen said, her hands clasped tight around her bowl. “My da’s here too. He’s Uncle Hamish’s brother.”
“I’ll be pleased to meet him as well, I’m sure.” Mr. Edwards handed her a spoon, and slightly cheered, Ellen made her way across the lawn.
A group of girls with beribboned plaits and spotless dresses were sitting, giggling and chatting, under the shade of a clump of maples, but Ellen knew she could no sooner join them as she could sprout wings and fly. They did not even look in her direction.
Slowly, so as not to disturb the mound of ice cream before her, she walked to an empty stretch of grass near enough to the girls so they could be friendly to her if they liked, but far enough so she could still be on her own.
The first taste of ice cream was strange, cold and slippery and surprisingly sweet. Ellen closed her eyes to savor the taste.
“I know you.”
Her eyes flew open in surprise and a little embarrassment. Hope Cardle stood in front of her, dressed in a rather drab olive green, her fair hair in two fat plaits, her face red from the sun. There were freckles on her nose, standing in relief to her ruddy skin.
Ellen bobbed her head. “Ellen Copley. You came into the store the other day.”
“May I sit with you?” Hope asked, and Ellen scrambled to make a space.
“Of course.”
Hope sat down, hands folded primly in her lap, her expression filled with glum longing.
“Do you want some ice cream?” Ellen asked uncertainly, and Hope shook her head with obvious regret.
“Mama won’t let me have any. She says I’ll spill it on my dress, and this is my best one. It’s true, I suppose. I’m terribly clumsy.”
Ellen nodded, for she couldn’t think of a polite answer. Hope eyed her ice cream with envy and Ellen took a reluctant spoonful. Eating ice cream while someone watched you hungrily wasn’t all that fun.
“Do you want some of mine?” Ellen asked after she’d managed several mouthfuls under Hope’s beady eye. “I could give it to you off the spoon so your dress didn’t get mussed.”
Hope darted a look around her, but no one was paying attention to the two girls off by themselves. “I suppose I could, couldn’t I?” she said nervously, and Ellen found herself laughing.
“Go on. If Aunt Ruth is letting me have some in my new dress, I don’t see why your mam has to be such a stickler about yours.” Besides, Ellen thought, Hope’s dress was one of the ugliest she’d ever seen, even if the material was shiny and stiff. The olive color didn’t suit her at all.
“All right.” Hope opened her mouth like a little bird, and Ellen stuck a spoonful of ice cream in. Hope’s eyes widened in delight. “Oh, isn’t it delicious!”
They both giggled then. “Have anot
her,” Ellen said but Hope bit her lip in uncertainty.
“I shouldn’t...”
“Don’t be a bampot,” Ellen said with a laugh. “It won’t get on your dress!”
Hope tilted her head to one side, her blue eyes wide with guileless curiosity. “You do talk funny, don’t you?”
Ellen returned her spoon to her bowl. “What do you mean?”
“Mama said that yesterday, but I hadn’t heard you well enough to know. But now I see—” Hope stopped mid-sentence, her mouth dropping open. “Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to be rude, honestly. Mama’s always saying I can’t keep two thoughts in my head—”
“Never mind.” Ellen could feel her face flushing but she strove for a smile. “I probably do sound funny to everyone here. None of you seem to realize that you all sound funny to me.”
Ellen knew her words sounded bitter, and to her consternation Hope’s cornflower eyes began to fill with tears. “Oh, never mind,” she said hurriedly, “have some more ice cream.” And she thrust the spoon at Hope before she could begin to truly cry.
Hope swallowed, sniffing. “I’m sorry. I meant to come and be friends with you.” She gave the group of nearby giggling girls one yearning glance. “I don’t have many friends. The girls at school think I’m stupid.”
“You’re not,” Ellen said quickly, for Hope was the closest thing she had to a friend, and Hope gave her a tremulous smile.
“I don’t think I am, but I am awfully clumsy. Oh, look, there’s Mama. I suppose we’re going now. I’ll see you at church?”
Hope clambered to her feet as Ellen nodded. She was quite sure Aunt Ruth would be bringing her to church. As Hope started forward, she tripped over the hem of her dress and then sprawled forward in an untidy heap on the grass, knocking Ellen’s elbow as she did so.
The bowl of ice cream flew from Ellen’s hand and a scoop of strawberry ice cream landed on the front of her dress, sliding down in all of its sticky pink glory to land in a melted puddle on her lap.
Ellen stared at it in horror. Hope struggled to her feet.
“Hope Cardle!” Mrs. Cardle marched over to the girls, her dress billowing out behind her like a sail. Her expression was an alarming mixture of fury and embarrassment.
Hope hung her head, her face scarlet. “I’m sorry, Mama—”
Mrs. Cardle’s gaze swung to Ellen, still sitting in the grass, paralyzed by the disaster. “I see you’ve managed to befriend the only girl in Seaton as clumsy as you,” she said.
Hope opened her mouth to reply to this unjust accusation, but her mother took her by the elbow and began marching away. Hope threw Ellen a look of desperate apology over one olive-green shoulder.
Ellen’s cheeks burned. The little spectacle had not gone unnoticed, and she saw the group of girls, like a gaggle of pecking, quarrelsome geese, glancing at her as they laughed behind their prim little hands.
Ellen dabbed at the sticky mess as best as she could with her handkerchief, dreading what Ruth would say when she saw her. She walked slowly over to the table in the shade where she could see her aunt chatting with several other grownups.
“Ellen Copley!” Ruth spoke in a hiss, and Ellen’s face burned. “Can you not even manage a simple dish of ice cream?” Ruth seemed to be about to launch into a diatribe, but perhaps something in Ellen’s expression, or the public arena for the confrontation, made her purse her lips and then give a brisk nod.
“You’ll have to walk home and clean yourself up. I hope that dress isn’t ruined, young miss.”
Uncle Hamish rose from the table, smiling easily. “I’ll take her home.” He bent to whisper in Ellen’s ear. “Talking with Hope Cardle, eh? That explains it.”
Tidied and changed, Ellen sat with Uncle Hamish on one of the rockers on the front porch, her feet barely skimming the floor. He handed her a tall glass of lemonade, which she sipped gratefully.
“I think I like lemonade better. Not quite so sticky.”
“So it is,” Hamish agreed.
Ellen twisted the cool glass between her palms. “Uncle Hamish, do you know where Da is?”
“Why, at the ice cream social, I imagine!” Her uncle’s voice sounded a little too jovial. “Enjoying himself like everyone else in this town.”
“But I didn’t see him there,” Ellen said slowly. A terrible certainty was growing in her that Da hadn’t stayed at the social, hadn’t wanted to. “I don’t think he’s happy here.”
Uncle Hamish cleared his throat, an uncomfortable sound, and patted Ellen’s knee. “It takes some getting used to, you can be sure. But your father will become accustomed, Ellen, just as you will. Wait till you start school! We’ll have you talking like a Yankee in no time.”
Ellen gazed at the street, empty with everyone still at the social. Outside the barber shop there was a red and white striped glass pole, the colors spiraling round and making her dizzy. “I suppose I’ll have to, won’t I,” she said quietly, and at Uncle Hamish’s questioning glance, explained. “Talk like a Yankee, I mean.”
“You won’t be able to help it.”
“But what about Da?” Ellen pressed. “Will he work in the store with you?”
Hamish shrugged, one finger inching towards his collar to give it an unconscious tug. “Your father will have to do whatever he has to do,” he said at last. “A man has to find his way in this world, Ellen, as best he can for himself. And that’s all I can tell you.”
That, Ellen thought disconsolately, was no answer at all.
Ellen had been in Seaton for several weeks when she woke up to a crisp September dawn. School was starting next week and she could hardly wait. She could already imagine the crackle of paper, the squeak of chalk on the blackboard, the desks, the books...!
The house was silent as she sat in bed, sunlight streaking over her quilt in long, yellow fingers. For a moment, she allowed herself to be, if not happy, then content.
In the dawn stillness, she heard a faint creak, followed by the slapping sound of the screen door. Someone was up.
Ellen tiptoed to the window and watched as her father, his old rail works cap pulled low over his face, walked across the hen yard and out into the dew-damp grass, slipping behind the barn towards the meadows and woodland stretching behind, out of town, to an unknown horizon.
Ellen bit her lip, quelled a pang of indecision, and then slipped into her dress, one of the new navy muslin ones. Aunt Ruth had burned her old dresses.
She tiptoed downstairs, her heart skipping a beat when she heard Uncle Hamish let out a rumbling snore and Aunt Ruth gave a dry little cough. Then she heard the steady breathing of sleep, and she tiptoed on.
Outside she hurried to catch up with her father who had disappeared from view. Ellen had not walked very far from the house yet, both because of her own sense of caution and Aunt Ruth’s stern reminders not to sully her new dresses.
Now, however, with sunlight bathing everything in bright, yellow light, the air as clean and fresh as a drink of water, she wondered why she had not ventured on an exploration sooner. She wanted to get to know this new world of hers.
The Copleys’ house was on the edge of Seaton’s main street, and Ellen was surprised to see how quickly the ordered civility of the town dropped off into wilderness. The rolling, sweet grass meadow she hurried through was tame enough, but it was skirted by a dark-looking wood Ellen was hesitant to enter.
She scanned the fields rolling into the distance and saw only a few black and white spotted cows who gazed back at her balefully. Ellen wasn’t precisely frightened of cows, but she wasn’t well acquainted enough with them to want to get too close.
Da must have gone into the woods, she decided, and squaring her shoulders, she headed towards the trees.
Sunlight dappled the shady ground, and she could hear a ceaseless twitter of birds still awakening the dawn. She walked carefully amid the brambles, knowing that to snag her dress on a thorn would bring her aunt's wrath down upon her head.
“Da?” Ellen call
ed out, and her voice seemed little more than a whisper among the trees. It was very dark in the wood, despite the patches of sunlight, and the air felt close and heavy. What if Da hadn’t come into the forest? What if she got lost?
She kept walking, slowly, looking left and right, until she heard the sound of a stream, and she carefully pushed her way through some wild raspberry brambles to find herself on the crest of a slope leading down to a merry little creek, the cold, clear water burbling over the stones. With relief she saw that her father was standing by the shore, skimming stones across the water.
“Da?” Ellen picked her way down the hill, and her father turned to look at her in surprise.
“I must have woken you when I left.”
“I heard the door, but I was awake anyway.”
She joined him at the shore and gazed into the clear water, catching sight of a few minnows darting in the shallows. “Remember what you said? Fish to jump into your hand?”
“I said that, didn’t I?” her father agreed after a moment, his gaze on the water, and Ellen felt again the prickle of unease that had plagued her nearly every day since their arrival.
“We ought to fish,” she said brightly. “Uncle Hamish has some poles, I should think.”
“He has a lot of things,” Da said, and there was an edge of bitterness to his voice that sent genuine alarm skittering along her spine.
“It could be a laugh,” she ventured. “We’d bring home dinner! Rainbow trout, perhaps, like you said—”
“Ah, Ellen.” Da shook his head, and when he turned to her, his eyes were so full of sad regret that Ellen wanted to turn away, to forget that she’d ever followed him here. “I don’t know how to fish.”
“You could learn.”
Da sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I suppose I could.” He shook his head. “I just don’t know if I want to, Ellen, and that’s the truth.”
Ellen stared at the rushing stream. The water was clear, tumbling over a few mossy rocks in a crystalline waterfall. “What are you trying to tell me?” she asked at last, for she knew well enough Da wasn’t really talking about fishing.