by Kate Hewitt
“Come on, Ellen, show us whatever it is,” Jed called as he stalked her around a big maple tree, Ellen scrambling over the thick, twisted roots. “It can’t be that important, whatever it is.”
“Then why do you want to see it?” Ellen challenged, the sketchbook still clutched against her chest.
“Why don’t you want me to?” Jed shot back, and she just shook her head. All of a sudden he sprinted forward and with a squeak Ellen tried to run away, tripping over one of the tree’s roots. A few pages fluttered to the ground, but Ellen was too busy trying to escape to notice, until Lucas stopped them both with a simple question.
“Did you do these, Ellen?” Lucas asked, his voice filled with quiet wonder. He was crouched down, holding a quick sketch she’d done from memory of Peter, grinning broadly, his hands on his hips, every inch the triumphantly mischievous boy. “But these are good.”
“Thank you,” Ellen said with a decided lack of grace. She felt her face redden as she held her hand out for the sketch.
Before Peter could give it to her, Jed snatched it away.
“It’s private!” Ellen cried, and felt the beginnings of tears start in her eyes. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, for she knew she wouldn’t be able to wrest the drawings away from Jed until he was ready to give them.
His gray gaze swept over the page, his face completely expressionless, and Ellen steeled herself to be mocked and ridiculed. She blinked back that first sting of tears, determined not to add to her humiliation by crying like a baby.
Then Jed looked up and gave a little, one-shouldered shrug. “They’re all right, I suppose,” he said, tossing her the sketch. “Although I don’t know why you have to hide a bunch of silly old drawings.”
Ellen felt a surge of both gratification and regret. It was more than she’d ever expected from him, and yet strangely it wasn’t enough. Before she could reply, however, Jed tossed a handful of leaves in her face, and she sputtered and gasped in indignation.
“Leaf fight!” Peter crowed, and the other children rushed into the fray, chortling with delight. Soon they were all engaged in a furious battle, tossing the golden and crimson and orange leaves through the air, stuffing them down their backs, helpless with laughter.
Ellen lay back against the grass, breathless, her apron covered with leaves and bits of grass and twigs. “I don’t know what Aunt Rose will say,” she said in as stern a tone as she could manage. “We’re all a right bourach!”
All the children stared at her in surprised curiosity. “What,” Jed asked, “is a bourach?”
Ellen flushed. “A state,” she explained. “A mess.”
“Why didn’t you just say so in the first place,” Jed said, and Ellen threw a fistful of leaves at him. He brushed them off with a mocking smile.
“She won’t mind if we’re dirty,” Caro said confidently. “Mama’s good that way. She likes us to play and have fun.”
“Good thing, since you’re dirty most of the time,” Jed said, and he reached forward to disentangle a twig from Ellen’s hair, and for a moment her heart seemed to stop, and then she found herself blurting,
“It’s my birthday next week.”
“Is it?” Jed said, supremely indifferent, and Ellen flushed, wondering why she’d said anything at all, especially to Jed Lyman.
“I suppose I’ll make myself a cake,” she said tartly, and the children scrambled towards her eagerly.
“Will you really, Ellen? Will you please make us a cake?”
Lucas laughed. “You can’t make your own birthday cake, Ellen,” he chided. “I’d make one, but I don’t know how.”
“At least that’s one thing you don’t know how to do,” Jed muttered, and pushed past them to start walking back towards home.
TWO
The day before Ellen’s birthday dawned cold and dreary, and she lay in bed, reluctant to put her feet on the icy floorboards. In the last week, the leaves had all fallen from the trees as if plucked by a giant hand, and a thin, hard crust of snow lay over the frozen earth.
She tucked her toes firmly under the quilt, glancing over at seven year old Caro, asleep next to her. At first, the younger girl had been reluctant to share her bedroom, but soon softened, especially when Ellen proved willing to plait her hair with ribbons and talk in whispers even after the moon had risen to a luminous crescent in the sky.
As for Ellen, she found she enjoyed the younger girl’s company, silly as it sometimes was. She’d never shared a bed before, and she liked the feel of another person’s warmth next to her, another person’s breathing soft and steady in the quiet darkness of the bedroom. She liked, quite simply, not being alone. It wasn’t until coming to the McCafferty farm that she’d started to realize just how solitary and lonely her existence had been.
She’d been at the farm for a little over a month now, and yet it seemed much longer than that. She felt at home here, an integral part of the family and of the island itself, amazed that her presence had been accepted in a mere matter of weeks.
Yet already Ellen realized she dreaded returning to Seaton. Sitting in the warmth of the kitchen that evening, she reread the letter she’d received from her Aunt Ruth, as regular as clockwork, that afternoon.
The Cardles bought another cow, a Randall Lineback, which is a funny-looking animal, mark my words, with black sides and a white head. There was a fire in the hotel kitchen but they put it out before anyone was hurt. Artie Dole has gone up to his proper year, although he’s making as much trouble as ever, and with his poor mother home with a tiny baby. Sickly thing it is, too.
No mention of her birthday, and Ellen didn’t know whether Ruth’s mention of Artie was a dig or an apology. It was always hard to tell with Aunt Ruth.
“A letter from home?” Rose asked as she bustled into the kitchen and put the kettle on the range in anticipation of Dyle coming in from the fields and wanting his usual cup of tea with a generous splash of whisky.
“Seaton’s never felt like my home,” Ellen said. She folded the letter and slid it back into the envelope.
“You weren’t there very long,” Rose allowed, and Ellen shook her head.
“Even so.”
Rose turned back to the range, and Ellen didn’t expect her to say anything more. Then, to her surprise, her back still to her, Rose spoke quietly. “I know Ruth isn’t the easiest of people to like. When I married Dyle she had quite a few harsh words for me. But she meant well. I know that.” Ellen said nothing, for in truth she didn’t know what to say. Rose turned back to her. “Do you understand, Ellen?”
“I suppose,” Ellen said uncertainly. “Aunt Ruth often seems to mean well.”
Rose gave a little laugh. “Yes, indeed. But never doubt that she loves you.”
Ellen did not reply, but something of her skepticism must have shown on her face for Rose shook her head. “I mean it, Ellen. In her own way, Ruth loves you.”
In her own way? Ellen thought of how Ruth had slapped her hand, or insisted she brush her hair, or scolded her for being slow at school. If that was her aunt’s way of showing love, she didn’t like it very much. And somehow it seemed even harder to bear Ruth’s coldness now that she’d experienced the warm, open kindness of the McCafferty family. It threw the uncomfortable awkwardness of her weeks at Seaton into bold and depressing relief.
“Maybe she does, Aunt Rose,” Ellen finally said, “but I’d still like to stay here till Christmas.”
“Oh, I think we’ll need you longer than that,” Rose said with a wink. “If I don’t write Ruth for a bit, she’ll forget when I said I’d send you back.” Hope fluttered like a frail bird in Ellen’s chest, even though she didn’t think Aunt Ruth really forgot anything. “And when she does write,” Rose finished, “I can always write back and say we can’t possibly do without you for another three months at least. You are indispensable, you know.”
“Who’s indispensable?” Dyle asked, coming in from the outside with a gust of freezing air, his sleeves rolled up an
d his hands washed and cold from the outside pump.
“Why, Ellen, of course,” Rose said.
Dyle turned to her, eyes crinkling up as he smiled. “That’s quite so! You keep us on the straight and narrow, Ellen. We’ve not a prayer without you.”
Even though Dyle was stretching the truth a bit, Ellen liked it all the same. She liked to be needed, not just for the services she performed, but for herself. She liked thinking that the McCaffertys couldn’t do without her, even if it was just to keep them all tidy and organized.
Yet despite the hope she felt at what Rose had said, Ellen didn’t think staying on Amherst Island would be that easy. She didn’t need to look at the letter again to recall the postscript: We’ll see you at Christmas. The store is busy then, and we’ll need your help.
The next morning Ellen swung out of bed with a slightly resigned air. She hadn’t told Aunt Rose it was her birthday, so she could hardly expect presents or cake. Even so, she felt a treacherous little seed of hope inside her, determined to take root and grow. Perhaps there would be a letter from Aunt Ruth, or a parcel from Uncle Hamish. Maybe he’d send her some new pencils, or a length of hair ribbon from the store. Or maybe even, a desperate little voice whispered inside her, perhaps Da would write. He knew it was her birthday. Even just a few lines would make such a difference. He hadn’t written once since he’d left on that train. It was as if he’d forgotten her completely.
Next to her Caro stirred sleepily and she could smell breakfast downstairs, porridge and sausages. Ellen knew it was silly to expect anything today. Back in Springburn her birthday had passed with barely a word. When her mam had been healthy she’d made a marmalade cake and got up a few homemade little presents, but in the years of her illness there had been nothing at all. Occasionally her father remembered to bring home a bit of barley sugar or a paper twist of humbugs, but more often than not with his long work days and the cares of a bedridden wife, the day passed by him completely, and Ellen had never reminded him. And now she didn’t even know where he was.
It would have been nice, Ellen thought, for someone to say happy birthday at least, but it was clear throughout the ordinary day that no one knew it was her birthday, and Jed had obviously forgotten. He ignored her all the way to school, which wasn’t all that unusual, but disappointed Ellen all the same.
He even pulled one of her plaits in a moment of boredom in class, and Ellen snapped at him.
He raised his eyebrows, his expression sardonic. “All high and mighty today, aren’t you?”
Miss Gardiner asked Ellen to stay behind and clean the blackboards, which seemed grossly unfair, yet she agreed to it with stiff-lipped politeness, and the McCafferty children walked home with Jed and Lucas.
By the time Ellen escaped the schoolroom, her scarf wound up to her nose and the red tam o’shanter Rose had given her pulled down over her ears dusk was falling and she was feeling thoroughly sorry for herself.
The walk home which she usually enjoyed with the others was cold and miserable by herself, with a sharp wind blowing right in her face, and the sight of the farmhouse, smoke billowing from its chimney, its windows twinkling with lamplight, did not cheer her. She felt, for the first time since her arrival, as strange and apart as ever.
She let herself in quietly, but Rose heard her and called from the parlor.
“In here, Ellen, dear. I’ve something for you.”
Another chore perhaps, Ellen wondered sourly, since this day seemed as misbegotten as it could possibly be. She opened the door.
“Surprise!”
Over a dozen faces grinned at her, all the McCaffertys and the Lymans as well, and Lily McAndrew and Johnny Spearson and others from school; even Captain Jonah grinned toothlessly at her from by the fireplace.
Ellen was so shocked she stumbled backwards and shut the door on the room. There was a moment of stunned silence, and then laughter erupted from the parlor.
“Come back in, Ellen, we won’t bite!”
“It’s your party, you silly goose!”
Blushing madly, Ellen opened the door. “You surprised me.”
Jed guffawed. “So it seems. You’re the daftest person I know.”
“And you’re the rudest,” Ellen shot back, but she was grinning, for she realized that surely the only way the McCaffertys would have known it was her birthday was if Jed had told them.
Peter tugged on her sleeve. “Come see the presents, Ellen! And may I open one? Just open, I mean. I won’t take it.”
Laughing, Ellen followed him to a table heaped high with paper-wrapped parcels. She’d never seen—much less received—so many presents. Amazed and humbled, as well as a bit sheepish about her earlier surliness, she handed one to Peter to open, and he tore into it with relish.
So many wonderful things! There was a new sketchbook and fresh pencils from Dyle, who winked knowingly, even though Ellen had never told him about her drawing. There was an apron with lace edging from Rose, and silk hair ribbons from the girls, and a big bag of mint humbugs from Peter who asked hopefully if she would share. Blushing, Lucas handed her a thin, flat parcel; Ellen opened it and saw it was a book of printed reproductions of famous paintings.
“Inspiration,” he explained with a self-conscious smile, and touched, Ellen thanked him.
“And there’s something in the kitchen,” Rose said, her eyes glinting. “And I think I can hear it!”
Mystified, Ellen went towards the kitchen. The door was closed, and she heard a scratching sound, followed by a faint whining.
Puzzled and a bit alarmed, she opened the door and a black, long-eared puppy fell upon her with velvet paws.
“A dog!” she exclaimed, caressing the silky head. “But how...?”
Everyone had followed her out into the hall, and Rose clapped her hands in delight. “Jed thought of it. His hunting dog, Maggie, had pups in the summer, and they’re old enough to give away now.”
Ellen’s hand stilled on the puppy’s silky ears. “He did?” she said softly, but no one seemed to hear. As everyone trickled back into the parlor for cake, she searched Jed out, and found him loitering by the back door, hands thrust in his pockets, scuffing his boots against the doorframe. Her throat was suddenly tight, and she didn’t know what to say.
She gathered the puppy up in her arms, burying her face in the silky fur for a moment before she looked up again. “Thank you Jed,” she said sincerely, and was rewarded with an indifferent shrug that still didn’t dent her happiness. “Did you keep a puppy for yourself? For a hunting dog?”
He nodded. “One with white stripes.”
“What did you name him?”
“Stripes.”
Ellen gave a little gurgle of laughter. “Well, that’s rather original.”
Jed scowled. “And who needs to be original with dog names?”
“I was just teasing,” she said quietly. She didn’t want Jed scowling at her again. “What do you think I should name this one?” The puppy had wriggled out of her arms and was now prancing around the kitchen, sniffing at everything.
Jed looked like he was just going to shrug again, but then he crouched down so he could examine the puppy who had run underneath the table. “Patch, maybe? She’s got a big white patch over her eye there.”
“Patch,” Ellen repeated thoughtfully, liking it.
“Or Piddle. Because that’s what she’s just done.”
Ellen let out a cry of alarm at the spreading puddle under the table. “Oh dear—”
Jed laughed and stood up again. “Should have bought you a hair ribbon or something, I suppose.”
Ellen stood up as well, throwing a now sodden dish cloth into the big stone sink. “Oh no, Jed! I’m glad you gave me Patch.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Patch, is it?”
“Yes. Patch.” She smiled, and he smiled back, and Ellen’s heart suddenly gave a queer little lurch. Then she heard Aunt Rose call from the parlor.
“Ellen! Come quickly for the cake!” And with a self
-conscious little laugh, Ellen scooped Patch up into her arms and hurried back into the parlor.
Later, sitting in the kitchen with Patch curled up asleep at her feet, Ellen clasped her hands round her knees and looked at her aunt with shining eyes. “I’ve never had a party before. And so many presents! It was the most wonderful thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Rose chuckled. “Well, thirteen is quite an important birthday, isn’t it?”
“True enough,” Dyle agreed. He came into the kitchen and took a seat across from Ellen, filling his pipe with thoughtful deliberation. “You don’t turn thirteen every day.”
“Indeed not,” Rose agreed.
“I didn’t even think you knew it was my birthday,” Ellen confessed. “Jed must have told you—”
“Oh, it wasn’t Jed,” Rose said with a laugh. “I don’t know if I’ve ever got two words out of him, together. No, it was Lucas. He was quite concerned, you know, said you simply must have a cake.” Rose turned to her with a smile, and after a second’s pause Ellen smiled back. Yet she could not ignore the odd sliver of disappointment that needled her soul. Why should it matter whether it was Jed or Lucas who told her aunt about her birthday?
She reached down to caress Patch’s ears, and the little dog gave a shuddering sigh of contentment, even in her sleep. A sudden and alarming new thought occurred to her. “But I won’t be here, after Christmas, or maybe this year. And I don’t think Aunt Ruth and Uncle Hamish will look kindly upon a dog.”
“So they won’t,” Rose agreed cheerfully, “but we can keep Patch for you, Ellen. Besides, you’ll be back. We’ll all make sure of that.”
Hope fluttered inside her once more, growing stronger. “I will?”
“Of course you will,” Dyle said. “I told you, we need you to keep us right on track. On the straight and narrow, Ellen, the straight and narrow.”
“We need Ellen for more than that,” Rose said and reached across to draw Ellen into a quick but tight hug. “We need Ellen just because she’s Ellen.”
And despite the strange disappointment that still flickered inside her, Ellen didn’t think she’d ever heard such kindly and wonderful words.