Down Jasper Lane (Amherst Island Trilogy)

Superintendent Cothill reminded them sternly, immediate dismissal.

“I can’t,” she said, biting off a thread. “The last thing I want to do is slink back home with my tail between my legs, and my father telling me I-told-you-so. Besides, what’s really left for me there? I was twenty-three in August and I haven’t stepped out with a boy even once.”

“I can’t imagine why.”

“Too plain, I suppose.”

“You’re not plain, Amity.” Her friend might not be a stunning beauty, but there was a pleasant evenness to her features and her eyes, a muddy hazel, were so friendly that you couldn’t help but like her. “You just need to meet the right man.”

“Well, it’s more likely I’ll meet the right man in Kingston than in boring old Gananoque!” Amity replied with a smile. “What with all these college men about, and doctors too.” She lowered her voice. “I quite fancy Dr. Trowbridge, actually.”

“Do you? He’s handsome enough, I suppose, but he seems a bit stuck-up to me.”

Amity just laughed. “Handsome enough! I’d say so. And all the doctors are stuck up. It’s practically part of the job description.”

“I suppose it is, but Dr. Trowbridge seems prouder than most. He won’t let anyone touch his precious instruments.” Although the hospital had purchased a complete set of surgical instruments for physicians’ use, Dr. Trowbridge carried his own with him, kept in a silk-lined wooden box, and used only those, sterilizing them himself since he didn’t trust a lowly nurse to do it.

“They belonged to his father,” Amity said. “One of the senior nurses told me. He died in the Boer War.” She eyed Ellen mischievously. “I know why you don’t have the time of day for Dr. Trowbridge. What about that Queen’s fellow who has taken you to tea a dozen times?”

Ellen blushed and looked down at the book forgotten in her lap, a slim volume of poetry Lucas had lent her. “It hasn’t been a dozen times. We’ve only had three afternoons off since we arrived.”

“And every one of those afternoons has seen you swanning off in your rose wool, on the arm of Lucas Lyman,” Amity filled in. “He’s sweet on you, Ellen.”

“No, we’re just friends—”

“He doesn’t think you’re just friends,” Amity returned bluntly. “Or at least, that’s not all he’s hoping you’ll be. Don’t you care for him? I’d snatch him up in a heartbeat—”

“Oh, Amity, honestly—”

“Well, what’s wrong with him? Because he looks a fine catch to me.”

Helplessly Ellen shook her head. “I’ve never thought of him that way.”

Amity stared at her in that open way of hers and snipped another thread. “Well then, perhaps you should start.”

A month before Ellen was due home for Christmas she received a letter from Louisa Hopper. Louisa had been living in Seaton since she’d finished high school; from her intermittent letters Ellen knew her mother had taken her to New York for several weeks of shopping, and she’d involved herself in various charities and fundraisers in Seaton’s small but active social circle. Still, Ellen could not help but think it a sort of dreary existence, and she felt as if Louisa were simply biding her time—but for what? Or perhaps the question really was, for whom?

Now Louisa wrote that her father was taking her mother on a Grand Tour of Europe over the winter, and while Louisa was staying with relatives she would prefer to spend Christmas somewhere more congenial.

Of course I could stay in Rutland as ever, she wrote, but they’re so stuffy and dull, it seems a dreary way to pass the holidays. I pondered and pondered just what to do, for Christmas can be such a lovely time! And then, of course, it came to me: I could come to the island and spend the holidays there. It would, I dare say, be quite like old times.

“Old times!” Ellen muttered, sinking onto her bed. She felt a frisson of alarm at Louisa inviting herself back to Amherst Island. It made sense, of course, considering how much time Louisa had spent on the island. It made perfect sense, and yet Ellen didn’t like it.

Yet she could hardly refuse her, especially when Louisa made it so plain that she’d nowhere comfortable to stay, and so Ellen duly wrote Rose, who, as expected, replied in the affirmative, and then Ellen wrote to Louisa.

Within a fortnight it was all arranged, tickets bought, and Louisa wrote that she would see Ellen on Captain Jonah’s ‘dear little ferry’ on December the twentieth.

“Ice boat, more like,” Ellen muttered, for it had been a cold winter and the lake had frozen over. If Louisa had found the island rustic in the summer, she had no idea what the winter would be like.

December twentieth came soon enough. Ellen was looking forward to an entire week of days spent at her own command, although she would miss friends like Amity and Harriet, both who were returning to their own homes for the week’s holiday.

“You look like you’ve been worked to the bone,” Lucas half-scolded when he came to fetch her for the train. He jumped out to haul her valise into the back, and Peter waved madly.

“Hallo, Ellen! Lucas is right, you know. You look far too thin.”

“Thank you very much,” Ellen replied, taking Lucas’ hand to help her into the carriage. Ever since Amity’s suggestion she found she couldn’t quite look at Lucas the way she’d used to, although she didn’t know how she should look at him. She felt uneasy and tongue-tied in his presence, and the last two times he’d taken her to tea had been filled with sudden awkward silences.

Their friendship had certainly been rekindled away from the island, yet Ellen wondered if Amity was right and Lucas wanted more than friendship. And what did she want? Could she think of Lucas that way? Did she want to?