Down Jasper Lane (Amherst Island Trilogy)

“Yes. Very well. Can you take a stroll with me?” Lucas looked nervous, and his fingers crept towards his collar to give it a self-conscious tug.

Ellen hesitated for only a moment. She had twenty minutes before the dinner hour was finished and she was back on duty until ten. “It will have to be quick,” she warned him. “Let me get my coat.”

Outside the sky was a delicate blue, just starting to fade to violet, with a few wispy clouds. The lake was placid and still, and the grassy lawn leading down to it was studded with buttercups.

“Kingston is beautiful this time of year,” Lucas said as they strolled down to the bay. “I’ve never seen so many cherry blossoms before in my life.”

“I wish I had more time to see it,” Ellen replied ruefully. “The hospital has kept all of its nurses busier than ever. I fear the only sights I’ve seen lately are rows of beds and slop buckets needing to be emptied!”

“You do like it, though?” Lucas asked, and Ellen just smiled. She was not about to admit any of her doubts to Lucas, or anyone. Not until she’d decided for herself what her own future was to be.

“You don’t think I’d do it otherwise?” she asked lightly, and his answering smile was touched with relief.

“Have you been drawing?”

Ellen forced down a ripple of irritation. She knew Lucas was concerned for her, but sometimes it felt like nagging. And the truth was she hadn’t been drawing. She’d had neither the time nor the desire. Her head felt empty of images or ideas.

“When I have the time,” she answered. “A few sketches.” That was stretching the truth more than a bit.

“I’d like to see them...”

“Oh, they’re not much. Another time, perhaps.”

“Ellen...” Lucas looked down, nervously scuffing his shoe through the soft spring grass. “There’s a smoker at Grant Hall Saturday after next...”

“A smoker?” Ellen interrupted, startled, and Lucas looked up from his contemplation of the lawn, abashed.

“Sorry. It’s a college term. A dance, I mean. A social. A party.”

“I think I understand,” Ellen said, trying to smile. She had a feeling where this conversation must be headed.

“I’d like it if you came with me,” Lucas said in a rush. “That is... if I could escort you...”

“I don’t know if I shall have that Saturday off,” Ellen replied. She was trying to untangle the rush of emotions tumbling through her—the pleasure at being invited and the thought of a dance, the nervousness at what going might mean for both her and Lucas, and the disappointment not that Lucas was asking her, but that she couldn’t be more enthused. But then she hadn’t been enthused about much lately.

“Perhaps you could make a special arrangement?” Lucas suggested hesitantly, and Ellen nodded.

“Yes, I could ask, at least. Superintendent Cothill can be quite understanding when she chooses.” She thought of her harsh words after that baby had died. Miss Cothill hadn’t changed her stern attitude, but Ellen had still sensed a softening. And perhaps going to this smoker with Lucas would help to heal that pervasive ache in her heart. Impulsively Ellen touched Lucas’ hand. “Thank you for asking me.”

He blushed with pleasure, and something inside Ellen eased. She’d decided months ago she would not pine for Jed, and although she’d been listless she didn’t think her heart was truly broken. She wouldn’t let it be. Her malaise, she told herself, had far more to do with her circumstances and what she intended to do with her life than simply missing Jed Lyman. She would find a way to go to this dance with Lucas, she decided right then, and moreover, she would enjoy it. Immensely.

In the end, Superintendent Cothill gave permission easily, her stern face cracking a sudden smile, and Ellen was soon surrounded by envious and excited nurses clamoring to know what she would wear, if she was in love with Lucas, and what he looked like (Harriet gave everyone a rather embellished picture of Lucas’ fair looks).

“You can’t wear that,” Marjorie Henley declared, aghast, when Ellen took out her rose wool to inspect. “It hasn’t any lace or trim, and besides, it’s wool. You can’t wear wool to a spring dance.”

“A smoker,” Harriet corrected excitedly.

“Smoker or dance, I haven’t anything else,” Ellen replied sensibly, to which a cry rose from her comrades.

“Between us all, we can come up with something,” Amity insisted, and so they did.

The dress, in the end, was a castoff of Marjorie’s, who had plenty to spare, with lace and trim deftly added by Harriet, who possessed a hitherto unknown skill with needle and thread. Amity donated gloves—a gift of an elderly aunt—and Sally Fenwick lent her best kid slippers, as long as Ellen promised not to scuff them too badly.

When the evening finally came, Ellen felt she was dressed as elegantly as a princess, even if it was all borrowed finery.

She twirled in front of the other nurses and glanced down at herself in admiration for the resourcefulness of her friends. Her felt lighter than it had in months.

“It really does look quite splendid,” Amity said in amazement, and Ellen laughed.