Down Jasper Lane (Amherst Island Trilogy)

She spent the night at Rouse’s Point, and by the next afternoon she alighted at Seaton, a bit tired and grimy, but glad to be there.

“Ellen Copley, my word! It’s been a while, hasn't it?” Orvis Fairley heaved her valise down as Ellen stepped from the train. The station, she saw, had had an addition built onto it in the last year. There was a ladies’ waiting room with several benches next to the ticket window. “It’s good to have you back, now.”

Ellen took the station master’s hand as she stepped from the train onto the platform. “Thank you, Mr. Fairley.”

“I’m glad you’ve come,” Orvis Fairley continued soberly, “considering your Aunt Ruth.”

Ellen felt a prickle of alarm and even fear though she kept her expression and voice calm. “Is she very ill, then?”

He took a step backwards, his face suffused with embarrassed color. “It’s not for me to say, Miss Copley. It’s not for me to say...”

Ellen nodded in acceptance. The last two days of travel from Kingston had left her in a quagmire of doubt and exhaustion. The telegram had been so brief; she had no idea just how ill Aunt Ruth really was. Part of her knew that Hamish would not have sent for her unless Ruth was truly unwell; another part insisted that Aunt Ruth was invincible. She would simply have to find out for herself.

“Do you mind if I leave my valise at the station? Uncle Hamish can fetch it for me later.”

“Oh, there’s no need for that, miss,” Orvis said quickly. “I’ll bring it up to the store. There’s not another train coming for twenty-three minutes.”

That was the first time such an offer had been made, and it took Ellen by surprise. She wasn’t used to people being so nice to her in this town, and it made her uneasy. Aunt Ruth must be truly ill, she thought, and felt fear prickle coldly between her shoulder blades.

“Thank you, Mr. Fairley.”

They walked quietly up the street. A heavy, humid pallor hung over the town, making the late June weather hot and oppressive. Ellen murmured greetings to several people she recognized, the regretful looks and quick bobs of their heads making her more and more nervous.

When she arrived at the general store, it seemed forlorn somehow, even though it was no noticeably different. The same barrels and bins lined the wide front porch as they had six years ago, when Ellen had first arrived with Da.

There were a few new additions, Ellen saw after a brief moment of inspection—gloves and goggles for automobile riding on one shelf by the door, with a handprinted sign, ‘Don’t Get Left in the Dust!’. Displayed in the window were a telephone and a typewriter, both shiny and black and strange-looking.

Inside the store had its familiar smell, both musty and sweet, and Ellen blinked as her eyes adjusted to the light. A few people browsed through the aisles; Ellen heard their murmured helloes as if from a distance. Uncle Hamish was not at the counter.

Ellen couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t been there, his apron white and spotless, his cheeks rosy, his smile bright. Now a thin young man with sharp eyes and overly pomaded hair lounged against the worn marble, and he straightened his bow tie as Ellen approached him.

“Do you know where Hamish Copley is?” she asked politely, although what she really wanted to know was who this fussy young man actually was. She recognized him vaguely, but that was all.

“He’s back at the house, tending to your Aunt Ruth.”

“You know who I am?”

“Of course.” The young man smiled smugly. “You’re Ellen Copley. I was in school with you, when you went to the upper class. I’m Artie Dole.”

Ellen remembered the cheeky boy who had yanked her plaits, and she smiled coolly. “Yes, now I remember. Has Uncle Hamish hired you to work the counter?”

“Yes. I’ve been here since September.”

Ellen blinked in surprise at this news. Why had no one informed her? When, she suddenly wondered with a dawning panic, had she last received a letter from her aunt and uncle? She couldn’t remember, and she felt even more disconnected from her life in Seaton, from Uncle Hamish and Aunt Ruth.

Someone grasped her arm. Ellen turned and saw it was Elmira Cardle, her face heavily powdered and her eyes bright. “We’re so sorry, Ellen. You did the right thing, coming home.”

“Thank you,” Ellen murmured. “I think I’ll just go see Uncle Hamish, now.” She excused herself and crossed the yard to the house.

It was quiet and dim when she let herself inside. “Uncle Hamish?” she called softly, and moved into the kitchen.

He sat slumped at the table, his head in his hands. Ellen felt as if her heart had risen right into her throat. She took a step forward, one hand stretched out to that weary figure. “Uncle Hamish?”

Hamish looked up blearily, managing a weary smile when he saw Ellen. “We knew you’d come.”

“I had no idea...” Ellen trailed off, unable to finish her thought, not wanting to explain the shock her uncle’s appearance gave her. Hamish was unshaven and untidily dressed, his eyes bloodshot, his expression so despairing Ellen felt a lump form in her throat.

“You’ll be wanting to see your aunt,” Hamish said as he struggled up from the table. “The doctor’s been this morning. Said she was no better, but no worse. It’s been like that for days.”