She sat back on her heels and blinked back tears. She would not cry. Not now. She’d cried too much already, and a new hardness in her heart made her think her father was not worth so much sorrow.
But why, oh why, had Da left without saying goodbye?
Gazing out the window at a slice of blue sky, the sunshine dappling the floor, Ellen wondered if he was planning on ever coming back.
Slowly Ellen rose from the floor and walked downstairs. Uncle Hamish and Aunt Ruth were still in the kitchen. Aunt Ruth busied herself with the breakfast dishes, and Uncle Hamish put down the coffee cup halfway raised to his lips, regarding Ellen uneasily.
“Did he leave anything?” Hamish asked. “A note for you?”
“Hamish...” Ruth hissed under her breath. “Can’t you see her face? Of course he didn’t.” She put two eggs, a rasher of bacon and a thick slice of bread fried in dripping on Ellen’s plate. “There. Sit down and get that inside you.”
“Thank you,” Ellen mumbled, because she knew Aunt Ruth always expected an answer. She sat at the table and gazed down at her unwanted breakfast. Under Ruth’s beady eye, she forced down a few mouthfuls.
“How about helping me in the store this morning, Ellen?” Uncle Hamish asked brightly after a long, tense moment had passed. He winked. “I’m sure we could find something to cheer you up.”
Ellen smiled wanly. Sweets and hair ribbons from the store seemed to be her uncle’s way of making things better. If only sorrow could be so easily appeased. Still, it would take her mind off things and the only other option was staying home with Ruth and being put to work in the kitchen or garden.
“All right. Thank you, Uncle Hamish.”
They walked over after breakfast, when Seaton’s main street was just stirring to life. The Vermont State Bank, an impressive brick building on the corner, was getting ready for business and one of the clerks was polishing the marble steps.
Across the street, Mr. Edwards smiled and winked at Ellen. She watched his barber’s pole spin around in a blur of red and white, and two men went inside for their morning shave.
Hamish unlocked the door and led Ellen inside, flicking on the electric lights that had been installed last year.
Ellen had been in the store many times by now, but she still loved the hugeness of it, barrels and boxes and bins stretching to the ceiling.
She stood by the counter while Hamish dusted off his ledger book and scales, two of the most important tools of his trade.
“We’ve quite a morning,” he told her cheerfully. “Elmer Pyles is coming in with three chickens and a passel of green beans. Then sometime before noon I’m expecting a shipment of hammers and things from The Kilby Tool Company in Rutland. You can help me unload the boxes.”
Ellen nodded, running her fingers along the smooth marble-topped counter. She’d come to realize that running a successful general store required a great deal more than simply standing behind the counter and taking orders.
Many of the farmers traded their goods for merchandise, and only last week Ellen had watched Uncle Hamish wrestle a pig into his barn while the happy farmer drove away with a wagonload of tinned peaches and several bolts of chambray.
Several times a week the store took deliveries from Rutland, and Hamish went to the depot to oversee the unloading of goods from the train.
Hamish was in his element, however, when he could put on his big white apron and measure flour and sugar, slipping sweets to the children while the old timers sat on the pickle barrels on the porch and played checkers with rusty bottle caps.
Then, with his thinning hair and ruddy cheeks, he reminded Ellen of a beardless Father Christmas. Thinking of it now, she longed to draw her uncle in the store, could even picture the way her charcoal would cut across the paper. She sighed aloud, and Hamish looked at her with a half-smile.
“Cheer up, sweetheart. He’ll write.”
She nodded mechanically as her heart plummeted once again. For a moment, she’d almost forgotten about Da. Had he already forgotten about her?
“Why didn’t he, though?” she asked quietly. “He wasn’t going to leave till noon. Why did he sneak out like that?”
“I don’t rightly know.” Uncle Hamish scratched his head. “I can tell you this, though. Scenes always made your da uncomfortable. It was ever like that when we were boys.”
Ellen looked up at her uncle with a start. She’d somehow forgotten that Hamish was Da’s brother and had known him since he was in the cradle. They were so different.
“What do you mean, scenes?” she asked.
“Well... crying and carrying on and such.”
“I wasn’t going to cry!” Ellen protested indignantly, and Hamish was hasty to appease her.