Down Jasper Lane (Amherst Island Trilogy)

After school she went to the store and asked Hamish for something for Louisa.

“Poor mite,” Hamish said affectionately, for though he’d disliked Louisa after the disastrous tea nearly a year ago, he couldn’t stay angry with anyone for very long, and Ellen suspected his unpleasant memories had the habit of conveniently fading. “We’ve some new hair ribbons in, lovely striped silk. Just the thing. And what about a bag of lemon drops? They always slip down nicely.”

Dutifully Ellen took the presents. “I’m surprised she wants to see me,” she said after a moment, and Hamish’s brow wrinkled slightly before he gave her one of his jolly smiles.

“I expect she wants to be friends again,” he said cheerfully, and Ellen could not quite smile back. She didn’t want to be friends with Louisa again, and she distrusted the very thought of Louisa announcing that she had decided to accept her as her friend once more. Louisa treated friends like old toys, to be picked up and discarded at her leisure. Ellen would not play along.

Straightening her spine, she smiled fleetingly at Uncle Hamish before leaving the store. The breeze blowing a few leftover leaves down Main Street was chilly, and the sky was a pale gray that couldn’t make up its mind as to whether it would clear or not.

People nodded or murmured their helloes to Ellen as she walked to Water Street. Even though she still felt apart, most of Seaton seemed to have accepted her somewhat, at least enough to bid her good day when they passed her in the street. After nearly two years it wasn’t much, yet Ellen knew it was all she was likely to get.

And, she acknowledged, needing to be fair even in her own mind, it was partly her fault, the same as with her school friends. Ever since she’d learned she’d be returning to Amherst Island she’d only been in Seaton in body rather than spirit. She was polite without being truly friendly.

And now, in just two months she would be taking the train and then Captain Jonah’s ferry to Amherst Island. A little shiver of anticipation ran up and down Ellen’s spine as she contemplated that journey.

It was a thought that had sustained her through many cold, lonely months, a thought that held a pleasing if confusing tangle of questions and ideas. No discussion had yet been held about what Ellen would do after the summer away.

Would she return to Seaton? Go to high school in Rutland? Or do something else entirely? Ellen didn’t know. She hadn’t spoken of high school to Aunt Ruth again, or anyone else for that matter. She was conscious of the expense, and the fact that she was only clothed and fed on her relatives’ sufferance.

Yet if she didn’t go to high school, what could she do? Ellen had spent many long winter evenings pondering this question even as she shied away from settling on an answer. Most children who finished school at Year Eight left to work on farms or perhaps find a job in a factory or mill. Ellen supposed she could stay in Seaton and work in the store to earn her keep, but that was a most unpalatable thought. Yet what was the alternative? The McCaffertys would take her in, but she was reluctant to strain their limited resources. Neither Rose nor Dyle ever mentioned money, but Ellen was acutely conscious of it all the same. She remembered when Rose had had to fetch the doctor for Sarah when she’d had the influenza, and her expression had become strained and tense as she’d reached for the dented tin above the range. Ellen wanted as few pennies to come out of that precious tin on her account as possible.

A vague contemplation of all of these possibilities occupied Ellen’s mind all the way to Water Street to visit Louisa, so that she skidded to a halt in front of the Hoppers’ impressive mahogany door with its bronze lion knocker and stained glass panes.

“Hello, Ellen.” Mrs. Hopper herself answered Ellen’s knock, her mouth tightening and nostrils flaring as she looked at her. No doubt the lemon tart incident was still as fresh in Mrs. Hopper’s mind as it was in Ellen’s.

Ellen smiled politely. “I’ve come to pay my respects to Louisa. I trust she’s better?”

“Not completely,” Mrs. Hopper answered shortly. “It has been a very difficult time for poor Louisa. She is so sensitive, and she’s been greatly weakened by this trial.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Ellen heard the implicit warning in Mrs. Hopper’s words and took it to heart. The last thing she wanted was to upset Louisa and bring Aunt Ruth’s wrath upon her once more.

“Come in, then,” Mrs. Hopper said, sounding reluctant, and Ellen followed her up the thickly carpeted stairs to Louisa’s room.

Louisa lay in a frilly, canopied bed, a pretty picture of an invalid. She wore a white nightgown with heavy lace on the cuffs and a pink satin ribbon threaded through the neckline. Her hair, although a bit lank and dull, lay brushed over her shoulders, and her hands were folded docilely over the coverlet.

“Ellen,” she said in a whispery voice. “I’m so glad you came.”

“It’s good to see you, Louisa.” Awkwardly Ellen handed over her gifts. “Some little things from the store. I thought they might cheer you.”

“How kind,” Louisa murmured, examining the ribbon and bag of sweets before slipping a lemon drop into her mouth. Ellen shifted uncomfortably, not sure what to make of this subdued, well-mannered Louisa. She suspected her erstwhile friend was merely playing a part, perhaps one that amused her, if only for a time. At some point the mask would slip and the spite would out. Wouldn’t it?

“I’ll leave you two alone... for a moment,” Mrs. Hopper murmured, and went out, shutting the door.

“How have you been?” Louisa asked after a minute’s uncomfortable silence. Her cheeks were puckered as she sucked the lemon drop. Outside a robin chirped indignantly, the sound loud in the hushed stillness of the room.

“Well, I suppose. Busy with school and things.”

“I shall have to repeat this year, you know,” Louisa said. The mask dropped for a second, but all Ellen saw was bleakness. “I shan’t go to high school with the others.”

“Not everyone is going to high school,” Ellen said. “Artie Dole says he isn’t, and neither is Bert Duncan. And the entrance exam isn’t for a whole month.”

“I’m hardly going to work on a farm,” Louisa said with some of her old scorn.

“Hope Cardle isn’t, either. At least that’s what her mother says.” No one of their age would decide about high school until summer, in any case.

“Hope Cardle,” Louisa dismissed. “She might as well have feathers in her head. Her mother dresses her in that awful pink muslin, and she looks like a boiled ham.”

“Louisa, that’s unfair,” Ellen said quietly. “Hope has been your friend since you broke off with me. You chose her yourself. Besides, she’s grown taller over the winter, and she has some lovely new dresses, blue to match her eyes.”