“Maybe so,” Jed replied evenly, “but I’ve had to put such things behind me, and so should you, Lucas. We’re not children anymore.” He turned to Ellen, and she flinched beneath his gaze. “None of us are. Louisa might be a silly fool, but I thought she was your friend and you should know better than anyone how that kind of prank would end.” Ellen felt her face flush with shame. “It was just a little joke...”
Jed shrugged this aside. “I have work to do,” he said brusquely, “even if the pair of you don’t.” And before either of them could say anything in reply, he turned on his heel and made for the fields once more.
Ellen curled her bare toes in the dust of the farmyard. What had seemed silly and lighthearted a few moments ago now made her ache with guilt and humiliation. She felt worse than when Aunt Ruth had shouted at her about the lemon tart, more stupid than when she’d arrived off the train at Seaton with tangled hair and coal smuts on her cheek.
“I’m sorry, Lucas,” she said after a moment. Lucas shrugged, his jaw tight, his eyes sparking.
“I’m not. It was just a bit of fun. Jed thinks just because he’s the one staying at home no one else—” He broke off, shaking his head, and Ellen knew the argument between the brothers had been about more than just Louisa’s tender feelings. Whatever simmered between the two of them had been going on a long time, and Ellen was quite sure she didn’t know the half of it—and didn’t want to. She was only sorry she’d been caught in the middle.
She tried for a smile, her sketchbook clutched to her chest. “I’d better go find Louisa,” she said, keeping her voice as light as she could. “In case she runs into another cow.”
Lucas didn’t smile back, just drove a hand through his hair and gazed moodily off into the distant fields, where Jed’s broad back was just visible as he strode away.
TEN
A few weeks later, about halfway through the summer, all of Amherst Island prepared for an exciting event—an island wedding.
Never having ever attended a wedding before, Ellen was amazed at the vast preparation the entire island set to. Everyone was invited, everyone was involved. The Presbyterian church in Stella would be overflowing; even the Methodists and Anglicans would attend, albeit a bit grudgingly, and the party afterwards was to be at the bride’s family farm, with the whole barnyard turned into a dance floor, and everyone on the island who played an instrument, even a tin harmonica, roped into providing music.
All the McCafferty girls were busy baking for the feast, as well as sewing new lace and ribbon onto their best dresses. Even Louisa entered into the cheerful fray, laying out her gorgeous silk and satin dresses, allowing everyone to admire them, wondering which one to choose.
Caro could not resist stroking the smooth, rich fabric with a touch of envy, although Ellen knew she would never admit such a thing to Louisa.
“I’ll do your hair for you if you like,” Louisa told Ellen with a toss of her own burnished curls. “Maybe then it won’t look like such a haystack.”
Ellen forced herself to smile back. Ever since the day in the Lymans’ barnyard, her friendship with Louisa had been more strained than usual. Ellen had duly sought Louisa out and apologized for the episode, and while Louisa had stiffly accepted, she remained frosty and distant.
In some regards Ellen had been relieved, for a little distance from Louisa was no bad thing. Yet she also felt an uncomfortable pang of guilt, for as Jed had so coolly reminded her, Louisa was both her guest and responsibility. She’d spent the last few weeks being as attentive to Louisa as she could, even though it made the days long and dull, and she missed being with Lucas and the little ones.
When the day of the wedding finally arrived, everyone was fairly dancing with excitement, even though the music had yet to begin. Louisa and Ellen walked with the other McCaffertys down Stella’s Front Street to the church. Ellen had added lace to the cuffs and collar of her best green dress, and Louisa wore a frilly concoction of blue silk with a wide sash of deeper blue, her hair in ringlets. She looked very pretty, Ellen thought, and entirely overdressed, but then all of Louisa’s frocks were too fussy for island life.
Still, she tried to mend the bridges between them and offered, “You look beautiful, Louisa.”
“Thank you.” Louisa preened a bit, but there seemed something false about both her gestures and words, and she didn’t quite look at her. Instinctively Ellen walked more slowly so they fell behind the McCafferty children. Louisa matched her pace, and when they couldn’t be overheard, she spoke.
“You were right about your island. I was jealous of what you had, but I should’ve realized I could hardly snatch it for myself.”
Ellen looked at her uncertainly. “What do you mean?”
“That secret you have? The way you love this island and it loves you? That’s yours.” Louisa shook her head, bitterness spiking her words, her hands clenched on the stiff, shiny silk of her dress. “It will never be mine.”
Ellen was silent for a moment. She knew what Louisa meant. Before coming to Amherst Island, she had never felt like she belonged. Even back in Springburn, she’d been a stranger, set apart, spending most of her days in the sickroom with Mam. Only here, among friends, did she feel a part of things. Loved and accepted for herself, not out of duty or charity.
She’d just never thought Louisa, with all her pampered privileges, might see that—or want to feel the same way.
“You’ve made friends here...” she began, but Louisa just laughed sharply.
“Friends? Like Lucas, who thinks I’m no more than a spoiled brat? Or Caro, who says so to my face?” She turned to Ellen, her face hard despite the vulnerability and hurt lurking in her eyes. “Do you think I don’t notice the way you all look at me, Ellen? Do you think I can’t hear the whispers?” She shook her head. “I see it all. I hear it all.” She paused, her face averted once more. “I feel it all.”
Guilt ate at her, hollowing out her insides. She should have been kinder to Louisa. More understanding, more patient. “Louisa—” Ellen began, “I’m sorry...”
“I know it’s my own fault,” Louisa cut across her. “I should try to fit in, to make myself useful and liked. I know that, but I can’t.” Her hands clenched once more on her dress. “I’ve never had to before, and I won’t start now.”
Ellen’s sympathy lessened a bit at this willful remark. “You’re just stubborn, then,” she said. “And it’s worse because you know it. If you just helped out a bit, Louisa, dirtied your hands or your apron and didn’t turn your nose up at island ways—”
“It’s not quite so easy, Ellen Copley,” Louisa snapped. “You can’t change the way you think just like that.”
Ellen sighed. They were well behind the others now, and they would have to hurry to catch up. “You’re right,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry, Louisa. I did warn you—”