Down Jasper Lane (Amherst Island Trilogy)

“I suppose,” Ellen said when she felt she could speak, “I will be dismissed.” Her mouth twisted as she added, “Immediately.”

“You have certainly broken enough rules to be so.” To her surprise she felt the Superintendent’s hand on her shoulder. “But I am not without pity, Nurse Copley. I see the death of that child affected you sorely.”

Ellen let out a shuddering breath. “She was so small, and nobody loved her.”

“Then we must thank God she is with Him now, in a far kinder place, where she will be loved forever.”

Ellen gave a choked cry. “How can you say that?” she demanded. “How can you believe that?” Miss Cothill did not answer, and dimly Ellen was aware of how rude as well as sacrilegious she was being. If the nursing superintendent hadn’t thought to dismiss her before, she would surely do so now.

“I say it,” Miss Cothill finally said quietly, “because I believe it. And in this profession I would hope you would as well, for it is very hard if there is no hope in this world or the next.”

“It is very hard,” Ellen agreed in a low voice. “And yet I’ve seen too much of suffering and pain to believe in anything else. God could have kept that child alive.” Her hands clenched into fists at her sides as old grief washed over her along with the new; perhaps they were one and the same. “He could have kept my mam alive.”

Miss Cothill didn’t speak for a moment. “He could have, but He chose not to.”

“Then I don’t have time for a God like that,” Ellen snapped, and she heard the Superintendent sigh.

“He still has time for you.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“But it does, Nurse Copley, whether you wish it to or not.” Miss Cothill sighed again, the sound sorrowful. Her fingers tightened on Ellen’s shoulder. “I do not profess to understand all of His divine ways. To expect to understand would be akin to asking a child splashing in a puddle to grasp the vastness of the ocean.”

“That’s very convenient, to simply say we can’t understand.” Ellen knew she was sailing dangerously close to the wind. She had not just broken rules; she was actively and willfully flaunting them, speaking so disrespectfully to her supervisor. Still she could not help herself. She’d denied her grief and anger at God for so long, and now these losses—Jed, this poor nameless child—had caused it all to rise up in her, a tide of anguish she could no longer suppress.

“It is strange, is it not,” Miss Cothill said after a moment, “that it is not those who suffer who rail at God, but those who witness the suffering.”

Ellen stilled, the Superintendent’s words seeming to hang in the air between them.

He's been good to me, Ellen. Don’t doubt it.

“Perhaps they are too weary and burdened to rail,” she said stiffly.

“Or perhaps God has given them the strength and faith they require in their hour of need.”

“Well, then,” Ellen said, bitterness lacing every word like poison, “I wish He’d give it to me.”

“Do you, Nurse Copley?” Miss Cothill asked quietly. “Do you really?” She withdrew her hand from Ellen’s shoulder and turned to the door. “I shall give you a few moments to

order yourself. Then I expect you back on Watkins Three to finish your shift.”

Alone in the little parlor the Superintendent’s words spun around in Ellen’s empty mind. Hugging herself, she knew she had no answers, as well as no faith, whether she wanted them or not.

FOUR

“There’s a visitor for you in the parlor.” Harriet’s face was flushed with curiosity and excitement as she came into the bedroom she shared with Ellen. It was a lovely April afternoon, the sun streaming through the window and sparkling on the lake. “He’s quite handsome, and he seems so eager to see you! Have you a beau, Ellen?”

“Not the last time I looked,” Ellen replied with a small smile. The only person who had called on her was Lucas, and she hadn’t seen him in months. Ellen had been too busy, and also too listless, to consider why he had not invited her out again. The months since Christmas had been filled with drudgery, and yet still provided far too much space and time to think and remember and frankly feel miserable. The ache in her heart had eased somewhat, but Amity and Harriet had both noticed that Ellen was not herself, if she even knew what that was.

Shrugging aside the familiar fog of those concerns, Ellen checked her appearance in the small mirror above the wash basin. Her reflection revealed that her hair hadn’t quite fallen from its pins after a long day on the wards, and quickly straightening her cap and skirt, she hurried downstairs.

“Lucas!” She moved forward warmly, surprisingly and truly glad to see him. Any familiar face felt welcome now. “I haven’t seen you in an age.”

“I know. I suppose we’ve both been busy.” Yet he didn’t quite look at her as he said it, and Ellen wondered if he were telling the truth. Ellen thought of her harsh words to Jed at Christmas. Had Lucas overheard as well? Could Jed possibly have told him? The thought sent a prickly heat spreading through her body, even as she silently acknowledged that just about the last thing Jed would do was to tell Lucas what she had called him.

“I’m sorry I haven’t come sooner, Ellen,” Lucas said after she’d pressed his cheek to his and stepped back. “I always meant to...”

“It’s a busy time,” Ellen dismissed quickly. “Are you well?”