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“I see.” There was a coolness to Mrs. Cardle’s voice as her gaze swept over Douglas and she said, “I’m sure any friend of the Copleys is a friend to us.” Even though she’d washed her face and brushed her hair, Ellen felt as if she still had the coal dust of Springburn on her. Perhaps in Mrs. Cardle’s view she did.
Douglas nodded, and the Cardles moved on to conduct their business in the store. Ellen saw her father grin and wink at her, and she smiled back. Some things wouldn’t change, she thought, not between her and Da, surely. At least she could hold onto that.
Later that evening, after Ellen had helped Aunt Ruth with the washing up, a chore conducted in brisk silence, she joined Da on the back porch. He sat on the bottom step, his legs stretched out, his face thoughtful.
“Have you ever heard it so quiet, Ellen?”
“The crickets are lou
d,” Ellen replied, sitting next to him. Their chirping was an incessant whine in her ears. She was used to the clamor and clatter of the city, not these strange noises of nature.
“Ah, but I don’t mind the crickets. It’s the city noise I’m glad to be rid of. That unholy din. A sound of misery, it was.”
Ellen nodded, and Da gave her a quick smile. “You’re glad to be here? Your room is just as we said it would be. Imagine that.”
Ellen could only nod again, resting her chin on her knees. Her feelings were so mixed up, a tangle of terrible sorrow and wild joy, and over all of it a desperate uneasiness. Her room was lovely, but it wasn’t quite the way she’d pictured it. She didn’t feel the way she thought she would. And as for her aunt and uncle... she didn’t know what they felt or thought about her. Or perhaps she was afraid she did.
“I’m glad, Da,” she said, and then, compelled by honesty, added quietly, “I think.”
To her relief, Da only chuckled. “I know it’s strange,” he said in a low voice, “and Ruth always was a wee bit prickly. But you’ll stay on the right side of her, Ellen. You’ll be all right.”
He spoke as if he were reassuring himself as much as her, and a vague sense of unease crept over Ellen. “What about you, Da?”
“What about me?”
“You’ve always said I’m to go to school, but what about you? Will you work in the store?” Somehow she couldn’t imagine her father behind those gleaming counters, wearing an apron and measuring out jellybeans or square-headed nails.
“Ah, Ellen, don’t worry about me.” Her father gazed out at the hills, now inky purple in the twilight, an embroidery of stars above them. “I’ll find my way. We both will.” But he didn’t look at her as he said it.
“What way?” she pressed, and her father only shook his head.
“We’ll see... we’ll see, eh?” He let out a chuckle that Ellen knew was meant to reassure her but somehow didn’t. “We’ll see what’s in store. Your mam always said God has a plan, didn’t she?”
“I’m not sure I like God’s plans,” Ellen said and Douglas gave her a rueful smile.
“But He’s in charge, isn’t He?”
“I suppose so.” Ellen knew she sounded doubtful and Douglas sighed. “I should have sent you to kirk more. Your poor mam would turn in her grave if she knew how I neglected you.”
“But Mam’s in heaven, isn’t she?”
“Yes, of that I’m sure. Your mam was a good woman, Ellen. Never forget that.”
“I won’t.”
The screen door squeaked open and slapped closed, and Ellen turned to see Ruth. “It’s time little girls were in bed,” she said sharply, then softened it by adding, “you look fit to droop, Ellen. Tomorrow’s a busy day. I thought you could visit Hope Cardle, and we must see about your things.”
“My things?”
“You’ll need some new dresses and the like for school,” Aunt Ruth said briskly. “Nothing fancy, mind.”
Ellen could not suppress her grin of surprised delight. New dresses—and a possible friend? At that moment all her doubts banished like mist in the summer sun. “Thank you, Aunt Ruth!” She almost reached forward to embrace her aunt, but stopped at the last moment and ducked her head in thanks instead.
“Upstairs, miss.” Aunt Ruth’s lips twitched in something like a smile, and after a second’s hesitation she patted Ellen’s shoulder. Grinning back, Ellen hurried upstairs.
She would get used to it here, she told herself as she slipped into her thin nightdress. She would come to love it. She would.
Ellen lay in bed, watching the moonlight shift patterns across the pale wood floor, and tried to cling to her sense of hopeful certainty.
