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He’d wanted so much from this country, for himself, for her. Why had he settled for this? Why hadn’t he come back?
“You must be tired,” he said, injecting some determined cheer into his voice as he lit the stove. “This will set you right.”
“Thank you.”
Her father put the kettle on, busying himself with the small, mundane task for longer than necessary. The silence stretched between them, and Ellen was conscious of how little she had to say. There had been so many words, so many dreams and regrets, hopes and griefs, she’d wanted to share with him over the years, yet now she had no words for this stranger. She had nothing.
Finally Da turned from the stove, smiling awkwardly, and joined Ellen at the little table. “I wish there were some biscuits...” He trailed off, hunching his shoulder, and Ellen shook her head, smiling.
“It’s all right. I ate on the train. I’m not very hungry.”
“We can go to the caff for a slap-up meal later,” he told her. “I’ve enough for that.”
“Good. Lovely.” Ellen nodded, still smiling, but the silence was there again, heavy and palpable, exhausting her. “Are you happy here, Da?” she finally asked. “I could tell so little from your letters.”
He glanced down at his hands folded on the table, knotted and work-worn. “Happy enough,” he said at last. “Happy as any man can be.”
“You like working on the engines?”
He shrugged. “It’s work.”
The kettle boiled with a shrill whistle, and Da set about making cups of tea. Ellen cradled her tin mug in her hands and blew on the hot liquid.
Da settled himself in the stool across from her once again and they drank in silence.
“Sometimes I wonder what would’ve happened, if I’d stayed,” he said after a moment.
“In Seaton?”
He shook his head. “No, in Scotland.”
Ellen gazed at him in surprise. “You’d always wanted to get away from there.”
“I’ve wanted to get away from everywhere I’ve been,” Da admitted ruefully, although a deeper regret laced his words and shadowed his eyes. “It’s just the way I’m made, I suppose. The only reason I haven’t set off from this place is there’s nowhere else for me to go. And I wanted to see you again. I wanted to be together again.” He was silent for a moment, his expression brooding. “I know I haven’t done right by you, Ellen, and I expect you’ve grander plans than keeping house for me in this mud hut. I’m not to keep you here. Ruth’s written me with all the things you’ve done, the schooling you’ve had.”
“I didn’t know she wrote you,” Ellen whispered.
“Yes, every month like clockwork. So proud of you, she was.”
“I know.” Ellen’s smile wobbled and she took another sip of tea. She knew now. She only wished she’d known—she’d had the eyes and heart to know—before.
Her father reached out one gnarled hand to rest it on top of hers. “I’m proud of you too, Ellen. Real proud. You know that, don’t you?”
Ellen nodded, her throat tight. “Yes,” she whispered, “I know.”
“Of course, if you were to stay with me...” Da smiled sadly. “But this is no place for you, is it? It never was. That’s why I didn’t bring you in the first place.” He stared down at his tin mug of tea, shaking his head. “I always felt badly you had to nurse your mam and miss your own schooling. I didn’t feel I did right by you in S
cotland, and I was afraid the same would happen in America. You’d be keeping house for me again, if I brought you out here... or anywhere.”
“And if you’d stayed in Seaton?” Ellen asked quietly.
Da looked up with a weary smile. “Ah, Ellen, I could never do that. There wasn’t a place for me there. Ruth wouldn’t have me behind the counter, not with my accent and rough ways. She polished Hamish up, I know, but I’m a different kettle of fish altogether.”
Remembering her father’s snapping black eyes and ready grin, she had to agree. “There could have been something else for you,” she said, even as she knew it wasn’t true.
“Maybe,” Da said, “but I wasn’t happy there, Ellen, and I didn’t want to bring you down with me.” He paused, and there was blatant need in his voice and on his face as he asked, “And you’ve been happy, haven’t you? Aunt Ruth and Uncle Hamish, Rose and Dyle, they’ve all been good to you, haven’t they?”
Ellen stared at him, remembering the misery of her first months in Seaton, alone, abandoned. But there had been so much happiness to follow. There had been joy. She thought of Ruth the last time she’d seen her—you know your family—and then she smiled. “Yes, I’ve been happy.” There was no point blaming Da for what he’d done or who he was, not now, when it was far too late. Whatever relationship they might have had was a thing of the past, a figment of her imagination. Ellen saw the naked relief on her father’s face, and she reached for her valise, thinking of the long-ago sketch she’d once meant to give him.
