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“Yes, but reading dusty books isn’t much of a profession.”
“Still...”
“I think I could enjoy the law, if I put my mind to it. And I’ll like living in a city... Kingston or Ottawa, perhaps even Toronto. What about you, Ellen? Rose told me you’re not returning to your nurse’s training. Will you stay on the island? Return to Vermont?”
“Neither.” Ellen took a deep breath. She’d been intending to tell the McCaffertys first, but it made sense to speak to Lucas alone. He’d always been the one who had encouraged her love of drawing, and he’d even suggested she exhibit some of her sketches here on the island, sell them to day-trippers. She hadn’t possessed the courage to follow through with his suggestion, but she’d appreciated his enthusiasm. She hoped he’d be happy for her now.
“What, then?” Lucas asked. The dance had ended, and in the lull between numbers Ellen and Lucas were left standing there, hands still linked as Lucas gazed at her with narrowed eyes. “What are you hiding, Ellen? You look as if you’ve got a secret.”
“It’s not meant to be a secret, exactly. I just wanted to wait until Louisa and Jed’s wedding was over before I told anyone.”
“Wait.” Lucas led her across the yard to the back porch of the Lymans’ house.
The wooden boards creaked as she bunched her skirts around her ankles and sat down on the old weathered steps.
Lucas sat next to her, and they were both silent as they gazed out at the starlit sky.
“So tell me,” he said finally. “What are you planning? Because you’re certainly planning something.”
Ellen laughed softly. “You know me too well, Lucas.”
“I’d like to think I know you well,” Lucas replied, and even in the shadowy darkness Ellen could see the sincerity in his eyes, hear it in his voice. She was reminded, painfully, of how that same sincerity had throbbed in his voice and shone in his eyes when he’d confessed his love for her.
She swallowed and looked away. “Well, you’re right, as usual. “I am planning something. I’ve—I’ve been accepted to art school.”
“Art school!” Lucas reached over and squeezed her hand. “I’m so pleased for you. Where are you going? Ottawa? Montreal?”
“Glasgow, actually.”
“Glasgow!” Lucas stared at her in astonishment. “But that’s in Scotland.”
“Indeed it is,” Ellen answered teasingly. “You know your geography, Lucas.”
“But... why so far away?”
“I met one of the Trustees of the school on the train to Chicago,” Ellen explained. “I was working on some sketches, and he happened to see them. We got to talking and he gave me his card... it was all very proper, of course,” she added, and Lucas smiled faintly, although she still saw a frown between his brows.
“Of course.”
“In any case, when I returned here I sent him some of my best drawings, and a few weeks ago I received a reply. I’ve been accepted to The Glasgow School of Art, on a bursary.” She smiled, feeling both the trepidation and excitement course within her. “I’ll begin my studies at the school in October.”
“So soon...” Lucas still looked shocked, and Ellen felt a rush of sympathy. She knew her news was unexpected.
“The school has quite a few lady artists studying there,” she said when Lucas had lapsed into a frowning silence. “Some are even teachers. The head, Francis Newbery, has been encouraging ladies to apply.” She clutched her knees, trying to visualize this new life that had come her way so unexpectedly. “I’ll be boarding with one of the teachers, the Head of Drawing, Miss Gray.”
“I see.” Lucas finally rallied with a smile. “Well, I’m pleased for you, of course. And surprised.” He drew a deep breath, his smile turning wry. “You know, of course, that I wanted things to be different for you... for us.”
Ellen’s cheeks warmed and she looked away. “I know,” she whispered.
“I haven’t given up hope, you know,” Lucas continued. “Maybe that’s foolish of me, but it’s the truth.”
“Oh, Lucas—” Ellen turned to gaze at him helplessly. How many times had she wished she’d fallen in love with him instead of Jed? And yet... the spark simply wasn’t there.
“Never mind,” he told her quickly. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it. You’ll come back though, won’t you? To the island?”
“I can’t imagine not coming back,” Ellen answered. “The island will always be my home.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” They were silent for a few minutes, listening to the faint, tinny strumming of the banjo, the merry fiddling. A burst of laughter sounded from the barnyard and Lucas rose from the porch steps.
