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It would be her parting present to Da.
Ellen had decided earlier not to accompany him to the train. She wouldn’t pretend she approved of his plan, wouldn’t act as if he was going on a grand adventure with everyone’s blessing. He was abandoning her, plain and simple, just like Mam had done except this was worse since Da had a choice.
Ellen forced the bitter thoughts away. Her relationship to Da was too precious to ruin it with anger and regret. He knew how she felt about his going. The least she could do was put a brave face on it, and maybe then he’d come back for her one day.
Ellen concentrated on her drawing, the world around her seeming to dissolve as she focused on line and shape. It had always been like this, so when she was nearly finished and looked up from her drawing, she had to blink to bring the world back into focus.
It had felt strange and yet right to hold a charcoal pencil in her hand once more, after over a year of drawing nothing at all. The crisp white paper was far nicer than the old newspaper or sacking she’d used back in Springburn. This paper felt almost too good to use, too precious to waste, and yet Uncle Hamish had given her nearly a hundred sheets.
Finally she finished the sketch. Ellen was still in her nightgown, and the morning light showed it couldn’t yet be seven o’clock. Still, she didn’t know exactly when Da was leaving, so she hurried to wash and dress, and then rolled her drawing up carefully.
Downstairs it was surprisingly quiet. She heard low, murmuring voices from the kitchen. Ruth was counting eggs and Hamish was still in just his shirt and trousers, drinking coffee. They both looked grim.
“It’s shameful,” Hamish said. “What was he thinking?”
“About himself, no doubt,” Ruth replied. “As he has been since he arrived in this country.”
Ellen’s heart lurched at the sharp words and she stepped into the kitchen. Sunlight fell in a dappled pattern on the wooden floor.
“Why are you talking about Da that way?” she demanded.
Hamish looked up, surprised and abashed, but Aunt Ruth simply pursed her lips, her eyes narrowed.
“You won’t talk that way to your elders, miss,” she said shortly, and Hamish muttered,
“Ah, give her a rest, Ruth. This once.”
Ellen ignored them both. Something awful was building inside her, worse even then when Da had told her he was going, a tidal rush of emotion that threatened to crash right over and sweep her away. “Where’s Da?”
There was a silence, tense and terrible, and then Ruth gave a slight shake of her head. “I’m sorry, Ellen. He took the morning train to Chicago without telling anyone. He’s gone.”
Ellen felt a rushing in her ears, as if a river were flowing right through her. She reached out to grab the back of one of the kitchen chairs, the smooth, solid wood comforting under her hands. It steadied her.
“What do you mean he’s gone?” she asked in a voice that she couldn’t quite keep from shaking. She knew what Ruth had meant; it was plain enough. Da had taken the morning train. He’d sneaked out of the house like a naughty child or a boy playing truant. He’d not bothered to tell Ellen. He’d not bothered to say goodbye at all. Still, she needed to hear it again.
Ruth just shook her head. “I’m sorry, child.” The harsh lines of her face had softened into pity. Ellen’s grip tightened on the chair.
“No.”
“Ellen...” It came out as half-warning, half-plea, but Ellen wasn’t even listening.
“He left a note. A letter.” She turned to Uncle Hamish who was starting to look uncomfortable. “Didn’t he?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart,” he said quietly. “That’s the truth. Maybe he slipped something under your bedroom door.”
Ellen’s face lit up at this possibility, and she clung to it with all she had. “He must have done that! I was so busy, I wouldn’t have even noticed—”
“Busy?” Ruth’s eyebrows rose in surprise and perhaps even suspicion. “I thought you were sleeping.”
Ellen did not reply for she’d already scurried from the room on bare feet, catching her dress around her knees as she took the stairs two at a time.
“Ellen Copley!” Ruth cried in exasperation. “Walk like a lady!”
Ellen pushed open her bedroom door and dropped to her knees. There was nothing. The floor was bare.
She looked under the bureau, the bed, the washstand, even her pillow just in case he’d come in while she was still sleeping, or even last night.
Nothing.
