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“Not tears, just the thing itself. Saying goodbye. As I recall, when we left for America, he said goodbye as if it were any other day, and went off to work, whistling.”
“I suppose I know what you mean.” Now that she thought about it, Da had never liked any emotion. Even when Mam had been at her worst, she’d always smiled bravely and Da would look faintly relieved.
“Where’s he gone, exactly?” Ellen asked after a moment. She recalled the brochure with the desert scene on its front, but she hadn’t read it properly.
“Out to New Mexico. New land is opening up there, for cattle farmers and the like. There’s plenty of land, but it looks a hard place to me. Dry and hot as—well, you know. Hot.” He smiled, abashed, and Ellen frowned.
“It must be quite far, then.”
“Couple thousand miles. Your da will take the train till it stops, I expect, and then he’ll start laying the rails. Eventually they want a rail line all the way from Santa Fe to the border of Mexico.”
“He doesn’t lay rails,” Ellen said quietly. “He repairs engines.”
“I’m sure he’ll put his hand to that as well,” Hamish said a bit too heartily, and Ellen fixed him with a determined stare.
“Will he come back, Uncle Hamish? Do you think he will? Tell me the truth.”
Uncle Hamish rubbed his chin uneasily. His gaze didn't quite meet hers, and Ellen knew what that meant. “Ah, Ellen, what a question! Of course he’ll come back. It’s hard for a man to come to this country, you know. He’s got to find his place. It was Ruth who thought of fixing up a store, and I was lucky enough to like it. But your da needs to find his place, and it wasn’t here. Even I could see that.”
“Then where is it?” Ellen asked quietly, even though she knew by now that her Uncle Hamish couldn’t tell her. “I don’t suppose they have schools and places for children along the rail lines.”
Uncle Hamish looked horrified for a moment before he managed a weak chuckle. “No, indeed. But there’s a school here, a new one, built of brick only a few years ago, and you’ll do just fine there.”
Ellen knew she’d asked too much of her uncle, and with a small smile she set about dusting the long rows of shelves. Even though her heart still felt like a stone within her, the thought of school cheered her a little, although there were a few nerves jangling around inside of her when she thought of all the other children she didn’t know, children who seemed so different from her, girls like the ones at the social who had giggled at her from behind their hands.
She’d seen Hope at church and occasionally in the store, but their friendship hadn’t gone beyond that. Her mother seemed to keep a stern eye on her, and as far as Ellen could tell was not keen for the girls to develop the friendship. Perhaps her accent was too thick or her hair too unruly.
“Chin up, Ellen,” Hamish called to her as she halfheartedly dusted a shelf full of Mrs. Alston’s Rheumatic Bitters. “I see Elmer Pyles’ wagon outside and I’ll need you to take those chickens to our coop!”
The first day of school was one of those clear, crisp September days where it felt as if nothing could possibly go wrong. Ellen tried to keep hold of that shiny feeling as she slid out of bed, her feet falling into a puddle of sunshine. Aunt Ruth had laid out one of her new navy dresses and had even put extra starch in the collar.
Ellen dressed, brushing her hair till it lay flat and then tied it back neatly with a new white silk hair ribbon Uncle Hamish had given her last night, along with two new pencils and a composition book.
“In my day, we had slates,” he told her ruefully, “but it’s all paper now.”
Ellen rifled through the stiff pages and smiled, the ache that had been in her heart since her father had left easing for a moment. “Thank you, Uncle Hamish.”
Downstairs Aunt Ruth had prepared pancakes with syrup bartered from one of the farmers, a golden pat of butter swimming in the middle.
“We don’t have pancakes every morning, mind,” she said severely, but an awkward smile cracked her stern features, and surprised, Ellen grinned back.
She felt, if not happy, then almost content. Hopeful too, even if she was more than a little nervous of what lay ahead. But it was better than feeling sad.
The Seaton Central School was a four room brick-fronted building on Maple Street, a short walk from the General Store. A few years ago, it had been a one-room schoolhouse like the dozen others scattered around Seaton, serving the local farm children.
As Seaton grew, Uncle Hamish had told her, the one-room schoolhouses closed, and the children were driven in, or more likely walked, to the Central School. Recently Vermont had passed a law requiring children between the ages of eight and fourteen to attend school, but Uncle Hamish had told Ellen that everyone looked the other way during harvest time.
When Ellen arrived at school, children had already started forming lines to be let in to the imposing building. The schoolyard was nothing more than packed-down dirt with grassy patches and a flag pole, but to Ellen it conveyed the impression of importance all the same.
Ellen looked at the different lines of children, and saw that they were separated by age. Quickly she hurried into the line for oldest children, behind a prim-looking girl with two beribboned plaits.
“Ouch!” Ellen grabbed her head, turning around in surprise. A gap-toothed boy grinned at her, her hair ribbon in his hand.
“Got you. You’re the Scotch, aren’t you? Seen you at the store.”
“Yes, I am.” She held her hand out with stiff dignity. “Please give me back my ribbon.”
“How’re you gonna make me?” the boy taunted, holding it above his head.
