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“You don’t honestly believe that, do you?” Hamish demanded. “There was a bit of custard on Louisa’s chin! I saw it myself. That girl was lying through her lemon-stained teeth, if
you ask me.”
“I’m not asking you,” Ruth replied. “And I don’t care who stuck her finger in the tart. Louisa was Ellen’s guest, and it was up to Ellen to keep her happy and entertained.” She shook her head, clearly exasperated, although with Ellen or him Hamish couldn’t tell. “She should have seen that Louisa would make a formidable enemy! That girl is spoiled within an inch of her life. I’d take a strap to her myself, but it isn’t up to me.”
Hamish was silent for a moment, the earlier shaft of guilt deepening into a painful twist of his gut. “No, it isn’t,” he said at last, “but Ellen’s wellbeing is. She’s not happy here, Ruth. Let’s send her back to Amherst Island. She loved it there, and the children seemed to get along so well, if Rose’s reports were true.”
Ruth stared at him, and for a second Hamish thought he glimpsed sorrow flash in his wife’s eyes, an emotion he rarely saw there. It made a strange, nameless yearning open up inside of him, and instinctively he reached one hand out to her. “Ruth...”
“You want her to go?” Ruth cut him off, her voice as crisp as ever. “For good?”
Hamish twisted his hands in his apron, suddenly uncertain. He knew he’d miss Ellen, and maybe Ruth would too. They’d both got used to her, somehow. Maybe she could learn to be happy here, he thought, even as he miserably acknowledged that he really didn’t think she could.
“Hamish?” Ruth prompted sharply.
He shook his head. “No, of course I don’t. I... I like having her here. But I want her to be happy, and I think you want that as well.”
“I’d rather she was God-fearing and obedient,” Ruth snapped. Her lips compressed into a thin line, and her gaze slid away from Hamish to rest on a distant, unseen horizon. “Rose wrote me, asking for Ellen this summer,” she said quietly, her shoulders slumping just a little. “The whole summer, and she’s only just returned.”
“You missed her,” Hamish said, almost in wonder, and Ruth stiffened.
“She’s been helpful, in her own way. And summer is a busy time. We could use her in the store.”
“We don’t need her labor,” Hamish protested. “Let her go.”
Ruth’s expression remained distant and shuttered. Hamish had no idea what she was thinking. “Next summer,” she said at last. “In a year, after she’s got her Year Eight Certificate. She’d be thinking of going to high school then anyway.”
“She wants to go to high school?”
“She said something about it. I doubt it will come to anything. I don’t know where the money will be found, and she hasn’t proven herself an able student in any case.”
“She did rise a grade,” Hamish objected, his voice mild. “And we have the money put by if it’s needed.” Ruth simply pressed her lips together, saying nothing. Hamish decided he’d pushed enough and he straightened, rubbing his hands together. “So she can go next summer then?” Ruth nodded. “I’ll tell her.” He felt a curious mixture of relief and disappointment. He didn’t really want Ellen to leave, yet he still wanted her to be happy. The two, he realized, seemed to be forever separate, and the stark realization, and what it meant about his and Ruth’s own failings, made him sad. “She’ll go next summer, for who knows how long.”
Ruth glanced at him sharply. “Not forever.”
“No,” Hamish agreed. “Not forever.”
That evening he knocked on Ellen’s bedroom door. When she bid him enter, he saw she was curled up by her window, a sheet of paper across her knees, her expression guarded.
“Uncle Hamish? Is everything all right?”
“Yes, of course, my dear.” He smiled awkwardly, realizing like nearly every other conversation with Ellen, he did not know how to handle this one. “May I sit down?”
“Of course.” Ellen put the paper aside, looking at him with a wary curiosity.
“Your aunt and I have been discussing your future.”
“My future?”
“You’re getting older, aren’t you? Fourteen in the autumn.”
“Yes...”
“Thinking about things, I’m sure. What’s next and such.” Ellen just nodded, still wary, and Hamish took a breath. “It seems to us you might do better back on Amherst Island.”
Ellen’s face was still, expressionless. Hamish wished he could tell what she was thinking. He’d expected his news to make her happy, or at least smile. She looked down at her lap. “Is it because of the falling out with Louisa?” she asked in a low voice.
“Partly,” Hamish admitted. “Not that I—we—think you’re to blame, Ellen, about that. It’s pretty clear to me what Louisa is like.”
