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When the sketches became more personal—Hamish laughing, Elmira Cardle pursing her lips fussily, she smiled.
“You’ve got a good eye,” she said once, at the sketch of Elmira, and then turned the page.
At the back of the first book, one Ellen had filled a long time ago, there was a folded sketch. Ellen had almost forgotten about it.
Ruth unfolded it, and they both stared at the picture of Da. He was laughing, happy—the picture she’d meant to give him as a goodbye present, but he’d never allowed her the chance.
“I—I’d forgotten that was there,” Ellen said after a moment. “I haven’t looked at it in years.”
“It’s a good likeness,” Ruth said in a raspy voice. “I can tell how much you love him. And even though he never saw that picture, I think he knew. ” She closed the book and leaned back against the pillows. “Thank you for showing me.”
“I’m glad you wanted to see them,” Ellen admitted, and Ruth gave her a ghost of a smile.
“Did you think I wouldn’t want to?” Ellen was at a loss for an answer, and Ruth shook her head. “Of course you wouldn’t. I know I’ve been hard with you, Ellen, and it wasn’t always fair. But I knew I had to be, for my sake as well as yours. I’ve never been a mother, the Good Lord didn’t see fit to make me one, and I accepted that over the years, as did Hamish.” She took a deep breath which rattled through her chest like air through an empty cage. “But I still had something of a mother’s love in me, I suppose, because I knew I could feel that with you. And I knew I was the last kind of mother you needed, and this life here with us in the store, in Seaton, I saw what it was doing to you. Taking your pride, your joy, what little you had back then. I always knew you’d do better in Stella... with Rose.”
Ellen shook her head, amazed and saddened by this confession. “I could’ve been happy with you,” she whispered.
“Perhaps,” Ruth allowed after a moment. Her voice was harsh and ragged with the effort of speaking. “Perhaps I’ve just been selfish. I was afraid of showing I loved you, because I knew you could never love me back—not the way a mother loves her daughter. You had that for your own mother, and Lord knows I’m not very lovable. Oh, Hamish loves me, I know he does. Thank heaven for that. He’ll need you, Ellen, when I’m gone. Just for a little while. Don’t tie yourself to him, not for my sake, or his...” she shook her head, her voice trailing off, and Ellen clasped her hand.
“Oh, Aunt Ruth,” she choked, “I do love you.”
Ruth’s eyes brightened. “Well, that’s something to take with me.” She was silent, struggling for the strength to go on. Ellen held her hand as tightly as she dared, willing her fingers to somehow show Ruth what her actions and words never had.
She did love her, and, she knew now Ruth had always loved her. It was both strange and wonderful, a joy and a sorrow to think of it, to know it, to feel its truth in her bones, in her heart. A gasp broke from her and she could not keep from saying, “I wish we’d talked like this all those years ago.”
Ruth smiled weakly. “Everything in its time. We weren’t ready then, I suppose.” She drew in another rattling breath. “God’s been good to me, Ellen. He gave me you, after all.”
Ellen pressed her lips together and willed herself not to cry. It reminded her of what her mam had said, and part of her wanted to protest that God hadn’t given her aunt very much. She hadn’t been back to Seaton for years, after all—yet that was not God’s choice, but her own.
“I know you have your difficulties with God,” Ruth continued. “And in this troubled world, who hasn't?” Ellen started a bit, surprised by her aunt’s perception, and Ruth gave her a glimmer of one of her old, shrewd looks. “You couldn’t not do, what with your father leaving the way he did. And the Lord knows I’ve spent enough time thinking about what I didn’t have, rathe
r than what I did.” She paused, taking in another rattling breath. “I’d always wanted children. I spent a good deal of time being angry that I didn’t get them.”
“Oh, Aunt Ruth—”
“But don’t be like that, Ellen. I can tell you now, with death so close, I want to feel only peace and happiness. And I do feel it, here with you now, and with Hamish.” She drew another deep, tearing breath. “Don’t waste your life being angry with God for what He didn’t give you, in His wisdom. Celebrate what He did.” Her throat still tight, Ellen just nodded. “You’ll do that for me, won’t you, Ellen?”
“I’ll try, Aunt Ruth.”
“And what about your da?” Ruth weakly motioned to the folded sketch with one hand. “You need to see him. He’s your family, Ellen. Always will be. Don’t be angry with him either, though God knows he may deserve it. It won’t do anyone any good, child, to stay angry with your own father.”
Ellen sniffed and brushed at her eyes. “I’ve written him a time or two. But I don’t know him anymore, Aunt Ruth. I haven’t for a long time. I’m not even sure where he is.”
“You always know your family,” Ruth said. She closed her eyes, her voice little more than a whisper. “I did.” Her fingers faintly squeezed Ellen’s before she fell asleep once more.
Ruth died three days later. Standing at her freshly dug grave Ellen thought of her aunt’s sternness as well as her love. She remembered her last words, and she knew that the best way to honor Ruth’s memory, and to show her she loved her, would be to live them.
She’d spent too long wanting things to be different or better or more rather than accepting simply what was, and being thankful for the gifts she’d been given.
For Ruth’s sake, and her own, she was going to live her life differently now. Ellen turned away from the grave and slipped her arm through Hamish’s, a new resolve firing through her even as she grieved for the aunt she wished she’d known better.
At least half of Seaton stopped by with condolences and casseroles, until a fortnight after the funeral Ellen stood in the kitchen, surveying the stocked larder with a weary satisfaction. Hamish would be well provided for when she left.
Her uncle had held up admirably. It was, Ellen thought, as if he’d grieved already, and now knew he must soldier on. The store helped too, and she was glad he was, at least for the moment, kept busy.
The screen door slapped open and closed, and Ellen heard Hamish’s familiar, shuffling tread.
“There’s a letter for you. From New Mexico.” He stood in the kitchen doorway, a bit paler and thinner, but Ellen was glad to see that his eyes still twinkled, if only a little bit.
