She felt like a ghost visiting a past life. None of it mattered any more

As the days passed Ellen found herself looking at Glasgow as a stranger would. She went to the art school, where she’d had so many lessons, and the house on Blythswood Square, where she’d held her exhibition, and felt as if it had all happened to someone else.

She visited Amy, who was married with two children, a cheerful matron who had grown just a little stout.

She also met with Fra Newbery, who offered her the position she’d been set to take up in 1914.

She walked by Henry’s house, recalling how she’d mounted the steps in Amy’s emerald gown, full of nerves and hope. She thought of when she’d heard the news of his death, outside the newspaper offices. She remembered his funeral, when she’d stood apart from his family, having been loved by him and yet not accepted by those who loved him.

She felt like a ghost visiting a past life. None of it mattered any more, or at least not nearly as much as it once did.

Happiness

“You’re not happy,” Ruby stated a month after Ellen had returned to Glasgow. Spring had arrived and the city was ablaze with blooms. “It’s not a question of happiness,” Ellen protested. “I don’t know where I belong, Ruby. Maybe nowhere.”

“We want you here,” Ruby insisted and Ellen smiled. “I know. You and Douglas have both been so understanding. This is about me.” She hesitated and then said, “I need to go back to Amherst Island.” “To go so far . . .” “I always said I’d go back,” Ellen said with a smile. “I promised Aunt Rose.” She blinked back tears. “I know it won’t be the same as it was. Dyle’s gone and Jed’s wounded and Peter...”

Her breath caught as she recalled Rose’s last letter, which had hinted Peter was struggling to return to normal life. “I need to go back,” she added firmly.

The next day she booked her passage to New York, and within a week she was sailing across the Atlantic, just as she had in 1904, when she was a girl of 12 with her dad by her side. Since then 15 years had passed.

Now, she stepped out on to the streets of Manhattan a free woman, the world spread before her.

She didn’t stay in New York, but took a train up to Seaton in order to visit her uncle Hamish before making her way to Amherst Island.

Hamish had retired from working some years ago, and now he lived in a set of small rooms above the drugstore where Ellen had first tasted soda pop.

He looked far older than Ellen remembered, but he smiled when she embraced him, and he slipped her a few mint humbugs, just as he’d done when she was 12. “Ellen, my girl. I didn’t know if I’d see you again.” “I’m glad to be back, Uncle Hamish.” Hamish popped a humbug into his mouth and sucked it vigorously. “Back for good, then?”

“I don’t know. I’m going up to Amherst Island and then I’ll see.” “You’ve done well for yourself back in Scotland.” Ellen shrugged. “I’ve been happy there. For the most part.” “It’s hard to get over war,” Hamish said sagely. “But you will, Ellen. In time.”

Ellen nodded. She had no external injuries, no scars or missing limbs, simply the emptiness of a life she no longer knew what to do with.

The next day she made her way to the house on Water Street where Louisa’s parents lived.

Scowling

She hesitated before knocking, for she didn’t know if Louisa was still in Seaton, or if her old friend would want to see her.

As it happened, she didn’t get a chance to knock. The door opened and Louisa’s mother stood there, scowling at Ellen. “If you’re looking for Louisa, she’s not here.” “Oh, is she back on the island?” Ellen stammered. “I only wanted to say hello, Mrs Hopper.”

“She’s not back on that island,” Mrs Hopper snapped. “She’s gone to New York to stay with some friends. After everything she’d been through, her father and I thought she deserved a rest.”

Mrs Hopper lifted her chin and glared at Ellen as if daring her to challenge that statement. “Of course,” Ellen replied. “If I’d known, perhaps I could have seen her in New York. But maybe I’ll see her back on Amherst –”

“She won’t be going back to that island of yours if I have any say about it,” Mrs Hopper cut across her. “After what that man put her through, making her scrub and clean like a common drudge! And if she’d had better care, she never would have lost...” Mrs Hopper stopped, choking back a sob, and then shook her head.

“I wish Louisa had never met you, and never visited that island of yours. None of this would have happened if it wasn’t for you, Ellen Copley.” With that, Mrs Hopper closed the door in Ellen’s face.

Ellen took the train to Ogdensburg and then walked to the ferry landing that would take her to the island. It was a warm spring day, a breeze rippling the waters of Lake Ontario as she waited for the little boat to make its way across the lake. Soon she saw it, a smudge on the horizon, and as it came closer she grinned, for she recognised the captain.

“Captain Jonah! I don’t know if you remember me?”

“Remember you?” Captain Jonah spat neatly into the water. “I remember every passenger who ever stepped foot on this boat! It’s Ellen Copley, back from Glasgow and France.”

“Yes.” Suddenly Ellen felt overwhelmed by emotion. Not sorrow, which she’d felt for far too long, but joy. A wild, inexpressible joy. “Yes, Captain Jonah, it’s me.”

Smiling

“Come aboard, then!” Captain Jonah exclaimed. “Sharpish now, missy. Night’s falling, you know, and it gets mighty cold when the sun sets.”

Twilight was indeed falling by the time they reached the island.

“Is someone coming for you?” Captain Jonah asked dubiously, for the little ferry office was shut up tight, and the island’s one main street was empty.

Ellen laughed softly, remembering how long ago she’d sat outside the ferry office, a shy, uncertain girl of 13 and waited for someone to fetch her. Jed Lyman had come, ungraciously at that, and taken her back to the McCaffertys’ farmhouse in his old wagon.

“No,” she told Captain Jonah now. “No one’s coming for me. But don’t worry, I know the way.” “If you’re sure.” “I’m sure,” Ellen said. Darkness had settled on the rolling fields of the island, and a whippoorwill called in the distance. Smiling, Ellen lifted her skirts and stepped off the boat. Then, with her head held high, she started walking home.

The End.

Our new serial, Crash Land, by Doug Johnstone begins tomorrow.

Artwork: Dave Young.