So why was she so determined to leave? Was she running away from heartbreak and the pain...?

On Renfrew Street, Day Four

The morning after Jed and Louisa’s wedding, over breakfast, Ellen told the McCaffertys her plans. Rose stared at her for a moment, porridge dripping from the wooden spoon she held aloft, before she hurriedly returned it to the pot and pulled Ellen into a tight embrace. “All the way to Glasgow! Oh, Ellen, we’ll miss you so, but how exciting!” She stepped back, her eyes sparkling with tears.

“Oh, Aunt Rose –”

Rose sniffed quickly and shook her head. “Never mind me. I’m always quick to cry, as Dyle will tell you. You’ll come back, won’t you? At the end of the course, at least?”

“Of course,” Ellen promised Rose, just as she’d promised Lucas.

“When do you leave?” Rose asked, all determined briskness. She dolloped far too much porridge in Ellen’s bowl, her hand trembling.

“In a fortnight. I’m going to travel down to New York and take the SS Furnessia to Glasgow.”

“Goodness.” Rose’s gaze widened. “I can’t imagine. You’ve had such adventures, Ellen. First New Mexico and now across the ocean.”

Ellen nodded. She was, in a nervous sort of way, looking forward to the ship passage. Seven years ago she’d arrived on a steamer with her father, travelling third class, a twelve-year-old waif with tangled hair.

Now she was stepping up to second class to travel as a young lady of some means, with a future more certain than she and Da had had when they’d sailed into New York’s harbour. She was coming full circle.

New York

Later, when Ellen was alone in her room, Rose came to find her, several aprons neatly ironed and folded in her arms.

“I don’t suppose you’ll need these in Glasgow,” she said wryly as she placed them on top of the bureau.

“I might,” Ellen answered. “I’ll be trying my hand at pottery and painting as well as drawing. I think most of the students wear smocks.”

“Do they?” Rose perched on the edge of the bed. “You ought to buy yourself some new dresses, at any rate. Or I could make some up for you. You should have some nice things to start.”

“I might go shopping in New York before I leave,” Ellen said, and then gave a little self-conscious laugh.

“I don’t like to think of you in New York all by yourself,” Rose admitted. “Perhaps Dyle should take you. You could go on the train...”

“Uncle Dyle can’t be away from the farm, and if I’m going to travel across the Atlantic, I’ll be all right in New York. I’ve found a place to stay – a respectable boarding house for ladies in Gramercy Park.” Rose shook her head.

“I know I’m fussing, but I can’t help it. You’re like a daughter to me, Ellen.”

Ellen blinked hard and swallowed past the sudden thickness in her throat.

“And you’ve been as a mam to me, Aunt Rose.” Rose smiled, and Ellen could see her aunt had more to say.

“Ellen...” she began. “I want to be sure that this is what you want. There’s a difference between running to something and running away.”

It took a few seconds for her aunt’s meaning to be clear, and when it did Ellen felt her cheeks burn. She knew that Rose had guessed of her feelings for Jed.

“Any journey is a bit of both,” she said, unable to look her aunt in the eye. “I’m excited about this opportunity, Aunt Rose. This is the right decision.”

Yet as Rose left her room, Ellen wondered just how sure she actually was. Ever since she was a small child she’d wanted a home of her own, a place that would welcome her and never change. Yet her life, she acknowledged wryly, had been one of constant tumult: first moving from Springburn to Vermont, and then having Aunt Ruth send her to Amherst Island. She knew Rose and Dyle would always consider their farm her home; she’d have a place here as long as she wished.

So why was she so determined to leave? Was she running away from heartbreak and the pain of seeing Jed and Louisa day in and day out?

She hadn’t spoken to them since the wedding; she’d only seen Jed across the barnyard when he and Louisa had been about to drive off from the Lymans’.

Their gazes had met and for a second Ellen had felt as if the heavy thud of her heart was weighing her down. She thought she saw a storm of emotions in Jed’s normally shuttered gaze, but then Louisa spoke to him and he turned away, and they left without Ellen having said goodbye.

“I’m not running away,” she said aloud, her voice both small and fierce in the emptiness of her own room.

Joy and tears

The day before she was to leave for New York the McCaffertys had a going-away party for Ellen. It was a small affair, with just the McCaffertys and the Lymans and a few other close friends all crowded into the parlour. Ellen received the little sending-off gifts with both joy and tears. There were handkerchiefs embroidered with violets from Rose, a new sketchbook with fresh, crisp paper from Lucas, and a set of scented soaps bought in Toronto from Louisa and Jed. Ellen looked around at her dearest friends and family, and felt her heart swell with love and a strange, sweet sorrow.

Her gaze moved around the room, resting on each person, yet carefully avoiding Jed.

He and Louisa had returned from Toronto last week and she hadn’t spoken to him yet, although Louisa had stopped by the farmhouse to regale the McCaffertys with the luxurious details of her honeymoon. It was late by the time the party broke up, a harvest moon huge and orange in the darkened sky. Ellen had just taken a tray of tea things back to the kitchen when she heard footsteps behind her. “Ellen.”

She whirled around and saw Jed in the doorway. “Hello, Jed.” Her voice, thankfully, sounded normal. “Thank you for the soaps. They’re lovely.”

“Louisa picked them out.” Jed ducked his head. “I don’t know anything about things like that.”

“I suppose not,” Ellen said with a smile. She took a deep breath and busied herself with the mindless task of clearing up. “From the sounds of it, you had quite the time in Toronto!”

“It was all right,” Jed allowed.

She met his gaze then, and wished she hadn’t. His grey eyes were so familiar, that crooked smile so beloved. She had no business thinking that way. Jed cleared his throat.

“I just wanted to say goodbye. You’ll do great things at that art school, Ellen, I’m sure of it.”

Ellen blinked, dangerously near tears for the second time that night.

“Thank you, Jed,” she said, and then, not trusting herself to say anything else, she walked quickly past him back into the parlour.

More tomorrow.

On Renfrew Street was previously a serial in The People’s Friend. For more great fiction, get The People’s Friend every week, £1.30 from newsagents and supermarkets.

Artwork: Dave Young