Another Country (17 page)

Betty shook her head again, as
petulantly as a child. “He needs me. I must be the first thing he
sees.”

“As you wish, Mother, of course.” Harriet paused.
“But you’ll do him no good, wasting away like this, with not a bite
to eat. For his sake, Mother, you must keep up your strength.”

Betty nibbled a bit of toast before dropping it
dispiritedly onto the plate. Harriet bit her lip, clinging to her
patience. “At least let us take turns,” she said. “I can sit in
here with Anna, Allan can take a turn in the evening...”

“No, it’s my duty.” Betty straightened her slumped
shoulders. “My burden.”

“But it can’t be good for anyone,” Harriet
persisted, only to stop at the sight of tears trickling down
Betty’s withered cheeks.

“This is all I have left,” she whispered. She turned
to gaze blindly out the window. “I know it’s not likely he’ll
recover, Harriet. At least not completely. He’ll never be the man
he was. I realize that.”

“We can never know what God has in store for us,”
Harriet protested, even though she recognized the truth of Betty’s
words.

“This is all I have now,” Betty repeated. “Please
don’t take it from me.” The tea tray forgotten, Betty kept staring
out the window, her back to Harriet.

Silently Harriet rose and returned
to the kitchen fire. She felt helpless and hopeless in the face of
Betty’s sorrow.
What about us?
she wanted to ask.
You
could come and join the living. You have us.

She saw Allan and George, both looking tired and
muddy, come in from the fields and she took a steadying breath. At
this moment, Harriet knew she could not indulge in the self-pity
that Betty wallowed in. Right now, she felt like she was the only
thing keeping this family from plunging into complete despair.

“Do you like it?” Margaret asked as she stood in the
center of the room, circling slowly.

Rupert glanced at the sunlight bouncing off the bare
walls, catching the dust motes in the air. “It’s perfect.”

“It needs a good deal of work,” Margaret continued,
“but nothing a bit of soap and water can’t cure. And the location
is perfect, or so Henry assures me.”

“Near the docks, you mean? But not too near?”

Margaret nodded. The building was the fifth she and
Henry had looked at in the North End, and she was finally
satisfied. Even better, so was Henry, with his wife’s safety in
such an unsavory location.

“More and more immigrants are pouring into this city
ever day,” Margaret said. “We must get this school started.” She
glanced out one grimy window, her expression slightly troubled.

“And not all of them will be treated as you plan
to,” Rupert said quietly. “I’ve only been here a short while, and
I’ve already heard grumblings against the immigrants.”

“I’m sure you’ve seen the ‘No Irish’ signs in shop
windows,” Margaret said, her eyes flashing. “People are scared of
strange accents. They refuse to accept what they can’t
understand.”

“It doesn’t help that these poor people come off the
ships dirty, coughing, and crawling with lice,” Rupert added
dryly.

“That’s hardly their fault!”

“Don’t you think I know that? We were the lucky
ones.” He paused. “I’m proud of you, Margaret, starting this
school. I suspect it will be a great boon to this city, as well as
to your own life.”

“What do you mean by that?” Margaret turned, her
profile haloed by the late afternoon sunlight.

Rupert smiled softly, understanding in his eyes.
“Only what I said. You’ve always had causes, Maggie, even when we
were children. You wanted lessons more than I did, you were furious
when my tutor refused to teach you--’

“I remember it well,” Margaret said tartly. “At
least here girls and boys will be educated alike.”

“If they come.”

Doubt shadowed Margaret’s eyes briefly. “You don’t
think they will?”

Rupert shrugged. “It’s hard to say.”

“Eleanor and I are going to put leaflets around,”
Margaret said. “Advertise. She’s quite as dedicated as I am.”

“I believe it.” There was a pause,
and Rupert saw the question about to be asked in his sister’s eyes,
for he continued hastily, “People are proud, though. Remember what
Allan told us? Father wasn’t willing to accept help when he first
arrived on island, he’d have rather kept himself apart, starving
and homeless, than accept another’s hand. I imagine many people are
the same. They come to this new world to prove themselves, not take
handouts.”

“Perhaps,” Margaret agreed softly, “perhaps, for the
fathers. But mothers are different. Mothers will do anything for
their children.” She was silent, her eyes dark with remembered
pain, and Rupert gently touched her arm.

“Maggie?”

“It’s silly, really.” Margaret forced a smile. “To
be sad, even now. Henry and I have been married nearly ten
years--since I was seventeen--and there have been no children. I
haven’t quickened, not once, not even to lose it. By now I should
accept the truth.”

Rupert was silent, his gaze steady, and Margaret
turned away with a little laugh. “I suppose I’m embarrassing you
with such womanly talk!”

“Not at all. I’m a farmer first, remember.” He
paused. “Perhaps this school will ease that need.”

“That’s what Henry hopes. I was brooding, you know.
We’d--we’d set up a nursery early on, when we thought there’d be
children. Henry wanted a whole houseful. I’d go up there sometimes,
sit in the rocking chair, just to think. I know it sounds horribly
maudlin, but I felt as if I could imagine myself a mother better
there, and perhaps if I could, it would truly happen...” she
trailed off, blinking back tears.

“It still could, you know. You’re young yet,
Margaret.”

“Rupert, ten years is a long time.” Margaret sighed
and dusted her hands on her apron. “No, it’s time I accepted the
truth, that there won’t be any children. This school is my nursling
now, the pupils my children. That’s the way it has to be.”

There was a steely glint of determination in her
eyes that Rupert recognized from childhood. He nodded, willing to
let the matter drop. It was not his concern, even if his heart
ached for his sister. He knew about impossible dreams.

“I can help shift the bits of
furniture,” he said as he glanced around the room, “but surely you
aren’t going to do the cleaning by yourself? The walls need to be
white washed, and the floors...”

“Oh, no, I shan’t,” Margaret smiled, her expression
almost arch. “Eleanor is going to help me. I’m determined to have
her teach with me, you know. She needs something to keep her
busy.”

“I daresay.” Rupert turned away, his expression
carefully neutral, but Margaret only chuckled knowingly.

“Don’t you have an opinion about Eleanor?”

“Should I? I suppose she’s old enough to shift for
herself.”

“Of course she is.” Margaret was dismissive. “She’s
been a widow for a year!”

“Then why should I have an opinion?” Rupert asked,
but Margaret only laughed again.

“Oh, Rupert, I see how you watch her. Why, you
couldn’t keep your eyes off her when you dined with us! And at the
party the other evening...”

“Margaret...” He spoke warningly.

“I saw the two of you disappear onto the terrace,”
Margaret continued, deliberately ignoring him. “Quite improper, you
know. And you left separately, with Eleanor put to the blush. What
did happen, by the way? I haven’t been to ask her yet, but I’m
dying of curiosity.”

“It is none of your concern!” Rupert was torn
between amusement and irritation at his sister’s
perceptiveness.

“It would be good for Eleanor to have someone to
love,” Margaret said thoughtfully. “I don’t think she had much of a
marriage with that soldier, he was off in India half the time.
She’d always lived in other people’s--”

“Stop.” Rupert held up one hand, speaking firmly.
“It’s not for you to tell me of Eleanor’s marriage.”

Margaret’s eyes flashed. “I wasn’t gossiping.”

“I didn’t say you were. But if Eleanor wants me to
know about her marriage, she can inform me herself.”

Margaret’s ire was replaced with a little smile.
“You are smitten, aren’t you?”

Rupert grinned, although he couldn’t have identified
the surge of feelings he had when he thought of Eleanor, her her
timidity, her sudden spirit, and her sweetness. “Don’t jump to
conclusions. We barely know each other.”

“You grew up together!”

“Margaret, it’s been ten years. Much has passed, for
Eleanor, and for me.”

“Very well, then.” Margaret smiled knowingly. “I’m
content to wait... and watch.”

Rupert chuckled, shaking his head. “As you wish, but
I’ll thank you kindly to stay out of our business.”

“You have business together?” Margaret inquired with
raised eyebrows.

Rupert threw up his hands in
exasperation. “
Margaret
!”

Eleanor stood in front of the Moores’ residence on
Beacon Hill, her hands tightly gripping her reticule. Only that
morning she’d had a note from Isobel Moore, inviting her to take
tea.

She was glad for the invitation, although there had
been a slight hesitation to her acceptance. Her few meetings with
Isobel Moore had been far from friendly. In point of fact, the
other girl had been haughty and even a touch cold. Eleanor sighed,
inwardly steeling herself. If she wanted to make a life for
herself, she had to start by making friends. This was as good a
place as any.

A parlor maid ushered her into the drawing room,
which was empty, although a piece of embroidery lay next to a
small, silk-covered chair. Eleanor stood in the centre of the room,
admiring its elegant proportions and yet feeling entirely out of
place.

“Eleanor! I’m delighted you could join me.” Isobel
came into the room with a whisper of her taffeta skirts. Eleanor
turned, admiring the austere beauty of the younger girl. Her hair,
a deep blue-black, was swept up from a pale, striking, face.

She was smiling, hands outstretched, and clumsily
Eleanor went to meet her. “Miss Moore,” she murmured as Isobel
gently clasped her hands, “thank you for your kind invitation.”

“Oh, but won’t you call me Isobel?” Isobel released
her hands and moved to a chair, gesturing for Eleanor to take the
seat opposite. “I do hope we become friends--good
friends--considering.”

“Considering?” Eleanor asked as she perched on the
chair, hands in her lap.

Isobel raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Has Ian not
told you? He is one for secrets, isn’t he?”

“Told me...” Eleanor had a feeling she should tread
carefully here. Isobel was smiling, but there was a high color in
her cheeks, and her hands were bunched in her skirt. “To be candid,
we haven’t had much time to talk about one another’s affairs. He is
so busy at the hospital, and I...” Eleanor broke off, wondering
just what she could say had kept her occupied. “I’m starting a new
school for immigrants, has Henry told you about it? His wife,
Margaret, is behind it, and she’s asked me to help her.” Even if
they hadn’t really started yet, that counted for something.

“A worthy cause, I’m sure. It’s a pity Margaret
hasn’t any children of her own.”

Eleanor felt rather than heard the criticism in the
words, and she bristled. “If she did, she would not have the time
to devote to the school, so badly needed and such a worthy cause as
you said.”

“Indeed.” Isobel was silenced for a moment by the
arrival of the tea tray. She dismissed the maid and poured for them
both, handing Eleanor a cup of delicate porcelain. “Of course I
admire her. I speak only for myself in wishing a nursery full of
children when Ian and I are wed.”

Eleanor jerked in surprise,
slopping tea onto the saucer. She set her cup down on the table. “I
had no idea things had advanced so far. May I offer you my
congratulations?” Her mind was racing. Had Ian actually offered for
this girl, and not a word to anyone? She thought of how he had
danced with Caroline only a few nights before, and wondered if
there were more to this story. Her brother, she knew
unquestioningly, was a man of honor.

“Congratulations might be premature, if only
slightly,” Isobel replied, her smile firmly in place. “He hasn’t
spoken to my father yet, but I’ve no doubt.” She lifted her chin.
“Ian has been by my side since he came to this country, Eleanor.
He’ll not leave it.”

As if sensing the implied threat of these words,
Isobel continued, “he loves me, of that you can be sure. When we
marry, we plan to set up house here on the Hill. Papa has it all
arranged. He’s going to buy a townhouse on the next street for our
wedding present.” Isobel bit her lip, at once looking as guilty as
a child caught with a forbidden sweet. “Only you mustn’t tell Ian,
it’s meant to be a surprise.”

Eleanor could only nod, unable to form a reply. She
wondered how Ian would take to being given a stately home, when he
was working so hard to regain his own lost property.

“He
will
marry me,” Isobel said in almost
a whisper, and her eyes shone with tears before she quickly blinked
them back.

Eleanor was moved to sympathy in spite of herself.
“I have no doubt he holds you in the highest regard.”

“He’s spoken to you of me?” Isobel asked eagerly,
and Eleanor almost winced.

“As I said, we’ve had so little time to talk
properly,” she began, only to see Isobel’s face fall. “But he has
mentioned you with affection, to be sure.”

Like a sister, perhaps, but that could grow into
something more, Eleanor thought. Who was she to say? Her love for
John McCardell had been that kind of affection. If he hadn’t died,
who knew what love might have blossomed.