Allison tapped her foot impatiently as she leaned with folded arms against the parked Austin.
She and her younger brother had driven their great-grandmother into town for several errands; she did not mind so much waiting for her, but Nat had run off just as Lady Margaret was due to be finished. He had probably gone down to the harbor to pass the time with those fishermen whom he seemed to adore, would lose all track of time, and she would be forced to go all the way down there to fetch him.
As a child she had not really noticed. But now that she had grown into a refined young lady of seventeen, it became clearer to her worldly-wise eyes with each passing day that there was absolutely nothing in this provincial town to interest her. The main street of Port Strathy had not changed in fifty years, possibly even longer. The chandlery, Miss Sinclair’s Mercantile, the office next door—now occupied by Strathy’s first resident doctor—all were as staid and static in their appearance as ever.
The fish processing plant was the town’s newest addition, having been built not long before Allison’s birth. But it wasn’t much to boast about for one like Allison MacNeil. Nor was the “New Town” which had sprung up around it. The entire vicinity was permeated with the distasteful odor of fish, and if it had swelled the population of the town by some two hundred, they were of an even more undesirable breed than the fishers and farmers. The rows of company houses they occupied were in many cases as poor as the abandoned crofters’ cottages in the Highlands, and a rowdy district had grown up alongside them, with two new pubs where loud music and heavy-fisted brawls were not uncommon.
Allison looked about and sighed heavily. Still no sign either of her great-grandmother or Nat. But what was there at home for her to hurry back to? She doubted she’d ever be able to forgive her parents for taking her away from school; it had been her only touch with civilization. As much as everyone else in the family might enjoy the company of those dull fishers and ignorant crofters, she certainly had more respect for her own position than that. If her father was from that class, he was different. He had struggled to get an education, to better himself, to rise above the station of his birth.
And Allison intended to do the same. That is, she did not intend to be dragged back to those depths by remaining buried here in Port Strathy all her life. Let her mother prattle about the merits of the simple life; Allison wanted no part of it. What she wanted was the life her family’s position and standing entitled her to. She should be wearing silk and fine linen, not this outlandish checkered shirt with dungarees. But she had no reason to dress up;—she would never run into Charles—or even Eddie Bramford here.
She glanced up again, this time noticing a plain girl about her own age crossing the street. If I remain in Port Strathy much longer, she thought to herself, I will be certain to end up like Patty Doohan. Of course, Patty had no choice. She was a commoner, an orphan raised by an older sister who worked in the plant. Watching the girl approach, Allison could hardly believe they had been childhood friends. But there had been so few girls her age in the area, and Patty had seemed, at the time, the best of the lot. She could have been pretty, with her rich chestnut hair and large dark brown eyes. But she let her hair hang in a most unfashionable manner, and her eyes seemed to droop like the eyes of a sad, tired bassett hound. What they could have had in common back then, Allison couldn’t even imagine. Fortunately, she had now grown beyond such juvenile relationships. If Patty had no choice about her direction in life, Allison did, and she intended to make use of it.
Or did she? Allison sighed once more. Well, maybe not for the time being. But one day she would be able to make her own choices, and then she’d show everyone!
“Hi, Allison,” said Patty rather shyly as she came close. Perhaps she, too, was remembering the days not so long ago when they had played and laughed together.
“Hello, Patty,” replied Allison. “How are you?” she asked, as a matter of course, in a tone that implied that it did not matter.
“Jist fine.” She held out the basket she was holding. “Been shoppin’. Miss Sinclair’s got some real fine apples this week.”
“Oh, has she? I’ll have to tell the cook so she can purchase some for us.” Allison emphasized the word cook heavily. She wouldn’t want Patty to think she did the shopping herself.
“I thought ye was away at that boardin’ school.”
“Oh, I was, but I’m rather old for school now.” As she spoke Allison was not the least aware of the upward tilt of her nose. “I’m just biding my time here before I go to London for the season.”
“Oh,” said Patty flatly. Then as if an afterthought, she added, “How nice.”
What an awkward conversation, thought Allison. If only I had some excuse not to just stay here, or if Patty would be on her way.
An uncomfortable moment or two of silence followed. At length Patty said goodbye, and turned to go.
“It was good t’ see ye, Allison,” she called back with a smile.
Allison forced a smile in return, but no words of farewell would come. She had not particularly enjoyed seeing her old friend, for more reasons than she could even name or understand.
Not many minutes after Patty’s retreating figure had disappeared in one direction, Nat appeared ambling casually toward her down the street in the other. He was munching an apple and seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the first fine spring day since the storm the night of the celebration when the schooner had gone down.
“Well, it’s about time!” Allison snapped when he was within earshot. “You’re lucky I didn’t have to come fetch you.”
“What’s your rush? Grandma’s not back yet.”
“She’ll be along,” replied Allison defensively. “I just didn’t want her to have to wait on you.”
Nat grinned good-naturedly, but before his sister could retort with another caustic remark, she saw her great-grandmother emerging from the mercantile carrying a small parcel. Nat hurried to her side, relieving her of the package, took her arm, and led her across the street to the car.
For all her frail appearance, the old woman walked with a sure, steady gait, hardly requiring the assistance of her young great-grandson. But she patted the boy’s hand and smiled her thanks to him.
“Well, children,” said Lady Margaret rather breathlessly, “I think I’ve finished with everything. I do appreciate your carting me about.”
“Glad to do it, Grandma,” replied Nat, while inside Allison wondered what he meant by the words. It was she, not Nat, who was doing the carting.
“Your great-grandfather thinks I should take up driving one of these,” she said, tilting her head to indicate the auto. “But,” she chuckled gaily, “I’d sooner take to horseback riding again.”
The younger folk laughed with her. Whether she could have mounted one of the spritely coursers in their stables was a question their father, Alec, would not allow to be answered. But both of them had heard many times of the three wonderful mares, Cinder, Raven, and Maukin, which Lady Margaret and Grandpa Dorey had ridden all over this very countryside in their youths.
Nat proceeded to help his great-grandmother into the front seat of the car. He then walked around in order to climb in behind the wheel, leaving the rear seat for Allison. But she put out her hand to prevent him from opening the door.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Allison inquired pointedly.
“Aw, come on, Ali,” pleaded Nat. “I can do it.”
“That may be. But you can practice with Daddy, not with me.”
“Aw, Ali!”
“The car is my responsibility, and I won’t leave it in the hands of a child. And don’t call me Ali!”
Brushing past him, Allison climbed into the driver’s seat, and Nat into the back. She turned the key in the ignition, but the engine only turned over limply, then made not another sound. The Austin seemed to have no intention of moving from the spot where it sat. Again Allison tried to coax it to life, this time pumping furiously on the accelerator. Still there was no response. Slapping at the steering wheel, she opened the door and climbed out, with Nat on her heels. Wrenching up the bonnet of the car, she stared at the jumble inside. Nat elbowed her aside, and she had no choice but to defer to him. He had, after all, learned something about the workings of engines from Mr. Innes before his death.
Nat reached in and began tapping and wriggling various parts that he considered the most likely offenders.
“Here, hold this back,” he said, indicating a greasy hose.
Allison wrinkled her nose distastefully, then plunged her hand into the grimy mess. In a moment Nat seemed satisfied with his work.
“Go around and try it again,” he said.
She laid the hose down according to her brother’s instruction, then brushed her hair from her eyes, smudging her nose as she did so, and climbed in once more behind the wheel.
But despite Nat’s efforts, nothing happened. She rejoined Nat, who had procured several tools from the boot and was about to take a wrench to what he thought might be a loose connection.
“Mr. Innes would know what to do,” he said, almost to himself and with a hint of sadness in his voice.
For the first time of the afternoon, Allison’s expression softened. Each of the MacNeil children, in their own way, had been attached to the kind old factor, and Allison knew what her brother must be feeling to miss him at such a moment. They exchanged a rare, momentary, tender look.
But just as quickly Allison’s expression resumed its look of superiority, and she barked out rather gruffly, “Maybe you’ve hit something this time . . . I’ll try again.”
But the Austin continued to make the same obstinate protestations. And since automobiles were few in Port Strathy, and the nearest automobile mechanic more than twenty miles away in Fraserburg, the options before the three stranded travelers looked to be rather limited.
Allison jumped out of the car a third time, angry by now, looked around helplessly, and gave the tire a futile, surly kick.