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all-the-things-2020 · 1 year ago

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Year of Fandom Crossovers: April/May

Title: “Kindred Spirits”

Pedro Character: Joel Miller

Fandom Crossover: Anne of Green Gables

Warnings: mentions of death of loved ones, mild peril

Notes: Ellie is an orphan; Anne Shirley is an orphan. Joel is a reluctant guardian; Marilla Cuthbert is a reluctant guardian. I incorporated a few plots/character notes from TLOU.

Word count: 11,000+

@yearofcreation2023

Ellie Williams was an orphan. She had been told this every day of her fourteen years. It was justification for every bit of mistreatment she’d been subjected to, for every day of work that had been demanded of her. She was an orphan and should be grateful for any scrap of kindness shown to her. And now she was walking behind Marlena, the impatient house mistress of the orphanage, as they made their way from the train station into the farmland outside the village of Meadowlea.

“Is it much farther?”

Marlena kept walking, not slowing her brisk pace by one iota. “How should I know? I’ve never been here before in my life. And could have kept it that way if not for you, young miss.”

Marlena had been orphaned at age twelve, and gone to live at the orphanage herself. At the age of sixteen, she had transitioned from inmate to maid servant and now, as she approached a grim middle age, was the undisputed power over every girl in the building. Normally, she left such small tasks as delivering orphans to her underlings, but this was a special case.

Ellie kept her lips firmly pressed together, to prevent another question from slipping out of them. She knew she talked too much, too often, and too hastily, but she was just so curious about the world, and how was she to learn everything there was to know if she didn’t ask questions? One of the largest looming in her mind was one that she knew Marlena would not answer: Why was she in Meadowlea and not on a train to the prairie provinces like the other children?

Soon the road climbed a low hill and before them was a view that took Ellie’s breath away. A neat white farmhouse with a gray roof stood in the middle distance. In the foreground, a field of wildflowers gone to seed and in the background, the ocean. She had always longed to live within sight and sound and smell of the sea.

“Oh, Marlena, is this the Miller farm? It’s simply beautiful.”

Marlena sniffed. “I suppose it is. The farm, I mean. It’s no more beautiful than any other humble building in this village.” She had lived in a fine house in the city when she was a child, everyone said, and the orphanage had been a great comedown for her. But it was all Ellie had ever known, and the farm before her was a paradise compared to the dingy walls and paving stones that surrounded her at the orphanage.

They walked down the hill and through a charming white picket gate, then up a carefully tended path of flagstones to the porch. Marlena rapped firmly on the doorframe with her gloved hand.

“I told you, I am not inclined to join you for supper at your blasted church —“ The door was opened by a man, who immediately realized they were not whomever he had been expecting. “I beg your pardon, ma’am,” he said quickly. “I thought you were … well, it don’t matter who I thought you were. How can I help you?”

“Mr. Joel Miller?”

He narrowed his brown eyes. “Yes. And who are you?” His face was gruff and stern, with a neatly trimmed but patchy beard. Ellie liked him immediately, even though he didn’t seem very friendly.

“I am Miss Marlena Johnston, of the Charlottetown Orphanage.”

“I am not in the habit of donating to charities,” Mr. Miller said sharply.

“I am not here to solicit a donation,” Marlena said, just as sharply. “I am here to deliver Eleanor.”

Ellie smiled and gave a small wave of her hand, just in case he wasn’t clear that she was the Eleanor in question.

“Deliver? Her? There must be some mistake.” Mr. Miller started to close the door, but Marlena inserted her neatly booted foot and kept it open.

“Your brother is Mr. Thomas Miller? He and his wife sent for a girl, but the letter was delayed in the mail.”

“Thomas and Maria are in Saskatchewan,” Mr. Miller said. “Put her on the train.”

“We would have,” Marlena said, “but the agents in Regina have reported that the Millers have been obliged to move from their established farm and requested that the child be sent to you until they have settled in a new place.”

Ellie was somewhat satisfied by this explanation. She had been a bit disappointed not to be going to the wide open prairies like the rest of the children, but this was simply a delay. She would stay here in Meadowlea for a few months and then be sent on to her new home in the spring, most likely. There were miles and miles of wildflowers on the prairie in the springtime, she had heard.

“I know nothing about this,” Mr. Miller said. “Take her back to the orphanage.”

“That I cannot do,” Marlena said with a sniff. “Here is a letter from the director of the orphanage, Mr. Trumbull, stating that the girl is no longer the responsibility of the provincial government. Your brother signed the paperwork in Regina and we are simply following his directions. As his next of kin, she is your responsibility now. You can take the matter up with your brother.” She turned to Ellie. “Eleanor, remember to behave yourself properly while you are here. Obey Mr. Miller and show him and the inhabitants of Meadowlea that we raise decent, hardworking children at our orphanage.”

Ellie nodded. “Yes, Ma’am,” she said. Marlena always liked being called Ma’am, or Miss Johnston, even though most of the children followed the lead of Mr. Trumbull and the other officials in calling her by her given name.

“Now, I must be going if I am to catch the train back to Charlottetown,” Marlena said. “Good day.” She turned neatly on her heel and strode off, leaving Ellie on the porch with her carpetbag at her feet and Mr. Miller standing gobstruck in the doorway with Mr. Trumbull’s letter in his hand.

“You wait here,” he said, shutting the door in her face. Ellie shuffled her feet, wondering if it would be acceptable to sit on the bench or if she was expected to remain standing. After a minute of deliberation, she decided that no one could possibly be harmed or offended by her taking a seat, and she settled onto the bench, where she had a nice view of the rose and lilac bushes that nestled close to the porch. It would smell so lovely in the summer, but she wouldn’t be here that long. By summer, she would be surrounded by the wild roses of the prairie.

The door opened. “Come inside.”

Ellie jumped up, picked up her bag and stepped into the house. It was a typical farmhouse, plain and clean, with sturdy furniture and no nonsense. Mr. Miller stood over her, the letter in his hand.

“It seems as though I haven’t much choice in the matter,” he said simply. “At least until I contact my brother and set things straight. You’ll stay here until I get things figured out.”

“Thank you, Mr. Miller,” Ellie said. “I promise I won’t be a bother. I can help out in the house or even on the farm. I’m strong and I’m not afraid of getting dirty, like some girls are.” She thought of some of her fellow orphans, who wrinkled their noses at the amount of dust that collected on her shoes and skirt hems. Ellie was always down on the ground, playing marbles with the boys, or examining a flower or curious rock in the school yard.

“You can cook and clean, I suppose?” Mr. Miller asked.

“Well … yes,” Ellie replied. “All of us girls were taught the domestic arts, as Marlena calls them, but I can do other things as well.”

“Cooking and cleaning the house will be enough,” he said. “I lease my fields to a neighbor. I’m not a farmer; I’m a woodworker. I have a horse and a few chickens and a kitchen garden, but that’s all. I can take care of all of that myself. Have for years.”

Ellie squashed down her disappointment. “I’ll do my best, Mr. Miller. But maybe I can help in the garden a little, or collect the eggs?”

“Maybe,” he said. “Go on upstairs and put your things away. The guest bedroom is on the right when you reach the top. Don’t go in my room, or up the stairs to the garret. Then come down and we’ll get you started in the kitchen.”

The guest room was nowhere near as grand as its name implied. It was simply a bedroom, the furniture covered in sheets and everything else with a coating of dust. Ellie sneezed almost immediately. She would have to clean the room top to bottom before she could sleep comfortably, but at least she would have it to herself.

She hung her spare dress in the wardrobe and laid her underthings and stockings in the dresser drawer. Before she went back down, she peeped out the window. There was a maple tree outside, its leaves vibrant against the blue sky, and through its branches she could glimpse the waves rolling against the shore. It wasn’t the endless vista of the prairie she’d been dreaming of, but it was a very satisfying view nonetheless.

She found Mr. Miller in the kitchen, sitting at the table fiddling with a piece of wood. There were shavings and sawdust everywhere. “Don’t mind me,” he said without looking up from his work. “There’s an apron on the back of the pantry door.”

Ellie paused to look at his tools. Chisels, knives and other things she didn’t recognize were laid tantalizingly out on the table. Her fingers itched to pick them up and figure out their use.

“Dishes need washing,” Mr. Miller said as he laid down one knife and picked up another.

“Oh, yes, of course, sir,” Ellie said. It was always this way. Every time she found something new and exciting to pique her interest, she was sent off to wash dishes or mend clothes or scrub floors. Women’s work was just as hard as men’s work and nowhere near as satisfying.

After the dishes were washed and dried, Ellie started on supper. Mr. Miller continued his work, the kitchen filling up with the competing odors of freshly carved wood and boiling potatoes. When the food was ready, he covered the dusty table with a stained table cloth.

Ellie was not the neatest person in the world, but even she frowned at the state of the cloth. “When was the last time you washed this?,” she asked as she laid out their plates.

“Couple of weeks ago,” he said. “It’s just to keep the sawdust out of the food and the food off the table. It doesn’t have to be pretty.”

Ellie shook her head. “It doesn’t have to be pretty, but it should be clean.” She looked down at her apron, which was also in a bit of a state. “I’ll do some washing tomorrow.”

“You‘ll go to school tomorrow,” Mr. Miller said. “You aren’t a servant. You can do the laundry on Saturday. I always do it on Saturday.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes. “If I’m not a servant, what am I?” Ellie asked when she could keep her curiosity in check no longer.

“You’re my brother’s … I’m not sure what the legal term is. Ward, maybe?”

“Is that like a daughter? We always talked about getting adopted and being someone’s son or daughter again.”

“It’s not like that,” Mr. Miller said gruffly. “Not sure exactly what Tommy signed. Maybe they did adopt you, maybe you’re just their responsibility now instead of the orphanage’s. Anyway, you’re not just a maid or a housekeeper or whatever you want to call it. You’re a child and children go to school. Now eat up.”

**************************************************************

Joel stared at the ceiling in his bedroom. As a young man, he had slept like a stone, but after too much loss, he now found the nighttime hours no longer friendly. He silently cursed Tommy for making a mess of things again, and forcing him to take a child — a girl! — into his home. And not just a girl, one nearly the same age as his dear Sarah had been when she was taken from him. Not that Eleanor had much in common with Sarah. She was rough around the edges where Sarah had always been neat as a pin, quiet and biddable but still full of laughter and joy. She had been his pearl, the delight of his life, a sweet reminder of her mother, who had departed this life bringing her into it.

He rolled onto his side. This Eleanor was like a burr under his saddle; a minor inconvenience at the moment, but one that could fester into something much worse if he didn’t take steps right now. He would send her to school, and set her to work in the house, while he spent his time in his workshop. They would take their morning and evening meals together but otherwise live in separate spheres until he heard from Tommy and could send the girl west. She’d do well out there. Hard work and fresh air would be good for her. And he could go back to his solitary lot.

*********************************************************************

Ellie was not fond of school. She would much rather be outside, especially on a crisp autumn day. She enjoyed books, if they were of her own choosing, but preferred to read them perched in a tree or tucked away in a corner by herself, not at a desk in a stuffy classroom. Still, she found the Meadowlea school a fountain of information, in the form of her seatmate, Lydia Davenport.

Lydia was thrilled to have a new friend, and delighted to share all the Meadowlea gossip with Ellie, who found the girl a bit much, but was grateful for a warm welcome. It was from Lydia that she learned the “tragical” history of Joel Miller.

“Mr. Miller was married young to his sweetheart,” Lydia told her during morning recess. “And they had only been married a little over a year when she perished in childbirth.” Lydia sighed deeply. “It was simply tragical, my mother says. But the baby survived and Mr. Joel Miller doted on her. Her name was Sarah and he and his brother Thomas raised her up as best they could. Everyone says she was a beautiful little girl, happy and bright.”

Lydia leaned closer. “Then, when she was about our age, Sarah was killed in a horrific accident. Knocked down and trampled by panicked horses when a soldier accidentally fired his weapon during a parade. Mr. Miller was inconsolable.”

Now Lydia whispered. “He stopped going to church and started buying … whiskey.” She paused, only continuing the story after Ellie had feigned shock, although she didn’t see what was so horribly wrong with a man having a drink now and then. The director of the orphanage had kept a decanter of brandy in his office, and quite a few of the older children had snuck a sip on a dare. “Well, Thomas put up with it for a few years, but then he got fed up and went west. And ever since, Mr. Joel Miller has been alone on his farm.”

The school bell rang and the pupils filed back inside, but Ellie could not keep her mind on arithmetic. She kept thinking about Lydia’s story. It was no sadder than her own life story but it certainly explained why Mr. Miller was so gruff, and that rather interesting comment about not wanting to attend the “blasted” church. On the whole, it made Ellie like him even more. She had never liked sitting quietly through the sermons on Sunday mornings, and she understood the welter of emotions that losing one’s family could awaken. She had felt her fair share of sorrow and anger and despair and hard hearted denial.

After school, she fixed supper and rang the bell by the back door to summon Mr. Miller from his workshop in the barn. He came inside, stomping the sawdust off his boots on the doorstep and washing his hands and face at the kitchen sink. He nodded at her as he took his seat and began to eat.

“School was nice,” she ventured after a few minutes of silence.

“Good,” he said. “Behave yourself and listen to your teacher.”

“I even made a friend already,” she continued. “Her name is Lydia Davenport and she sits next to me.”

Mr. Miller sighed. “The Davenports are gossips,” he said. “Don’t listen to her foolery.” He finished his food quickly, scraped his plate into the waste bin and dropped it into the sink. “You’re a decent cook,” he said grudgingly, “but a little too much salt.”

He went upstairs, leaving Ellie to clean up and begin her homework. The kitchens was cozy, but she felt very alone. At the orphanage, she’d often longed for privacy but now that she had it, she found it was one of those things that is best in moderation.

***********************************************************************

The rest of the week was uneventful and when Saturday arrived, Ellie was briefly glad of the day off school until she remembered it was laundry day. Still, it was better than sitting in the schoolhouse doing mathematics and reading about the major imports and exports of Brazil. Best of all, Mr. Miller helped with filling the washtub.

“Water’s heavy,” he said when she tried to thank him. “I’m stronger than you.” Then he shrugged and went back to his workshop.

Ellie was intrigued by the sounds that came from the barn while she scrubbed and wrung out the clothes and pinned them on the line. Sawing and hammering and scraping, punctuated by assorted clatters and curses when he dropped something, kept her mind alert while she attended to her work. By evening, the barn was silent, and she had a basket full of clean, fresh smelling clothes. More importantly, there was a snowy white cloth to lay on the table at supper time.

She laid out the plates and silverware carefully, and even found a cracked pitcher to hold a bunch of pretty branches she’d snipped from the garden. It wasn’t flowers but it looked nice. When Mr. Miller came inside, he barely nodded at her effort. “Food’s good,” he said after a few bites.

Ellie tried to hold her tongue, but in the end it was impossible. “I scrubbed this tablecloth three times to get out all the stains and managed to get all the rest of the washing done and folded and cooked supper, and all I get is two words? I’m sorry, Mr. Miller, if my efforts aren’t worth anything to you.”

He looked up from his plate, seeming to see the table for the first time. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m not used to having company. Forgot my manners. The table looks very nice, Eleanor.”

“Ellie,” she said firmly. “I prefer Ellie.”

He nodded. “And you can call me Joel. Mr. Miller was my father.”

“I’m not sure that would be proper, Mr. Miller,” Ellie said. The orphans had been taught to always be polite with adults, who held such power over them.

“If Tommy and his wife adopted you, that makes me your uncle, of a sort, and no child I ever knew called their uncle by their surname,” he said.

“Uncle Joel, then.”

He shook his head. “Just Joel is fine. It’s my name. Now eat up, before your supper gets cold.” He lifted his fork, but paused before it reached his mouth. “I’ll do the dishes tonight, since you worked so hard all day.”

“Thank you … Joel.”

“You’re welcome, Ellie.”

***************************************************************************

Ellie was awakened the next morning by an argument in the yard. She peered out her window and was just able to make out a buggy at the gate and Joel standing with hands on his hips.

“I just wanted to offer the girl a ride to church, Mr. Miller.” The voice was loud but calm.

“If I wanted her going to church, I’d take her myself,” Joel shouted.

“I’m sure your brother and his wife would be disappointed at your actions.”

“If they are, they can take it up with me. On your way, Mr. Davenport.” There was a steeliness to Joel’s voice that both frightened and comforted Ellie. She would not like to be on the receiving end of that voice, but having it defend her felt good.

When she came downstairs, she found Joel in the kitchen, making coffee. He drank quite a bit of it, and made it very strong. Ellie had snuck a taste one morning, and promptly sworn to only drink tea for the rest of her life.

“It’s Sunday,” he said. “I don’t go to church, and I don’t expect you to, either. If you’re so inclined, there’s a Bible in the parlor somewhere. You can read it if you like. Or do whatever you want. You’ve been in school all week, and worked hard yesterday. You’ve earned a day of rest.”

“What about you?” She set about slicing bread for toast. “Do you take a day of rest?”

“No,” Joel said. “No reason. Got to keep myself busy.”

“Would it be all right if I helped you in the workshop?”

“It’s no place for a girl. Too dangerous. But you can watch, if you keep your distance.”

***************************************************************

Sarah had always given his workshop a wide berth. She had loved the things he made for her, and was proud of his workmanship, but had no interest in the process by which he took raw lumber and transformed it into things of use and beauty. Ellie, on the other hand, had a million questions, asking about every tool, every technique. He had expected her to watch politely from a few feet away for a bit, get bored, and go off to read or whatever it was girls did, not creep slowly closer and closer, watching intently and smiling with delight when he fit two joints snugly together or sanded a corner to a satin finish.

“Back up,” he finally had to tell her when she threatened to get in his way.

“But I can’t see what you’re doing,” she replied, although she did take a step back.

“Better safe than sorry,” he said. “Stay back or you’ll have to leave completely.”

That did the trick. She retreated to a safe distance, but still craned her neck to watch everything he did.

“Maybe I could borrow a pen knife and you could teach me how to whittle?”

“Girls don’t whittle,” Joel said. “If you want to make something, how about a quilt or — what do they call it — a sampler.” Sarah had enjoyed sewing, especially embroidery. He had a set of handkerchiefs with his monogram on them tucked away in a drawer.

Ellie made a face. “I hate sewing,” she said. “They made us do mending all the time at the orphanage. It’s my least favorite chore. Even worse than scrubbing floors.”

Joel wracked his brain trying to think of some other suitable pastime for a young lady. “Read a book?”

“Boring,” said Ellie. “I’d rather do things than read about them.”

“You could … feed the chickens.”

“You already fed them this morning,” she pointed out. “Besides, the big hen hates me.”

Joel suppressed a chuckle. It was true that the big speckled hen had taken a dislike to Ellie, pecking at her whenever the girl tried to gather eggs, and chasing her out of the henhouse on one memorable occasion. “You could give Samson a good brushing.” The gelding was gentle and even though it was more of a boy’s chore to groom horses, maybe she would enjoy brushing and plaiting his mane and tail.

Ellie’s eyes lit up. She had admired the horse from afar but had not yet approached him. “Really? I always liked horses but I was afraid you might not let me because you’d be worried I’d get hurt …”

She trailed off, and Joel wondered just how much the Davenport girl had told her. It made his chest ache just to think about Sarah, but he steeled himself. “Just don’t get stepped on,” he said, gruffly. “Go on. Make yourself useful instead of standing around gawking.”

He returned to his work, forcing himself to focus on the wood and tools in front of him and not the quiet conversation Ellie was having with Samson across the barn. His vision blurred a little, but it wasn’t tears. Must have been some sawdust floating into his eyes.

*************************************************************************

Ellie and Samson became great friends. The chestnut gelding loved to be groomed and Ellie soon spent a pleasant hour every day brushing and polishing his coat until it gleamed, even with his thick winter coat coming in. She brought him carrots and shared apples with him.

“You know,” she said one evening over supper. “Samson could use more exercise.”

Joel grunted. “I turn him out in the paddock every day. And he gets driven a few times a week. He’s an old horse.”

“But he could do more,” Ellie persisted. “Maybe … maybe I could ride him.”

“No,” Joel said firmly. “Absolutely not.”

“He’s gentle,” Ellie pleaded.

“No,” Joel said. “You don’t know how to ride, and I don’t even own a saddle.”

“Then teach me how to drive,” Ellie suggested.

“I don’t have time,” Joel replied. “And you don’t have anywhere to go, other than school.”

Ellie sighed. “I’m sure there are plenty of lovely drives on the island. Lydia said her family drove through the woods and past the pond out by the Ross farm and it was beautiful.”

“The Davenports have time to waste,” Joel said. “I’m not wearing my horse out on pleasure jaunts. He’s a working horse, just like I’m a working man. And you have schoolwork and housework to attend to.”

Ellie knew when an adult was unyielding. She let the matter rest, but it still lingered in her mind.

*******************************************************

A few weeks later, a letter arrived from Thomas Miller in Saskatchewan. Ellie was expected to stop at the post office on her way home from school each day, to save Joel from having to go into town unless he absolutely had to. All the way home, she kept pulling the letter out of her pocket, tracing her finger over the postmark from Regina, and then putting it back.

When she gave it to Joel, he merely grunted and placed it on the mantelpiece. “I’ll read it this evening,” he said. “After supper.” He nodded pointedly toward the kitchen. Ellie sighed. She hated waiting.

The moment Joel was finished eating, she cleared the table and washed the dishes in record time. Joel lingered over a second cup of coffee and she was already half way through her spelling words when he finally rinsed his cup and took the letter down from the mantel. He opened it, read it twice and folded it back up, sliding it carefully back into the envelope.

“Well?” Ellie said when she could hold back no longer.

“Well, what?”

“When am I going out West?”

“Spring,” he said simply. “Tommy says they’re settled into the new place, but they’ve had an early start to winter and all the Indians are predicting it will be a hard one. There’s no guarantee he can get to Regina and back at all until after the melt. He sent the letter with a fellow who was on government business and had no choice but to go.”

Joel slid the letter across the table toward her. She skimmed through it, puzzling slightly at Thomas’ curious penmanship. “What does this mean? ‘Recompense,’” she asked.

“Repay,” Joel said. “He’s offering to pay me back for the expense of keeping you over the winter.” He shook his head. “As if I’d take a penny from him after all the help he gave me and ….” His mouth snapped shut decisively. “Don’t you worry about anything. You’ll stay here until he sends word.”

She folded the letter back up. “I didn’t exactly think you were going to toss me out into the cold,” she said. “Everyone says you’re grumpy and mean but you’re not that mean.”

“Finish your schoolwork and then get to bed,” Joel said. “I’ll be out in the workshop.” He left her alone in the kitchen, where her attention kept darting between her spelling list and the envelope on the table. Saskatchewan winters could be long and very cold. She wondered just how long she would be in Meadowlea, and if Thomas and Maria’s home was as snug and cozy as Joel’s. After all, it would be her home in just a few months time.

*************************************************************

Winter arrived at Meadowlea and at first Ellie enjoyed the pristine white drifts of snow that covered the fields and made the trees look like a fairy wonderland. Then she spent a few days trudging back and forth to school in the cold and decided that maybe a country winter wasn’t as lovely as it looked.

“Be thankful we’re not on the prairie,” Joel said one evening when she lamented the depths of the snow banks she’d had to negotiate that day. “Blizzards so fierce a man can’t see his hand in front of him. People and stock freeze to death just feet from shelter.” He shook his head. “Honestly, I don’t see why Tommy was so set on going out there.”

“But they say the prairie sky is endless,” Ellie said. “And the flowers bloom in the spring and the soil is so rich that grain grows without you even trying.”

Joel grunted. “Endless sky isn’t worth anything, and we have plenty of flowers here. And farming is overrated. A lot of work for little reward.” He looked at her. “Never marry a farmer. You’ll regret it. Most women do.”

Ellie made a face. “I’m never going to get married,” she declared. “I’m going to make my own way in the world. Lots of girls do.”

“Good luck to you, then,” Joel said, rising from the table to place his plate in the sink. “Not much opportunity for a bachelor girl out on the prairie.”

Ellie turned back to her supper, her appetite suddenly gone. She’d never thought about the prospects for self-sufficiency out in the West. After a few years with the Millers, she would be an adult, and what then? There would be no chance at high school or any other advanced education, which was the only way for a girl to make a decent living on her own. Teachers, secretaries, nurses: those were the young women who could chart their own path. Never mind that none of those professions appealed to her. They were better than the alternative.

**************************************************************

Christmas came and went with hardly a word at the Miller farm. Joel hadn’t celebrated the holiday since he’d lost Sarah, and Ellie was not accustomed to anything more than a slice of stale cake with supper. The only acknowledgment of the day was the arrival of a brightly colored card from an elderly cousin in Boston, which Joel propped on the mantel solely for Ellie’s benefit.

He was growing fond of the girl, in an awkward sort of way. She was so unlike Sarah that she was not a constant reminder of loss, but she was still a girl and so quite unfathomable to him. She could turn from asking questions about horses and woodworking to chiding him for tracking mud onto her clean floors and lamenting the state of his frayed cuffs with no notice, and it kept him off balance. With his wife, and with Sarah, he had known where he stood. They had their domain and he had his. Ellie pervaded every aspect of his life and he wasn’t sure if he liked it or not.

The weather turned bitterly cold a few weeks after the New Year, making walking treacherous as the ground was coated with slick patches of ice where the wind had blown away the snow. Joel loaned Ellie his hobnailed boots to wear when walking to and from school. They were so big on her that she could wear her own boots inside them and stuffed rags in the toes to keep them on, but they did the trick, and she never fell. When she tried to thank him, Joel brushed her words aside.

“Tommy’d never forgive me if I let you get hurt,” he said. “Now get to school.”

Joel worked in the barn every day, even into the dark evenings. It was cozy, with Samson and the chickens huddled to one side and his workbench, illuminated by a safety lantern, on the other. He had finished the more intricate commissions for Christmas gifts early in the fall, and spent the winter working on more mundane items like furniture, chopping boards, and buckets.

On the third night of the cold snap, he was working on a side table for a gentleman in Charlottetown. It was almost too cold to work, his fingers stiff and fumbling, but he was nearly finished and was reluctant to quit early. As he laid hammer to chisel, his grip loosened and the chisel slipped off the wood and into his leg. He cursed quietly; mishaps like this were rare but happened. His trousers had absorbed most of the blow, and there was very little blood. As he pulled on the chisel, however, he slipped in the water that had melted off his boots and fell directly on it. He felt the metal pierce deep into his flesh and his stomach turned as blood blossomed from the wound.

“Ellie!,” he called out.

She should be home from school, preparing supper in the kitchen. He called again and again, but it was clear she couldn’t hear him. He pulled the chisel out and winced as the pain buckled his leg. He tied a rag around the wound and hobbled slowly toward the house.

There was a great deal of blood and he was feeling faint by the time he reached the kitchen door. “Ellie,” he called weakly. “Help.”

The door opened and he could see her silhouette against the light. “Joel! What happened?” She helped him inside and onto a chair.

“Slipped,” he said. “Fell on the chisel. Needs stitches, I think. Get the doctor.”

Ellie nodded. “Here,” she said, grabbing several dish towels. “Hold these on the wound. I’ll take Samson and be back as soon as I can.”

He tried to protest, but she was already gone.

******************************************

Ellie ran into the barn, startling Samson and the chickens. “Sorry,” she said as she grabbed the bridle off the wooden peg near the door. “But Joel’s hurt bad. We’ve got to get help.” Fortunately, Samson was a well trained horse and accepted the bit readily. She fumbled a bit with the buckles but got the bridle fastened, even if it was a bit loose. She led the gelding out to the yard, where she climbed onto the fence rail to reach his broad back.

It was slippery without a saddle, and Samson was clearly confused at being ridden instead of harnessed to the buggy. He snorted and flicked his ears. Ellie leaned forward and stroked his neck. “Come on, big fellow,” she said. “We have to fetch the doctor.” She clapped her heels against his sides and he started off at a nervous jog. She shook the reins and kicked him again. “Sorry, sorry,” she said. “But we need to go faster.”

Samson broke into a canter, and Ellie held tight to his mane as he lurched out of the yard and onto the road. It was dark, and cold, and she was trying her best not to slide off his back, but she managed to steer him more or less in the direction of Doctor Fletcher’s house. Once Samson understood the task, he was willing and it was not long before she was pulling him up in the doctor’s yard.

It was still early, and the doctor and his wife had heard the pounding hooves, so she did not even need to dismount. “Joel’s hurt himself,” Ellie gasped out. “He’s bleeding a lot. Said he needs stitches probably.”

Dr. Fletcher nodded. “Go on, get back to him,” he said. “Try to stanch the bleeding as best you can. I’ll get my bag and be on my horse in five minutes.”

Ellie turned Samson’s head toward home. He needed no urging now, more than ready to return to his warm stall. He picked up speed but Ellie didn’t mind. She was getting used to riding and she wanted to get back to Joel as soon as possible.

As they rounded a curve in the road, the moon peeped out from behind a cloud, casting dark shadows across the ground. Samson, brave horse that he was, did not balk at the seeming chasm that opened up at his feet, but jumped it. His hooves slid on the icy road as he landed and he stumbled. His head went forward, the bridle came loose and Ellie flew off his back. She hit the ground with a thud, and tumbled into the brush. Samson charged away, leaving her alone with the wind knocked out of her and a throbbing head. The clouds covered the moon again and the world plunged into darkness.

*******************************************************

Joel’s world had narrowed down to the pain in his leg, the blood that covered his hands, and the wood grain of the table in front of him. Still, he worried about Ellie, riding alone through the night. It seemed an eternity before he heard hooves clattering on the frozen ground outside. One horse. That would be Ellie returned. Then another. He heard the horses nicker to each other. That would be the doctor.

“Dear God, man, what happened?” Dr. Fletcher said as he burst through the kitchen door, his black bag already half open.

“Slipped,” Joel grunted. “Fell on the chisel.”

Fletcher was smaller than Joel but strong as an ox. He hoisted him onto the table and cut open his trousers to expose the wound. “Nasty, but not life threatening once I get you patched up.” He pulled a vial from his bag. “Laudanum. For the pain.” Before Joel could protest, the bottle was at his lips. He felt the world recede as the drug took effect. It did not dull all the pain, but made it tolerable, as Fletcher stitched his flesh back together.

“There,” Fletcher said when he was done. “I left it open just a bit, for drainage in case of infection. It’s quite a deep wound.” He gathered up all the bloodied cloths and dumped them into the sink. “Where’s that girl of yours got to?”

“Must be … in the barn … putting up Samson,” Joel managed.

Fletcher’s brows knitted in confusion. “Your horse? He’s out in the yard loose. I thought I’d find her inside with you and was prepared to scold her for not securing the stock.”

Joel sat up quickly. His head swam from the laudanum and the loss of blood, but he felt a surge of fear through his bones that kept him upright. “Samson came back alone? Damn it … I told her it wasn’t safe to ride him.” He tried to stand but his leg buckled.

“Easy, there,” Fletcher said. “I’m sure she’s just overwhelmed. Probably hiding in the barn or in her bedroom, frightened by all the blood. Let me look for her. You need to rest.”

Joel felt his chest constrict as he waited for Fletcher to search the house. He knew this feeling; he had felt it when he saw Sarah fall under the wheels of the wagon.

“She’s not in the house,” Fletcher said. “I’ll check the barn. Might as well put your horse inside while I’m at it.”

The minutes passed slowly as Joel concentrated on breathing. It was all he could do to stay seated. He wanted to be out there looking for Ellie. He could not bear to be idle while time slipped away. After what seemed like hours, Fletcher returned, his face grim.

“She must have come off the horse on her way back,” he said. “I should have made her wait and ride with me, but I sent her ahead to be with you.”

Joel rose to his feet, ignoring the searing pain in his leg. “We have to find her.” He was surprised at how hoarse his voice sounded.

“You are not going anywhere,” Fletcher said. “I’ll look for her. She has to be on the road between my house and here.”

Joel shook his head. “No, I’m going, too. You can’t stop me.”

“It’s my fault, Miller.”

“No, it’s mine!” Joel burst out. “If I’d been more careful, hadn’t hurt myself … She would be safe and warm if she hadn’t needed to go fetch you. Because of my stupidity.” He lurched toward the door. The leg hurt but it still worked. He was just a little unsteady because of the laudanum.

“We’ll both go,” Fletcher said. “You can ride my horse and I’ll walk ahead with a lantern. Two sets of eyes will be better.” Before Joel could open his mouth to protest, Fletcher continued. “No doctor worth his name would let a patient in your condition wander about unsupervised. By rights I should insist you go straight to bed, but I know you’ll be up and out the door the moment I leave the yard, so this is the best I can do.”

Joel nodded. “Let’s go then.”

The night was cold, and dark when clouds drifted in front of the moon. Joel had managed to mount the doctor’s horse but the effort had brought him a great deal of pain. He slumped in the saddle, glad that Fletcher was leading the animal with one hand while holding the lantern aloft with the other. He probably should have followed the doctor’s orders and gone to bed, but he could not rest until he knew that Ellie was safe. He dared not think about the other possibility.

At a bend in the road, something caught his eye in the brush. It was not a reflection, nor anything recognizable, just a feeling that this particular shadow was significant.

“Wait,” he cried. “There!” He slid out of the saddle without thinking and stumbled into the ditch. As Fletcher followed with the lantern, Joel saw a familiar red color: Ellie’s apron, which she’d been wearing to prepare supper. He crawled into the brush and there she was, lying deathly still. As he touched her, she moaned and then all at once, her eyes flew open and she cried out in fear.

Joel did not think. He gathered her into his arms but she fought against him. “It’s me, Ellie,” he said. “It’s me. I’ve got you. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

She gasped. “Joel? Oh, Joel, you’re all right! Ow, my head.”

He hugged her close. “You’re safe now,” he said. “The doctor is here. I’ve got you.”

Fletcher gave her a cursory examination and declared her fit enough to ride back to the house behind Joel. “A bump on the head, but nothing too frightening,” was his verdict. He helped them both into the saddle and led the long-suffering horse back to the house.

Joel struggled to keep his wits about him, but between the pain and the laudanum and the panic of Ellie being lost, his mind was a muddle. But Ellie was seated behind him, her arms around his waist and her head leaning against his back. She was alive, and so was he, and that was all that mattered.

*************************************************************

Dr. Fletcher paused to rouse the Rileys on the way back to Joel’s house, and Ellie was bundled off to bed by Mrs. Riley, a kindly widow who had nursed a dozen children and grandchildren through a variety of illnesses and injuries over the years, while the doctor attended to Joel.

“You are not to get out of that bed except to use the chamber pot,” Mrs. Riley admonished. “Doctor will be up to look you over but it’s my considered opinion you need a day or two of complete rest.” She clucked her tongue. “Falling off horses in the middle of the night!”

Ellie fully planned to stay awake until she knew the extent of Joel’s injury, but her bed was warm and cozy and she was soon sound asleep. The next thing she knew, it was morning, and Mrs. Riley was entering the room with a tray laden with tea and buttered toast.

“How is Joel?” Ellie asked.

“Mr. Miller is fine,” Mrs. Riley said primly. “You can see him later once I know you’re sufficiently rested from your ordeal. The doctor has him set up on the sofa in the parlor for now, so he doesn’t have to climb the stairs.”

“I feel perfectly rested,” Ellie said, pushing back the covers.

Mrs. Riley clucked her tongue. “Not so fast, young lady. Breakfast first. You didn’t have any supper last night, either of you. Mr. Miller is tucking into some bacon and eggs as we speak.”

Ellie frowned at the toast in front of her. “Why do I only get toast?”

“He lost quite a bit of blood,” Mrs. Riley said. “He needs to build himself back up. You just bumped your head and got a chill. You need something light on your stomach in case you feel dizzy.”

Ellie spent the day in bed, without even a book to entertain her. Mrs. Riley claimed she needed to rest her brain, but without distractions, Ellie’s brain was whirling a mile a minute. She remembered Samson stumbling, and hitting the ground, then someone touching her. She groaned as she recalled how she had flinched away from Joel before she realized it was him. Did he think she was afraid of him? Or disliked him? Nothing could be further from the truth. When he wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly, she felt safe, safer than she’d ever felt in her life. That must be what it is like to have a father, she thought. She had often thought about having a mother, someone gentle and kind to care for her, but the idea of a father, someone strong and protective, had eluded her. Every orphan longed for a mother. Fathers were a more abstract thing.

Late in the evening, Mrs. Riley pronounced her sufficiently recovered to make her way downstairs for supper, swathed in a borrowed dressing gown. A table was set up next to the sofa, and an armchair pulled up beside it for Ellie. Joel was reclined on the sofa, looking about as comfortable as a cat in a bathtub. Forced inactivity was as foreign to him as it was to Ellie.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” Ellie said as she settled herself into the chair.

“Same,” Joel said. As soon as Mrs. Riley was safely out of the room, gone to fetch their supper, he leaned forward. “I’ll be better once the nursemaid is gone,”

Ellie laughed quietly. “She is a bit of a martinet, isn’t she?”

Joel blinked. “Where’d you learn that word?”

“From a book,” Ellie said. “I go to school. We read things there.”

Joel sighed. “That knock on the head certainly didn’t change your personality.”

“Which is a good thing, right?” Ellie found the banter easy. Something had shifted between them after the tragic events of the previous night. Joel was still gruff — it was simply his nature — but he was less guarded. It felt good and, more importantly, it felt right.

*********************************************************

Joel was immensely relieved to see Ellie come into the parlor. Although Mrs. Riley and Dr. Fletcher had both assured him she was perfectly fine, just a bit knocked about, he had to see for himself before he could truly believe she was not harmed. The emotions that had surged through him when he found her, and held her his his arms, safe and sound, were old ones that he hadn’t felt in years. Not since he had held Sarah on the street, desperately willing her to be unharmed. He had lost his darling Sarah, but last night, he had not lost Ellie. He had saved her.

Ellie was not like Sarah in the least. She was brash where Sarah had been demure, curious where Sarah had been accepting, clumsy where Sarah had been graceful. And yet, they were both girls with a keen sense of what was right in the world, an appreciation for the beauty of nature, and a fondness for a grumpy old man who felt the world had turned its back on him. Sarah had been his flesh and blood, but Ellie was more truly a kindred spirit. She wanted to know things and do things and was not willing to accept the terms by which society wanted to judge her.

After supper, Mrs. Riley wanted to shoo Ellie back upstairs, but Joel overrode her. “She has been cooped up in that room all day,” he said. “Fetch my checkerboard out of the dresser. We’ll see how well her mind has recovered.”

He hadn’t played checkers since Tommy had left. The board and pieces were old and worn, made by their grandfather as a childhood gift to their father. Sarah had played with them when she was small, still fascinated by anything her father and uncle were interested in, but as she grew up, she had taken the perceived wisdom of checkers as a boys’ game to heart.

Ellie’s face lit up. “I love checkers!,” she said. “The boys used to hold tournaments on Saturdays at the orphanage. They’d let some of us girls play now and then, but not very often. Mostly because I could beat them quite often.”

Joel chuckled. “Well, I’m a bit rusty, but I’ve had years more experience than you, so I think we might be fairly evenly matched.”

They played game after game, tentative at first, but by the final game (so decreed by Mrs. Riley, who insisted they both go to sleep at a reasonable time) they were laughing and back-talking each other the way he and Tommy had so many times.

“Not fair!” Ellie cried as Joel captured another of her pieces.

“And how is it not fair if I play by the rules?” She had only one piece left on the board, threatened on two sides.

Ellie folded her arms. “It’s not fair because grown people are supposed to let little girls win now and then.”

“And how would little girls learn the realities of life if victories are handed to them on a platter?,” he replied. “Besides, you are not a little girl. You are a devilishly smart young lady who needs to be put in her place.”

“And you are a deviously smart old man who delights in robbing a poor orphan of one of the few joys in her woeful life.”

Joel sat back. “You will have many joys in your life, Ellie,” he said, the levity gone as he suddenly thought of all the joys Sarah had been denied. “I hope you have a long life, full of all the things a bright girl like you deserves.” He cleared his throat. “I’m getting tired. I think Mrs. Riley was right; we shouldn’t overexert ourselves.”

Ellie frowned as she cleared the unfinished game off the board. Joel leaned back against the sofa cushions and closed his eyes. She belongs to Tommy and Maria, he reminded himself. Spring will be here soon and she’ll be gone. The prospect of being alone again, which had been so welcome a few months ago, was now a terrible thing.

***************************

As winter went on, slowly melting into spring, Joel and Ellie became closer. He no longer shooed her away when he was working in the barn, but let her observe and hand him his tools. Once or twice, he even allowed her to practice simple techniques on scraps of wood.

“I like this better than sewing,” she said one afternoon as she planed and sanded a block of wood to silky smoothness. “They’re both making something but somehow working with wood is different.”

Joel paused in his work. He was always very focused when at his workbench, so Ellie was surprised. “Huh, I never thought of it that way,” he said. “Women work with needle and thread and cloth; I work with wood and hammer and nails, but we are just making and mending things that are useful.”

“And beautiful,” Ellie added. “That table you repaired for Mr. Jennings is very useful, but you made it lovely as well. You carved all those little details into it that aren’t really necessary but make it better. Same with a nice dress. Tucks and frills and lace don’t keep you warm, but they make a dress prettier.”

Joel chuckled. He did that more and more these days. “Never pegged you for the sort to care about ruffles and lace,” he said.

Ellie made a face. “I don’t. I like plain, comfortable clothes for myself, but you have to admit a lady looks better when she’s all gussied up. Just like a man looks better when he’s in his Sunday suit rather than overalls.” She shrugged. “But that’s for special times. Your woodwork is useful and beautiful, so it’s even better than fancy clothes. You get to appreciate the beauty every day.”

They had many such talks, springing organically from whatever chore they were working on at the time. As he sat at the kitchen table polishing the chess pieces he had carved for Mr. Lattimer, and Ellie chopped vegetables for supper, he told her about Sarah’s favorite dishes, and the time she tried to bake a cake and used salt instead of sugar. Ellie shared the adventure of raiding the larder at the orphanage and eating pickled cucumbers until they were all sick.

Over the checkerboard in the parlor, he told her about childhood escapades with Tommy. She regaled him with the epic tale of Samuel Lindstrom, the boy who was constantly falling off of things and yet only once broke a bone.

One evening, Joel was pensive and declined a game, preferring instead to stare into the fire. Ellie was at a loss, but sat quietly beside him. Eventually, she ventured a question. “Did I do something?”

Joel stirred from his reverie. “No, no, of course not,” he said. “It’s just … it’s not a good day for me.” He sighed deeply. “It’s Sarah’s birthday,” he said very softly.

Ellie nodded and leaned her head against his shoulder. “I understand,” she said. “You wish it was her with you and not me.”

Joel turned his head sharply toward her. “Never say that,” he said firmly. “I miss her. I miss her so very much. But this year … this year I got out of bed and went about my work. And do you know why? Because of you.”

Ellie did not know what to say. She simply slid her hand into his and squeezed it tightly. She was glad she had helped him deal with his grief, but it would soon be springtime and the snow would be melted all across Canada and she would be on a train to her new home. She knew that Thomas would be a good man; after all, he was Joel’s brother. But still, that part of her that longed for endless prairie skies was shrinking, as her soul became ever more rooted in the soil of Meadowlea.

*************************************************************

It was a bright early April afternoon when Ellie stopped at the post office on her way home from school and picked up a letter with a Regina postmark. Her heart sank as she walked past the flowers peeking through the fresh green grass and not even the songs of the birds in the trees could lift her spirits. Joel was in the barn when she reached the house, and she simply placed the letter on the kitchen table in front of his chair instead of taking it to him.

She was tearing up lettuce for a fresh spring salad when he came in and washed his hands in the sink. “Letter for you,” she said quietly, nodding toward the table. He picked it up, glanced at the postmark and tossed it down.

“I’ll read it after supper,” he said.

“It’ll be a bit,” she said hesitantly. “Maybe … maybe you should read it now. So we know what it says.”

He took a deep breath, nodded, and took the letter into the parlor. Ellie wiped her eyes with her sleeve and went on with her work. No matter what was in the envelope, they needed to eat.

*******************************************************

Joel wanted to toss the letter into the grate unread, but there was no fire today and it would only mock him. He sat near the window, where the light was better, and opened the envelope.

“Dear Joel,” he read

“The winter has been long and hard but things are finally thawing out here. By the time this letter reaches you, and your reply returns here, it should be dry enough for me to get the wagon into Regina to meet the train. Maria and I are greatly looking forward to meeting young Eleanor, and we will have a lovely surprise for her when she arrives. I will tell you now, dear brother, because I cannot hold the news back any longer: Maria is expecting and our family will increase by one at the end of the summer. We are certain Eleanor will be a great help with the baby.

“Please do not misunderstand me, Joel. We do not expect her to be a nursemaid to the child, or a mere helpmeet for Maria. We sent for her out of our express desire for a child to care for, and we mean to stand by that decision despite our prayers being answered in the traditional way.

“Write back straight away with the details of her travel arrangements. Your supremely happy and prospering younger brother,

Thomas.”

Joel dropped the letter onto the floor. It was selfish of him to want Ellie to stay in Meadowlea, and yet now that he had word from Tommy, he did not want to let her go. It would be simple enough to tell her that Thomas and Maria, blessed with a child of their own on the way, no longer wanted her, but that would be a lie. At the same time, he could not simply pack her up and send her out west without offering her a choice in the matter. With a deep sigh, he picked up the letter and went into the kitchen.

***********************************************

“I want you to read the letter Tommy sent me,” he told her.

She took it from him and quickly read the words. “A baby? And they still want me?” She had heard of many an orphan who was sent back, or turned into little more than a hired hand when a childless couple was suddenly blessed. A home, a little brother or sister, the wide expanse of the prairie … six months ago, it would have been her life’s dream. Now it was the last thing she wanted, but how could she tell Joel?

Joel nodded. “They do. But I think you deserve more than being sent off like a parcel. I — I would like you to stay here with me, but the choice is entirely yours. Think about it carefully and in the morning …”

“I want to stay!” Ellie leaped out of her chair and into Joel’s arms. “I want to stay with you, Joel. I know I promised to be Thomas and Maria’s child, but … you need me more than they do. And … and I love you, Joel. I never had anyone care for me before and I’ve never cared for anyone either, but …”

Joel hugged her tight. “I understand,” he said. “You don’t need to say any more. I’ll write to Tommy in the morning, and the orphanage, too. I’ll have the adoption papers drawn up and you’ll be my …” His voice cracked with emotion. “You’ll be my daughter as soon as legally possible.”

“Oh, Joel, I’m happier than I ever thought possible! And just a few minutes ago I was in the depths of despair,” she said.

“So was I,” Joel admitted. “I — I thought I was going to lose you, too.” Ellie was shocked to see tears in his eyes. “When I lost my wife, I had Sarah. And when I lost Sarah, I had Tommy. But if I lost you …”

“I will never leave you, not even if the law says I belong to Tommy and Maria. I won’t go and nobody can make me.”

Joel smiled. “I wouldn’t let them take you,” he said firmly. “Now, let’s have supper. And afterwards, I’ll write a letter to Tommy.”

That night, Joel gave the letter to Ellie to read before she went to bed. Her hands trembled as she held the paper, and her vision blurred with tears as she read his words. He spoke about the brightness Ellie has brought back into his life, the hope that had returned to his heart after so many years of darkness. Joel was a man of few words, but he was positively eloquent on paper. She loved him so much, and he loved her as well. He said so, right at the end of the letter.

“I love her, Tommy. So much it frightens me. She is so unlike Sarah and yet she is as much my daughter as Sarah was. I truly believe she was meant to find me, and I her. I know this may cause a strain between us, dear brother, but I will not let her go.”

Ellie carefully folded the paper and tucked it back into the envelope, which was already addressed to Mr. Thomas Miller. Then she removed it and added a postscript, writing carefully with her pencil, which needed sharpening.

“I was delighted to be chosen as your daughter, Mr and Mrs Miller, but I am even more delighted to become Joel’s. I hope you understand that I prefer you to be my Uncle Thomas and Aunt Maria rather than father and mother. And to love your child as my cousin rather than a sibling. Most sincerely yours, Eleanor Williams Miller.”

She left the letter on the table and went upstairs to bed.

*******************************************************

Spring rushed past and summer blossomed, the island seeming to put all its energy into vibrant life. Ellie finished the school year and was commended as the most improved student in her year. She still had some catching up to do, if she wanted to take the high school entrance exams, but that was a worry for another time.

She stopped by the post office on her way home. Home! The word still thrilled her, now that it was absolutely, entirely, legally true. Joel had filed the necessary papers the day after he sent off the letter to Thomas. He had not let her read the reply he received from his brother, but he had assured her there were no hard feelings and, on the contrary, Thomas and Maria were quite happy for them.

Now she found another letter with a Regina postmark, but this one was addressed to her: Miss Eleanor Williams Miller. She hurried out of town, and found a comfortable seat in the woods alongside the road. It was a fallen log she often stopped at, affording a lovely view of a dell of wildflowers framed by the graceful branches of a pair of alder trees.

“Dearest Ellie,

“We have not met, but I feel we know each other in our hearts. We both have a great deal of love for the Miller brothers, I as Thomas’ wife and you as Joel’s daughter. As I prepare to welcome my own child into the world, my thoughts have turned to you. I was crushed by your decision to remain with Joel when Thomas first informed me, but now, as I become more and more a mother each day, I know you made the right choice. Thomas has told me much about his brother, the pain of losing his young wife, and the even greater trauma of losing his darling daughter. Thomas and I wanted you, but Joel needs you more than we ever could. And knowing that my brother-in-law is happy warms my heart more than having you as a daughter. Love is a tricky thing; we often find it where we least expect it, and it can lead us to places we never imagined. Like the wild prairies of Saskatchewan!

“I hope you and Joel are able to come west for a visit some day, to meet your cousin and see the farm that Thomas is working so hard to bring to life. Come in the spring, when the flowers are in bloom and the calves are frisking about and the birds sing constantly.

“Your loving aunt,

Maria Miller

“P.S. Don’t tell Joel, but the reason Thomas and I chose you was for your name. Sarah was named for her mother, who was named for her mother in turn. Sarah (the elder) promised Joel that their next daughter, if they were so blessed, would be named for his mother (and Thomas’): Eleanor. That promise was never fulfilled, but when Thomas saw your name on the list of orphans, he saw the opportunity to honor his mother. Joel is unlikely to speak of this, being too reticent to bring up the past, but I wanted you to know that it pleases Thomas no end to know that there is once again an Eleanor Miller at the farm.”

Ellie lifted her eyes from the paper, finding them surprisingly dry. She felt she ought to be tearful at such a beautiful confession but instead her heart felt light and filled with an immense sense of purpose. She was meant to live at the Miller farm, meant to bring the name Eleanor back home. Sarah had promised Joel his second daughter would be named for his mother, and she was fulfilling that promise.

The sea rolled against the shore, as it always did, and the birds flitted overhead, busy feeding their chicks who would go on to raise their own, over and over again as the years rolled by. And Eleanor Miller walked to her home, as her namesake once did, long ago.

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel and ellie #ellie williams #anne of green gables #the last of us #the last of us hbo #fan fiction #fanfic #year of fandom crossovers #year of creation!

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