Love Finds You in Prince Edward Island Read online

  Summerside Press™

  Minneapolis 55438

  www.summersidepress.com

  Love Finds You in Prince Edward Island, Canada

  © 2011 by Susan Page Davis

  ISBN 978-1-60936-109-9

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.

  Prince Edward Island is a real place, and Crown Prince Albert Edward was a real person. Though this story is based on actual events of the prince’s visit to the Island, it is a work of fiction.

  Cover Design by Koechel Peterson & Associates | www.kpadesign.com

  Interior Design by Müllerhaus Publishing Group | www.mullerhaus.net

  Photos of Prince Edward Island by photographer, www.website.

  Used by permission.

  Summerside Press™ is an inspirational publisher offering fresh, irresistible books to uplift the heart and engage the mind.

  Printed in USA.

  PRINCE EDWARD ISLAND, THE SMALLEST OF THE CANADIAN provinces, has a rich and varied heritage. The Míkmaq people called it Epekwitk (Anglicized spellings vary), which means “resting on the waves” or “cradle on the waves,” a tribute to the island’s crescent shape. The French named it Ile Saint-Jean, or Saint John’s Island, when they began to colonize it in 1713. The English took it over in 1758 and gave it the decidedly English name Prince Edward Island, in honor of Prince Edward Augustus, Duke of Kent and father of Queen Victoria. In 1864, four years after this story takes place, Prince Edward Island hosted the Charlottetown Conference, during which the colonies moved toward uniting to become Canada. Ironically, islanders didn’t see the move as advantageous to them, and Prince Edward Island did not become a province of Canada until 1873.

  The island is now home to about 140,000 people, and nearly three-fourths of the people can claim British ancestry. Prince Edward Island is known for its beautiful coastal scenery, including beaches and red cliffs, and rich farmland. A more recent attraction is the newly constructed eight-mile Confederation Bridge, which, in winter, becomes the world’s longest bridge over ice-covered waters. A trip across it from New Brunswick takes about ten minutes.

  The island is also home to Lucy Maud Montgomery’s most beloved fictional character, Anne Shirley. Anne’s home of Green Gables (based on the author’s uncle’s real-life farm) and other sites related to the author and her books draw thousands of tourists to the island each year. PEI is a popular destination for vacationing Americans who want to experience the gentle island life.

  Susan Page Davis

  Chapter One

  June 27, 1860

  Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island

  The back door to the kitchen burst open. Molly Orland nearly dropped the wooden spoon she held.

  “Mum!” Her brother Nathan loomed in the doorway, panting.

  “What is it?” Their mother turned from her worktable and stepped toward him, fear leaping into her eyes.

  “Papa’s hurt.”

  “No! What happened?”

  “He fell off the wagon. Thinks his leg is broken.”

  Mum snatched a clean towel off the rack and glanced at Molly. “Get a jug of water—quick.”

  Her chest aching, Molly filled the small pottery jug her father sometimes took when he went to work in the fields.

  “Where is he?” her mother asked Nathan.

  “Grandpa and Joe are bringing him in the wagon.”

  Molly’s younger sister, Kate, scurried down the stairs into the room. “What’s going on? Nathan, what is it?”

  Molly’s hand shook as she reached to touch Kate’s shoulder. “Papa is hurt.”

  Kate’s face crumpled.

  Their mother grabbed the jug in one hand and held up her skirt and the towel with the other and whisked out the door. Nathan followed her, and the room went still.

  “How bad is it?” Kate’s lips trembled as she looked up into Molly’s face. Her eyes filled with tears.

  Molly felt tears flooding her own eyes. She hauled in a painful breath. “We don’t know yet. Let’s get his bed ready.”

  She strode into their parents’ bedchamber with twelve-year-old Kate on her heels. The bed was made neatly, as always during the day.

  Molly seized the edge of the coverlet. “Get on the other side, Kate. Help me lay this back, so they can get Papa into bed easily.”

  “Will he need the doctor? I could go for Dr. Trann.”

  “I think he might. Let’s go meet them and see if we should run to the Tranns’.”

  As soon as they’d turned down the covers, Molly hurried to the front door and looked across the barnyard and down the field. Kate pushed in between her and the doorjamb. The hay wagon, pulled by Papa’s team of big chestnut geldings, rolled slowly toward them. A lithe figure ran from the wagon toward the road of packed red earth.

  “Look! There goes Joe.” Molly pointed. The youngest of the four Orland siblings at ten, Joe streaked across the hayfield then hopped over rows of potato plants until he reached the road and tore for town. “Mum must have told him to fetch the doctor.”

  “What else can we do to help?” Kate’s weepiness had passed, and Molly decided that keeping busy was the key for both of them.

  “Come, let’s fill the teakettle. Doctors always want hot water.”

  “What for?”

  “To clean things, I expect.” Molly filled the kettle from the bucket of water on the floor by the stove. “Can you run out and draw another pail of water? They’ll be nearly here by the time you do it.”

  Kate seized the pail and ran for the back door. Molly checked the stove’s firebox, put in another stick of wood, and went back to the doorway. The wagon drew up outside. Was her father conscious, and, if so, how badly did he suffer? Molly swallowed around an aching lump in her throat. If Papa was badly hurt, how would they keep the dairy going, and who would finish getting in the hay crop? The boys and Grandpa couldn’t do it all by themselves.

  Grandpa Anson carefully climbed from the seat in front onto the mound of hay. Mum and Nathan remained kneeling beside the prone form that lay on top of the load. Molly ran down the steps and caught her breath at her first glimpse of her father.

  His ashen face was set in a grimace that could not hold back his groans. His left trouser leg was soaked in blood above the knee.

  “Molly, get the blanket off Joseph’s bed,” her mother snapped.

  Molly hurried into the house and dashed up the stairs to her brothers’ room beneath the eaves. Nathan and Joe shared the small chamber and the tiered bunks that hugged the wall. Molly grabbed the edge of the woolen blanket tucked over Joe’s straw tick on the top bunk and yanked it off. His pillow and nightshirt tumbled to the floor, but she didn’t stop to pick them up.

  Nathan, her mother, and her grandfather hovered over Papa on the hay as Molly ran through the doorway and to the wagon’s side. Her mother plucked the blanket from her hands and laid it out beside the injured man.

  “Now, Nathan, help me lift him onto the blanket.”

  “I’ll help too.” Anson squeezed closer and grimaced as he looked down into his son’s face. “David, can you hear me?”

  “I hear you, Da.”

  “We’ll move you easy, son.”

  Nathan looked anxiously at his mother and then his grandfather. “Maybe we should wait until Dr. Trann gets here.”

  “If the doctor’s not home, it could be hours,” Mum said. “Let’s slide him over onto the blanket, and then we can lower him down slowly. Molly can help.”

  “Should we put splints on it?” Nathan stood solidly atop the hay mou
nd as though still unwilling to move his father.

  “The doctor will tell us,” Grandpa said. “Let’s get him in the house.”

  Kate had come to stand beside Molly, and she stepped forward, her brow wrinkled like the furrowed cornfields. “I can help too.”

  Together, Mum, Nathan, and Grandpa managed to ease Papa onto the wool blanket. Getting him down from the wagon was harder. Molly’s heart wrenched as he let out a cry of agony. They lowered him quicker than they’d planned to the ground, with Molly and Kate trying to easy the landing. Papa lay panting, staring up at the sky, as Mum slid down off the hay load.

  “David, did we hurt you more?” Mum wrung her hands as she bent over him. “I should have listened to Nathan and let the doctor tell us how to do it.”

  “Nay. I’m all right.” Papa’s clenched teeth belied his words.

  “Nathan, there’s a wide plank in the byre leaning against the wall,” Grandpa said. “I was going to use it to wall off a calving stall. Fetch it, lad. We’ll carry your father on it and jostle him less.”

  Molly wrapped her apron around her hands and squeezed them tight. “What shall I do, Mum?”

  Her mother’s eyes were dark with determination—no time for weeping yet. “Get down the willow bark and yarrow, in case the doctor can’t come. And tear up that old linen towel I said could go for a rag. We’ll need strips.”

  Molly hurried with her little sister to the assigned tasks, terrified to turn her back on her suffering father yet relieved not to gaze any longer on his face.

  Lord Washburn’s country estate, outside London

  Peter Stark entered the Earl of Washburn’s “closet”—the private study where the earl conducted his official business—with caution. His heart always thumped when his master summoned him. Washburn treated him well, but the difference in their stations and the knowledge that His Lordship could make life very difficult for him if he desired always kept Peter on edge in his presence.

  “Good afternoon, my lord. You wished to see me?” Peter bowed as he spoke.

  “Yes, yes, come in.” Washburn laid aside the paper he’d been reading. “Have a seat, Stark.”

  Even more unsettled, Peter walked to the chair the earl indicated. He always stood in the presence of aristocracy—except for that one time several years ago when his master had invited him into his closet and spoken to Peter as one man to another, not as a master to a servant. That had never been repeated, and Peter liked to think they understood one another—but here was the earl inviting him to sit down again. Was he going to talk about Peter’s past once more? What would be the point?

  Peter sat still and tried not to fidget.

  “I’ve just learned that I’ll soon be taking a journey,” Washburn said.

  Peter arched his eyebrows. “A journey, my lord?” He’d seen the butler usher in the Duke of Newcastle that morning. Newcastle—the queen’s colonial secretary—had been closeted with the earl for a half hour and then left, seemingly in a good humor. Was he the one who had informed Washburn of his impending trip?

  “Yes. It seems I’m invited to travel to North America with Newcastle and the Prince of Wales.”

  Peter’s heart sank. The earl would be away for several months, which meant Peter wouldn’t work during that time unless he went back to his former means of earning a living—hiring out as a day laborer and doing whatever heavy work was available. Or perhaps he’d carry on under the supervision of the earl’s steward.

  “I wish you a good journey, my lord.”

  Washburn smiled. “I was hoping you’d consent to accompany me.”

  Peter blinked. This unexpected news made it more difficult to keep his composure. To travel with His Lordship—and to America! What would his mother say about this? “I...don’t know what to say, my lord.”

  “It’s like this.” Washburn leaned forward and laced his fingers together on the desktop. “Newcastle has charge of the arrangements for the prince’s transportation and so forth. The entertainment—that is, the reception in each city...the levees, balls, and such—will be left to the local officials. But Newcastle asked me to go along as a friend of the prince’s family and a representative of the government. Of course, General Bruce will go in the capacity of the prince’s personal governor, but I have a good rapport with His Royal Highness, if I may say so, and I’ll be able to advise him if it’s needed.”

  Peter nodded slowly. The Prince of Wales, at eighteen years of age, would need older, steadier heads along. He couldn’t charge across British North America alone, for certain. The provincial politicians would eat him alive, currying the favor of the future regent—not to mention the mischief the young prince had shown he could find when unsupervised. General Robert Bruce would keep a lid on the young man’s behavior, and Washburn would be available as a discreet confidant—a role he filled well, as Peter could attest. But he wasn’t sure what part someone like himself would play in this drama. Surely he wouldn’t be considered a companion for the prince. A commoner of questionable parentage would not be approved for such a position.

  “And you wish me to go?” he managed.

  “Yes. Two of the prince’s friends are going—soldiers back from the Crimea. They’ll be company for the prince, as equerries. But Newcastle thought it would be well to have a young man along whom we could send on errands if we meet with any problems. Someone who can deal with shopkeepers and railroad superintendents if need be, things like that. I told him you are a dependable and personable young fellow. He agreed to let me invite you.” Washburn sat back, beaming at Peter.

  “That was very kind of you. Thank you.” Peter found it difficult to speak, but the idea had grown more real—and more attractive—as his master talked. “I admit, it was selfish on my part, knowing I’d travel more comfortably with you along,” Washburn said. “I’m not taking Varrell, so you’ll have to assist with my wardrobe and the like.”

  “That would be an honor, my lord.”

  “I’ll warn you, though, most of the members of the suite will be middle-aged fogies like me...or journalists from various newspapers. Dr. Acland, the prince’s physician, will be along, as well as a couple of other gentlemen, but it will be quite a small party. We don’t want to overwhelm the provincial folks with a plethora of guests to put up.”

  As His Lordship explained it all, Peter tried to take it in. He, a common laborer, now servant to an earl, had been chosen out of all the men in England to accompany the Prince of Wales. It boggled the mind. But the description of his duties eased his tension a bit. He could run errands and go behind-the-scenes to settle small difficulties. As Washburn’s understeward, he was used to wading through the minutiae of details to make his master’s life run more smoothly. Surely he could do that for the prince as well. And if Washburn needed him to brush and press his clothes, Peter was used to doing that for himself. Varrell, the valet, could give him some pointers before he left.

  “Of course I’ll stand for your expenses,” Washburn said. “So, what do you say? Can I count on you?”

  Peter’s heart thudded in his chest. The earl was leaving the decision to him, not ordering him to go. That typified the relationship they’d had for the last six years. He was an employee, but he’d served Washburn with a willing heart since he was sixteen years old. This voyage could change his life. What would it mean for him? For his mother? For the future?

  He managed to smile serenely. “Of course, my lord. I’d be happy to serve you on the journey.”

  Chapter Two

  Molly tiptoed about the kitchen, helping her mother cook supper while Grandpa and the two boys milked the cows.

  “Do you think Papa will wake up for supper?” Kate asked from the doorway.

  Mum glanced up from kneading the biscuit dough. “The doctor gave him a good dose of laudanum. He’ll likely sleep a few more hours. But the rest of us need to eat.”

  Kate clenched and unclenched one fist as she hovered. Molly made herself smile in what she hoped was a reassuring
manner. “He’ll get rested, and maybe you can talk to him in the morning.”

  “How will we keep up with all the chores?” Kate asked.

  “I’m sure I don’t know.” Their mother reached for her biscuit cutter.

  “The boys and Grandpa Anson can handle the milking, now that school is out,” Molly said.

  “It will test us, for certain.” Mum swiftly pressed the cutter into the dough a half dozen times and laid it aside.

  “Kate and I will do everything in the house,” Molly said. “And I can milk too, if need be.”

  Her mother made a dismissive sound.

  “I know I’m not good at it, but if I practice, I’ll get better.” Molly reached for a stack of ironstone plates.

  “That’s probably true, but I think you’d help us more if you tried for one of those jobs at Government House.”

  Molly stopped with her hand in midair. “Do you?”

  “Your father mentioned it to me last night. He didn’t want to push you into service if you weren’t of a mind to do it, but the truth is, we were scraping the bottom of the cash barrel before this happened. He already wondered if he’d have enough to pay men to help with the hay crop.”

  Molly walked around the table, setting each plate down deliberately. Taking a job as a domestic servant was far from what she’d imagined she’d be doing at the age of twenty. A schoolteacher, perhaps, though Mum and Papa had coaxed her to stay with them on the farm. She’d even dreamed of marrying and keeping her own house by now. But the young man she’d fancied had turned elsewhere, and she hadn’t met anyone else she could love enough to leave her family for.

  But scrubbing and cleaning at the governor’s mansion? She turned toward the small mirror that hung beside the coatrack. “They would never choose me.” She eyed her reflection doubtfully in the old walnut-framed glass her grandmother had brought across the ocean from England. Her grandpa and her friend Allison said she was pretty, but she didn’t feel pretty.