“Whatever do you mean?”
“This day, I start listening to you. No more sneaking around doing leg-lifts behind your back. You give the orders and I’ll follow them.”
“About time.”
***
That night, Rob savored the feel of Maggie smoothing his covers.
She pulled a chair up close to his bed. “You need to hear the ending to the Selkie tale, so I’ll tell it now.”
Only if I can touch you. He reached for her hand, relieved when she laced her fingers through his.
“You remember how the crofter fell in love with the Selkie, and his gentleness won her trust? How she stopped wading into the sea and listening to the calls of her Selkie-lover?”
He nodded.
“Well, after several weeks of hiding from the fishermen, the Selkie knew she had to tell the crofter the truth about what she was—where she came from. She told him of her journey through the sea, something inside her breast urging her on and on until late one night, too exhausted to swim any longer, she reached an island and pulled herself up onto a large, flat rock and fell into a deep sleep.
“She awoke just before dawn, the need for food gnawing at her belly. But when she tried to slide from the rock, she discovered she had no flippers—only pale-looking hands and feet. The warnings of her mother were true. ‘There is one island you must avoid,’ she’d said, ‘for if you beach yourself on a rock there, you will turn into a human. If that should happen, you’ll find your fur beside you. Slip into it immediately and escape!’
“She’d seen a few humans before, on boats or other islands, their pale bodies clothed—not in fur—but strange coverings of many colors. Frightened, she scrambled to her knees and reached for the bundle of fur beside her.
“But, before she could slip it on, she heard angry shouts. Two humans ran through the sand toward her, waving their arms and long, pronged weapons. She grabbed the fur, scrambled from the rock, and raced across the shore, amazed by how fast her human legs could travel.
‘“And that’s how I came to your cottage,’ she said to the crofter. ‘And you covered my body and hid me in that first cave.’
“The crofter pulled her close, feeling her body tremble. ‘I don’t care what or who you are. I love you. Stay with me, please. Without you I’m nothing and I have nothing.’
“The Selkie gently pushed him away. ‘There’s something I must do before I give you my answer.’ She picked up the seal fur and left the cave, wading out into the sea until the waves lapped at her knees. She tossed the fur into the water and watched it float, then disappear. When she turned, the crofter stood on the shore, his arm raised toward her. She began to sing.
“She sang of her love, that she would be his forever, that the love in her heart would never fade, but grow stronger each day.
“So the Selkie and her crofter married, had many children, and lived on their wee island in the sea, forever and ever and ever.”
Rob’s fingers tightened. “That’s it? That’s the end?”
“Aye, that’s the end of the Selkie tale.”
“But what about the fishermen who wanted to kill her?”
Maggie smiled. “’Tis a tale, Rob, no’ something that really happened. It’s been told over hundreds of years, and I’m sure some of it—like the angry fishermen—has been lost in the telling.”
“Was the island Innisbraw?”
She pulled her hand away. “Of course no’. There are no caves here large enough to hide in.” She stood and pushed the chair away. “Now, you’ve had your ending and ’tis time for sleep.” She poured a fresh glass of water for his bedside, said a soft “Guid-night,” and crossed the hall to her own room.
Sleep? How could he sleep? The Selkie had stayed. The last few words of the story echoed in his mind.
And they lived on their wee island in the sea forever and ever and ever.
***
In the days that followed, he found the exercises much less painful, but he suffered an entirely different kind of pain. Maggie’s naturally affectionate nature drove him crazy. She didn’t spend another night on his bed—he didn’t expect her to—but he often caught her looking at him with such fondness, he had to bite his tongue to keep from blurting out that he might be falling in love with her.
He could imagine how she would react to such a ridiculously immature disclosure.
“Might be,” she’d say, nose in the air. “You sound like some luve-sick lad with fuzz on his chin.”
He kept such thoughts to himself and stuck to his word, only working his muscles when she asked. The transfer apparatus helped ease his frustration. He could now use the trapeze to sit up without any help. After much practice, he used the bars to lower himself into the wheelchair and pull his body back onto the bed. The transfer took a lot of time and arduous effort, but it was heartening not to have to rely on so many others for mobility.
Every day, he regained more feeling in his hips and legs. He could even feel the difference between the harshness of his denims and the smooth texture of ironed sheets. If only he could make more progress toward controlling his emotions—a problem he hadn’t experienced since a small lad.
Maggie constantly encouraged him to talk more, but somehow he had to learn to keep from revealing how he felt about everything. He’d have to ask Doctor McGrath if there were a physical reason. The commander of an air group could never wear his emotions on his sleeve.
CHAPTER 16
Hugh MacEwan, the minister of the Kirk on Innisbraw, trudged back toward the manse from a visit with several of the older widows at their cottages on the western side of the island. Why did he feel so tired? Granted, he had been up over half the night preparing his lesson for the Sabbath, but he often spent the quiet, uninterrupted hours studying Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek texts to get a more precise translation of the original languages of the Bible than the early church scholars had provided.
At almost fifty-three and at least a stone too heavy, he might not be in the best physical condition but he walked this far almost every day without feeling so spent. His fatigue must be a symptom of emotional turmoil.
“Och, Heavenly Faither, I don’t like what those auld ones had to say about Maggie and that Yank patient of hers one bit,” he muttered aloud. He paused, took off his eyeglasses, polished them on his handkerchief, and looked toward the freshwater loch.
A pair of mute swans hugged the far shore, protecting a clutch of tiny cygnets.
He veered onto a narrow footpath leading to the banks of the loch, choosing a route as far away as possible from the shy, wild birds. He took off his heavy tweed jacket, folded it carefully, and sank onto a large, flat rock with a sigh.
Common butterwort, one of the earlier wildflowers, bloomed among the rocks that cluttered the peaty soil. In a few weeks, the bell heather would be in its full glory, along with bog myrtle and large patches of white cotton grass in the less stony places. This was exactly what he needed—time to revel in God’s handiwork while attempting to deal with the unsettling thoughts those old women evoked.
They were in a fash about something, but he could not understand what. Yes, Maggie spent her days and nights alone at the infirmary with a young man, which could be considered improper in any other situation. But how could it compromise the lass’s reputation when the lad’s legs were paralysed? After all, John McGrath sent his daughter and her patient here because she was trained to administer the therapy the young man needed.
He had led several prayer meetings since the colonel arrived on the island, beseeching God to heal the aviator’s broken body, and to give Maggie the strength and wisdom she needed. The entire congregation prayed for them every Sabbath.
But he did miss Maggie and looked forward to the time her patient had healed enough for a long, blethering visit.
He unbuttoned his top shirt collar and rolled up his sleeves, turning his face to the brisk sea breeze rippling the dark, peaty loch water. Those widows needed more to keep their minds bu
sy. They should no’ be spreading their gossip about Maggie and her patient. That could stir up a bee skep of problems island-wide.
He stood, threw his jacket over his shoulder, and picked his way through the rocks back to the main path. He needed to spend the rest of the day on his knees. Only God could solve this fankle.
CHAPTER 17
Rob awakened with a start.
An agonized scream from across the hall sent a rush of adrenaline through his body.
Maggie!
He struggled to sit up and bolt from his bed, mind galvanized into action. His legs refused to cooperate.
“Maggie?” he shouted. “Maggie, what’s wrong?” He pulled on the mattress, rolling over onto his side.
Her heart-rending sobs tore through him.
He reached for the bars connected to his bed. “Maggie!” he shouted again. “Och, Lord help me. I can’t get to my Maggie.” He grasped one of the bars and slid his left leg off the bed.
Grabbed the other bar.
He stopped, gasping for breath. Thank God the moonlight streaming in through both windows illuminated the wheelchair in the corner.
But even if he could move his right leg off the mattress, he would be hanging in space with nothing to break his fall when he let go. “Help me, Lord,” he panted, “please help me.”
Maggie staggered into his room, doubled over, violent sobs wracking her body.
“Maggie! Come to me. I can’t get up. Please come to me.”
She stared at him, brushing her tangled hair from her face. “Rob? Rob, is it really you?” She stumbled across the room and collapsed against him. “I thought I lost you,” she cried. “I thought you were dead.”
“Help me back into bed. I’m about to fall.”
She raised her head and gasped. She lifted his left leg onto the bed and pried his hands from the bars before rolling him onto his back. “You could hurt yourself even more. What have I done to you?”
He grabbed her shoulders. “Crawl up here beside me. I need to hold you close. Och, please, Maggie, I need to hold you close.”
She climbed up beside him, throwing her arms around his shoulders.
He hugged her, heart filled with anguish. “You screamed. What happened?”
She held onto him, shoulders shaking. “I thought I lost you,” she repeated.
“You didn’t lose me. You must have had a bad dream.”
“It was dreadful.” She moaned. “The most dreadful dream I’ve ever had.” She looked into his face. “I wouldn’t want to live if that happened to you. And it will ... if you go back to duty.”
“It was only a dream, Maggie. Dreams don’t come true.”
“This one will. With all the missions you’ve flown, this one will.”
“You dreamed I was killed on a bombing strike?”
She buried her face against his chest. “’Twas after a mission, when you came in for a landing. And I watched it happen. Your landing gear wasn’t down and your plane skidded off the runway on its belly until one wing hit the ground, and then it ... it just exploded and tore into ... into pieces with black smoke rising high into the air. I tried to run closer but I couldn’t move.” She wept, clutching him while her body shook.
“Och, you’ve heard too many stories.” He smoothed wet tendrils back from her forehead. “Aye, planes can crash land when they’re damaged, but they never have enough fuel after a mission to explode.” He continued to hold her, pressing his cheek to her hair.
So she feared for his life when he returned to duty. She must have been thinking about it a long time to suffer such a terrible, graphic dream.
Jerking and whimpering, she fell asleep in his arms.
He pulled a blanket off himself and covered her with it. His back ached. Probably pulled muscles, but that didn’t matter. He had to convince her he would survive another round of duty. Och, Lord, I know her faith is far stronger than mine, but for some reason, she’s afraid for me. Help me show her that You’ll take care of me, no matter how thick the flak. Give her back her faith, Heavenly Faither, for that sets her above so many others—especially me.
***
False dawn lightened the bruised sky to pale grey-blue when she raised her head. “I’ve made you hurt yourself.” She slid from the bed and pulled the covers over him. “And you’re cold.” She sat on the bed and smoothed the forelock back from his forehead. “Where do you hurt? And don’t you dare say nowhere. I see it in your eyes.”
“’Tis the pain I feel for you.” He brushed her cheek with his fingers. “I didn’t know my returning to duty frightened you so much.”
“Neither did I, until last night.”
“We have to talk about it. We can’t have something like this torturing you.”
“It doesn’t have to. You can resign your commission and stay here on Innisbraw. You don’t have to report back to duty when you can walk again.”
This was no time to tell her he could never give up flying. “It doesn’t work that way. A member of the American Army Air Forces can’t suddenly decide he wants out, especially a career officer like me.”
“Why no’?” Her chin rose. “You told me you’ve flown over eighty missions if you include the time you spent in fighters. Surely that’s enough for any man, officer or no’.”
He needed time to think about how to handle this. “Make me some coffee, will you please?” He knuckled his burning eyes. “I’m going to have to educate you about how the American military works and I’m a wee bit groggy.”
“I doubt you slept at all after what happened. And I’ll make some tea. I need a clear mind, too.”
“I could use some APCs.”
“So you did hurt yourself.”
“My back just aches a wee bit.”
“Then you get the APCs first. I’ll be back in a tick.” She brought him aspirin and straightened his bedding, pulling up another blanket before leaving for the kitchen.
Eyes closed, he lay thinking. He couldn’t bring up his own indecision about the future. She had presented him with a problem and there could be only one answer. The truth.
He’d have to talk as forcefully as he had when facing a room full of generals. Could he make her understand, truly understand, what he was about to tell her? He prayed for the right words. Face pale and eyes swollen, she had dressed and put her hair into a bun by the time she brought their coffee and tea.
He pulled himself up with the trapeze and patted the side of the bed. “Up you come. I want you close while we talk.”
She settled beside him.
He swallowed some coffee and set the mug on the bedside table. “Before I interrupted, you said I could resign my commission and remain on Innisbraw, and I was trying to explain it isn’t that simple.”
She nodded, sipping her tea.
“Now, I’m going to tell you what would happen if I did that.” He glanced out the window at the orange-flushed sky. “First, an officer on active duty can’t just resign his commission. Even in peacetime, it isn’t easy. When there’s a war on, it can’t be done.” He shook his head when it looked as if she might interrupt. “Let me say it all, and then you can ask your questions, all right?”
She nodded again.
“Second, if I don’t show up for duty after I’ve been declared physically fit, I’ll be considered AWOL. Do you know what that means?”
“Is that like French Leave?” Her voice trembled.
“Aye, but Americans call it ‘Absent Without Leave.’ The American Army Air Forces will send their military police here to Innisbraw and return me to London in handcuffs to face a court martial. I’ll be appointed council for my defense—a member of the Army Air Forces who specializes in law—and he’ll present my case with the Judge Advocate prosecuting before a military judge and a panel of five officers who’ve been appointed to try me.
“Witnesses will be called, including your faither who will already have stated in a sworn affidavit I was fit for duty.” He took another swig of coffee. “And Joh
n won’t do that ’til I can no’ only walk, but run, do sit-ups, and anything else the flight surgeon at Edenoaks might throw at me before allowing me to re-take command of the 396th.
“Anyway, after your faither testifies, my defense will probably call witnesses to attest to my diligence to duty before this happened, to my service record and combat decorations, even all the way back to my graduation, with honours, from West Point.”
Maggie opened and closed her mouth.
He reached for his coffee and drained the mug, gathering his scattered thoughts. “Then I’ll be called to testify. What can I tell them? That I don’t want to return to duty because I’m afraid I’ll be killed?” He shook his head. “That would be a lie because I’m no’ afraid of dying. Or that I’ve found a life for myself on an island in Scotland and I can’t give it up to help defeat Hitler? Another lie. There’s nowt I wouldn’t do to help win this war.”
The whirr of a vacuum broke the uneasy silence. Flora was Hoovering the foyer.
He again looked out the window, searching for the words to make her understand, but unable to meet those pleading, navy-blue eyes. “So, after all the evidence is given and sworn to, the panel would meet together to make their decision.” He took the teacup from her, put it on the table, and gripped both of her hands. “They’ll have to come back with a guilty verdict, Maggie, and desertion during war has severe penalties. The worst is death by firing squad.”
She jerked her hands from his and covered her face. “No, that’s no’ possible.”
“But it is. Another penalty would be life in prison, and I’ll tell you right now I prefer death.”
“They’re all barbarians. Don’t they have hearts? Don’t they care about the men who die and all those they leave behind, broken-hearted, their lives ruined?”
“No, they don’t—they can’t, because if they did, they’d soon have no Air Forces to bomb German fuel depots or take out their airieplane factories, rail yards, and manufacturing plants.” He framed her face with his palms. “When I joined the American Army Air Corps, I swore to uphold my duties to my country. And since America entered the war, those duties include helping everyone who’s fighting the Germans. I didn’t take that oath lightly, Maggie.