“I’m no’ a liar, as I’ve told you often enough, but I’m also no’ a quitter. When your faither finally signs that paper stating I’m fit to return to duty, that’s exactly what I’ll do because ’tis who and what I am.”
She closed her eyes, a tremor shaking her body. “Then ... then ’tis up to me to be as brave as all the others who have someone they … they care about in danger.” She laid her head on his shoulder. “Please pray for me, Rob. Somehow, I’ve lost the faith that God will bring you home safely and I don’t know how to get it back.”
“I have been praying. And I’ll keep on praying. Your faith is the one thing that will keep me safe.” That, and God’s plan.
She was quiet the rest of the day and he didn’t push her to talk. She fought a spiritual battle. Only the Lord could help her regain her faith.
***
Maggie paced her room, wringing her hands, fighting tears. What should she do? How could she sleep, especially after hearing Rob’s determination to return to duty the moment he could? Sleep would surely bring another horrible dream.
If only she could spend the night close to him, hear his steady breathing, feel the beat of his heart beneath her cheek.
Her face burned. Och, what kind of lass allowed such thoughts?
She dropped to her knees beside her bed. “I’m in a terrible, terrible fash, Heavenly Faither. I can’t stand having another nightmare, I just can’t!” She clasped her hands beneath her chin, body quivering. “I know I shouldn’t even think about spending the night with Rob. ’Tis wrong because I’m his nurse—and I could be tempting him to sin.”
I AM YOUR FORTRESS.
In brilliant yellow letters.
Written behind her closed eyes.
Words from a Salm she memorized as a bairn echoed in her thoughts: ‘For You are my rock and fortress; therefore, for Your name’s sake, lead me and guide me.’
“Aye, lead me, Lord. Guide me. I want only Your perfect will.”
Her mind flooded with memories of that first night she spent on Rob’s bed—when she awakened to find him holding a lock of her hair.
Just her hair.
And last night, he only held her while she cried, somehow sensing she needed proof it was only a horrible dream, that he hadn’t been killed. She didn’t mean to fall asleep, but when she opened her eyes, he held her hand.
Just her hand.
“I don’t want to act like a wanton lass. Give me an answer, Lord, please! I don’t know what to do.” She remained on her knees, listening for the quiet, small voice of the Holy Spirit.
She awakened hours later, slumped on the floor beside her bed, shivering, muscles cramped. The first flush of dawn tinted the walls with a warm, yellow glow.
No bad dream.
The Lord heard her prayer.
And answered.
CHAPTER 18
Over the next few days, she seemed more like the old Maggie who smiled and teased, but this wasn’t a problem that could be solved quickly. A dark shadow deep within her eyes saddened Rob. He could do nothing to help her but pray, and he had failed God too often to be certain He would answer, even if his pleas weren’t for himself.
***
On Saturday evening, he suggested Maggie take time off the next morning to attend services at kirk. “You haven’t been once. I’m afraid your minister thinks I’m too selfish to allow you the time away.”
“Och, Hugh knows better than that. He understands I don’t want to leave you alone while I go to kirk.”
“What’s twa or so hours? Please, Maggie, go on the morra’s mornin. You’ve told me how important your minister’s lessons are to everybody on the island, and it’s been a long time since you’ve heard him.”
“I can’t leave you alone for over twa hours. I can’t.”
He laid his head back. “Och, I can’t believe this.”
She walked over to the window and looked out at the sea. “I suppose I could ask Morag MacDonald to stay with you, for she’s been begging me to give her some wee task.”
“Well?”
“But she has her own reasons for never missing kirk. Her only lad, Graham, is in the British Army and she’s verra concerned about him.”
“I already feel like I work you near to death. I hate you giving up the spiritual food you need.”
“Don’t talk daft. Doing things for you brings me joy and ’tis guid to feel needed.”
“Mebbe Morag would like to feel needed, too.”
She worried her lower lip, fingers tapping on thighs. “I’ll raise her on the radio and ask.”
She returned in minutes. “Morag said she’d be verra glad to help. She’s been wanting to meet you and this gives her a guid excuse.”
He may have opened a can of worms but he would just have to bear all the personal questions. At least Maggie was going to kirk.
***
Morag arrived at the infirmary fifteen minutes early so her husband could meet Rob before driving Maggie to kirk in their cart. Alec, a tall, sturdy, open-faced man with strong, masculine features, wore a tweed suit, the jacket stretched taut over his broad shoulders, a white shirt, and tie. He held what Maggie called a “bunnet”—a flat cap with a small brim in front—clasped beneath his arm.
Morag had the same black hair and blue eyes as her husband but she was slim with a heart-shaped face. The hint of a dimple decorated her pointed chin. Even though she was not going to kirk, her dress looked too fancy for every-day wear.
They greeted Maggie with hugs and kisses. “We’ve missed you, we have that,” Alec said, face beaming.
“She’s been verra busy,” Morag said, holding out her hand to Rob. “And you’re our Maggie’s Rob. I have to say, ’tis guid to see you in a wheelchair and no’ in bed. If you’re as bad a patient as my Alec here, you’re already giving our Maggie fits to be up and about.”
Rob shook her hand, grateful for her warm smile and the effort she put into speaking English. “I can’t thank you enough for taking Maggie’s place this morning. It’s been too long since she went to kirk.”
“Och, ’tis my pleasure. And ’tis grand you realize how much a bit of time spent at our Lord’s house will mean to her.”
“I do that.”
“We’d best be on our way, then,” Alec said. “’Tis a bonnie day oot there. If you’re allowed on the entry, Morag can wheel you oot so you can enjoy the sunshine and the sound of the sea sooking on the shore.”
Maggie ran her fingers over his shoulder. “Do have Morag take you ootside. We’ll no’ be gone long.”
As soon as they left, Morag released the brakes on the wheelchair. “Maggie told me you’re a coffee drinker, and since our son Graham is too, I’m thinking I’ll brew a pottle to take out on the entry.”
“Now that sounds guid,” Rob said with a wide grin.
“I don’t know how much you know about coos, but they can be contrary though loving beasties,” she said, pouring his second mug of coffee. “We raise the Hieland cattle, bred for generations in Scotland, mainly because they are so gentle and hardy. But if you treat them too well, they soon forget they’re coos and think they can come into the cottage any time it pleases them.”
“You mean they just show up in your house?”
“They do that.” She laughed. “We had one heifer that wouldn’t stay out of the cottage. She found a way to nudge the latch on the gate open. If the door to the cottage was ajar, we’d find her in the bedroom or the bathroom Alec put in when we got a generator, smelling everything with her broad, wet nose, her long, curved horns covered with towels and anything else she happened to get them tangled in.”
Rob chuckled. “I can just see that. What did you do with her?”
“Och, we put up with it ’til winter and then kept her in the byre. By spring we’d bred her and her thoughts turned elsewhere.”
They talked briefly about her son, Graham. “I admire you trusting the Lord to bring him home,” Rob said, thinking about Maggie’s fears.
<
br /> “My faith isn’t always so strong, but then I get on my knees and turn him over to the Lord again. After all, our Faither luves Graham even more than Alec and I do.”
By the time Alec and Maggie returned, Rob considered Morag a friend. She hugged him and said she hoped they would meet again soon. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen our Maggie so happy,” she whispered.
***
The moment they drove off, Maggie sat on the stone bench beside his wheelchair. “I can’t express how grand it was to see Hugh again.” She smiled at the memory. “And you must have been a mind reader. His entire lesson this mornin was on intercessory prayer and having the faith to believe it would be answered. My Bible is filled with passages I’ve underlined, so every time my faith falters, I have our Lord’s words to help me back to the right path, especially Philippians 4:6-7.”
“And what does that say?”
She reached for her Gaelic Bible and thumbed through it quickly. “Here it is.” She took her time translating from the Gaelic into English. “‘In nothing be anxious; but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God. And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall guard your hearts and your thoughts in Christ Jesus.’”
“Sounds familiar. The wording’s a bit different.”
Her breath froze. “What do you mean—different?”
“I grew up with the King James version of the Bible. A lot of thee’s and thou’s.”
Her apprehension evaporated. “Och, is that all?”
“That’s a guid passage. About sums it up, doesn’t it?”
“It does that. I’m certain I’ll have that one memorized by day’s end.”
“I hope to meet your Hugh someday. He sounds like a man who takes his orders directly from the Lord.”
“So many times his lessons seem directed right at me, like this mornin, and I’ve heard other folk say the same. I’m sorry Morag had to miss it, but I did see Alec taking notes as fast as I was.”
“Then you’re feeling a wee bit better?”
“I am, but don’t stop praying for me. I’ve a ways to go before you report back to duty.”
***
He was alone in the back cockpit of a Stearman PT-17 bi-plane trainer, five thousand feet over Randolph Field in Texas. He tromped on the rudder and put the bi-plane into a deep bank, reveling in the keening song the wind played through the wing-wires and the early morning chill on his face. He caught a glimpse of the sun just peeking over the horizon between the two yellow wings and grinned like an idiot. There was no feeling like this anywhere on earth.
He tromped hard on the right rudder and put the plane into another steep bank. The moment he recovered, he checked his altitude and pulled the P-17 into a climb. His head pressed back as he gazed through his goggles at the vast, cloudless sky above him.
A sudden harsh noise drove the dream from his mind as the raucous barking of seals brought him awake. Not now! He closed his eyes and concentrated on recapturing the dream. But it was gone, and with it the peace, the sensation of being a whole man again and at one with the heavens.
He wiped his stinging eyes. Oh Lord, he could never give up flying. He couldn’t!
CHAPTER 19
Elspeth came every other morning. As the weather warmed, they moved out to the flagged-stone entry for Rob’s lessons. His vocabulary grew at an amazing speed. Scots was easy compared to the German, French, and Italian he’d spent years learning.
An expert on island folklore, the old woman delighted him with tales of the early inhabitants of Innisbraw.
“Do you know the Selkie tale?”
“Everybody on Innisbraw knows it, young and auld. Why? Has Maggie shared it with you?”
“So many times I’ve lost count. I’m just wondering if you know why the fishermen stopped chasing and allowed her to marry the crofter.”
She laughed into her sleeve. “I told that tale to Maggie many times when she was a young lass. If a reason ever existed, it’s been lost over the years.”
No help there.
His imagination was caught by her description of the skerries—large, sharp rocks far from shore, hidden by high seas, and visible only because of the conflicting waves they generated.
“You are certain to hear our skerries mentioned by the fishermen here on Innisbraw,” she said, “for the nearest lifeboat is on Barra, over twenty-five kilometres north of us. Over the years, many of our trawlers have been lost to the rocks lurking out there in the Atlantic to our southwest. Of course, the German U-Boats keep our trawlers from fishing the Atlantic now, but once the war is over the danger will still be there.”
That night Rob tossed and turned as he sought sleep. Once the war ended, how could the fisherman of Innisbraw be expected to brave the Minch and the vast Atlantic without a rescue boat of their own, especially with the added danger of hidden rocks? There had to be some way to get the island its own rescue service.
***
On an afternoon toward the end of his third week on Innisbraw, Maggie tiptoed into his room. Calf and thigh cramps had plagued him from midnight to dawn and by noon he was so exhausted, she insisted he take a nap.
She stood over him, studying his braw face, so peaceful in sleep. Though she cooked large dinners and suppers from the poultry, fish, and vegetables the folk brought almost daily, he insisted on only scones and coffee for breakfast and he still looked much too thin.
His dark moods were less frequent as his physical progress accelerated, but he remained a complex, secretive man. Remembering his tenderness the night she suffered the nightmare brought a flush of warmth and unbidden thoughts flooded her mind. What would it be like to be married to him, to be living together in a wee cottage, perhaps planning a family? Och, how could she even think such a ridiculous thought?
He woke, staring straight up into her face as though he could read her thoughts.
“You’ve been asleep for almost three hours.” Her words tumbled out fast as a rain-swollen burn. “Any longer and you’ll no’ sleep the night.”
He stretched and grinned. “Right. So what’s on the agenda? I’m no’ up to exercises ’til after supper.”
Calm down. He’s too perceptive by half. “There will be no exercises the day. And you have a visitor.”
“A visitor? Who?”
“’Tis Hugh. He told me on the Sabbath he’s wanted to come ever so long but he hasn’t wanted to bother you.”
His look of dismay surprised her. Hadn’t he said he wanted to meet Hugh?
“If you don’t feel up to seeing him, I know he’ll understand. I told him you had a bad night.” Was he afraid to meet Hugh? Had she given him the impression Hugh was an unapproachable spiritual giant? “Hugh’s always been an anchor in my life. All the time I was growing up, he was never too busy to offer encouragement. And he has a fine sense of humour. His face always crinkles like a smiling wee elf when he’s especially pleased.”
Rob rubbed the side of his nose, a habit she recognized. He was uncomfortable.
She hated to keep Hugh waiting, but sat on the side of the bed. “I remember one time when I was only a lass he told me about my mither and faither’s courtship—how Faither was like a golden eagle, already a physician and exploring the vast, unlimited reaches of his profession. He compared Mither to a rock dove, young, tender, wanting nothing more than her warm cottage nest filled with healthy bairns.”
“Why don’t I meet him out on the entry? I could use some fresh air to clear the cobwebs—och, moosewabs.”
Relief replaced anxiety.
He reached for the trapeze while she retrieved the wheelchair and set the brake. By the time she guided his legs into the chair and he sat, sweat beaded his forehead.
“Do I still look fit for company?” he panted.
“Och, you look grand.” She laughed, releasing the brakes. “On you go then. I’m going to start coffee for the both of you.”
“Coffee?”
&nb
sp; “Some Americans drink tea and some Scots prefer coffee. Our Hugh’s one of them.”
***
He propelled his chair down the hall. Though the few people he’d talked to on Innisbraw said only good about Hugh, the preachers he’d encountered growing up tended to be a bit smug or sanctimonious. He hoped he wouldn’t have to sit through a lengthy lecture on redemption, or even worse, sinning. He gritted his teeth, wheeling his chair through the foyer. This was one encounter he wasn’t ready for.
Come on, Savage. Stop acting like a sacrificial lamb going to the slaughter.
The front door stood open. A short, rather stocky man stood at the railing, looking out at the harbour. He had thinning brown hair with greying sideburns and wore dark brown tweed slacks, jacket, and a white shirt, open at the collar. He turned as Rob approached. “Colonel Savage.” He extended his hand. “I’m Hugh MacEwan. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”
“Rob, if you don’t mind.” He gave a good shake.
“And I’m Hugh. We don’t stand on formality here on Innisbraw.” He gestured with a wave. “I’m always astounded by the view from up here on the fell. The kirk and manse are hidden by so many trees, I seldom have an opportunity to drink in so much of God’s bonnie handiwork.” Voice pleasant, manner relaxed.
“Sit down, Hugh.” Rob wheeled his chair closer. “Maggie says the bench is comfortable.”
Hugh sat with a sigh. “’Tis grand to finally put a face to the man we’ve all been holding up in prayer.”
“That’s verra kind of you.”
When the minister smiled his round face transformed from a man in his fifties into a mischievous imp of indeterminate age. If he were heavier—with a white beard and eyebrows—his round cheeks, cherubic nose, and twinkling eyes would make him the perfect model for Faither Christmas on a Yule card. “Och, ’tis our obligation, and indeed our privilege, to ask God’s help in your recovery.”
“Appreciate that. Never was a man to turn down prayers.”
***
Hugh studied the lad. He was a bit older than expected, pale and thin, but a verra, verra tall man, broad-shouldered and braw. Perhaps this was what set the auld widows’ tongues flapping. “We’ll have to get you over to the kirk. ’Tis one of the few places on Innisbraw with tall trees.”