began to watch the sea again, scanning the northern horizon for the glimpse of a smudge of grey in the deep blue of the water, which might turn out to be the Kite returning to the harbour.
Bridie was the first of them to hear, in the end, and she hurried across the parade ground to tell Flora as she and Mairi parked up the ambulance for the day. It was the first time in months that Flora had seen a smile on Bridie’s face and while she still looked gaunt, with cheeks as pale as winter and purple shadows beneath her eyes, it was good to glimpse that brief flicker of her old cheerfulness, even if it was as short-lived as a match struck in a strong wind.
‘Alec’s ship is due in within the hour,’ Bridie announced, a little out of breath and pressing a hand into her side where a stitch griped. She gave Flora a quick hug and then hastened back to her duties in the canteen.
‘Here,’ said Mairi, holding out a hand for the key of the truck. ‘I’ll fill the tank and get everything sorted for the morning. You go and get out of your uniform and then you can be at the pier when he arrives.’
Flora smiled her thanks. ‘Say hello to Roy from me.’
Mairi nodded. He was staying on the farm, helping her father while he regained his strength. His lungs had been badly affected by the seawater on the night of the wreck and they’d very nearly lost him to a bout of pneumonia that had refused to shift, keeping him in the hospital for several weeks. He’d floated in and out of consciousness, adrift between life and death, but at last Mairi’s determined grasp on his hand had pulled him back to the shores of the living. Back to her. Afterwards, she’d helped him write letters to his parents, telling them of Hal’s final hours and describing to them how the brothers had joined in the desperate struggle to try to save the ship. Three times the tug from Loch Ewe had tried to fire a line across to the foundering vessel and three times the strength of the storm had seized the line, wresting it away from the William H. Welch. When the merchant sailors knew that all was lost, the brothers had finally plunged, together, into the waves to swim for the shore, where they could see the headlights of the ambulances on the clifftop lighting a path through the maelstrom. The force of the tempest had separated them, but the thought that Hal might have made it safely to land kept Roy struggling on, even as the bitter cold sapped the last of his strength.
They wrote about Bridie, about how happy Hal had been with her and how much he’d been looking forward to seeing her again; they told his parents how much their younger son was loved by everyone he’d met in that wild mountainous land so far from his prairie home.
And Roy promised them that one day, just as soon as they could get safe passage, he would come back to them, bringing with him the pretty Scots lass to whom he was now engaged. He told Mairi that together they would all go and lay flowers on Hal’s grave: a simple white stone engraved with his name, the date of his birth and the date of the wreck – 26 February 1944 – in a churchyard at the edge of a waving sea of wheat.
Flora could tell from Alec’s silence that something was preoccupying him. He walked ahead of her up the path to the lochan, carrying the pack with the things they’d need to camp in the bothy for a couple of days. The springy peat cushioned each step they took, the ground soft and damp from a recent fall of summer rain. She shifted her basket to the opposite arm, swapping the pair of fishing rods to her other hand, and adjusted her pace to walk alongside him where the track broadened enough to allow it. She was a little wary, though, alert to another sudden swing in his mood, knowing that the gathering darkness might lead to another flash of that uncontrollable rage she’d glimpsed before.
He glanced across at her and smiled apologetically. ‘Sorry, I’m not very good company again today. Had another almighty row with Pa this morning.’
She didn’t ask what the argument had been about, knowing that it would almost certainly