I could see Isobel Ross eyeing me and whispering behind her smug, grey, stumpy fingers. I moved forward a pew to catch her scritchy mewling. Ten months to the day since the boy, I heard. The Lord never forgets.

I got up and walked out and I didn’t go back, not even when Da sent Will to fetch me. And never again did I step inside that kirk. Wasn’t that I turned my back to the Lord but I could never again believe there was space inside those walls for love. I did not think He would choose to shine His face on the Righteous of Roanhaven.

~

A Hogmanay in mourning. It passed us by.

~

In the New Year, Kitta was sick. I made oatmeal for her, with salt and some butter I begged from Unty Jinna, but she had no taste for it. All she would take was tea.

Whenever they were at sea, Da, Granda and the boys, I would find her in bed, clutching Ma’s shawl. Grieving is what I thought. What a cradle bairn I was.

One day Postie Andrew brought two letters of condolence addressed to me. The one from Magnus Tulloch I kept to myself. The other I took in to Kitta, thinking its news might cheer her.

Well, I said, squeezing in next to her, Clementina Slater hasn’t much time for her brother Robbie’s new bride.

Kitta turned from me, curling her arms around her knees.

I held up the grubby letter, with much crossing-out and underlining, from Fitdee, Aberdeen. I skipped over the formal words of sorrow for your loss.

So, this is what Clementina says: ‘She’s a weak and peely wee thing from the city and no more sense than my grunny’s goose, robbie goes off to sea and who do ye think gets stuck with miss goosey’s complaining, not robbie that’s who.’

Nothing from Kitta.

I wouldn’t want to be Clementina Slater’s sister-in-law, eh!

I tugged Kitta’s arm and she grunted.

Clementina asked of Kitta’s plans. Would she be going back to the fish? Now that Ma …? If not, we would be needing a third girl to step in, and it isn’t goin’ to be miss goosey, she would be a disaster. I kept this part of the letter to myself too.

I looked down at my hands, unbandaged, clean-looking since I’d been using Unty Jinna’s washes and the poultices she’d given me to put on at night. But the scars on my fingers were red, tender to touch. What would happen when the gutting started and they were all day in salt again?

Clementina didn’t ask about my hands.

~