Magnus Tulloch’s letters were still in my kist, unread. No response. What he would make of that I could not imagine. It was one more thing, a big one, among many for which I felt ill of myself. The thought of seeing him was stirring a soup in me. He might appear on the road up from the yards any minute, and what if he was offended? Hurt? What if he had no taste for chancing his feelings again with someone so flighty as me?

The wee hoosies of Gremista were just over the rise. The Cruden Bay girls picked up their pace, passing us. Same hut this year as for last, aye? Isobel marched ahead with purpose.

Aye. I didn’t care which one we had but was glad for the company of Izzy, Jeannie and Mary. I was missing my Kitta more than I could say.

By the time we reached our hoosie, Izzy was triumphant, her sky-blue shawl across the door—a claim.

We cleaned out our hut, made it liveable and lit our fire for tea. While Clementina was slapping a rough batter on the griddle, I took the bucket and headed for the well, thinking: Here I am again, and how much has happened in a year, this year. I would be fifteen soon, and it did not sound so very old, but the space between Ginger Meggie and Fish Meggie seemed wider than the sea.

I leaned my head against the well pump, listening to gulls cry over the farlins down at the yard. All I wanted to do was sleep.

When the hand fell lightly on the back of my neck, I did not jump, I was not afraid. His voice was none of the things I thought it might be but as warm as I could wish it.

I knew I would see ye again.

~

Magnus Tulloch was the same and he had changed. How could that be?

He was free of his bonds now, a qualified cooper for Nicol & Mair. I watched his face as he told me, laughing, that he would be filling the barrels now, supervising the packers’ work, and how will Miss Clementina be liking that? His usual long slide of hair was uneven, shorter at the back where his head had been shaved because of the accident, and I longed to reach out, run the palms of my hands over his skull, reassure myself—of something. What, I could not say.

Sometimes he would shake his head slightly, as though clearing something away. He talked and talked, news of the yard, who had arrived and who had not, and I thought: Ye have not asked, ye know it is not yet the time. But there were pauses in his chatter, and he was searching my face for reassurance too.

I am sorry for your loss, Fish Meggie.

Ma, of course, he meant.