Chapters (43)
- Pronunciation
- Prologue
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Thirty-five
- Thirty-six
- Thirty-seven
- Thirty-eight
- Thirty-nine
- Forty
- Acknowledgments
He reached down into a carrier bag on the floor and drew out an example of the jersey to show to Fin. He flattened it out across the table, and Fin could see what the old priest meant. The pattern was incredibly fine, with row upon row of vertical, horizontal and angled ribs, some in diamond shapes, others in a zigzag motif. The old man ran his finger lightly over the ribbed blue wool.
“They use very fine needles and a tight stitch. As you can see, the jersey is seamless. Very warm and dry. It takes about two weeks to knit one.”
“And every family had its own distinct pattern?”
“Aye, they did. Passed down through the generations. Used to be practised all over the Hebrides at one time, but only in Eriskay now. And no doubt it’ll die out here, too, in the end. The young ones don’t show much interest in taking it on. Takes too long, you see. The girls now want everything today. Or even yesterday.” He smiled sadly and shook his head at Fin. “Which is why I thought it would be a shame for such a fine craft to pass into history unrecorded.”
“And you have examples of every family pattern on the island?”
“Pretty much so. For about the last seventy years anyway. Can I get you something to drink? A wee dram, maybe.”
Fin declined politely. “It’s a bit early for me.”
“Och, it’s never too early for a sip of whisky, Mr. Macleod. I didn’t get to be this age by waiting for a nip, or drinking milk.” He grinned and crossed to an old bureau with a drop-down door that opened to reveal a collection of bottles. He selected one and poured himself a small measure. “Sure I can’t tempt you?”
Fin smiled. “No thanks.”
The old priest returned to the table and took a tiny sip. “Do you have an example of what it is you’re looking for?”
“I do.” Fin took Gunn’s fax from his bag and smoothed it over the jersey on the table.
The old man peered at it. “Oh, aye. Definitely an Eriskay pattern,” he said. “Where did you get this?”
Fin hesitated. “It was drawn from an impression left by a blanket, or a rug. Something knitted anyway.”
The priest nodded. “Well, it’ll take me some time to compare it with all my samples. If I can’t tempt you to a wee dram, make yourself a cup of tea.” He nodded towards the stove. “And sit in by the fire. I’d offer you a Bible to read.” He smiled mischievously. “But it’s maybe a bit early in the day for stuff that strong.”