Most of her prayers were undertaken in private these days. That was all right. She’d found other communities worth belonging to, and other ways to worship than standing shoulder-to-shoulder next to others in a sanctuary. The Blessed Virgin had pondered divine mysteries in her heart; there were worse things than following her example.

Within a few minutes, her destination came into view, along with the main attraction there. Madeleine smiled to see it even through a sudden surge of apprehension. This was going to be fine. She’d been telling herself that for days. So had Hæra, but that was different.

Madeleine reached her destination and parked. Hæra was in view, her back to Madeleine. Her shoulders were set proudly straight as she inspected her work.

Madeleine’s apprehension vanished. Front or back, Hæra was so beautiful. She always would be. No matter how long their life together was—and Madeleine intended it should be as long as possible—Hæra would never be anything less than a miracle.

“Thank you,” she whispered. It didn’t matter if nobody was listening. The gratitude was enough.

Before Hæra, a single-engine Cessna airplane sat patiently on Jorsay’s new airstrip. Its white paint gleamed in the sun, and light glanced off the edges of the propeller blades.

Looked like it was ready to go.

Madeleine inhaled deeply through her nose as she got out of the car. This was going to be fine. It would be absolutely fine.

“Please,” she murmured, just in case somebody was listening after all.

After a period of internecine warfare, the Orkney Islands Council had voted yes on a Jorsay airstrip. Now the little island hopper took passengers to and fro, meaning swifter commute times and slightly less reliance on ferries. People were more likely to live on Jorsay, especially since it was relatively cheaper. The population had grown, if not exponentially, and the economy had too. Good news for the islanders, the village, and Ætlaquoy.

Good news for Hæra, too.

It had taken her nearly a year to obtain her LAPL: a light aircraft pilot’s license. Thirty hours of flight instruction were required, plus exam study, and she didn’t have loads of extra time. Or cash. The farm was profitable, and she and Madeleine lived modestly, but flying lessons weren’t cheap. Nor was it easy to travel regularly to Inverness, where the flight school was. On top of it all, fair weather for training could be hard to come by.

Harry Duggan had said Madeleine was “a true saint” for indulging Hæra’s “wee hobby” in the midst of running a farm. Luckily, he hadn’t said this in Madeleine’s hearing, or he’d still be getting an earful about it. The first time she’d seen Hæra looking wistfully at the website for Highland Aviation Training, she’d sat down and said: “Let’s make it happen.”