Perhaps it’s superstitious, but I also view the book somewhat as a lucky charm. My mother bought it to read aloud to Evie and me when we had the measles. We finished reading the book and then, the next day, Evie’s fever broke. I’ve always somehow associated that collective sigh of relief with Huck Finn.

You may rightly wonder, why does the invincible Mort need a lucky charm? Well, Sue, I’m afraid. For the first time in my life I’m really afraid of something tangible. I was fine on the boat ride over, even eager for what awaited me in France. What I overlooked, though, was what I would find in London. I found something worth coming back for. I found you, Sue.

The boy who never shied away from any form of daredevilry, brought to his knees by a woman he only just met. But what a woman she is! When you stepped off the train and that shaft of sunlight found its way through the glass in the roof to set you aglow, even an atheist would’ve seen the finger of God in that.

Even after you stepped into the shadows, you glowed like a candle the rest of the day. You spoke, and I heard a chorus of seraphim. You laid your hand on my arm when we were leaving, but I felt the touch of wings. A bit flowery, I’ll give you, but such was my state of mind. I laid eyes on you, there was that shaft of sunlight, and I was suddenly terrified. Terrified you would disappear in a cloud of bubbles, terrified I might be hit by a bus in the next instant, terrified the world would end before our world had even begun.

Not until we were in the taxicab and you tumbled nearly onto my lap as we edged that corner was I truly aware you were flesh and blood. My skin memorized every place you touched, and that feeling didn’t diminish for the rest of the afternoon. I don’t know if that one little incident made as much of an impression on you as it did me, but it reminded me whom I was with. Not an unreachable angel but a woman I know better than I know the lines in my own palm.

I was still terrified, though. I didn’t want to make a wrong move. That first evening was perfect. Dinner, dancing, strolling through Regent’s Park. I didn’t want to ruin it by suggesting anything improper. I wanted to—oh, God, did I want to!—but I could never have brought myself to ask.

I have a small confession to make. Or maybe you’ve guessed it already. That was the first time I was with a woman. With a woman in that way, I mean. Remember when you pulled the sheet over my shoulders? I wasn’t shivering because of the cold; I was scared to death. Of course I had an idea of what to do—all guys talk about that—but no concrete list of instructions. I didn’t want to go about it the wrong way. And then you laughed and you kissed me again, and I realized in that laugh that you were every bit as nervous as I was. How was I to know that there really was no list of instructions? How was I to know that that could be… that?

You’re right, though, it was a shame we had to leave that room at all during those blessed nine days, but I suppose it had to be done. I wouldn’t have missed being best man, and I think Minna was happy to have another woman as witness aside from her mother. Harry had to peel Minna off him at the station. She tossed her hair and blew him a saucy kiss as he climbed on board. I happened to glance back and see her resolve crumble, and, for an instant, she looked like a little girl. With all of her carrying on, I sometimes forget how young she really is.

As we sat in the register building, waiting with Minna and Harry, I couldn’t help but think of our future, Sue. When I come back from the front, when I’ve served my year, what do we do then? What options do we have?

Harry is grumbling at me to turn off the light and go to bed. Now he’s just thrown a boot at me, the cantankerous bastard. We have just a few more hours before we have to be up, so perhaps I will oblige him, as long as he doesn’t use me as a target any longer.

You know, writing this all to you has helped calm my fears somewhat. As long as I still have your letters, a lifeline running to me all the way from Scotland, I will be okay. I told you I brought the book along with me as a lucky charm, but you, Sue, you are my lucky charm.

Loving you, David

Edinburgh

12 December 1915


My love,

Your letter preceded me to Edinburgh, and it was a very bewildered Chrissie who greeted me at the door to her flat. I had taken my time working my way back up to Scotland, spending a few days in York and a few days touring the abbeys in the Scottish Borders. Off my island, I resolved to see as much as I could. I thought it would be a bit of a lark to appear on Chrissie’s doorstep. To say she was shocked to see me would be an understatement.

It’s quite overwhelming to go from living by myself in an isolated cottage to living on a busy block in a wee flat full of children and noise. At least Chrissie has given me a room of my own, putting me up on the sofa in the little sitting room. I am quite dizzy most of the time and seem to have had a constant headache from their chatter, but it’s been lovely. Chrissie and Alasdair’s children have grown so! I suppose it has probably been six or seven years since they moved from Skye, so it’s not at all surprising. I wouldn’t have expected them to shrink. My niece, Emily, is turning eleven now and is quite the lady. The boys, Allie and Robbie, are eight and six and are quite a handful. When I last saw Robbie, he wasn’t even walking yet, and here he is, running and telling jokes and doing sums in his head. All of them are so full of life that it seems almost indecent in this time of war.

Incidentally, you will tell me if there is anything you need, Davey? Prices may be sky-high here in Edinburgh, but I imagine they are still lower than what you are finding in France. I bought enough books in London that I can certainly spare some to send on, once you’ve found room in your kit bag. Toss away a mug or a few bits of weaponry. Make room for the really important things, dear!

I know exactly what you mean about your much-loved copy of Huck Finn being a source of comfort and even of luck. Because I rarely leave my cottage, I don’t think I have as many of those anxious moments as you do, but I most definitely did when I bribed Willie to blindfold me and toss me on the bottom of that ferry. My lucky charm is a piece of amber, the clear colour of honey. Finlay brought it back for me the first time he sailed off with Da. That stone led to my fascination with geology. I carried it in my pocket for the longest time and, when I was feeling blue, would take it out to examine, hoping to discover the magic it held. When reading aloud in school or sitting for exams, I would feel for its reassuring shape in my pocket. The amber is worn quite smooth now and has an appealing little groove where my thumb fits. It only stands to reason that it would be the first thing in my suitcase when I left Skye.

It’s funny to hear you go on about that shaft of sunlight falling as I stepped off the train. I know just what you were talking about, but I’m afraid I didn’t view it quite as poetically as you did. I was trying to scan the station to find you when that ridiculous sunlight broke right through the window and shone into my eyes. And that accidental tumble in the taxicab? Perhaps I would’ve felt the same current of electricity if I hadn’t been so utterly embarrassed at landing in an undignified heap on your lap.

Not to make light of your romantic impressions, my darling. I am a poet, after all, and capable of being every bit as sentimental.

I was certainly nervous to meet you but, truly, I didn’t dream you’d be nervous as well. And terrified? I didn’t think you had ever heard of the word. I might have ventured to say that you’d done this before—declared your undying adoration to a woman you’d never laid eyes on, joined the French Army for an excuse to cross the Atlantic, and then lured her to an extravagant London hotel.

I did see a slight slip in your confidence when we got up to your room. I didn’t know for sure that it was your first time, but I wondered. You are right, though: I was scared too. I think all of the experience in the world couldn’t prepare someone for the very first time they are with a person they love. Was there really anything to be worried about? It obviously all worked out quite well—or we wouldn’t have repeated it so many times!

I don’t know what options are open to us in the future. But do we need to worry about it now? The world has enough worry without adding another skein to the tangle. You just concentrate on staying out of the way of the shells and bullets, and I’ll concentrate on writing to you and loving you more every day that passes.

Yours, Sue

Chapter Twelve

Margaret

Edinburgh

Wednesday, 14 August 1940


Dear Uncle Finlay,