{"id":1086,"date":"2019-02-12T13:22:19","date_gmt":"2019-02-12T18:22:19","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/read.whitefire-publishing.com\/?p=1086"},"modified":"2020-07-28T17:48:28","modified_gmt":"2020-07-28T21:48:28","slug":"well-meet-again-2","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/whitefire-publishing.com\/read\/well-meet-again-2\/","title":{"rendered":"We\u2019ll Meet Again"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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We\u2019ll Meet Again <\/h3>\n\n\n\n

by Dianne Price<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Will Maggie\u2019s fears stop Rob from following God\u2019s call?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Each time Rob Savage responds to a sea rescue from their Scottish isle, his wife, Maggie, is haunted by nightmares of catastrophe. Could this call be his last? How would she and the children live without Rob? Through stormy rescues, an orphan boy in need of a home, and the mysterious bones of a forgotten child buried long ago, can Maggie and Rob trust God for their futures?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And a special bonus!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Maggie\u2019s Dream\u2014excerpts from the final book in the Thistle series. Dianne wrote these last words just before she left this earth, so not only does this bring Maggie\u2019s dream for her large family<\/a> to a close, but it also honor\u2019s the author\u2019s dream that these stories be available to anyone who enjoys a sweeping love story<\/a> set in a life-changing part of history.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Just when it looks like life is finally settling into a natural rhythm, two strangers arrive on the isle of Innisbraw and send Rob back to a very dark place. Will the strangers\u2019 plans threaten Maggie\u2019s dream of a croftful of eight children with her dear Rob at her side?<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n

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Chapter 1<\/span><\/span><\/h3>\n\t\t\t\t\t

Isle of Innisbraw, Outer Hebrides, Scotland<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

June 1948<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rob Savage tromped through the girse, breathing deeply. Is it a sin to luve my Maggie so much?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The raucous caw of a crow mocked Rob Savage\u2019s silent question, as though the cannie bird were a mindreader.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Shep, his Australian sheepdog, brushed his leg as though urging him to up his pace.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

What a grand gift it was, having a dog who offered such unconditional luve. The thought triggered a forbidden switch in his mind, back to the past. Another Shep\u2014a dynamo of mottled blue fur, puppy breath, and boundless energy, who chewed a lad\u2019s toes, nipped at his bare heels, and slept the sleep of the innocent, cuddled tight to his young master\u2019s chest. They\u2019d <\/em>given him the puppy, the couple <\/em>who said they wanted him to be their son. He\u2019d never had a dog, never known a furry bundle with a soft tongue could make him laugh aloud and lie in bed at night, marveling at the awakening of a luve so strong it sometimes took his breath. After years of praying, he finally had a family.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Six months later, it was all gone. They <\/em>hustled him into their automobile to return him to the orphanage, offering no explanation to ease the heartbreak, the betrayal. His last sight of the first Shep had haunted him for years: overgrown paws splayed on the living room window, floppy ears cocked forward, blue eyes pleading. Aye, they<\/em> cried, though he couldn\u2019t\u2014no\u2019 for over twenty years. He vowed never again to trust his heart to another person.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And he hadn\u2019t\u2014until he met his Maggie.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It had taken her months to break down the wall he\u2019d built around his heart. But ultimately, how could he resist the safe harbour of her luve?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He slowed his morning run to a trot and raised his face to the sky, its pearly-pink complexion a betraying blush at giving such a public birth to the sun. \u201c\u2019Tis only a sin when I forget to thank You for bringing us together, Heavenly Faither.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A kaleidoscope of mind-pictures tumbled before his eyes: his first sight of Maggie\u2019s bonnie face at the Edenoaks officer\u2019s club; the fire in her violet-blue eyes when he voiced his fear he would never walk again; the luve in those same eyes melting his heart when they spoke their marriage vows; her exhausted, triumphant smile when she birthed each of their three bairnies; watching her brush her black, wavy hair that spilled down her slim back to below her waist.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He reached the turn in the island path that traced the shore of the mighty Atlantic Ocean.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Waves uttered victorious, deep-throated booms as they crashed upon the rocks lining the shore.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019ve reason to be proud,\u201d he muttered to the ocean as his pace increased. \u201cSurely, you\u2019re one of our Lord\u2019s most magnificent creations.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

*
<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Is it a sin to contemplate murder? <\/em>Maggie Savage picked up the sharp surgical scissors and stared at her reflection in the bathing room mirror. Och, thinking like an eejit, she was. How could it be murder if the victim didn\u2019t have a beating heart and a mind stored with all those yesterdays, if it didn\u2019t bleed?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI luve the sight of you with your black hair spilling down your back.\u201d <\/em>Rob\u2019s voice, permanently etched into the folds of her memory.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But he didn\u2019t have to put up with the constant tangles, how long it took to dry, having to pin it high atop her head every time she used the wringer on the washing machine, and those wee ones always pulling at it. \u2019Twas down to her hips now. Surely trimming off a few centimetres\u2014or mebbe a wee bit more\u2014wouldn\u2019t send him into a fash.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The image in the mirror blurred, replaced by Rob\u2019s face, the dimples beside his lips deep with a smile, flecks of green dancing a jig in his hazel eyes while he twisted his long fingers in her hair. The vision transformed to the look of awe on his face the first time she released the severe bun she wore to keep her hair off the collar of her RAF nurse\u2019s uniform. He\u2019d grasped a lock between two fingers and brushed it across his cheek, lost in a pleasant dream known only to him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She closed her eyes as a flush of shame set fire to her cheeks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Murder it would be. No\u2019 of her hair, but of Rob\u2019s joy. He\u2019d never shared why, but those strands seemed to tether him to his memories of all their yesterdays and his dreams for their future.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A loud wail came from the bedroom.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She placed the scissors on the top shelf of the closet and pulled the towel from her shoulders. Beth, it was, demanding her first suckling of the day.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Thank Ye, Faither, for saving Rob from my selfishness.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Half an hour later, Beth suckled and back in her cradle, Maggie raised a corner of the lace curtain and peeked from the kitchen window.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Early summer wildflowers bent \u2019neath an onshore breeze and tiny whirls of dust tickled the top of the sandy path, mimicking the waves faery-dancing over the harbour below Innis Fell.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rob suddenly appeared at the crest of the path, long legs making a mockery of the climb, the roll of his trim hips trapping a breath in her throat. Walking, he was, no\u2019 running, with Shep fast at his heels. He\u2019d finally heeded her advice about cooling down after running the seventeen-kilometre path around the island.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She checked to make sure she\u2019d turned on the shower-water boiler and put the coffeepot to perk on the hottest part of the peat-burning stove. Tightening the belt of her blue dressing gown, she dashed out onto the entry to greet him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He leaped the dry-stone dyke and bolted up the stairs. \u201cThere\u2019s my Maggie.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

How she luved that deep-throated purr.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After swiping the sweat from his forehead with a sleeve, he grabbed her up and seated her on the entry railing, drawing her close. She winced inwardly at his groan when he fisted his hands in her hair. Such long, hard hours he worked, building rescue and fishing boats, casting peats, helping the island\u2019s crofters when a need arose, and all without a whinge of complaint. An incomer would think he had generations of Innisbraw blood feeding muscle and bone, making him one of this close family of islanders, inuring him to the winter gales, the hardships of living on such an isolated island, the unrelenting labour each day demanded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

How could she have considered depriving him of something that pleasured him so?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His lips brushed hers, soft as a bee seeking pollen, then pressed deeper into the petals of her mouth, speaking luve more eloquently than words.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When he raised his head, she rested her cheek against his damp shirt. \u201cWelcome home, luve. You had a guid run.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat makes you think that?\u201d he asked, dimples deep.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe women have our ways \u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He cupped her chin in his large palm and gazed into her eyes. \u201cAre the bairnies still abed? And have you suckled Beth?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAye, the wee piggy.\u201d The rapid beat of his heart thrummed in her ear. \u201cShe\u2019s gone back to sleep and nobody else is stirring.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThen we\u2019ll have some time alone.\u201d He picked her up and carried her to his rocker, cradling her on his lap.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Shep plonked down beside the door, flanks heaving, tongue lolling from the side of his mouth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Maggie squirmed to escape. \u201cShep needs water and his breakfast, your shower water\u2019s hot, and I have to see to the coffee.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo\u2019 till I tell you how much I luve you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut that could take hours.\u201d He looked so braw, she had to stroke his cheek. \u201cBesides, I already know how much you luve me. \u2019Tis the same luve I feel for you. Now let me go before your coffee biles all over the top of the stove.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He glanced at his watch and helped her up. \u201c\u2019Tis 0500, so we\u2019ve an hour before I have to be at the boatshed. I\u2019ll meet you oot here on the entry in ten minutes. Pray nobody wakes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTen minutes for a shower and shave? You\u2019ll cut your face to pieces with that straight-edged razor.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He was already pulling his shirt over his head when he opened the front door. \u201cOn you go. Time me.\u201d He raced for the bathing room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Maggie shook her head. No use trying to slow that one down.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

While he showered, she watered and fed Shep, placed the coffeepot at the back of the stove, took a plate of scones from the cupboard, and checked on Beth. Sound asleep the wee lassie was, on her back in her cradle, rosy lips sooking as though she still hungered for one more taste of sweet, warm milk.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Maggie removed her dressing gown and slipped into her underclothes and a light woolen skirt and sweater. Time was slipping away. Hands trembling, mind racing, she ran a brush through her long hair and pulled it off her face with a celluloid barrette. This could be their last peaceful morning for a week. Och, why did Rob\u2019s radar expert have to arrive the day?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After stepping into her sandals, she raced into the kitchen and poured a large mug of coffee for Rob and a cup of tea with honey and milk for herself. Mug and cup rattled on the tray while she dashed for the front door and swung it shut awkwardly behind her. She placed the tray on the table between their rockers, seated herself, and fanned her face. Made it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Seconds later, Rob opened the front door and came out, eyes wide. \u201cYou\u2019ve been busy,\u201d he said, tucking his shirt into his denims. \u201cAnd, as usual, I can\u2019t lace this sark.\u201d He bent over so she could reach the laces.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd you never will.\u201d Smile teasing, she laced and tied the neck of his Jacobite shirt. \u201cYour fingers are too big for such wee laces.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI can tie my shoes. Don\u2019t see any difference.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYour chin gets in the way, luve. And speaking of shoes, I don\u2019t see any on your feet, nor what you call \u2018socks,\u2019 for that matter.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cRan oot of time.\u201d He sat in his rocker, reached for his coffee mug, took a healthy swallow, and laid his head back, smiling.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She looked over at him. After almost six years of marriage, his dear face still thrilled her. His brown hair shone as the rapidly rising sun struck the entryway. His straight nose, full eyebrows, sensitive lips, and strong chin brought a surge of joy to her heart.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He glanced at her. \u201cLooking for razor nicks? You won\u2019t find any.\u201d He grabbed a scone and ate half in one bite.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI was thinking how braw you are.\u201d She steeled herself for his usual reaction.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMaggie Savage, if I\u2019ve told you once, I\u2019ve told you a thousand times to stop saying that. I\u2019m too tall, too thin\u2014according to you\u2014and the verra last thing I am is braw.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMebbe you\u2019re a wee bit thin, though I\u2019m still hoping to put some weight on you this summer.\u201d She stifled a sigh. \u201cI know \u2019tis merely a dream. If only you\u2019d take time to eat when you\u2019re launching the new boats.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cEnough blether.\u201d He finished the scone and took a long drink of coffee. \u201cOn you come, luve. I want to hold you before I have to leave.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She settled onto his lap with a contented sigh. This was the way they belonged, breath to breath, heart to heart.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Cheek resting on the top of her head, he said, \u201cCertain you don\u2019t want to meet the ferry with me this mornin?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019ve reeky laundry piled high \u2026 and I don\u2019t know Dale Taylor.\u201d She ducked her head to hide a frown. \u201cI\u2019m shamed to admit it, but I\u2019m relieved he\u2019ll be biding with Den and Fern, no\u2019 us.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTaylor\u2019s Den\u2019s friend, no\u2019 ours. And we don\u2019t have room with Ellie and Richie staying here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ah, Ellie. \u201cHas Calum said owt about asking Ellie to marry him?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A chuckle rumbled in his chest. \u201cYou know your brother better than that. Calum\u2019s as likely to confide something personal as Flora MacPhee is to no\u2019 spread the latest gossip.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAye. He\u2019s still shy at times, but no\u2019 as often as when he was a wee lad.\u201d A sudden thought sent her bolting upright. \u201cBut Ellie\u2019s holiday will end soon and she\u2019ll have to return to America.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, we can\u2019t let that happen. Ellie and Richie need to be here among those who knew and loved Rich.\u201d He groaned. \u201cI never got to say guidbye to Rich, but the Lord\u2019s given me a chance to watch his son grow to manhood. We have to convince Ellie to stay.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Would Rob never get over losing his tail gunner in that same bombing mission that almost cost him his own life? She buried her face against his chest. \u201cOch, luve, when I think of all the pain you\u2019ve suffered \u2026 in the war and since.\u201d She traced a fingertip over the jagged scar on his forehead.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Soft fingers caressed her shoulder. \u201cDo you \u2026?\u201d Softer lips brushed her forehead. \u201cYou seem to be handling the shouts better lately.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI haven\u2019t had that dreadful image of you drowning for months.\u201d The truth. But she still feared, especially during in-water rescues. \u201cI\u2019ve Fern to keep me company, and if she\u2019s busy at the infirmary, I call somebody on that list of mothers and wives that Hugh gave me. We pray and share scriptures.\u201d Blessed Hugh. Minister, comforter, counsellor, and friend.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThen it helps them too. Hugh did a grand job bringing family members of the rescue crew together.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She played with the laces on his shirt. \u201cDo you ever think how different our lives would be if you\u2019d taken me to America after the war?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His sharp breath shrilled in her ear. \u201cDon\u2019t even think that. Innisbraw\u2019s my home now. I could never live anywhere else.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Och, he was coiled tighter than a wet mooring rope. Was he worried about the new radar arriving the day? Careful, Maggie Savage, before you ruin your mornin. <\/em>\u201cI didn\u2019t mean to fash you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou scared me is all. All my auld friends are here, anyway. Den, now here for Fern and Katie too. The surprise of Stu and Jill settling here. And Ellie, come all the way from America to make certain the Red Cross hadn\u2019t made a mistake in telling her I survived that last crash.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She nestled closer. \u201cFaither\u2019s finally retired from his work in Edinburgh and practicing here at his infirmary, and Calum\u2019s home too, fishing on a trawler.\u201d A laugh burst in her throat. \u201cDon\u2019t forget to number in our bairns. Robbie, Annie, and wee Beth bring me more joy than I ever dreamed possible. And there\u2019s still five more to go before we have our eight bairns.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His body stiffened. \u201cAre you trying to tell me something?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBeth\u2019s only six months auld. \u2019Twill be a while before we add another lad or lass to this family. You did a wonderful turn helping them greet the world.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m no\u2019 a doctor, luve. So far, there haven\u2019t been any problems, and I thank the Lord for that, but \u2026\u201d He looked at his watch. \u201cOch, I have to give heels to or I\u2019ll be late to the shed. I\u2019ve a heap of work to do before the ferry docks.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She leaped from his lap. \u201cI\u2019ll pour you a thermos of coffee and send some butteries. Promise me you\u2019ll eat them and no\u2019 give them to Graham. Now he\u2019s merrit, Rinait can make him a piece to tide him over till dinner.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI promise, but first my shoes and socks. Den\u2019ll be here in a tick.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n