{"id":1087,"date":"2019-02-12T13:13:35","date_gmt":"2019-02-12T18:13:35","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/read.whitefire-publishing.com\/?p=1087"},"modified":"2020-06-01T09:07:02","modified_gmt":"2020-06-01T13:07:02","slug":"never-say-goodbye","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/whitefire-publishing.com\/read\/never-say-goodbye\/","title":{"rendered":"Never Say Goodbye"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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\n

Never Say Goodbye<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

by Dianne Price<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

True friendship lasts a lifetime,
no matter the distance between \u2026
Never Say Goodbye<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rob and Maggie Savage, busy with their growing family<\/a> and never-ending sea rescues, welcome the return of Rob\u2019s former Air Forces mate, Den Anderson. However, the person Den missed the most on storm-tossed Innisbraw\u2013the very reason for his move to the Scots isle from America\u2013is sweet Fern. She\u2019s determined to close her heart to any man who doesn\u2019t share her beliefs, while Den has no use for a distant, overbearing God.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n

\n\t\t\t\t\t

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

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

Early\nSeptember, 1947<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rob Savage wiped raindrops from his face and shambled\nacross the stubbled ground. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The devastation wrought by a night of\npounding rain and gale-force winds was unbelievable. Sheaves of machair\nhay\u2014most broken apart into sodden clumps\u2014lay scattered across the vast expanse\nlike uprooted graves.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He\u2019d been on the island six years and\nnever beheld such destruction\u2014even the hurricane little more than a year ago\nhad not occurred during harvest time. And the oats and barley in the nearby\nfields … They were used for coo and cuddy feed, aye, but the oats also\nprovided a hearty breakfast and grain for bread. Granted, this was the second\noat crop, but how many would suffer empty bellies before spring?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Alec MacDonald and Lachlan MacCrae, waxed\njackets and breeches stiff with sandy mud, laboured nearby, tying the\nleast-damaged sheaves together with string and draping them carefully over a\ndrystone dyke.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Och, how would they feed their Hieland\ncoos this winter with no hay? Substitute cut-up neeps?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The thundering surf pounding on the\nwestern shore like the tolling of the death knell, and the rain tasted as salty\nas the tears of defeat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rob scooped up an almost-intact sheaf and\ncarried it to the men, his wellies sucking against the drenched soil with each\nstep.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHoy, Rob.\u201d Alec grunted and wiped rain\nfrom his forehead with his arm, rivulets of water darkening the white in his\nhair. \u201cTold Lachlan you\u2019d show up to help.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The younger crofter wore a grim smile.\n\u201cDidn\u2019t argue with him, for I knew you would too. We could use a hand.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s why I\u2019m here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The three were soon joined by other\ncrofters, all dour-faced, the light of hope dead in their eyes. They worked in\nteams, one to hold the sodden sheaf together, the second to snip and tie the\ntowie. After hours, the top of the large, square dyke was covered with stacks\nof sheaves, tied side by side to keep them from being blown off the jagged\ncapstones.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Alec kneaded the small of his back. \u201cNo\nreason to try to save the oats and barley. Once they\u2019re wet, they rot.\u201d He\nraised his face to the dreich sky. \u201cIf this rain stops, we\u2019ve a glimmer of hope\nfor saving the hay. If no\u2019, \u2019tis all for nowt anyway.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rob nodded. \u201cHave you a guid supply of neeps\nlaid by?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A long, ragged sigh. \u201cAye, sacks of neeps,\njust no\u2019 …\u201d He waved his hand over the sheaves of hay.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The crofters all thanked Rob for his help,\nbringing a flush to his cold cheeks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Why did they still treat him as somebody\nspecial? He put his breeks on the same way they did.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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

A disaster, that\u2019s what it was. Skailwind and plomping\nrain had fallen on the meadow hay, barley, and late oats which lay cut but not\nyet carted to sheltered byres. Maggie Savage dropped the corner of the lace\ncurtain and sat at the kitchen table, worrying her lower lip. Just yesterday\nmorning, word had gone out across the island that the machair hay and grain\ncrops, ripened early by a warmer-than-usual summer, were ready for the cutting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Last night\u2019s gale struck the island with\nthe stealth and fury of a horde of banshees, rain soaking the stacked sheaves\nand winds toppling and grinding them into the sandy soil of the machair. How\nmany island folk would go hungry this winter?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sighing, she rummaged through the pile of\nlaundry on the table and pulled out all the hippens to fold. Rob would surely\nbe home after dark if the pounding rain on the slate roof was any indication.\nShe dropped the cloths back into the pile, rested her chin in her cupped palms,\nand closed her eyes. How could she tell him what a midden the day had been,\nespecially their laddie\u2019s part in it?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A tentative knock on the door brought her\nto her feet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCome away in,\u201d she called, raising a\nwarning hand to Shep, who leaped up from the rug in front of the fireplace. \u201cNo\nbowf,\u201d she commanded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Though the dog didn\u2019t bark, he reached the\ndoor before her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Neighbours Fern MacNeill and her lass,\nKatie, hurried inside, brushing the rain from their hair and scrubbing the\nsoles of their shoes on the rag rug.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhere are your coats?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Fern wiped a wet strand of black hair from\nher cheek. \u201cOn the entry. They\u2019re soaked almost through.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOch, bring them in and hang them in the\ncoat closet. I\u2019ve already laid a towel on the floor to catch the rain from\nRob\u2019s waxed jacket.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCan you hold this dish, then?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Maggie took the plate from Fern, pulled\naside the damp tea towel, and sniffed the spicy aroma. \u201cYour only day off work\nall week and you steamed a clootie dumpling?\u201d Her nose wrinkled with delight at\nthe dessert. \u201cAnd I have just enough clotted cream to go with.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her friend winked conspiratorially. \u201cAnd\nif we want any of Rob\u2019s favourite, we\u2019d best have ours before he puts a fork to\nit.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Katie brought in their coats, and Fern\nhung them in the closet. The lass knelt and hugged the dog\u2019s neck, then jumped\nup, wiping her cheeks. \u201cOch, Shep, you slubbered all over me.\u201d She looked\naround the room. \u201cWhere\u2019s Robbie, Aunt Maggie?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAbed.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAbed?\u201d Fern asked. \u201cIs he sick, then?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOnly a nap.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut he gave up napping no\u2019 long after you\nbirthed Annie.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThis is his first in months, but he had a\ntantrum after I paddled his bum for biting Annie\u2019s finger.\u201d Maggie busied\nherself setting a fresh pottle of tea to steep.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Fern put the cosy over the teapot and led\nMaggie to a chair. \u201cI thought he was over being jealous. He usually ignores the\nlassie.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s true, he does. He was full of\nhimself, pressing me to go ootside and play on the entry like a big lad, but I\ntold him it was too wet. He was in a rare fash from then on.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou mean he bit Annie when he really\nwanted to take a bite oot of you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

All Maggie could manage was a weak, \u201cAye.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Fern squeezed her hand. \u201cWe\u2019d best come up\nwith something to keep the bairns busy. You can\u2019t watch Katie while I work if\nRobbie\u2019s going through another bout of giving you fits.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There was no one else nearby to watch\nKatie while Fern saw patients at the infirmary, plus, having Katie to distract\nRobbie made a big difference in his behavior. \u201cThe day got off to a bad start,\nthat\u2019s all. When we woke later than usual and found it storming, Rob threw on\nhis clothes and dashed off to help the crofters, only twa scones in his pocket\nfor breakfast. Then Annie and Robbie both fussed when he wasn\u2019t here to kiss\nthem when they woke, and I burned the brose and had to start all over, making their\nbreakfast late, and it was just porridge, no\u2019 proper brose since the oats\nhadn\u2019t soaked overnight.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mischief sparkled in Fern\u2019s blue eyes.\n\u201cYou\u2019re no\u2019 biggen, are you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Maggie gasped. \u201cOch, of course no\u2019. Twa\nbairns in hippens is more than enough. Three would have me cairted off and\ncommitted as a daftie.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Katie skipped up, copper curls bouncing\nacross her back, dimples dancing in her rosy cheeks. \u201cBut I\u2019d help you like I\ndid with Wee Annie, Aunt Maggie. I promise.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI know you would, lassie. And a big help\nyou were. I missed you this morning.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMither!\u201d Robbie shouted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Followed by a wail from Annie\u2019s room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019ll get the lass,\u201d Fern said. \u201cYou see\nif you can settle things with your laddie before Rob gets home. I\u2019ve seen his\npatience, but even a saint can slip in the face of Robbie on a tear.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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

Rob turned his steps toward home. He shouldn\u2019t have\ntaken the time, but after helping the crofters and checking the thatched\ncottage roofs of the widows who lived alone, he\u2019d stopped in his office at the\nshed and telephoned each of his volunteer rescue lads, reminding them to be on\nalert. With the seas running high, they could be called out to a rescue at any\ntime. Then he\u2019d looked at the progress on the two rescue boats being built for\nBarra and Harris Islands, though he needn\u2019t have bothered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As always, the keels were taking shape a\nfew days ahead of schedule. Taking Graham MacDonald on as a partner was turning\nout better than Rob had ever thought possible.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Crossing to the side of the path, he\npeered through the rain at the shore. Almost high tide and only a few feet\nbefore the water reached the main path and threatened to flood the boatshed,\nthe howff, the post office, and the Cottage Weavers\u2014the newest industry on the\nisland. He\u2019d have to keep an eye on that, rounding up a crew to fill bags with\nsand at the next high tide, if needed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He climbed the hill quickly, stomping an\ninch of wet sand from the soles of his wellies every few metres. What a midden\nof a day. A few of the smaller crofters had cairted their grain to coo houses\nthe een it was cut but no\u2019 near enough of them. And if this storm kept up, he\u2019d\nhave to delay production in the shed and send some of his lads around to help\nrepair the leaking thatched roof. He\u2019d found no major damage and had hung water\nbuckets \u2019neath each leak to catch the intermittent drips. He grinned. One\nadvantage of being six-five? No need for a ladder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The lamp Elspeth NicAllister kept lit all\nnight to guide those climbing the path to the top of Innis Fell cast a\nfractured, hazy glow through the rain. Guid, she was abed and safe. Despite her\nspirited arguments it wasn\u2019t needed, he\u2019d had a few rotten thatches replaced\nafter the hurricane.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\nken at over one hundred she\u2019s the auldest on Innisbraw, but let her bide a\nwhile longer on earth, Faither. We still need her prayers and wise words, and I\ncan\u2019t imagine living without the luve and encouragement she gives so freely.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The infirmary windows were dark, but a\nlight shone in Doctor John McGrath\u2019s wee cottage. Maggie\u2019s faither was probably\nporing over medical journals, or writing up some new ground-breaking\northopaedic procedure. Though running the infirmary often kept John too busy to\ntake supper with them, he spent Sabbath afternoons playing with his grandbairns\nand exchanging news over cups of tea and Maggie\u2019s shortbread or a rare clootie\ndumpling.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Home. He eased the gate open, fastened the\nlatch, and stepped along the flagged walkway. Lights blazed from the front\nwindow. Pray God Maggie was still up. He\u2019d waited all day to feel her tiny body\npressed to his, to tangle his fingers in the black hair slipping down her back,\nto taste her soft, sweet lips. He crossed the flagged entry, toed out of his\nboots, and peeled off his waxed jacket. His hand was on the latch when the door\nflew open.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cRob! You\u2019re home.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAye, I\u2019m home.\u201d A sigh of relief burst\nfrom deep within his chest as he gathered her into his arms. The heather-honey\nsweetness of her kiss brought a groan. Could any man ask for a warmer welcome?\nHe ran his lips over her silken throat, another groan building.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She pulled away with a laugh. \u201cYou\u2019ve mud\non your face. Give me your jacket. Your supper\u2019s on the warming shelf, shower\nwater\u2019s hot, and I\u2019ve hung your dressing gown in the bathing room.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTrying to get rid of an unwanted suitor,\nare you, wife?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A fond pat on his bottom punctuated with a\npinch was her answer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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

Maggie spooned her back against Rob\u2019s belly, warm and\nrelaxed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He pulled the bedquilt over her shoulder\nand kissed the tip of her ear.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Och, she\u2019d thought him asleep.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSleeperie, lass?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He wanted to talk. And she knew why. He\u2019d\neyed Annie\u2019s bruised finger when they\u2019d checked their sleeping bairns before\nseeking their own bed. He hadn\u2019t said a word. Just kissed the wee bairnie\u2019s\nhand, tucked it \u2019neath her cover, and turned out the lamp.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Now \u2019twas time for her to pay the fiddler.\n\u201cI\u2019m awake.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI was surprised to see Robbie sleeping\nwith his stuffed rabbit again. Thought he gave that up months ago.\u201d Rob\u2019s voice\nwas a low, calm rumble in his chest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe … he pulled it from his toy box before\nhis nap the day.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His fingers trailed over her shoulder\n\u2019neath the quilt. Soft as the brush of butterfly wings, that touch. \u201cYou mean\nthe nap he took after you paddled his behoochie for biting Wee Annie\u2019s finger?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Och, how quickly he\u2019d put it all together.\nShe nodded, unable to voice an answer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He stroked her back and kissed her\nforehead. \u201cI\u2019d hoped the lad was no longer jealous, that he\u2019d accepted she had\na place in this family and learned to luve her.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Maggie pulled away and looked up into\nRob\u2019s face. \u201cI don\u2019t think he\u2019s jealous any longer. Annie\u2019s finger was close,\n\u2019tis all \u2026 and an acceptable substitute.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSubstitute? For what?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFor mine.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYours? Why would our lad want to bite\nyou?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBecause I wouldn\u2019t allow him oot to play\non the entry with the blowsterin wind blowing rain against the front window.\u201d\nShe put up a hand to stop Rob from interrupting. \u201cIt was a frustrating day,\nwith me burning their brose, Shep keeping to his spot on the hearth rug and no\u2019\nwanting to play, Katie no\u2019 here because Fern had a day\u2019s holiday …\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOn with it, lass.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI should have seen the signs\u2014him stomping\nabout the living room, gritting his teeth and making that low growl in his\nthroat. Like he\u2019s about to explode with frustration because he doesn\u2019t know the\nwords to make his wants known. When he asked for at least the tenth time about\ngoing oot on the entry, I told him to stop whinging and get a book for me to\nread to him as soon as I was through suckling Annie.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd he lost it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAye. He bit Annie\u2019s finger, then stomped\noff into his bedroom, slamming the door.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd you paddled him.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo\u2019 before I calmed Annie down. Poor\nlassie, she was rouping like her heart was broken. I\u2019d sung most of the\nlullabies I know before she dropped off to sleep and I tucked her into her cradle.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhere was the lad during this?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cRobbie was sitting on the floor in the\ncorner of his room, holding that rabbit, his face to the wall. I told him what\nI was going to do. That … that was the hardest thing I\u2019ve ever done, Rob, for\nthe anger had left me and he looked so miserable.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut you had to, luve, no\u2019 only for Wee\nAnnie\u2019s sake, but for his. He needed to feel physical pain too.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019ll no\u2019 punish him further?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOf course no\u2019. In a way, I feel\nresponsible for his frustration. We have onshore storms from the east so seldom\nI thought roofing the entry would give the bairns a guid place to play oot of\nthe rain. Mebbe I\u2019ll fasten a tarp from the eaves.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cPlease don\u2019t. With the days shortening\nand getting dark earlier and earlier, \u2019twould make the kitchen and living room\nfeel like a cave. And ruin our view of the harbour and Minch.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He pulled her up into his arms. \u201cYou\nrealize \u2019tis only September, with a long wait till spring?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFern and I have come up with an idea to\nkeep both Katie and Robbie busy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat, add them to my boatbuilding crew?\u201d\nHis grin was catching.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOf course no\u2019. I\u2019m going to teach them to\ncook.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

How quickly that grin faded. \u201cCook? You\nwant our lad to learn to cook?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAye, you know yourself how many times you\nused to say you wished you could fix the family something to eat, and you\u2019re\ngetting verra guid at it.\u201d She held up her fingers, ticking them off. \u201cYou can\nbrew tea and coffee\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd pour milk from the jug withoot\nspilling it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHaud yer wheesht. And you can fry eggs\nand minced sausage and even fix a pot of brose and a plateful of sandwiches.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut that\u2019s no\u2019 cooking. \u2019Tis just fixing\nthings.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThings to eat. That\u2019s the kind of thing I\nwant to teach our Robbie\u2014och, no\u2019 the frying part yet, but sandwiches, how to\nspread bramble jam on a buttery\u2014easy, safe things like that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOch, I don\u2019t know\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The rescue siren pierced the night air,\ndrowning out his words.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He leaped from bed, pulled on his denims\nand socks, and rummaged in the closet for a shirt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Maggie held out his gansey sweater. She\ncouldn\u2019t control the tremors shaking her body. A rescue shout with high seas in\nthe mids of a storm\u2014just what she feared most. She pulled on her dressing gown\nand followed him to the front door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The siren uttered a final, strangled wail\nas he shrugged into his waxed jacket, yanked the door open, and stepped into\nhis wellies.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She handed him a torch and threw herself\nagainst him. \u201cPromise me you\u2019ll take care and ask our Lord\u2019s guidance.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou know I will, luve.\u201d His kiss was fast\nand urgent. \u201cMonitor our radio transmissions with Control to find out what kind\nof shout we\u2019re facing.\u201d He vaulted the front gate and tore down the path, his\ntorch a smitch of light bobbing in the darkness before it disappeared behind a\ncurtain of rain.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Maggie stood in the doorway, shivering. Be with him, Faither, please. Hold my Rob\nsafely in the palm of Your hand, far above the raging waters.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

A cold nose pressed against her palm. Shep\nalways seemed to sense her fear.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That fear that always threatened to grip\nher heart and take her under.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She rubbed his silken ears. \u201cHe\u2019ll be\nhome, lad. He promised he\u2019d always come home.\u201d Stepping into her baffies, she\ntied her dressing gown tighter, then made her way into Rob\u2019s office, Shep at\nher heels. He\u2019d no\u2019 leave her until she went to bed or Rob returned. She\nsnapped on the Anglepoise lamp.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The shortwave radio sat on a shelf behind\nRob\u2019s desk, already set on the right frequency. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

She toggled the switch to Receive.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Now the wait. At least Rob had talked her\nthrough the initial phase of every shout: first the all-volunteer crew arrived,\nby ones or twas, and immediately changed into their wetsuits, Rob included.\nOnce they were all aboard and suited up, Rob contacted by radio whoever was\nworking the Control desk in the shed, asking for a complete update on the\nreason for the emergency call, the coordinates of the vessel in trouble, a\ncontact radio frequency, and went over everything again to make certain there\nwere no misunderstandings before they left the harbour.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Which meant it could be a long wait. The\ncrew all lived on the western side of the island. After the turn o\u2019 night and\nin the mids of a storm, it would take them time to dress and fight their way\nthrough the teeth of wind and rain to reach the Maggie<\/em> at her berth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Keep\neach and every lad safe, Faither. Give them Your strength if they have to go\ninto the water. <\/em>She rubbed her\nforehead. She wouldn\u2019t borrow trouble now. It could be a medical emergency or a\ntow, like the last shout. Please, Lord,\njust a tow, only a tow.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rob\u2019s deep voice interrupted her frantic\nprayer. \u201cThis is the Maggie<\/em>, Control.\nWhat do we have, Stephen? Over.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c\u2019Tis a large trawler with six hands\naboard, Commander. She lost all power to her engines and steering, and is at\nthe mercy of the sea. Barra will be first responder, but has asked us to stand\nby to assist as needed. Over.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI copy that. Large trawler, six hands,\nBarra\u2019s first responder, we stand by to assist as needed. What are the\ncoordinates? And a radio frequency for the trawler? Over.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey had no radio frequency for the\ntrawler. Barra has them at fifty-six degrees north, seven degrees west. Over.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cConfirm, fifty-six degrees north, seven\ndegrees west. But we\u2019re almost as close to them as Barra, and a lot faster.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe call went directly from the trawler\nto Barra Control, no\u2019 Maritime Rescue. Barra\u2019s already left Castlebay and are\non their way.\u201d Stephen\u2019s voice rose an octave. \u201cHold, Rob, Graham\u2019s just walked\nin. He\u2019ll take my place at Control. I\u2019m on my way oot to the Maggie<\/em>. Over.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGive heels to, then, and tell Graham to\ncontact me if there\u2019s any change. Maggie<\/em>,\noot.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWill do, Rob.\u201d Graham\u2019s voice. \u201cGodspeed\nto all. Control, oot.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tears blurred Maggie\u2019s sight. Almost as close to them as Barra.<\/em> Rob\nhad told her that it didn\u2019t matter who received the initial call. Whoever\narrived first would act as primary rescuer. And a much smaller lifeboat didn\u2019t\nhave much to offer against Rob\u2019s rescue boat, even in calm seas. With his\ndetermination to save as many souls as he could, Rob would keep the Maggie<\/em> at full throttle all the way.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Would she live the rest of her life\ntrapped in this nightmare of fear? Hadn\u2019t she suffered enough when Rob flew\nbombing missions over German territory while she paced the halls of the base\nhospital, yearning for\u2014yet dreading\u2014the roar of B-17s circling the base to\nland? Every emergency flare sent up by a landing Fortress stopped the breath in\nher throat. Was it the Bonnie Maggie<\/em>?\nWas Rob\u2019s crew working frantically to save his life while his blood spread\nacross the cockpit floor?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She dropped to her knees beside the chair,\nhands clasped tightly together. An in-sea rescue in dark, storm-tossed waters,\nthe waves washing over Rob\u2019s head. Hadn\u2019t she already given this to the Lord?<\/p>\n\n\n