Prologue
3 November 1926
Village Bay, St Kilda
It was raining, but that was auspicious, they said.
Not that Jayne needed luck. She was marrying the handsomest, tallest man on the isle, a man who made her stomach cartwheel whenever she looked at him. His eyes were the colour of a June sky, his glossy dark hair worn a little longer – shaggy, Mad Annie had said once, ‘like the sheep in moult’ – than the other men. He had broad, flat shoulders and long arms and legs, standing a whole head taller than all the men except for Angus MacKinnon.
That he was the most handsome man on the isle was never disputed. Jayne could still remember the stunned silence that had fallen on her when Norman had first approached her after kirk in the summer, asking if she’d like to join him for a walk. She had been so sure he was going to ask their new nurse, Lorna, whose arrival was all the women talked about as they did the washing in the burn. Lorna had only recently come to the isle – ‘New blood!’ Ma Peg had happily exclaimed – and at twenty-six, she was four years older than Norman. ‘A woman of the world,’ Mad Annie had said with rare admiration. She was serious-minded but pretty with it, educated and clever and able to help people in all the ways Jayne, just turned eighteen and brilliant at nothing, couldn’t. Anyone could see that Lorna was a finer prospect for the village’s most eligible male. And yet, it was Jayne he had wanted!
Their first walk had been awkward, there was no denying it. Jayne had caught Rachel MacKinnon and Christina MacQueen’s astonished looks as she and Norman had peeled away from the others and headed for the rocks. Neither of them had known what to say, either talking over one another or lapsing into silence at the same time, but he had been careful to keep her within sight of the village. People were going to talk and he wouldn’t compromise her virtue, even though she had no family left to care.
Her father had left for Australia after her mother’s death, taking her two younger brothers with him. He hadn’t believed Jayne when she’d said she wouldn’t leave with them. Even as he climbed aboard the whaling ship that would take them to the mainland he still expected her to relent ‘from this nonsense’ and follow. But then, he had never understood his own wife either, nor the burden of the curse both mother and daughter carried: to go into the wider world and expand their community was to risk the visions increasing, and those were bad enough in a village of forty. And so he had stared back at Jayne with open-mouthed dismay as she stood, white-faced, on the shore with everyone else, waving them goodbye.
When the ship rounded the headland, everyone had turned back to their cottages and walked in a tight huddle, their footsteps darning the hole left in their wake. It was Ma Peg, seeing Jayne tremble on the shore amid her own self-imposed abandonment, who had reached for her hand and taken her back to her croft for supper – and Jayne had never left. Lorna had moved into Jayne’s former home when she had arrived this summer, two years later, and so the wheel of village life had kept turning: a little bit different, but still the same.
But today Jayne would be leaving here. Within the hour, she would be Mrs Norman Ferguson and tonight she would sleep beside her new husband in Cottage number two. He lived there with his younger sister Molly; the two of them had been orphaned when he was fifteen and Molly just nine, and he was fiercely protective of her. None of the village boys dared pull her hair or leave cow pats on their front doorstep!
The two girls had grown close in recent months, in spite of their age gap. Molly had been quick to ask her if she would walk with Norman again, even though he wasn’t a sentimental man. She had told her all his favourite things so they had something to talk on the next time – and it had worked, easing the stiffness between them so that their walks became regular.
‘There, I knew I still had it somewhere,’ Ma Peg said, straightening up slowly from where she was reaching into the chest, one hand on her back, the other holding a thin chemise deeply wrinkled and yellowed with age. The only things in its favour, so far as Jayne could see, were that it was a much lighter cotton than their usual garments – even their summer shirts – and a faint lilac floral pattern could just be discerned. ‘I wore this on my own wedding night,’ Ma Peg said, pressing it against her ample body. ‘Of course, I was a lot more spry in those days,’ she chuckled. ‘It fit me like a dream back then. I can still remember my Hamish’s expression...’ Her face softened with the memories and she nodded to herself in silent reminiscence.
Jayne waited anxiously for more. She needed more. Tonight, Molly would be sleeping here so that Jayne and Norman could spend their first night together alone, and she had no idea what to expect. She had tried asking Ma Peg what she ‘should do’ and her response had been to let things take their natural course – but if even conversation hadn’t come naturally to her and Norman, she didn’t know how that would.
Her face must have betrayed as much because it had prompted the old woman to get down on her hands and knees and start rummaging through the blanket chest.
‘...Just make sure to stand by the firelight, lassie,’ Ma Peg said, looking back at her with a knowing smile. ‘That’ll have him running to y’.’
Jayne was confused. ‘The firelight?’
‘Y’ll see,’ Ma Peg nodded, pushing the garment into Jayne’s hands just as the door opened and young Mhairi MacKinnon peered in.
‘He and Molly have just left!’ she said excitedly. Mhairi and Flora had been on watch, intently surveilling the groom’s cottage for the past forty minutes as if making sure he didn’t flee (Jayne wasn’t sure exactly where he could escape to on a two-mile island in the the Atlantic). Meanwhile, Effie Gillies was ‘stationed’ by the church door to make sure he actually went in. Poor Norman, Jayne thought with a smile. The girls would make sure he married her whether he wanted to or not!
‘Oh, Jayne!’ Mhairi gasped. ‘You look so pretty, just like a fairy!’
Did she? Ma Peg had brushed her light brown hair with a hundred strokes to bring up the shine before intricately threading it with daisies and buttercups. There were no trees on the islands, so a crown of blossoms had never been an option, but this wasn’t the season for wildflowers either. Daisies and buttercups were the best they could muster, and the girls had been out picking them for her all morning.
‘Let me see,’ Flora said, bursting through after her, eager to see the bride. ‘...Oh! You’re the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen!’
Jayne didn’t like to point out she was the only bride Flora had ever seen as the young girl’s hands clasped over her heart, her hazel-green eyes shining at the thrill of it all. Even at fourteen, Flora was a prodigious beauty, surely destined for a far brighter life than St Kilda could provide. Jayne had a sense that her wedding would be more sensational than anything this small isle had ever seen.
‘Thank you,’ she said quietly. She would have to take their word for it that she looked...presentable. Sometimes it felt daunting, the prospect of marrying such a good-looking man, and she had to remind herself that he had chosen her ; that he had seen something in her that he liked. ‘Y’re a fine young lass,’ Ma Peg would always say as they sat by the fire in the evenings, knitting and talking over the day’s events; but that felt hard to believe when Jayne had been overlooked her entire life. People kept their distance with her, as they had with her mother. There’s a look that comes into their eyes when they see us, child. They’ll still smile but they’re always wary, frightened of what we might have seen.
It felt to Jayne like wearing a shroud – it was what people saw first, the ‘gift’ of second sight always a step ahead of her so that she was perpetually in its shadow. She didn’t know how it felt to have the sun on her face.
‘Effie Gillies, look at the state o’ you!’ Ma Peg scolded as Effie tore into the cottage moments later. ‘Your feet are black!’
‘Aye, it’s raining,’ Effie panted, looking completely unconcerned.
‘And could y’ not have put a brush through y’ hair?’
The girl frowned. ‘Why? I’m not getting married.’
‘Honestly,’ the old woman tutted, despairing.
‘What’s that?’ Effie asked curiously, seeing the chemise bundled in Jayne’s hands.
Jayne’s cheeks reddened, as if it was obvious to everyone that this was how she would seduce her husband tonight.
‘Never you mind that!’ Ma Peg said crossly, taking it back from Jayne and wagging a finger at the girls. ‘You’re supposed to be in the kirk!’
‘Aye. And I’ve come up to tell you Norman’s there, and he’s wearing his suit.’
‘I should hope so!’ Ma Peg said huffily, checking over the bride again. Jayne couldn’t remember a time when she’d been so fussed over. Certainly not since her mother had died. ‘Now be off with y’, Effie, and take these rascals with you too.’ Ma Peg’s gaze fell upon Flora and Mhairi’s impish faces. ‘We’ll be there in a few minutes. Make sure one of you’s by the door for taking off Jayne’s boots. I’m too old for all that bending down.’
‘I can do it—’ Jayne began, but Ma Peg stopped her.
‘Nonsense. Whoever heard of the bride taking off her own boots? Besides, I don’t want these flowers falling out.’
‘Bye, Jayne,’ Mhairi beamed as Ma Peg bustled them out. ‘We’ll sing the hymns extra loud for you!’
Jayne walked after them through to the kitchen, listening to their laughter carrying down the street as they skipped over the stone slabs, arms linked. The whole island was ready for a party, irrespective of the weather. Ma Peg had made Jayne her favourite oatcakes for breakfast – a parting gift – and the plates were still sitting on the side, waiting to be taken to the burn for washing. Jayne felt the itch of habit to do them herself; there had been little time for the women to get to their usual chores today when they’d all been so busy with preparing the dinner. The men had slaughtered a hogget this morning and it was cooking on the spit outside, a few sheep’s hides stretched overhead between washing lines to keep the rain off. After the vows they would feast, and later they would dance a ceilidh.
And then, finally, the door of number two would close and there would be no more eyes upon them, no more planned conversations. Jayne and Norman would be alone at last. She would stand in a chemise in the firelight before the man who made her nervous and excited all at once. He had yet to kiss her – he was honourable as well as reserved – and she tried again and again to imagine his mouth upon hers. Flora, with her usual precociousness, had shown her how to practise on her own arm. As if she knew! Jayne had laughed and swatted her away, but in bed that night, lying in the darkness, she had tried it anyway.
Ma Peg bustled back in, satisfied the girls were running ahead to the kirk. Her gaze travelled over Jayne with grandmotherly affection and she made a final adjustment to some of the daisies wound in her hair.
‘He’s a lucky man, that Norman Ferguson.’
‘I’m the lucky one.’
‘Oof! He’d like y’ to think that, that’s for sure,’ Ma Peg chuckled. ‘That man’s got a high enough opinion o’ himself as it is.’ She disappeared into the bedroom and re-emerged a moment later with the chemise. ‘And we mustn’t forget this,’ she said with a knowing look, as if the finer details of the seduction had been agreed.
Jayne held out her arm to help Ma Peg balance while going down the step, and they walked together through the deserted street. All the cottage doors had been left open, of course, fires flickering with low flames. The smell of burning peat mingled with the aroma of the lamb cooking slowly on the grass.
The tide was in, the sea a heavy grey, but there was little wind for once. A trailing mist was trickling over the summits of Oiseval and Ruival, the hills that flanked either side of Village Bay like sentries. The rain was soft, and she hoped it settled like a dew upon her cheeks, diamonds on her lashes.
They stopped at number two on the way past, and Jayne hurried in with the chemise, excitedly laying it down on the unmade bed. She bit her lip, feeling her heart pound harder at the illicit visit. She had never been inside his bedroom before, and she allowed herself a moment to take in the sight: his tweed cragging breeks were thrown upon a rush-seated chair – discarded as he’d changed into his Sunday best – a blanket Molly had knitted strewn along the end of the bed, his musky smell lingering as if he’d only just left the room. Within the hour, this would be her room too...She wished time would speed up and spirit her into the future like a fairy on the wind.
It took less than two minutes to arrive at the kirk, and Jayne heard the babble of conversation within die down as they came and stood in the doorway.
Molly was waiting for her with bright eyes. In marrying Norman, Jayne knew she was gaining not only a husband but a sister as well. From today, she would have a family again. She would belong.
‘You’re an even more beautiful bride than I dreamt you’d be,’ Molly whispered as she set about untying Jayne’s boots.
Jayne gave a shy smile. She knew she was no great beauty, but all the girls’ excitement was infectious and she was beginning to believe she might, perhaps, look pretty today.
There was no introductory music to cover the short pause as Molly worked on her laces – no organ, not even a stained-glass window. As Jayne looked through into the familiar, tiny whitewashed chapel, it was completely unadorned but for the daisies in her hair.
She saw the rows of villagers awaiting her, and she could tell every single person by the backs of their heads. This was the landscape to her life; she knew everyone’s story, everyone’s secrets.
Throats were cleared, someone blew their nose...and then, silence.
Jayne saw Norman turn, his beautiful black-ringed blue eyes fastening upon her so that the butterflies in her stomach took wing. He didn’t smile at her excitedly the way the girls had just now, but of course he was neither a teenage girl nor a sentimental man.
Ma Peg squeezed her arm, and Jayne realized that somewhere along the way they had traded places and it was no longer her supporting Ma Peg, but Ma Peg supporting her.
‘You’re sure now?’ Ma Peg whispered, holding her arm tightly as they looked past all their neighbours towards the minister standing at the end of the aisle, beside her groom. Waiting.
Jayne nodded. She’d never been more sure of anything, and she boldly took her first step down the aisle, eager to get to her destiny.