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dance in Tranent on Saturday afternoon?”

      “Tea dance?” Lorna was puzzled. “Saturday?”

      “Yes!” Iris sounded like she was addressing a small child. “Dancing, on Saturday, with William and Craig?”

      “William and Craig?”

      “You must remember! When William asked me out that first time, he said we should all go to the next tea dance in Tranent, as a foursome. Me and William, you and Craig. Remember?”

      Lorna realized she did remember, though clearly not in quite the same way as Iris did. When William had cornered Lorna after church that particular Sunday, he had indeed talked about going to the tea dance in Tranent. Lorna had been horrified by the invitation, but William had not appeared to notice. He just waited for her response. Then Iris had bounced up to them—Iris only ever bounced or flounced—demanding to know what they were talking about so secretly. Only at that point did William mention the idea of the two girls making up a foursome with him and his friend Craig.

      At the time, Lorna had been under the unspeakable impression that William was asking her out, but Iris had grabbed his arm and excitedly assumed the invitation was for her. And maybe it had been. Either way, Lorna was so relieved, she had put the whole idea from her mind. But now … Craig Buchanan? Not a chance! Craig was so much worse than William. He was very good-looking, sure, but oh God, did he know it. And the way he treated girls was despicable. Lorna was sure that he and William had a bet that Craig could charm, kiss, and dump every girl in their class before graduation, and she’d long ago decided he damn well wasn’t going to do it to her. Uggghh! Craig! So perhaps William might not have been such a bad option after all.

      “Well?” Iris repeated.

      “I’m not sure I can go, actually.” Lorna scrambled for an excuse. “It’s getting close to the start of lambing, you know, so I doubt Dad would let me go.”

      “Well, don’t tell him then,” said Iris. “Just tell him you’re going to be doing homework with me. He can’t say no to that.”

      “I thought you were suddenly all moral these days, the influence of the church’s favorite son on your soul, and all that,” Lorna replied. “And now you are telling me to lie to my father?”

      “Not lie exactly. Just not tell him the whole truth,” said Iris. “That’s not the same thing at all.”

      “Yes, it is, and you know it!” Lorna tried to sound lighthearted, but panic was setting in. “Honestly, Dad can’t spare me.”

      “But you said yesterday that lambing won’t start for another week or so. And anyway, he’s got Nellie to help him, and the German.”

      “No, Iris, I really can’t.”

      “It’s Craig, isn’t it?” Iris said. “You don’t want to go out with Craig. But why? He’s gorgeous.”

      Lorna pulled a face. “If you like that kind of thing, I suppose.”

      “Don’t be like that, Lorna. Craig is actually very nice. And you’re lucky he’ll even bother, because I know he’s been flirting with Esther Bell for ages.”

      “Craig and Esther? That’s not an image I’ll get out of my head anytime soon.”

      “But Craig is such a good friend to William that he says he will go with you even so,” Iris pressed on, ignoring Lorna’s snide comments.

      “Well, that’s flattering!”

      “But you have to, Lorna!”

      “Why do I have to, Iris?” snapped Lorna.

      Iris suddenly smiled her most angelic smile and pulled Lorna into a tight hug.

      “Because if you don’t go too, I can’t go,” she said. “Mum wants you to act as chaperone to me and William.”

      “Iris!” Lorna was trapped, but only for a second. “Why don’t you ask Esther Bell to go with you then, if she fancies Craig so much?”

      “I don’t want to go to the dance with Esther Bell!”

      “You won’t be going with Esther Bell.” Lorna imitated Iris’s dramatic tone. “You’ll be going with William Urquhart. And Craig Buchanan will be going with Esther Bell. And everyone will be happy—especially Esther. When was the last time anyone asked her out?”

      “That might work, I suppose,” conceded Iris, “but I still wish you’d come with us.”

      “I told you. Lambing. My dad. And also the fact that I wouldn’t touch the Adonis that is Craig Buchanan with a fifty-foot barge pole, even if I was paid to stab him to death with it!”

      Lorna laughed, and soon Iris joined in, albeit sulkily.

      Even though it wasn’t yet five o’clock, the sun was already low and the temperature was dropping fast.

      “We’d better get back while there’s still some light,” Lorna said, pulling her gloves from her pocket. “But let me skim one more stone first.”

      Lorna scanned the path around her feet, though it was getting harder to see now the sun had all but disappeared. There was a perfectly flat oval pebble a few inches from her shoe, and she picked it up with chilled fingertips, turning it to catch what light was left. It was the most beautiful blue-gray granite, with dark flecks that sparked even in the low light. It seemed a familiar color somehow. It reminded her of something, but of what, she wasn’t sure.

      Instead of tossing it into the burn, Lorna left the pebble in her palm as she wiggled her hands into her gloves.

      “Never mind, I’m done,” she said to Iris. “We need to get a move on anyway.”

      “You’re not throwing that one?” Iris asked.

      Already walking away, Lorna could feel the granite grow warmer against her palm, as it nestled between wool and skin.

      “No, I think I’ll keep this one.”

       Five

       Craigielaw Farm, Aberlady

       Wednesday, 28 February

       Dear John Jo,

       Sorry it’s taken me a few days to write to you again, but I hope you are doing well and that it’s not as cold wherever you are as it is here.

       Everything is fine. Mrs. Mack told me to send you her love and said that as soon as she’s finished knitting this last sock, she’ll get all of them wrapped up and sent to you in the hope that the parcel will reach you sometime before summer comes! If you are very lucky, you might get one of the fruitcakes she made the other day (not that there’s much actual fruit in it, or sugar, but she still gets it to taste good all the same!).

       Iris and I are knitting scarves for Red Cross—shall I send you one of our marvelous creations? I’m not as good a knitter as Iris, you won’t be surprised to hear, but you’ll have to put up with one of mine since Iris has another neck to wrap hers around now. Yes, your greatest admirer is now madly in love with William Urquhart, of all people. (I know, disgusting!) She might have adored you her whole life, but now you’re out and William is in. Bad luck!

       Are there any pretty girls where you are? (Where is that? I wish you could tell me!) If anyone can find one, I’m sure you can!

       Dad is fine, but it’s almost lambing and there’s always too much to do. The Ministry of Agriculture sent us a new farmhand to take over from Old Lachie. Dad says the new man isn’t afraid of hard work and seems to know what he is doing, but the only thing is

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