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possibly weigh so much? I staggered to get me balance and knew instantly it would be nearly impossible to catch up with John carrying a load such as this.
    The moment Reverend Sill was satisfied that I wouldn’t collapse, he opened his arms wide to the sky and leaned back his head. “The Lord has condescended to take mercy on me!” he proclaimed, the morning sun bathing his wrinkled face. “Providence has brought us together, and I am forever in your debt!”
    â€œAye,” I muttered. It was too late to retract me offer.
    His eyes watered as we set off, the beginnings of a smile tugging at the wicks of his chapped lips, as he urged me up the path. “For these past few months I have been suffering from the sciatica—a wrenching pain shooting from me buttocks down the side of me left leg. When I bear the weight of me kishie, it seizes me in such a violent manner I think of the evil souls frying in Hell and wonder if their pain for eternity can match the aching throb I have come to endure!”
    I sighed, thinking of the entire day’s journey in his company, the endless drone of his voice. But for the moment, at least, it kept me from the agony of thinking of John. “Is there nothing you can do? No herb or tonic?”
    â€œI have tried it all, as you can imagine.” He went on and on as we walked. “Lignum’s Anti-Scorbutic Drops, Brodum’s Restorative Nervous Cordial. Alas, none have shown the desired results. When I heard of a man-o’-war docked at Lerwick in January, I sent for its surgeon, hoping he might know of some new remedy or tonic that might help me in this pathetic state, but, alas, he knew only of severing limbs and treating the scurvy. Only Miss Bonnie Goudie, a young lass from Gruting, who often assists Mrs. Sill, is able to give temporary relief byclapping a hot bath of earth in the place affected. But it seems to rid me, at least temporarily, of the pain. And so, here I am—knowing only that it must please God to circumcise my carnal heart of things past for which I must repent.”
    I puzzled at how God might need to purify a man who preached the gospel and spent his life battling the wicked, whom people called the most Godly of us all. But as we crested the first of Shetland’s many hills, it was as if Reverend Sill suddenly found a burst of new life. He quickly overtook me, setting a surprisingly energetic pace that, at times, I admit, was hard to keep up with. He peppered me with lectures on his battles for redemption, the curses of blasphemy, and Satan’s increasing stranglehold on the island, as me thoughts strayed back to Culswick. To me fingers clamping down on that ewe. To John, and how I had trusted him. To how his smile and simple arm around me shoulder had made me feel I wasn’t alone. Especially after William was lost to us. Especially when Midder was no more.
    By noon we had already conquered the long stretch of water that Reverend Sill explained was Effirth Voe and were through the wee village of Tresta. And then it was around Weisdale Voe, that thin finger of sea cutting nearly four miles inland, its waters sparkling like jewels below us. It was already late afternoon when we ascended the treeless Cliff Hills beyond Tingwall and caught the first view of Dales Voe glistening in the sun.
    But, alas, Reverend Sill’s energy wasn’t to last. The vast,steep terrain began to prove taxing, and as he slowed, what little hope I had had of catching John before nightfall quickly waned. When we ascended the massive Hill of Dale, where a herd of Shetland ponies grazed happily on the glorious heather with nary a cloud above, his steps grew careless and uneven. Then he stumbled to the ground several times, once cutting his chin, and another bruising his forearm. He looked over at me, relieved, when I finally suggested we rest.
    I was leaning against a large outcropping of stone, massaging me chest, now rubbed raw from the