With half of her current students currently victim to sore throats, coughs, sniffles, and the desire to not pay the penalties of her displeasure for not practicing, Sianna found herself with a long afternoon to herself. Johnny was in the studio fulfilling a recent commission and the shop had been quiet for a change.

Gathering a piping hot mug of tea, generously drizzled with honey, and a parcel from a bookshelf in the conservatory, she settled herself on the stool at the counter, long legs tucked up onto one of the higher rungs. Sianna had been contemplating putting together a songbook of her repertoire for a few years, but it had taken Hudson's craft of a dictionary of sorts for Sylvia to urge her to do more than think about it.

It has just so happened that while perusing a local bookshop for a few books to add to Sylvia's get-well package she spied a large leather-bound journal with an intricately tooled cover, embellished with scrolls and in the center, a cluster of wild roses. Plucking it from the shelf quickly, afraid that another customer might want it as well, Sianna had made her way to pay for her purchases and nearly skipped home.

Unwrapping it with care, she smoothed the brown paper out as a placemat of sorts before uncorking the inkbottle and selecting a fountain pen from the drawer. Setting the journal to the perfect angle, she flipped the front cover open and proceeded to inscribe it in her finest hand.

Centered in the page, the script both delicate and deliberate, anyone peering over her shoulder would read:

Leabhran A' Amhran (A book of songs)
Gathered from lands spread far and wide
and the hearts of my M?thair and Seanmhair.

Satisfied that the ink was properly dry and bore no risk of smearing, the page turned and pen was poised once more. Neat letters carefully blocked "Eriskay Love Lilt ~ A Song of the Hebrides". In a fit of whimsy, she added simple curliques to form a border around the title. No sooner had the nib lifted from the heavy paper when a rough gust of wind sent the shop door opening, the frigid air sneaking inside. A slow chill crept up Sianna's spine, and she abandoned her task momentarily to set the kettle on to boil.

It was in the early spring, when winter's tailcoats still lingered about the hills, that Gran decided to take the lass of ten to the shoreland. She had received word that her sister was ailing and in need of care, and set out to be gone the span of a week or so. The Fraiser men were all able to care for themselves by this time, with a fair number of them with wives of their own, and Gran had made it clear that she would not leave the lass home alone.

"She dinna need tae have all day and nicht tae fall intae trouble whilst ye are about at yer work, and 'tis time she set tae learning th' proper way tae heal. She'll be grown sooner than we realize." Brooking no argument, the girl's father offered a wry smile mingled with tinges of relief for his mother's wisdom, and regret for the accurate foretelling. The matter settled, Sianna set to packing up her dearest treasures that she could not bear to part with for the span of seven days. Upon being informed she was not allowed to take three trunks full, the items were briskly stripped to fit in a carpet bag valise, with which she was hoisted into the seat beside her grandmother.

While not a pleasure trip, the girl bounced in her seat as the curricle made its way along the bumpy roads, the scent of the sea ellusively calling to her. Over every hill and turn, she'd stand up a moment thinking she spied the cresting waves only to be yanked down by her arm and told to sit still.

"Sianna! If ye crack yer heid wide, dinna think I'll tend ye for being a daft girl. Now sit yerself down. I'll need ye tae help me wi' yer Great Auntie, not be a-lyin' in bed next tae her." Gran gave her a stern look before chuckling gruffly. "Ye act as if ye think th' sea's going tae nae be there."

The next week was a blur for the girl. Too cold to splash in the waves, and with no time to explore the coast at low tide, she contented herself with sitting at the window and watching the timeless embrace of water and earth, dutifully crushing whatever her grandmother gave her in a small stone pestel before brewing copious amounts of tea.

Every night she fell into bed more tired than she did the night before, drifting off to the songs of the fishermen as they moored their boats and repaired their nets sitting outside their simple houses, as if afraid the sea was not going to be there the morrow.


Bheir me o, horo van o
Bheir me o, horo van ee
Bheir me o, o horo ho
Sad am I, without thee.

Thou'rt the music of my heart;
Harp of joy, o cruit mo chridhe;
Moon of guidance by night;
Strength and light thou'rt to me.

Bheir me o, horo van o
Bheir me o, horo van ee
Bheir me o, o horo ho
Sad am I, without thee.

In the morning, when I go
To the white and shining sea,
In the calling of the seals
Thy soft calling to me.

Bheir me o, horo van o
Bheir me o, horo van ee
Bheir me o, o horo ho
Sad am I, without thee.

When I'm lonely, dear white heart,
Black the night and wild the sea,
By love's light, my foot finds
The old pathway to thee.

Bheir me o, horo van o
Bheir me o, horo van ee
Bheir me o, o horo ho
Sad am I, without thee.