Letters from Skye Read Free

are scarce on Skye, to be sure, but we don’t actually have to do battle. If the situation is that dire, please let me know. I will post a sapling or two.
    The seas here are said to be inhabited by the
each uisge
, a water horse who pulls his victims beneath the sea and tears them apart with his fangs until only the liver is left, floating up ominouslyto the surface. Raised on stories like this, what could entice me to step foot in the water?
    Really, though, I do have my reasons. The sea can be terrifying. My da is a fisherman. My brother Alasdair was too but one day never came home. His boat did, scattered on the shingle in bits and pieces. So, yes, I do understand the dangers of the sea.
    If there was a bridge connecting Skye to the mainland, perhaps I might have left. But, until that day comes, as long as I have the ferry to contend with, I fear I shall always be a prisoner on my island.
       Elspeth
    P.S. As strange as it may sound, my friends call me “Elspeth.” But you, not knowing me well enough yet to be a friend, may call me whatever you like.
    Urbana, Illinois, U.S.A.
    November 3, 1912
    Whatever I like? Then Sue it is!
    Tree wars? They’re silly pranks. Every class plants a tree on the campus and then the other classes try to destroy it. My class has already lost one. We’ve planted anew and have high hopes for the newest member of the ’13s. We’re guarding it in shifts, armed with eggs and paper sacks filled with water. Danny Norton has been feeding the tree a formula he swears by, but I think it’s mostly beer with a bit of bay rum oil to mask the scent. Itmust be working, as the tree hasn’t kicked it yet. The other night we yanked up the ’14s’ sapling, roots and all!
    Despite the tree wars, things aren’t all fun and games around here. This term is already turning out to be pretty difficult. My friends think the senior year is the easiest of all, but I have such a heavy load of courses. I’m at the library so often, I’m considering moving my pillow and toothbrush over. What’s easy about it? I’m dreading exam time.
    You know, it’s times like this that I doubt the future. I kept hoping that at some point the right professor or course would inflame me and I’d feel the passion others seem to feel. That I’d know, without question, what I wanted to spend the rest of my life doing. But here I am, my final year of college, and I still really have no idea.
    I always assumed I’d follow my father into medicine. Well, I suppose
he’s
always assumed that and I’ve just followed suit, having no plan of my own. I’ve come to realize, though, that I’m not eager for it. As much as I hate school, I almost wish I could just stay. Then I wouldn’t have to go out into the “big, wide world.”
    Well, there, you’ve heard my worries and my doubts. Perhaps they’re born of frustration as I move closer to end-of-term exams. I’m sorry to burden you with such glum ponderings. I’ll have to send this letter quickly before I change my mind.
       Tired,
       David
    Isle of Skye
    23 November 1912
    Davey,
    Don’t go jumping off your library tower, please!
    We’re not always made for doing the same as the others. My brother Finlay, he could carve the
Mona Lisa
on an acorn if he wanted to. I’d just end up with a splinter. I could never be a Nijinsky, no matter how hard I was to try. Those classmates with passion and aptitude for their field of study, it’s what they were made to do. Davey, you can’t force yourself to be the same. You’re made for something on this earth, but maybe it’s not what your father thinks. Does he know how unhappy you are?
    In my book, your aptitude lies in keeping a Scottish recluse from going mad during an island winter. The sheep aren’t nearly as fascinating.
    Really, though, Davey, you have passion. There’s something out there for you. Hold fast to that hope. You’ll find it.
       Elspeth
    Urbana, Illinois, U.S.A.
    December 11, 1912
    Sue,
    Your letter