At the Water's Edge by Sara Gruen

reddened shins appeared right where it had landed.
    Anna was standing beside me, holding a plate and a steaming cup. She put them on the table in front of me.
    â€œI couldn’t help but notice you didn’t eat your porridge, probably on account of not knowing how.” She glanced behind her and added, “I slipped a wee dram into the tea. I thought it might help, as I also couldn’t help but notice that you’re still a bit wobbly.”
    The plate held a coddled egg and a few slices of golden fried potato. Moments before, my stomach had been doing flips, but I was suddenly ravenous.
    â€œBut I thought eggs were rationed?” I said, glancing up.
    â€œAye, and butter, too, but we’ve hens and a cow at the croft. I nipped back and told Mhàthair—that’s my mother—that you were feeling poorly, and she said to give you this. She’s also the midwife, so she knows such things. She says you’re to start with the tea.”
    â€œThank you. That’s very kind. Please send her my regards.”
    Anna lingered, and then said, “Is it really the monster your husband is after? My cousin Donald’s seen it, you know.”
    I looked up. “He has?”
    â€œAye, and his parents, too,” she said, nodding gravely. “My Aunt Aldie and Uncle John were driving home from Inverness when they thought they saw a bunch of ducks fighting in the water near Abriachan, but when they got closer they realized it was an animal—a black beast the size of a whale—rolling, and plunging, and generally causing a right
stramash
.” She illustrated with her hands.
    â€œWhat happened then?”
    â€œNothing,” she said simply. “It swam off.”
    â€œAnd your cousin?”
    She shrugged. “There’s not much to tell. He was a fisherman. Something happened one day when he was out on the loch, and he hasn’t set foot on a boat since. And neither will he discuss it.”
    â€œWhat about your aunt? Do you think your aunt will discuss it?”
    â€œI should think she’d blather your ear off, given the opportunity. Why don’t you invite her for a
strupag
? And Mrs. Pennypacker? You were on the right track. You put the porridge on the spoon and then you dip the spoon in the milk. It keeps the porridge hot.”
    â€œI’m sorry I didn’t eat it,” I said. “Is it really a criminal offense to waste food?”
    â€œAye, several years since. But don’t worry, the milk will go into the soup, and your porridge went into the drawer. Conall was that pleased to lick the bowl he wagged his tail. Do you think you’ll be needing anything else? Only I need to get back to the croft. You might not think there’s much to do in January, but you’d be wrong. There’s clearing stones, cutting turnip for the sheep, the milking, oh, it goes on and on…” She stared into the distance and sighed.
    â€œThere’s just one thing,” I said. “I’d love to have a bath, but there’s no hot water.”
    â€œThere will be in about twenty minutes. I heard you banging around up there, so I lit the boiler. I’ll take up some Lux flakes as well. You’re only supposed to run the bath up to the line, but I think maybe this once you might run it deeper.”
    I couldn’t take offense—she’d seen me moments after I’d quite literally fallen out of bed.
    â€œI’m off then. Meg will be back from the sawmill around four. Now get that down you,” she said, nodding authoritatively. “I’ve seen bigger kneecaps on a sparrow, and if Mhàthair hears you didn’t finish up that tea, it’s the castor oil she’ll be sending next.”
    â€”
    Although the tea itself tasted like boiled twigs—I supposed it was ersatz—the “wee dram” helped so much that after my bath I lay down to have a rest. I was surprised to find myself drifting off,