The Spirit of Scatarie

A stunning new work of historical fiction from the bestselling author of The Spoon Stealer, set on Nova Scotia’s remote Scatarie Island, following three friends whose lives are inextricably bound, and the spirit who guides them.

You might be startled that this tale will be told to you by a ghost. I prefer the word spirit but it’s all the same. The truth is, I have as much right to tell this story as anyone. Scatarie Island belongs to the living and the dead

Christmas Day, 1922: three babies are born on Scatarie Island, off the coast of Cape Breton. Although born to different parents, Hardy, Sam, and Mary Alice grow up together in their wild homeplace, exploring the rocky coastline, picking bakeapples, and scavenging treasures from the countless ships that have wrecked there over the centuries.

But change is lapping at the shores of this isolated island, the Second World War the biggest change of all. One friend leaves to fight, one tends the light, and one struggles to understand how a place where wealth is measured in fish and family can possibly survive this outmigration.

Only one of them knows about Cara. A girl who wrecked on the island’s shores a hundred years earlier, emigrating from Ireland. A girl who fell in love with the windswept grasses and salt-scrubbed air and tight community of Scatarie, and remains as a spirit. A girl who keeps watch, everywhere from the rugged island to the blood-soaked beaches of France?nudging the three friends towards their destinies.

Part ghost story, part romance, part history, and a stirring tribute to young soldiers and their brave war brides, The Spirit of Scatarie is an epic tale with whispering island winds at its heart.

COMING SOON

EXCERPT

A light keeper has to have everything ship-shape around the property, everything repaired in case inspectors showed up without notice to catch them slacking. It's a demanding job. These sorts don't sleep on rough nights, too busy climbing to the top of the tower and almost being blown off the platform, making sure their lights are bright and in good working order. Lives depend on it

I'm surprised their mothers had time to breathe, between hauling water from the well to scrub clothes and wipe dishes, tending to the wood stove, scrubbing floors, feeding and killing and plucking chickens, making meals, baking bread, knitting sweaters and mittens, darning socks, sewing, and altering worn out clothes to fit the youngest child.

All of this by kerosene lamp. There was no electricity on the island. And they had to keep the gardens weeded, can produce, even dry and cut hay to feed the pigs, cows and sheep. For fun and relaxation, they hooked rugs and made quilts, often together to make it less of a chore. They'd shoo the kids outside for either play or chores so they could gossip and catch up on the latest news. Not that there was a lot of that. The mail only came once a week in the winter and the only phone was the one at the lighthouse that belonged to the government.