Chapter 13

Bay water swirled in dark circles around her, pulling, caressing, and beckoning her out to sea to follow him. She stood fixed against the current and listened as the sound of an oar to water softened with the distance between them. The light from a kerosene lantern became a pinpoint; a dull glow then disappeared into darkness.

She stood tall, another of many long shadows in the light of the moon, and stroked the small bulge in her belly. The baby, his baby, would be a boy.

And now he was leaving her. He would be gone for months, years. Maybe forever.

Unless she gave him reason to come back, a good reason.

She felt a stirring then, as if the little one knew what she couldn’t bear to think.

He had warned her it wouldn’t do, had told her to take whatever measures were necessary to prevent it since there could never be a child. Never. A child would not be a part of his life, nor would she if it meant bringing something so unwelcome into this house.

She had tried to obey, tried as hard as she could, but it was so lonely in the big house. Her footsteps echoed through the vast, empty rooms, and her voice fell unanswered in the quiet of the long days and longer nights.

As the cold bay water swirled around her, she caressed the stirring in her belly, loved what grew there, then looked out for one last glimmer of light, a glimmer of hope that he would come back to her.

There was only darkness on the horizon.

Day to week to month to year, if needed, she would pace the widow’s walk for the light on the dark horizon that signaled his return.

She walked out of the water, stood on the soft sandy beach, and turned back to the bay. There was nothing but time now, and the stirring within her.

“I’ll wait for you. You’ll see.”

****

Annie bolted awake with a hand to her chest to stop the pounding of her heart. Her flannel nightgown stuck to her in damp, wadded clumps. A chill shook her body with such violence that she pulled the comforter tight around her.

Then she felt it.

A grainy dampness covered her feet. She rubbed them together to rid them of what stuck there as it dug and cut into soft flesh. She turned on the lamp and uncovered her feet. Her eyes widened, and a whimper caught in her throat.

Sand.

The hem of her nightgown was wet from the beach where moments ago, the dream woman stood.

Where she had stood as well.