The ocean water hit my face while I was calling to him and I swallowed too much. I gagged, coughed, choked, and felt myself losing my grip on Robert and I struggled to hold on to him. I couldn't let him go.
New England weather, I thought, famous for its quick changes. I should have known. I should have known better. It's my fault, my fault.
The ocean was relentless. It would not be denied its sacrifice. I made a desperate last effort to hold on to Robert and the mast and then I felt his fingers slide down over my palm. His body lifted in the waves as if he were rising up to say his last goodbye, and then he went under.
I yelled his name as hard and as long as I could. I started to let go of the mast to search for him, but my own desperation to survive wouldn't permit my fingers to loosen their grip. I know I screamed and shouted his name until my voice gave out, my throat ached, and then I closed my eyes and turned to put my other hand around the mast. I pulled myself closer to it and laid my cheek against the cold metal. The boat continued to bob, to rise and fall in the wind and the rain.
A deep and thick darkness fell over me. Even when I opened my eyes, I saw nothing. The last thing I thought was silly in light of what was happening and what had happened. I moaned and cried, "I lost that beautiful silk scarf Mommy gave me. I'm sorry, Mommy," I cried.
My body shook as much with my own sobs as it did from the cold water and the freezing rain. I lay there with my head resting against the mast and felt the hull on my left side. It was reassuring. I remember thinking, I'll just sleep a moment and then, the storm will stop.
The magic will return.
The sun will warm us.
We'll laugh again and make promises to each Other again. Won't we?
We? I couldn't remember his name. I could see his face, see his smile, even hear his voice, but who was he?
And then, the worst terror of all struck me.
Who am I?
I have put together what happened next, working over time on the events, the vague memories, the words I had heard as if it were all part of some grand thousand-piece puzzle. Some of it was told to me later on, but I always had to measure what I remembered against what I was told.
The storm continued to build that afternoon, preventing any real search for us. The wind and the waves carried the overturned sailboat farther out to sea. A fisherman by the name of Karl Hansen was fighting his way back to shore. He had worked for Grandpa Samuel and Grandma Olivia for years, but was pretty much retired now, only venturing out now and again with his own net. He saw the overturned sailboat and drew close enough to spot me clinging desperately to the mast. He began to shout. I remember first thinking the wind had found a voice. I thought it was part of the magic and just listened with a small smile on my face, my eyes closed as he called and called. Then I felt something hit my shoulder and I opened my eyes to see a man tossing a net my way as his boat bobbed in the rough seas.
"Take hold. Wrap it around you," he ordered, yelling through his cupped hands. "Take hold!"
He threw the net again and again. Each time, I looked at it but didn't move. I couldn't let go of the mast. My hands had locked around it, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't will my hands to reach out for the net he threw.
Finally, Mr. Hansen brought his boat closer until he was able to leap into the sea. He had a thick rope tied to his waist and when he reached me, he quickly untied himself and wound the rope around me.
"You've got to let go," he said. "Don't worry. I'll get you on my boat."
He was a short, stout man with a full gray beard and gray hair. I should have recognized him, but I didn't. He recognized me.
"Laura Logan?" he cried. "Mrs. Logan's granddaughter. Sweet Mary and Joseph. Let go of the mast when I tell you, girl."
I remember I screamed and screamed and tried to resist his effort to pull me away from the mast, then finally he got me free and swam back to his boat, towing me along behind him.
The wind was furious; the rain unrelenting. The struggle was getting to be too much for him. His own boat was in danger. I'm sure he questioned whether he could continue the effort, but continue he did. Finally, we reached the boat and Mr. Hansen was able to lift me up quickly and swing me on board.
I was naked and freezing, my teeth chattering so hard, I thought they would shatter against each other. The waves were tossing Mr. Hansen's boat mercilessly. He had to get back to controlling the roll. He found a blanket and threw it over me first and then he attended to the boat. We went farther out until he found enough calm water to give him a chance to tend to me. He returned and helped me into the cabin, where he set me on a small cushioned bench.
"What happened to you, girl? How did you get caught out here? Was your brother with you?"
Brother? I thought. I have a brother?
I didn't respond. I lay there, going in and out of consciousness. I don't remember how long it took for us to rea
ch shore, but he made a tactical navigation decision and brought us to Grandpa Samuel and Grandma Olivia's dock. The wind had let up some and the rain had slowed.
The next thing I knew, Mr. Hansen was running for help. He returned to get me up and out of the boat, and then literally carried me into the house. A small, angry woman greeted us and directed him to bring me to a guest room downstairs, where he set me gently on the bed. The elderly lady stood behind him, waiting. I didn't know who she was then. All I saw was her face of rage as she glared down at me. It all seemed to be happening to someone else. It was as if I were watching a movie.
"Where did you find her?" I heard her ask.
"She was clinging to an overturned sailboat about a mile and a half off Dead Man's Cove," he replied. "Those things are too small for weather only half as bad as this."