Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78100 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78100 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
The fishermen shouted, beckoning, but Marlow needed no encouragement as he foundered through the waves with his one free arm. His muscles burned and his lungs strained, but he’d never wanted anything so much as to get her to safety, to get her to that boat. Their rescuers rowed with all their might—the current that helped him was against them—and finally pulled alongside.
He pushed Rosalind up toward the reaching fishermen with the last of his energy. It was the final effort he could make, the hardest thing he’d ever done, but she was safe. He was so exhausted it was tempting to sink beneath the waves, but the fishermen grabbed him too, yanking him upward. He would remember their faces forever, their swarthy features and gritted teeth as they pulled him over the side.
“Rosalind,” he said, reaching for her as they lay in the bottom of the boat. “Rosalind!”
She was alive but insensate, her hair tangled across her pretty features, her torn, sodden mourning dress plastered to pale skin. He squeezed her hand and tried to rouse her. She turned from him and coughed out a mouthful of sea water. She was breathing, just weakly. They were both so weak.
The men covered them in oilcloth blankets that stank of fish. He was grateful for the warmth and gathered Rosalind beside him to help warm her too. The small boat rolled over the waves more evenly than the faltering ship had. The rough decking beneath him was the most welcome, wonderful, solid thing to ever exist.
The fishermen called out to the other boats as they continued plucking sailors from the water. They weren’t speaking Greek, as he’d expected, but Italian. He knew some Italian, more than a little, but was too exhausted to try to interpret their conversation. As he rested, half conscious, he heard their voices rise in distress. He hauled himself up to look where they pointed.
Far east of their boat, in a choppier stretch of water, the Providence’s small, overloaded dinghy was getting swamped by waves. One of the other fishing boats called out and headed in their direction, but the dinghy had been blown far from the shore and its passengers were already in the water.
He turned away, overcome, thinking how he’d feel if Rosalind had been in that failing vessel with the other ladies and panicking gentlemen. Too many people would not survive this sinking. He and Rosalind had come close to being in that number. Their fishermen fell quiet, turning their boat about to head for shore. One of them murmured to him, tutto andrà bene, all will be well.
He replied grazie, grazie, thank you, over and over until they gestured for him to rest.
*
Rosalind drifted in a sort of waking dream, listening to the soft murmuring of women’s voices layered over gusting winds and a crackling fire. Sometimes she slept. Sometimes she blinked at the darkened space around her trying to remember where she was. There were oil lamps, the smell of food cooking, and wood beams across a low ceiling. She felt warm and safe, bundled in a cot, wrapped in heavy quilts.
A woman leaned over her and Rosalind tried to keep her eyes open to study her. Who was she? Rosalind didn’t recognize her. The woman was older with hair the color of burnt caramel and eyes of hazel or brown. She gazed down at her, touched Rosalind’s hair, and made a sympathetic sound of comfort. Signore, she said quietly.
Marlow appeared in her field of vision and Rosalind reached for him before realizing her arms were tucked tightly to her sides beneath the blankets. She was swaddled like a baby. Slowly, as Marlow gazed down at her, she began to remember what had come before this. Their ship had sunk. Marlow had made her jump into the water to swim though she’d screamed that she could not. A blast of cold had enveloped her, pulling her under. The water had wanted her, clutched at her, but she’d swum against it by sheer force of panic. Marlow had dragged her through the water, shouting at her that she must not stop. And then…
A boat. Men with dark eyes and wind-chapped skin. That was all she remembered.
“Be still, darling,” Marlow said, stroking her hair back from her face. “You’re safe here. You’ve had a small fever but it’s coming down.” He placed a cool cloth against her forehead. Her hair wasn’t wet anymore. It felt soft and dry, like someone had washed it.
Marlow spoke to the woman in stilted Italian. She seemed to understand him. She brought a mug of steaming broth and spooned sips of it into Rosalind’s mouth as Marlow helped hold her upright. She felt almost too weak to swallow at first, but her body must have craved the sustenance, because she took the mug herself and drank the rest of it as soon as it was cool enough not to burn her tongue.