Suitors and Sabotage(73)

Sputtering as the waves crested and splashed into his face, Ben swam to the other side only to see that the rock had staved in the planking below Ernest’s oarlock. Not a hole … yet. Looking over the gunwale, he saw Imogene’s anxious face looking down at him.

“I’m afraid you are going to have to get wet,” he said, shaking the water out of his eyes as another wave crashed against the side of the boat.

Imogene smiled, though it was a weak attempt. “We are already wet,” she said.

“There are too many rocks to get the skiff any closer, but that means there are enough to cling to—”

A rogue wave startled Ben, lifting him up higher than he expected. He was almost nose to nose with Imogene, but only for a second. As soon as it crested, the wave rushed back out to the channel, dropping Ben into its deep trough. He slammed into the rocks below. He kicked, trying to push his head above water, but his foot caught in a crevasse, and there it remained.

With waves crashing over his head, Ben gulped at what little air he could and then bent down into the swirling water. He gripped his boot and pulled—to no avail. He tugged and tugged until his breath ran out and he was forced to straighten. Only then did he realize the cresting waves were above his head. Stretching his chin up and his mouth as high as possible, he was able to breathe when the waves rolled out—occasionally. Worse still, the tide had not yet reached its peak. Soon there would be no air for Ben at all.

Salt stinging his eyes, Ben watched Imogene through the murky haze of the foaming water and saw the horrified comprehension on her face. She opened her mouth. Ben thought she might be screaming, but his ears were filled with water—all he could hear were the muffled roar of the waves and the thud of the skiff on the rock.





chapter 18


In which a crumbling ruin offers the perfect backdrop for abject misery

Terrified, Imogene watched Ben struggle. His head wasn’t above the water; he couldn’t breathe. “Ernest!” Imogene screamed, reaching out, trying to get hold of him. “Something’s wrong! Ben needs help!”

She couldn’t touch him; he was too far. Without considering, Imogene stretched across the gunwales and rolled over the side of the boat and into the water. Gasping with the cold, she ran her hands down the side of the boat until she was as close as she could get without letting go.

There, she held onto the boat and flapped her other hand toward Ben. Her fingers touched flesh, and she lunged, closing her hand around his wrist. She pulled, but he didn’t budge, didn’t move. She tried again, but it was as if he were resisting.

“Ben!” she screamed senselessly.

He thrashed and gulped a breath. “Foot!” But the effort had cost him. He had gulped down water in the attempt to speak. Flailing, as he tried to get his head above water, he coughed and spewed water twice before he gasped air and then was back under.

A splash by the front of the boat told Imogene that Ernest was on his way. But would he be in time?

Grabbing a deep breath, Imogene ducked her head under the water. Between the waves and Ben kicking up algae, the water was too cloudy to see anything. She would have to get closer; she would have to let go. And so she did.

Pushing away, Imogene crossed the huge distance of a few inches and sunk. She knew she would. She was ready; she kept her eyes open, grabbed Ben’s arm, and used it to propel herself down. She clutched at his vest, his pantaloons, his thigh and then found his foot—jammed in between two rocks. Braced on either side, she hauled up. After two useless tries, Imogene ran out of air. Pushing away from the rock, she surfaced, grabbed a breath and allowed the momentum to take her down again.

This time when she got to Ben’s leg, there was an extra pair of hands. Ernest. He was braced as she had been, pulling at Ben’s boot. Imogene grabbed Ben’s leg instead. They pulled and tugged, and just as she ran out of air again, Ben’s foot shifted. Only a fraction, but it was enough for Imogene to ignore the pain in her lungs and pull with every last ounce of strength. And with that, his foot slipped free. Free of the rocks. Free of his boot.

All three shot to the surface. Grabbing a breath, Imogene expected to sink again, but Ben reached out and seized her about the waist, even as he was gulping at the air. For several minutes, they gasped, choked, and wheezed, and Ben held her tight.

Leaning her head back against the cap of Ben’s shoulder, Imogene stared skyward.… Or at least she tried; there was something in the way. “Emily? Are you all right?” she asked. Emily was leaning over the boat, looking down at them. Her hair was a tangle, hanging over her shoulders, her face red as if she had been crying and yet … she was laughing.

“Couldn’t be better.” Emily’s voice was scratchy, as if strained. Her gaze shifted to something over Imogene’s shoulder. “I thought I was going to lose you—lose all of you. What’s being marooned compared with that?” She laughed again, even as the tears streamed down her face.

*

GETTING TO SHORE was miserable but not treacherous. There were rocks aplenty. Ben scouted out the best route, while Imogene and then Emily followed. It had taken a fair amount of convincing, but Emily had eventually dropped over the side and into the cold, crashing waves. Hence the misery. They were soaked and shivering, covered in algae and grit, with rescue a good many hours away. They wouldn’t be missed until dinner.

Once onshore, Imogene and Emily huddled on a downed tree and watched the boys swim back out to the boat and collect their belongings. Other than the fruit, the lunch was a soggy, inedible mess. Her sketching paper was pulp. Bonnets, coats, and blankets all ruined, only the bucket and oars were fine.