Here is the beginning of the chapter. It can be read in its entirety on the website marshbooks.com.
Chapter 7.
The River
Anna followed Sultan through
the woods and down to the river bank. Near
the dock where she stood to look out toward the sea not many days before, she
saw a boat tied and rocking softly, the chill night air stirring the tree
branches all around them.
From high above she heard a call, the hoot of an owl, hunting in the
moonlit woods. She continued chanting in
a low voice, moving her body as though dancing still, but she allowed him to
hand her into the boat and to wrap an oilskin cloak around her shoulders.
She grew quieter and sat very still while he pushed off, drew himself
adroitly over the side and took up the oars.
How beautiful it all was, she whispered to herself, watching the sparkling
ripples falling away from the side of the boat in the moonlight. A strong tide was running out toward the bay in
the direction of the sailing ships she could see downriver, their lanterns
strung and bobbing in the masts.
One of the tall ships appeared closer than the
others, and she also had more lanterns aloft, in addition to one lighting the
cabin. The seagoing vessels would have
been visible even without their lanterns, standing as they did in bold outline
against the water and the sky between the densely wooded riverbanks. The bright white glow of the full moon made
it nearly as light as day.
Sultan pulled hard, and Anna kept
her eyes on the three tall masts of the ship as they drew nearer. The wind
caught a corner of the cloak he had draped around her, lifting it high. She reached out to recover it.
“Be right cool out here on the water,” he
said, taking his hand off the oar for a moment to draw out a dark colored cap from
the pocket of his jacket. He pulled it on, grinned at her, and returned to hauling
mightily on the oars, bringing them nearer the ship. They moved speedily and easily over the small
waves, the boat running with the tide.
Anna sat stone still, staring at him.
In an instant the fog lifted from her mind, and she could see as clearly
as though it was high noon and she had just awakened from refreshing
sleep. Every pore of her skin tingled,
while her eyes widened in comprehension.
This was the same man who had peered down at her and Esther as they
slept. This was Dabinett’s man, and that
was Dabinett’s brightly lighted ship they were heading for out there in the
river harbor, and closing fast.
She sized him up carefully. He was compact and strong, with heavy, thick
thighs that would bolster him when he fought, and his arms would be even better
weapons. She could not win if she
challenged him physically, and she had no illusions about being able to talk
him into turning back. She had to act,
and quickly.
She bent down and put her head between her knees.
“Feelin’ pekid,” she said. “Maybe you slow up a little.”
Head bowed, she fumbled with the heavy leather shoe clasps running
across the top of her high instep, succeeded in loosening them, and slipped off
her shoes.
He slacked the oars for a moment, and smiled at her as she straightened
up again.
“I stand up a little while,” she said, the cloak slipping from her
shoulders.
As he shook his head vehemently, forming the protesting “Nooooooooo”
with his lips, she balanced carefully, crouched to spring, raised her arms,
and, arcing her body expertly, dove headfirst into the cold inky water of the York River .
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