had made the ice about her rotten. She drew off her mittens, then tried to kick and claw her way onto a sustaining shelf—bit by bit, the ice continued to break away under her weight.
There was no use calling for help; she knew no creature but the hawk could see her. Then the bird gave a piercing cry, flapped its wings, and lifted up. With long, regular strokes it flew away in silence, leaving Charlotte utterly alone. She began to gasp, her heart sinking further as she felt her chest tighten with the cold.
Sodden wool skirts now began to work against her, pulling her down. Her feet found no bottom. Already, her aching legs seemed unwilling to help, though she knew they must. A cry welled within her, as she imagined an inevitable end to her folly. And yet—?
Gathering her remaining strength, she forced her feet to kick vigorously, while she leaned back to clasp one knee. She tried to wrench a skate from her booted foot, bobbing under the water through three attempts, coming up to gasp for air as loose hair floated about her face. Then, by twisting, she had what she wanted. She readjusted the long leather strap and hurtled the wooden plate before her, in an arc above the ice. It landed a yard away; the pointed blade seemed to bite. She pulled, and found she'd won a small amount of purchase.
By repeating her earlier motions she made the second skate ready. This she sent out to the side of the first. It, too, bit. Pulling gently as she kicked, she gained a foot, then another, and yet another. The shelf of ice sagged and sighed, but held. It was nearly enough. She tried to re-plant the blades, but found that now, while the slab ahead promised to bear more of her weight, it was also better able to repel the metal points. Suddenly the ice groaned, and she found herself sinking back into the freezing marsh.
Just out of reach was a thick branch, partly submerged. With a last inspiration, Charlotte knotted both of her skates together, and threw one of them. As she'd hoped, it entangled itself in the dead wood. Slowly she pulled herself forward, until at last she knelt on soft plates of fungus, and could crawl to further safety.
She was again able to stand upright, but she knew she must find some way to warm herself, and quickly. Her muscles were cramped, her legs nearly crippled. She'd skated for half an hour from the village bridge to come to her present position. It would take even longer, in her new situation, to return. Would she be able to complete the journey? Exercise promised some relief, but with wet boots, her toes might yet freeze. The thought frightened her—but at least, she told herself, she was alive! Taking another precious moment she threw back her head, and sent silent thanks toward the sky.
Someone nearby began to laugh; a moment later, she knew she had heard the sound of her own voice. Had the shock of the water affected her mind, too? Spinning about, she looked desperately for help.
Through the elms, she recognized Boar Island. She knew its house, closer than her own, sheltered two women. They would have a fire, and could surely offer her cups of hot tea, while she had the chance to dry. Neither had a friend in the village, but Charlotte recalled meeting old Catherine Knowles some years before. Even a recluse who guarded her privacy would not refuse another in such desperate need.
There was, however, a further danger worth considering. What of the boars? It would be a long climb to the house, with no one to protect her from the savage creatures. But then she recalled that for a year at least, a youth had made lone visits to the island. And she'd not heard that Alexander Godwin had ever been injured.
Beggars could not be choosers, she decided at last. With slow fingers, she'd managed to re-attach both skates to her soggy boots. Regaining her feet, she imagined her friends in Bracebridge would be less likely to learn of her accident if she did visit Mrs. Knowles and her companion, for then she might return home in a more presentable state. What would the future hold if Lem, Richard, or even Christian Rowe, the village minister who seemed overly fond of watching her, found further cause to worry?
She might tell Hannah of her adventure, though, after swearing