3rd September 1103

She felt the sand beneath her feet, between her toes, the gradual change from solid ground to uneven. Her face was no longer shaded by the large cypress trees, now the sun shone on it full, though she could smell the storm coming and hear the distant rumble of thunder. The soil gave off a musky, earthy smell and she could feel the salty wind blowing in from the sea.

Noah had never wanted her to come down here by herself, afraid she would misjudge the waves and be swept out to sea. She had never learned to swim. Why teach a blind girl to swim?

Her husband had planned to teach Derry to swim, her fat, beautiful baby. He had taken the boy into the water with him a few times, told her that Derry was a born water baby, had loved to splash and laugh with his father. She had sat well up on the beach, away from the waves and listened to his happy chortles and his father’s deep, booming laughter. But now he was gone, dead and gone to a place where he would never swim.

She gave a strangled sob, stumbling on the uneven ground, almost falling to her knees. Going more slowly, she shuffled down the slight slope of the beach toward the water. Back there, up in the house the baby would be silently lying in her crib. She never cried, barely even made a sound. Claire was nothing like Derrin with his lusty wails. She couldn’t bear the silence, it seemed like a constant rebuke from the small creature for bringing her into such a terrible, cruel world. Noah would come home and find her even if she didn’t cry. She would be alright, Gena told herself.

The baby was so silent Gena sometimes forgot she was even there. She wondered if the baby had watched while she solemnly dressed, there was nothing wrong with the baby’s sight Noah had told her. Gena had carefully pulled her best dress from the chest, shaking away the lavender she had dried and kept in there to keep it from smelling musty. She had laced up the corset, her fingers deft after years of dressing herself in complete darkness. It was her very best dress, a dress good enough to be buried in.

She knew when she had reached the water, felt it soaking through the hem of her dress, chill on her bare feet. The sand grew treacherous and soggy here and she was careful not to stumble. A fine mist of water dusted her face, carried in from the crashing waves. The ominous rumble of thunder filled the air, muggy and heavy with humidity and with a loud crack the rain began to fall.

She felt it on her face, tiny chill kisses like tears falling down from the heavens above. The sky was crying for her loss, crying with her and she wept as she turned her face up to let the gentle rain fall on it.

And then she ran, stumbling and tripping, plunging into the water, her feet scrabbling on the bottom as she went in up to her waist. She had never been in the sea and it was deliciously cool, a sudden relief from the muggy day. Her best dress grew sodden, sucking up the water like tree with its roots plunged deep into the ground. It was heavy too, dragging her down, the thick material saturated with sea water.

She went in, further and further, her bare feet slipping and sliding on the slimy rocks on the bottom. When she felt the rocks disappear beneath her feet, she splashed onwards, flailing her arms trying to get out as far as she could. A wave crashed over her, her head disappearing beneath the foamy mess. She tumbled around in the churning vortex, no longer able to tell which way was up until she finally broke the surface, gasping for air. She had lost all sense of direction and had no idea where the shore was but it did not matter. She was growing tired, so very tired. The water was cool and soothing, dragging at her exhausted body and she let herself sink.