But again, she was dreaming and wanting ...
Today, Emma still didn’t know who she was supposed to be. She wanted so much out of life, but everything always felt so out of reach and so unfinished.
At dawn, Emma rolled to her side in bed to face Logan, who was still facing the wall and snoring. A deep cramp squeezed in her belly, and she hugged both arms around herself, waiting for the discomfort to pass. When it did, she settled down and tried to go back to sleep.
It wasn’t long before another cramp squeezed at her innards. Recognizing that this was quite likely a contraction in her womb, Emma strove to remain calm. She fingered the locket she wore around her neck, thought of her mother, and couldn’t fend off the dark, cold nightmare that twisted like a snake in her mind.
Not yet. I’m not ready.
A gush of water poured out of her—a clear message that she had no control over what was to come. There was no stopping it now. It was time to go to the hospital, where she would be forced to push her baby out.
What if it was a breech delivery? Would they cut her open? What if she didn’t survive?
Her mind screamed in terror at the unknown. Would Logan be a good father to their motherless child? Would he return to Sable Island? Or would her baby, all its life, never set foot there, never know its beauty?
Emma groaned as another contraction put pressure on her abdomen. Slowly, she swung her legs to the floor.
“Logan, wake up. It’s time.”
“What?” He sat up groggily.
Her heart was on fire, beating fast and uncontrollably. “I need to go to the hospital. Go and wake Ruth. Ask her to start the car.”
For a split second, he stared at Emma in a daze. Then he tossed the covers aside, leaped out of bed in his pajamas, and scrambled from the room.
Fourteen excruciating hours later, a doctor shouted at a nurse. Exhausted, Emma was barely conscious under the medications, but she was still aware of people flying into a panic around her bed, like the terns darting about, protecting their colonies on the dunes ...
Minutes later, she moaned feebly with a mixture of terror and despair as she was wheeled on her bed by a team of nurses and orderlies, through white hospital corridors, under the passing glare of florescent lights. A woman bent over her and spoke reassuringly. “Everything’s going to be fine. You’re in good hands.”
“Please ... save my baby,” Emma mumbled, gazing imploringly into the woman’s concerned eyes before a plastic oxygen mask was placed over her mouth and nose, and she surrendered to exhaustion.
Some time after that, she stood on North Beach, facing the wind and wild whitecaps on a stormy gray ocean. She listened to its thunderous roar and realized suddenly, with surprise, that she was a bird. She spread her wings, began to run, and took off to soar high above the frothy white surf as it crashed and rolled onto the beach. Gray seals frolicked in the sea below.
She flew higher and higher until the crescent-shaped island looked tiny beneath her, barely a sliver of existence. From such a height, the lush interior was a narrow green brushstroke, and the horses were little black dots.
Emma swooped down and flew westward to circle over the sunkenBelvedere, half-buried in the sandbar. It broke her heart to watch the ship suffer under the cruel battering of the waves. When it became unbearable, she flew upward to the misty clouds, but felt a grave loneliness there.
Oh, how she longed for Sable Island—for that special fragrance of the marram grass, the wild roses and bayberries, and her horse, Willow. Her father. Her books. The faithful, unbroken roar of the sea ...
Longing desperately to hold her baby in her arms and take him back to her special island home, Emma flew, in a rapid descent, straight down from the clouds.
Chapter 17
Five days later, Emma was discharged from the hospital. According to the doctor, her labor had been long and grievous, alarming at times, but the cesarean section, to everyone’s great relief, had gone swimmingly.
“This one just wanted to stay a little longer with his mum,” he’d said as he handed the crying newborn to a nurse. He then congratulated Emma and later, in the hospital waiting room, pumped Logan’s hand vigorously.
“Would you like some soup?” Logan asked, resting his arm along the back of the sofa in Ruth’s living room, watching his son sleep soundly in Emma’s arms.
“I’d love some,” she whispered. “The hospital food was terrible, and I hardly ate a bite. Ruth’s cooking is so much better.”
Ruth walked into the room just then. “Did someone say I was a good cook? Not that I’m fishing for compliments, but I can’t deny it’s nice to have mouths to feed.”
Emma smiled at her, then looked down at little Matthew. “I’d like to get up and eat at the table, but I’m afraid I’ll wake him.”
Ruth moved closer to help. “Hand him to me, and I’ll lay him down in the bassinet. I’ll watch him so that you and Logan can have supper together.”
Emma carefully passed Matthew to Ruth. “Thank you. You’re an angel.”
