that, she thought. I must be getting close .
The trees gave way to tall, windswept grass. Anna’s trail crested a short hill. As she reached the top, she gasped in amazement and fell to her knees. The Pacific Ocean stretched all the way from one side of the horizon to the other, sparkling brilliant blue under a nearly cloudless sky. She had never seen anything like it.
She might have knelt there, staring out at the sea, for the rest of the day, if not for the sounds. A whistle blew, off to her right. Tall grass and a copse of thin alders stood between her and the whistle. She hadn’t been seen, but the sisters were very close. She guessed that they were working south along the coast. From her vantage, she had seen the southern end of the island. The nuns would reach it in less than an hour.
Would they then continue around the island on the beach, or would they make their way back to the orphanage through the woods? Anna didn’t know. She did know that somebody would search the woods, whether it was this group of sisters or another. They may be in the woods already.
As she crouched in the grass considering this, she became aware of another sound, a metallic clank . The sound was still a ways off, but it was clear. Clank , several seconds of quiet, then clank. Anna rose to a crouch and ran, keeping low, toward the noise. Eventually, another noise joined the clank , a high-pitched screee . Each screee started as an imperceptible whine that would grow louder and louder until the clank silenced it. Then, the cycle began again.
That must be the windmill .
The trail dropped into a low, overgrown pasture, then topped another rise. Anna saw the ocean again, but this time, she also saw a little steamer, probably the same one she had seen moored to Saint Frances’s dock six days ago. The boat cruised slowly south, close to the beach.
Anna ducked and scuttled in a half crawl toward the metallic noise. It sounded very close. The trail dipped again and Anna rose to her full height. The head of the windmill appeared above the tall grass. It stood at the crest of the next rise. ScreeeeeeeClank… ScreeeeeeeeClank…
A few yards to the west of the windmill, between it and the west-facing beach, the heap of brambles piled out of a clearing. It was twice as tall as a man, nearly the size of a house.
She ran up the trail to the base of the windmill. From the windmill to the south beach stretched a pasture of short grass. A curve of sand wrapped around the grassland where the south beach became the west beach. The screen of alders still stood between her and the search party to the west, but if they turned inland, she would be standing in plain sight. She sprinted for the brambles.
A rectangle of old bricks surrounded the massive heap of blackberry vines. It had been a house, long ago. Either fire or storm or simple time had taken the wooden structure, leaving only the foundation behind.
Anna searched around the foundation for a way into the tangled thorns and vines. A distant whistle sounded. Anna sighed with relief. It was farther away than she had imagined the search party to be. Then, she realized the whistle had come out of the east, from a second party. The east whistle was answered by a whistle from the west, a very close whistle from the west.
A rabbit darted through the grass, nearly hopping right into Anna. It danced away from her at the last minute with a fancy, zigzag hop. Then, it bounced into an opening in the briars. Anna followed.
The rabbit had been plump, and Anna was orphan thin, but it was still a very tight fit. Thorns snagged Anna’s coat and shawl, they hooked into the skin on her wrists and neck. The barbs lining the floor of the warren dug into her knees and palms. Above her, vines wove an impenetrable canopy, creating false night within the mass of brambles.
This is worse than the drainage pipe. This tunnel has teeth!
Another whistle cried. She couldn’t tell from which direction, but it sounded
The trees gave way to tall, windswept grass. Anna’s trail crested a short hill. As she reached the top, she gasped in amazement and fell to her knees. The Pacific Ocean stretched all the way from one side of the horizon to the other, sparkling brilliant blue under a nearly cloudless sky. She had never seen anything like it.
She might have knelt there, staring out at the sea, for the rest of the day, if not for the sounds. A whistle blew, off to her right. Tall grass and a copse of thin alders stood between her and the whistle. She hadn’t been seen, but the sisters were very close. She guessed that they were working south along the coast. From her vantage, she had seen the southern end of the island. The nuns would reach it in less than an hour.
Would they then continue around the island on the beach, or would they make their way back to the orphanage through the woods? Anna didn’t know. She did know that somebody would search the woods, whether it was this group of sisters or another. They may be in the woods already.
As she crouched in the grass considering this, she became aware of another sound, a metallic clank . The sound was still a ways off, but it was clear. Clank , several seconds of quiet, then clank. Anna rose to a crouch and ran, keeping low, toward the noise. Eventually, another noise joined the clank , a high-pitched screee . Each screee started as an imperceptible whine that would grow louder and louder until the clank silenced it. Then, the cycle began again.
That must be the windmill .
The trail dropped into a low, overgrown pasture, then topped another rise. Anna saw the ocean again, but this time, she also saw a little steamer, probably the same one she had seen moored to Saint Frances’s dock six days ago. The boat cruised slowly south, close to the beach.
Anna ducked and scuttled in a half crawl toward the metallic noise. It sounded very close. The trail dipped again and Anna rose to her full height. The head of the windmill appeared above the tall grass. It stood at the crest of the next rise. ScreeeeeeeClank… ScreeeeeeeeClank…
A few yards to the west of the windmill, between it and the west-facing beach, the heap of brambles piled out of a clearing. It was twice as tall as a man, nearly the size of a house.
She ran up the trail to the base of the windmill. From the windmill to the south beach stretched a pasture of short grass. A curve of sand wrapped around the grassland where the south beach became the west beach. The screen of alders still stood between her and the search party to the west, but if they turned inland, she would be standing in plain sight. She sprinted for the brambles.
A rectangle of old bricks surrounded the massive heap of blackberry vines. It had been a house, long ago. Either fire or storm or simple time had taken the wooden structure, leaving only the foundation behind.
Anna searched around the foundation for a way into the tangled thorns and vines. A distant whistle sounded. Anna sighed with relief. It was farther away than she had imagined the search party to be. Then, she realized the whistle had come out of the east, from a second party. The east whistle was answered by a whistle from the west, a very close whistle from the west.
A rabbit darted through the grass, nearly hopping right into Anna. It danced away from her at the last minute with a fancy, zigzag hop. Then, it bounced into an opening in the briars. Anna followed.
The rabbit had been plump, and Anna was orphan thin, but it was still a very tight fit. Thorns snagged Anna’s coat and shawl, they hooked into the skin on her wrists and neck. The barbs lining the floor of the warren dug into her knees and palms. Above her, vines wove an impenetrable canopy, creating false night within the mass of brambles.
This is worse than the drainage pipe. This tunnel has teeth!
Another whistle cried. She couldn’t tell from which direction, but it sounded
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