~Simone de Beauvoir The rain slashed to the ground, soaking Savannah to the skin. Fog lay like a veil over the town and did nothing to dispel the dread that chilled her to the bone. She stood with a dwindling group of wives, mothers, and daughters at the end of the oyster factory's pier, the closest point to Devil Island. She knew Zach would be displeased when he sailed up and caught her standing like a drowned rat on the docks. Perhaps Zach would be merciful when he saw her because she had not gone to the island as she could have, where the ship lay stranded just off shore. A few women had sailed out there against strict orders not to budge from their homes. But these women had been sailing since they were children and had steady hands, if not steady hearts. Savannah crossed her arm over her stomach; she hadn't felt it safe enough to go quite that far. There was the baby to consider. Of course, she hadn't stayed put, either. Savannah wound a damp strand of hair around her finger. The wind ripped at her clothes and made her sway in place.
