At the Water’s Edge
Stories by
Ann Partridge, Sarah Bella, Lisamarie Lamb, Carol R. Ward,
Amanda
Buxton, Jo-Anne Russell, Jamie DeBree, Heidi Sutherlin, Jaimie Krycho
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Smashwords Edition
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At the Water’s Edge
Copyright 2011 Brazen Snake Books
ISBN: 978-1-937477-99-8
Compiled by Jamie DeBree & Heidi Sutherlin
Edited by Carol R. Ward & Jamie DeBree
Cover Art by Heidi Sutherlin
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author's imagination, and used fictitiously.
Smashwords Edition License Notes
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Table of Contents
Water's
Edge
by Ann Partridge
London
by Sarah Bella
Her
House
by Lisamarie Lamb
Siren's
Call
by Carol R. Ward
The
Loch
by Amanda Buxton
Turning
of the Tides
by Jo-Anne Russell
One
More Year
by Jamie DeBree
Never
Forget
by Heidi Sutherlin
The
Boatman
by Jaimie Krycho
by Ann Partridge
Em considered just walking into the water until it closed in over her head. Not that it would really work like that, she knew. At some point she would have to force herself to sink to the bottom and keep from rising to the surface and swimming back to shore.
She felt heavy enough to sink like a stone. Heavy with grief. The loss of Robbie seemed to weight her limbs, her heart and her head. She felt unable to move or feel anything. This trek to the shore was the first unnecessary thing she had done since he was killed.
She watched the swell and roll as the waves formed again and again. The repetitive motion was like watching time go by, or life itself. The absence of Robbie in the world hadn’t made the waves cease and neither would her death. The sun’s last rays marked a bright path on the water leading towards Sorrow Island as it began its descent behind the shadowed cliffs there. It was almost an invitation to follow the light.
The colour was fading from the sky, making it harder to pick out the horizon. Only Sorrow Island separated lake from sky. Sorrow Island, how fitting should she end her days on the way there.
The breeze no longer cooled her cheeks and the waves had slowed to a gently rocking lullaby. Em took one step towards the water when a note echoing across the lake touched her memory. Stopping to listen, she could make out the haunting melancholy of bagpipes over the soft swishing of the waves.
The sound took her back to the day she had met Robbie. Em and her sister Anna had been shopping when they heard some commotion out on the street. Stepping out of the shop they saw a parade of Pipe Bands and Highland Dancers making their way down the main street towards the park. Out of curiosity, Em and her sister had followed the parade and discovered the Highland Games. It was an entertaining event on a sparkling summer day and became one to remember after she met Robbie in the tented eating area.
God that man looked great in a kilt. He had been so full of life. Who had known that pipers could be incredibly sexy? He coined her nickname that very first day. He decided Em, instead of being short for Emma, was short for Emerald because of her eyes. He captured her heart just like that and had never done anything to alter her feelings. Except go to Afghanistan.
She didn’t know if it was the haunting sound of the pipes or the memories of her time together with Robbie that made her throat tighten and released her long dammed-up tears. The two of them had traded passionate love letters that they would have been too embarrassed to share with anyone else. Em had been amazed at how much easier it was to pour her real feelings out on paper than to vocalize them face-to-face with Robbie. Sure they e-mailed back and forth and even had hilarious conversations face-to-face on Skype, but she had treasured their written communication for its depth of feeling.
As her silent tears made shining tracks down her cheeks and fell to join the waves lapping at her feet, Em let herself feel rage at the futility of Robbie’s death. He had been killed by “friendly fire,” by people from his own side of the conflict. He only had three more weeks to complete his tour of duty and then he would have been coming home to marry his emerald-eyed girl.
It seemed impossible to her that Robbie’s voice would never again be heard in the world. Almost two weeks after his death, Em received the final love letter from her beloved piper. It made her question if his death, funeral and the surrounding formalities were real. It sent her over the edge into a black abyss, almost madness. Today was her first foray back into the light of the world and she didn’t know if she could live with Robbie’s large absence, or if she wanted to. Sorrow Island seemed to be calling her name.
Em inhaled on a sob, bowed her head down under the weight of the hurt and closed her tear-filled eyes. She let the sound of the waves and the pipes wash over her. The mist from the waves gently touched her tear-soaked face. She felt the heaviness of the pain pulling her to her knees. Finally, kneeling on the damp sand, head bowed almost to the ground, she keened aloud and rocked with anguish.
When she next opened her eyes, it was dark. When her eyes adjusted to the absence of light, she realized that she could still make out the silvery tips of the waves breaking against the shore. Shakily she got to her feet and thought there would be nothing easier than slipping out into that darkness. As she stepped towards her fate, the tones of the pipes reached her once again. They tugged at her broken heart. Something else tugged at her, too. She felt the stirring of life inside her.
The baby chose this moment to make Em aware of its presence. A child. Hers and Robbies’. Some part of Robbie to belong to her future, to give her a future, to feel uplifted by the sound of the pipes again, to have someone to share it with.
Em took one last look at the silvery waves. Turning away from the water, she took a step towards home.
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About the Author
Ann Partridge is a member of Northumberland Scribes, a writers’ group which helps motivate her to sit at her computer and put thoughts into words. She is a compulsive reader and enjoys making wine.
London
by Sarah Bella
The frothy ocean mocks me from my place in the rocky sand and I sigh before sinking to my knees. Wetness soaks through my jeans as the sand rises up to greet me. I watch as the waves lap at the shore, coming home.