Page 6 of Freeing Lark

Her boat was gone.

She stared at the empty space where the small aluminum fishing boat should have been tied. She blinked once. Then twice.

“No.” The word came out quietly. Almost politely. Like if she denied reality long enough, reality might get embarrassed and fix itself. It didn’t.

The rope she’d tied around the brush lining the shore was still there. The knot was gone.

Her boat? Floating somewhere downstream. Or maybe halfway to the Chesapeake Bay by now.

She closed her eyes and tipped her face toward the fading afternoon sky. “Of course.” Because why wouldn't this happen?

She was stranded on an island. In the middle of a river.

Because Bell Creek was a terrible name for what was essentially a wide, winding river cutting through the middle of town. It had been called a creek by the original settlers, and apparently nobody had bothered correcting them for the last two hundred years.

She looked across the water toward the shore. It wasn’t that far. Except it was. The distance seemed to grow the longer she stared at it. And the water looked deeper. Colder. Less inviting.

She was a decent artist. A passable baker. A mediocre gardener. But a terrible swimmer.

She could dog paddle if her life depended on it. Unfortunately, she wasn’t entirely convinced it would.

Her phone would have been helpful. Except her phone was dead. Because, naturally. Murphy.

She pulled it from her pocket and pressed the button one more time. Nothing. “You’re kidding me.” The black screen remained stubbornly black.

She considered throwing it into the river out of spite. Then remembered she might need it if it magically decided to work later.

With a sigh, she shoved it back into her pocket.

Okay, think. She was smart. She was resourceful. She was... Standing alone on an island with a half-finished penny sculpture.

She looked behind her at the reason she was there. The Liberty Bell, sort of. A miniature version, anyway.

Months of work had gone into the installation. Thousands of pennies carefully arranged into the shape of the iconic bell. It wasn’t perfect. The curves had been ridiculously difficult, and she’d burned her fingers more times than she could count trying to solder sections together.

But it was beautiful. At least she thought it was.

The plan was to install it permanently on the island as a welcome symbol for visitors entering Bell Creek. A reminder of history. Community. Hope.

Right now, though, the only message the island seemed to be sending was: Congratulations. You have been abandoned.

The sun dipped lower. Orange and gold reflected across the water. She’d think it was beautiful, if she wasn’t trapped and worried.

She walked the shoreline, searching for any possible solution. Could she use that fallen branch as a raft? Was an old canoe hidden somewhere? Would a magical ferry appear because she had clearly earned one?

Also no.

“This is fine,” she muttered, trying to bolster her fading bravery. It was not fine. She was going to have to spend the night here. Alone on an island. With bugs. And probably raccoons. Maybe snakes.

She looked around. “Please don’t be snakes.”

That was when she heard it. A motor. Her head snapped toward the sound. A small boat rounded the bend in the river, a man at the motor.

A boat. A way home. Hope surged through her so quickly she nearly laughed.

“Hey!” She waved both arms. “Hey! Over here!” The boat kept coming. She waved harder. “Please!”

The man finally noticed her, and the boat slowed. Then angled toward the island.