Page 121 of Down and Dirty

She watched him go, then decided to walk down to the fjord. It was a clear day, and exercise was supposedly good for breeding women.

Was it really only five months since she had last seen Zachary? Did he miss her as much as she missed him? Hah! A man as pretty as him would have women lining up to take her place. Not that she had had a place, precisely, other than as a bedmate.

Aaarrgh! Always it comes back to Zachary. Placing both hands over her stomach, where even now a part of him grew, she wondered if motherhood would be enough. Well, it would have to be.

A niggling thought tugged at her mind, though. Zachary had laughingly said that he had “wish-prayed” her to the future.

Could I do the same?

Nay, I could not risk the babe. Whether in the womb or already born, a human life would be in her hands. Whilst she could step freely into the magic of time travel herself — not that she had a clue how to do that — a child was frail and dependent on her. It was selfish of her to be unsatisfied with her lot. A small part of her wondered if mayhap sometime in the future, when her child was born, they might both travel to the future. But, nay, that was wishful thinking, and she must needs be practical, resigned to her fate.

Tears filled her eyes, a common and vexing malady of her pregnancy, and she decided she’d best go back to the keep where cook would have a hearty broth prepared. Angelique, who loved Everstead already, was doing inventory of all the supplies for winter.

And yet she lingered, miserable beyond bearing.

Britta eased down to her knees and did pray then, whether to the One-God of the Christians or to the Norse gods, it mattered not. In truth, they were probably one and the same.

“Please, God, help me. I know not what to do. A miracle, that is what need. Barring that, help me to be content with my lot.”

She stood and, as if in a trance, began to walk closer to the water’s edge. In fact, she placed a booted foot into the icy water and shivered. What kind of lackwit put a booted foot into a winter fjord?

But wait, it did not feel so cold. It was rather warm. And soothing. Without thought, Britta walked into the water, which first seeped over her ankles, then knees, then hips and bosom.

Have I finally, truly gone barmy? Am I going to take my own life? The babe! Remember the babe. I must go back.

A voice in her head whispered to her, You are taking your own life, yea, but into your own hands. Go home, Britta. Take the babe home with you.

Where is home?

You know, Britta, the voice said. You know.

And she did.

Standing stock-still, she was like a statue, unmoving, as a wave lapped up and covered her head. There were no waves in this fjord, or never had been before.

Amazing!

With a sigh, she sank into a deep, seagoing sleep.

And that was that.

God was calling her home.

I see dead people…

“I saw Britta today.”

“What?” Zach slammed on the SUV’s brakes and pulled over to the side of the road. They were on their way to the grocery store, but that could wait. “That was not funny.”

“I wasn’t jokin’. The school bus was goin’ down that road by the sea, and I saw this lady walk out of the water. She was soakin’ wet, an’ her hair looked like snakes, an’ she wore this long fur coat, and—”

“Stop it, Sammy! Just stop it!”

Sammy awakened from dreams at night on occasion, crying. Apparently, Britta was alive and well in those dreams and holding out her arms for him to come to her. But those were dreams. Was he now fantasizing in the daytime? That was not healthy. “Britta is gone.”

Sammy ducked his head. “I know,” he said in a small voice.

“Besides, no one could survive a dunking in the cold Bering Sea, even for a short period. It’s frigid.”