Catch the Wind: My Journey with Caroline

Caroline promises that we’ll keep enough distance for the British to have no shot at us. So reluctantly, I tell her we can follow the schooner. Overhead, clouds darken by the minute, and the waves are starting to knock the skiff around harder. Caroline says that if the weather gets any worse, we’ll turn straight for shore.

A gust smacks the canvas taut the moment she adjusts the sail. The skiff shoots forward across the blue-green water, chasing the schooner, and a sudden lurch nearly throws me off my seat. I ask how she’s even managing to steer this thing.

Without taking her eyes off the sail, Caroline explains that the trick is working with the wind instead of fighting it. She says sailing beats rowing for speed, though the wind is picking up enough that it’s almost too windy to use the sail. But if we switch to rowing, the schooner will get away for sure.

Refusing to just sit there useless, I ask if there’s something I can do. She shouts back for me to keep watching the schooner.

I do try. But every so often a harder gust slams into the sail and shudders through the whole boat. Eventually it’s too much, and I beg Caroline to turn back. Agreeing, she says it’s time to head for shore and bring the sail down.

Wind whips my hair across my face and cracks against the canvas. White-knuckled, her mouth set in a hard line, Caroline struggles with the rope that raises and lowers the sail. She clearly could use another pair of hands, so I stand up and reach for the rope, too.

“Sit down!” Caroline cries out. But right as a gust slams into us, the skiff lurches beneath my feet, and the whole world tips sideways.

Cold enough to steal the scream right out of my throat, the lake swallows me whole, and I gulp down a mouthful of water instead. Thrashing gets me nowhere. Green-blue water fills my vision, and somewhere far off, all I can hear are muffled thuds.

Sinking into water this cold, this deep, is exactly the nightmare I’ve always dreaded. Mom! Dad! I scream inside my own head, knowing full well neither one of them can reach me down here.

Kick up, I order myself, except my long skirt and petticoat have wound tight around my legs. When I reach down to tear the fabric loose, my hand brushes against something solid instead: the compass, still safe in my pocket, able to carry me home in an instant.

Using it isn’t an option, though. Caroline would spend the rest of her life believing I’d drowned, and I won’t do that to her. Just this once, I tell myself, be brave. Fisting handfuls of my skirt, I yank upward with everything I’ve got until my legs finally break free.

Somewhere above me, lighter water glimmers, so I aim for it and kick as hard as I can. By the time my face breaks the surface, my lungs are screaming, and I gulp down air like I’ve never breathed before in my life.

The waves won’t stop tossing me around. Pedaling my legs frantically and slapping at the water with both hands, I barely manage to keep my chin above the surface. This can’t go on much longer. A shriek tears Caroline’s name out of me, and somewhere behind me her voice calls back. Twisting around, I spot her floating in the water, gripping the skiff, which is still upright.

She yells at me to swim toward her. I can’t, I yell back. I barely know how to swim, and just staying afloat is already draining every last bit of strength I have.