At the end of the dock, Seltie helped Vetta and her newborn baby into the little sailboat, then tossed in Vetta’s backpack, followed by her own. Seltie climbed in, untied the small craft, and, using an oar, pushed away from the dock. As soon as the boat was clear of the dock, Seltie mounted the storm jib. Soon the boat was making good headway along the eastern side of Laughing Goose Spit.
“I didn’t expect you to come with me, Seltie,” Vetta said.
“I couldn’t very well have let you go alone, now, could I, what with the newborn babe and all? Besides, you’re not nearly a good enough sailor to go out in this kind of weather.”
“And you are?” Vetta asked. “You never mentioned it before.”
“I come from a long line of fishers. I’ve been sailing and fishing since I was practically a babe myself. I reckon I’ve sailed about every kind of boat there is, at least, here on Lone Island.” They sailed along the spit for a while, then Seltie said, “You’d better get yourself settled, Vett. As soon as we round the point and sail into the bay, we’ll feel the full might of the storm wind.”
Vetta made sure that the two backpacks were secure and got a good grip on her brand-new baby. Seltie raised the mainsail and reefed it. Just past the end of Laughing Goose Spit, the storm wind filled the sail and, with a powerful heave, the boat surged hard and ran out into the dark, agitated open sea.
“Woohoo! Been a long time since I had this much fun storm-sailing, Vett! The wind is coming nearly straight out of the south. At this rate, we’ll be in Southport in no time! Hang on for the ride! I reckon these swells are at least twenty feet from trough to crest!”
Vetta clutched her infant with one hand while the other maintained a white-knuckled grip on her rough wooden seat. She huddled low to keep as dry and warm as possible.
Seltie advised, “You’d best tuck that baby inside your shirt, right up next to your skin. She’ll be warmer and able to nurse whenever she wants. Nursing’s extra important right after they’re born.”
Vetta’s baby snuggled against her mother and fell asleep while nursing contentedly, oblivious to the raging storm. Vetta sang lullabies from her own childhood as the wind roared and the sea splashed against the hull.
After the first hour, the rain abated somewhat, though the wind kept blowing full force. Scraps of night sky appeared through the dark clouds. Their brave sailboat settled into a groove, making steady progress toward the mainland.
“I can see enough stars now to navigate properly,” Seltie said sometime later. “Near as I can tell, we’re right on course. We should be within sight of Southport before long.” She kept her eyes on the stars and skillfully maneuvered the boat to maintain its north-northeasterly course.
Eventually, Seltie called out, “Wake up, Vett! We’re almost there. I can see the lights of Southport straight ahead. There’s a bit of a hitch, though—see those white breakers that start about three hundred feet from the shore? We’re going to have to do a little dance through the waves to beach our boat on the sand. I’m going to adjust the sails to slow things down as much as I can, but it’s still going to be a wild ride.”
“The sea looks awfully rough, Seltie. Will we be all right?”
“It’s the wind that’s got the sea all riled up,” Seltie said. “But don’t worry—I’ve landed boats in worse than this many a time before. The main thing is: don’t fall out of the boat, no matter what. Here, take this bit of rope and wrap it around yourself and the baby.”
Vetta lashed the baby to her chest as best she could, then made sure the oilskin pouch with her necklace and diary was safely tucked away. She tightened the straps on her backpack, then grasped her wooden seat with both hands and held on with all her strength.
Seltie had fastened her own backpack to her body with a leather strap. She pointed the tiny sailboat straight into the line of breakers. The mountainous waves lifted the boat to great heights, then dashed it back down into the troughs with a booming roar, sending boiling foam rumbling and tumbling toward the beach.
Vetta was terrified, but Seltie was ecstatic. “You won’t get us, you big old noisy boomers! We’re going to slide down your ugly faces and ride you all the way to the beach!”
“Seltie, please!”
“Hang on, Vett! Here we go!”
The boat reached the crest of an enormous breaker, lurched over the top, and began its steep slide down the nearly vertical face of the monster wave.
“Wheee!” Seltie shouted. “That’s how we do it! That’s how we ride the big waves!”
Vetta said nothing—she was too busy hanging on for dear life.
Down and down they went, through the mist and spray, until the breaker crashed at the bottom of the trough. Seawater poured into the hull, but Seltie didn’t appear the least bit worried. “We made it! Woohoo!”
But the beach was still quite a distance away. Another wave caught up with the sailboat and drove it toward the shore until a cross-current spun the small craft sideways. Before Seltie could lower the mainsail, a gust of wind snapped the mast right off and carried it away. The boat turned over, spilling Seltie, Vetta, and the baby into the freezing water.
The baby howled at the touch of the icy surf. Vetta struggled to keep the baby’s head above water. In mere moments, Vetta’s arms and legs grew numb. Seltie was nowhere in sight. It was still a hundred yards to the beach.