When the Gales of November Come Early
A cloudy morning, a forceful gale, an icy drizzle. She wraps her scarf tight around her neck and head, only her eyes exposed, and steps up the ladder to the main deck. Gripping the railing, she feels the wooden schooner heave and sway. Waves splash over the sides, coating the deck with water that will soon freeze. She’s been here before—not on this ship, but on the steamer New Orleans when she collided with the William Linn on Lake Huron. They were rescued before the ship wrecked. This time, she envisions a dark, watery grave. She descends into myth.
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