Free Like Chaff in the Wind by Anna Belfrage

sent the Regina Anne bucking hither and thither over waves the size of houses. Lightning tore through the night, and Alex lay in her berth and shrieked in panic, because she didn’t want to disappear, please don’t throw me into another age, don’t take me away from him.
    She was so distraught that Mrs Gordon went to find Don Benito, who knelt on the damp floor beside Alex’s berth telling her that all would be well, for surely she couldn’t think their Heavenly Father intended them to die like this?
    She grabbed at him, her fingers sank into his forearms. Here was what she needed, an anchor to hold on to, and if she hurt him he didn’t say, allowing her to hide against his chest. At every clap of thunder she opened her mouth and screamed, deaf to Mrs Gordon’s soothing sounds and Don Benito’s assurances. What did they know? Had they ever been sent flying through time?
    “Matthew!” she screamed. “I want my Matthew!”
    Don Benito prayed, a constant mumble in Latin that Alex found enervating rather than comforting. But she didn’t have the energy to tell him to shut up, and there was Mrs Gordon, kneeling down beside the priest. Her alto joined his baritone, English mingled with Latin in a heartfelt plea for mercy and deliverance from an untimely death. God seemed to be busy with other things; the ship continued to toss like a walnut shell across the seas.
    Alex held on tight to Don Benito, she closed her eyes and prayed as well, a long stream of please and damn you mixed together. And then, just as suddenly as it had come, the storm waned, leaving a limping, damaged Regina Anne to roll in long, soothing swells. In her berth, Alex slumped into a deep sleep, her pillow pressed to her sweaty chest.
    All through the day Alex slept, waking that night to the stifling heat of the confined cabin. After several hours of tossing on the lumpy mattress she gave up. To sleep in this cramped space with Mrs Gordon snoring was impossible, so she wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and slipped outside.
    It was a tropical night, warm and soft it enveloped Alex in a cloak of darkness, and she drifted over to lean her elbows against the railings. She stretched, wondering as she always did what Matthew might be doing, and if he was alive and well. She looked deep inside of her and yes, there it was, the certainty that he was still here on this earth, and it filled her with peace.
    She gazed down into the dark waters. Strange that in the middle of the night the sea should be so alight with colours, swirling greens and bright blues and wasn’t there a quickly growing point of light? She stared at the sluggish maelstrom of flaring colours that was forming in the sea, her heart rate peaking in a matter of seconds. A time funnel – just like the one she’d been sucked into three years ago. Alex emitted a whimper, half closing her eyes against the pull of the whirling waters and the accompanying nausea. She heard singing, and from the sea rose veils of fog, shimmering in purples and greens, shot through with bolts of dazzling light.
    She clutched at the railing. No way was she going to allow herself to be dragged down into another time. The music faded, her stomach settled, and she couldn’t keep herself from peeking, and there, at the end of the shimmering funnel that had formed in the water, was Magnus, standing on a boat as well. He looked happy, his arm around a woman he kissed and murmured something to. He turned, and for an instant they could both see each other. On Magnus’ face Alex saw an expression of absolute joy that she supposed must be mirrored in her own.
    “ Pappa ?” she croaked.
    “ Lilla hjärtat ?” he replied, using his own special endearment for her.
    She so wanted to let go off the railing and extend her hand towards him, but she didn’t dare to, if anything tightening her hold on the worn wood. The sea heaved and murmured, her father’s face was so very close, but Alex hung on, fingers aching. The funnel