Free A Cornish Stranger by Liz Fenwick Page B

she thought she heard Gabriella singing an old hymn, but Jaunty knew it must be her desire to hear her sing that was making the wind’s whining through the trees sound like music. Collecting her pen and notebook she settled back into bed, looking up at the ceiling as a thump hit the roof. The light blinked but remained on. She looked at her watch, then the bedside table. It was one thirty but the alarm clock showed one. The power must have gone off at some point. She hoped Fin had secured his boat well. He should be protected from the worst of the storm in the creek. It was a haven and had always been.
    This cabin has been my refuge although when I bought it, it didn’t feel that way. This room was cold and so damp. A local builder helped me to make it watertight and since his true passion was boats, much of the walls and ceiling are wood cladded. Even now when I look at the way he fitted the cupboards I think of a yacht.
    When Philip and I arrived here it was barely habitable but it was safe, safe for me but not for a small child. I had to build walls and terraces so an active toddler didn’t fall off on to the rocks below. I was grateful for the safety of the trees that protected us from winter storms and I became quite proficient at providing for us, fishing and foraging. You, Gabriella, won’t remember, but for years our only water came from a well and I didn’t have electricity installed until the sixties.
    What I had here was so different from my childhood.
    Looking back I wonder how I managed at all – but I did. Just getting water from the well was a long project when Philip was little. The well . . . Now it’s closed off, not needed, but several times a day I used to make my way to it. Have you ever found it? I suspect not, as it is so overgrown, but people still visit it I think. I used to find things tied to the holly tree beside it. Some said it was a holy well. I never believed it but they said there had been a hermit who, like me, had sought refuge in this place away from the world. Many people had come here seeking miracles and forgiveness from him and from the water of the well in the wood.
    Jaunty’s eyes kept closing and with a sigh she put the pen and paper away. Maybe sleep would come again. Shutting off the light, she closed her eyes and listened. The wind called to her and stirred the emptiness within. Everything was changing with it. Maybe there was hope after all.
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    All her muscles ached and despite the exertion Gabe was freezing. She fought the current to swim across to the body. What she was doing was madness. How could she save someone when she was struggling with almost everything she had to beat the current? The next flash came and she found him just feet in front of her, but the water pulled him just out of her reach. White horses converged where the creek met the river. The north-east wind was whipping them up higher and she lost sight of him again, lost sight of the shore. The body drifted further away and she forced her arms out to reach him. There was no movement. He was either dead or out cold but she didn’t have time to check or she’d be dead before too long. What the hell was she doing? she asked herself. She wasn’t going to be able to save him and she would probably end up killing herself. But she had to try, she had to.
    The one thing she could tell as she lifted him by the chin was that he was the man from the boat. If she had thought him big when he carried Jaunty, he felt enormous as she fought against the current to try and reach the bank. He was a dead weight, pulling them both down. She didn’t want to think about dead. He must still be alive. She must survive. The wind grew stronger, swirling above them, whipping water at them. Slowing down, she took in a mouthful of water. No! Mother of Christ, Star of the sea, Pray for the mariner, pray for me . The words ran through her head with each stroke. She changed arms and pulled