The Vines by Shelley Nolden (most motivational books .txt) 📗

His fingers traveled from scar to scar on her abdomen. Stroking his cheek, she marveled at the feel of his skin against hers and kissed his forehead. This was why she was about to risk both their lives. They belonged together.

And not with Ulrich. He would warp their son’s mind with his ideologies. She couldn’t let that happen.

Each night since Ulrich’s last visit, she’d stared at her sleeping baby, then at the Gotham skyline, second-guessing her decision to hide Kristian. Her son deserved a normal childhood. Why should her condition keep him from growing up in the greatest city on Earth? Each night she’d reached the same conclusion: with Ulrich he wouldn’t have a normal childhood.

Someday, when he was old enough to navigate his way back to her, she would help him become a true New Yorker. In the meantime, she would homeschool him, using the textbooks that had been left behind.

With Kristian cradled in her arms, she could no longer use busywork as a distraction from her fears. Today they both might die. If she became too sick to keep paddling, or the raft capsized in the chop, they would join the victims of the Slocum.

And then, she allowed her tears to fall.

Occasionally, nightmares of drowning still ripped her from sleep. Drenched in sweat, she would breathe into her palm, her old trick for proving it had been only a dream.

Hazarding that fate for Kristian seemed incredibly selfish, yet she couldn’t compel herself to hand him over to a monster.

If Ulrich did catch them, her punishment would stretch on for years. Kristian would go unharmed; he loved the boy. There was no risk to her son. She tried to hold back a sob and failed. Her fingers wove through the curls at the back of his head, and she brushed her lips across his cheek. “I love you, my little rascal.” Wishing this moment would never end, she pressed their bodies closer together.

He looked up at her, and the blue of his eyes matched the early light. Even though he didn’t say it, she knew he loved her, too, and needed her. The tears flowed faster.

His lips parted, and she shifted him to her other breast. Life since his birth had been profoundly joyful. The supplies from Ulrich had enabled her to focus on caring for Kristian, who’d grown into an adventurous toddler fascinated by sticks, bugs, and the ships that plowed past. Deep down, she’d known that the pretense of their happy little family couldn’t last, so she’d been squirreling rations. She and Kristian would need that food to survive through the winter and spring until the first harvest from the garden she intended to grow.

Apparently satiated, Kristian wriggled out of her arms. Normally he’d be drowsy by now, but the prospect of the journey, as well as her nervous energy, must have excited him.

“Stay.” She wagged her finger at him as she began dragging the raft.

He followed her onto the pier.

Sighing, she stopped her effort and picked him up before he could fall in. “Can you help Mommy move the boxes?”

He nodded, even though he couldn’t have fully understood her, and she set him in the grass. While he tried to catch a frog, she fastened the cartons to the wood with knotted bedsheet strips.

The sky was fading, and with it, their window of opportunity. She pulled an adult-size life preserver over Kristian’s head and used the last of the ties to secure it to him. Then she secured her son to her via a makeshift, braided cord.

“You ready?” she asked with forced enthusiasm.

“Ja. Boot. Im Wasser.” He ran onto the dock, swinging his arms.

Praying it wouldn’t be their last, she bent down for a hug, and he lunged away.

She commanded him to stay put, shoved the raft off the pier, and placed him in the empty triangular space at the center of the boxes. “Your special nest,” she said, thankful the phrase was similar in both languages. Since she couldn’t tie him in place, given the risk of capsizing, she would have to talk him into staying put. “Tweet, like a little birdie.” She flapped her arms.

“Tweet.” He mimicked the motion.

She made the sign of the cross, said a quick prayer, and eased onto the wood. Cold water rushed over her bare feet, and she adjusted her position to balance the platform. With a board that would serve as her paddle, she pushed them away from shore.

A current tugged the raft. Furiously, she paddled to redirect their course. The dark form of the smaller of the Brethren Islands was just visible across the channel. Babbling with delight, Kristian nudged between two of the boxes, and she barked at him to stay put. Miraculously, he listened to her.

Waves rocked the raft, and she struggled to keep it from tipping. The gusting wind sprayed her with saltwater, leaving a taste on her tongue that forced her mind back to 1907. The thought of those sharks momentarily paralyzed her. While it had been romantic to think they’d saved her, they instead might have been fixed on devouring her. She paddled harder.

Her muscles burned from the exertion, and her forehead felt equally hot. A chill coursed through her, and she knew the fever had begun. A burning itch told her that pustules were emerging across her skin. She glanced back and decided they were almost halfway.

Repeatedly, she dug the board into the tidal strait, slowing her rhythm only to check on Kristian, who was soaked, shivering, and sobbing. To soothe him, she sang, “Row, row, row your boat,” each word coming out hoarser than the last. Her throat felt like it had filled with silt, blocking the air from reaching her lungs. A coughing fit seized her, and she had to stop paddling until it subsided.

Kristian’s howling rose above the roars of the wind and the river.

“What have I done?” she wailed. Nausea and fatigue were spreading through her like a plague, and she fought the urge to give