She swung again. And again. She stopped to catch her breath. While she did Guinevere broke away from the distant herd and came galloping toward her.
She petted the horse’s neck and gave her nose a kiss. “Don’t worry, girl. If this doesn’t work I’ll bring water out to you in pails on the wagon when I bring you dinner.” The time and work involved in doing that made her lift the pick again.
She eyed the pond. It seemed to her the ice was not as thick farther in. Five feet away from the edge water could be seen beneath the solid surface.
She set her boots gingerly on the ice in front of her. It held solidly. She took another step. Then another. Not daring to risk more, she raised the pick and stretched forward while she brought it down with a satisfying thump.
The tip penetrated the ice. Small cracks formed and water flowed through. She was congratulating herself when a larger crack appeared, aiming right for her.
She turned even as she felt the ice on which she stood moving. All of a sudden it sank in one large mass, and her body followed. Bitter cold shocked her and the water dragged her down and back. She found some sense within her panic and fought to get her head above water. Relief flooded her when her face broke above the surface. Desperate, she grabbed at a big ice slab behind her that had not given way.
Shivering and exhausted, she clung with all her strength, inching her body out a bit. Then she screamed, even though she knew no one would hear her.
* * *
Adam finished his breakfast and returned upstairs. Silence greeted him with each step. No one was here, not even Miss Dunham.
It was early to bring out the hay, but perhaps she had done so. He dressed warmly in the garments she had loaned him and went to saddle a horse. Perhaps she could manage on her own, but another pair of arms would make it easier and he had nothing else to do. Nor would he mind a good ride.
He paced toward the hill, looking for evidence of the wagon. It had not been in the stable yard, but perhaps it was stored elsewhere and she was not using it after all. He was about to aim for the trees, to explore the little woods there, when a horse appeared on the top of the hill. Pale and perfect, she was the bay Caroline had called Guinevere.
The horse rose up on her hind legs and pawed at the air. Then she turned and charged down the hill, right toward him, full speed. He had seen many horses race in his day, even the champion Galahad, but he did not think he had often seen a horse run this fast.
She swooped around him twice in a large circle, then charged back up the hill, as if daring him to race. Even though the horse he rode was no match, he took off after her.
She did not stop at the top of the hill but headed down the other side. He reined in his horse to see where Guinevere aimed. A large pond of several acres lay there, and beside it stood another horse.
Once more Guinevere rose up and pawed the air. He looked at that pond, searching for a young woman in pantaloons along its edge.
Then he saw her. Not on the edge. Inside the pond itself. Only her head showed, and the arms of that boy’s coat. His heart rose to his throat and he kicked his horse.
He was out of the saddle in a shot, running to the pond’s edge. “Caroline!”
“Oh, thank God,” she cried.
His breath returned when he saw she was conscious, and alive.
“Don’t move. Stay right where you are,” he called.
“I fear the ice I am holding will give way if I do anything at all.” Her voice broke while she spoke, and the rest came haltingly, while she cried. “It is very cold. Like being buried in a frozen world.”
He stood on the pond’s edge and examined the surface while blood hammered in his head. His mind raced for a plan to get her out.
“Don’t tell Tom,” she said, then swallowed a little sob. “He will be furious I fell in and blame himself.”
“I’m going to blameyou. What were you thinking?”
She muttered something about the ice not breaking and trying it a bit farther in. “I was never more than a step or two away from the ground.”
“You should have come and gotten me before you even came here,” he said, furious that their argument was probably why she had not. “You should have asked for my help.”
“If you could wait until I am out of this cold water before scolding me I would appreciate it.” She sniffed, then added in a miserable little voice, “I really would.”
The defeat and worry in her voice broke his heart. He tried his weight on the ice. It gave just enough for him to not risk it. Perhaps if he lay down . . .
“Are you standing on the bottom?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Do not come out here or we may drown together.”
