Chapter 11: The Breach of the Ice
In late February, a sudden thaw followed by a flash freeze turned the dirt roads of Hancock County into treacherous ribbons of gray ice.
Elena was walking down the sloping stone path from the boathouse to the main kitchen to fetch fresh milk when her boot heel caught a hidden patch of black ice beneath the slush.
She didn't have time to catch the cedar railing. She fell heavily on her left side, her shoulder taking the impact, her hands curling instinctively over her belly as she struck the frozen gravel with a sickening thud.
A sharp, tearing pain radiated through her lower pelvis, driving all the air from her lungs in a strangled gasp.
"Nora!" she cried out, but the sound was swallowed by the sea wind howling through the spruce boughs.
Fifty yards away, Dante was stacking birch rounds against the barn wall.
He dropped the log. He didn't think; his body reacted with the desperate, terrifying speed of an animal protecting its den. He covered the fifty yards of icy gravel in long, reckless strides, his boots sliding, catching himself against the fence before dropping to his knees beside her in the mud.
"Elena!" he panted, his hands hovering over her trembling frame, terrified that his touch might shatter her. "Where does it hurt? Talk to me—where does it hurt?"
"My side... Dante, the baby—the babies—" she wept, clutching his forearm with a grip that bruised through his wool coat. "It’s too early... it's only twenty-eight weeks..."
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Dante didn't hesitate. He slipped his arms beneath her knees and shoulders, lifting her from the frozen mud in one fluid, powerful surge. She was heavy with child, her wool coat soaked with gray slush, but he carried her as if she were weightless, bounding up the stone steps of the main house.
"Nora! Get the truck keys!" Dante roared through the kitchen door, his voice kicking the oak paneling. "Now!"
