The moment she opened her eyes, she was aware only of the encompassing darkness. And the fear. Both pressed in on her like cold, black water: surrounding her, smothering her. Her mouth had been abandoned by the scream that was torn from it upon waking, leaving her throat hollow and burning.

The dream was gone, its memory with it. It ebbed from her consciousness like a retreating tide that leaves only the cold sheen of its presence behind on the sands.

"It was only a dream," a comforting voice penetrated the darkness like a lifesaving hand plunged through the depths, grasping her deluged mind and towing it back to reality.

One arm around her narrow shoulders pulled her snugly against him, and she gratefully rested her face against the warmth of his chest. His hands were weathered and rough, but his touch on her cheek was as a dove’s wing, brushing away her panic along with her tears.

"Oh, Theo—" she rasped, and she was overcome with sobs.

"Shhh, now, my precious gem. I’m right here. I’ll always be right here." He pulled the heavy quilt further up over her shoulders and held her firmly with both arms. After a while, her shudders subsided. Finally, with a deep sigh, she stretched a small, pale hand to his face and lifted her eyes to meet his.

"Do you promise?" The innocence in her voice made his chest ache.

"Of course, I do,” he assured. “We are meant to be together. Nothing could ever change that." He placed a finger under her chin, looked deeply into her shadowed jade eyes, and said with emphasis, "Ever."

"I love you," she told him, and she managed a weak smile.

"And I love you." He said this quietly, reverently. That was how Theodore Patrick McCalister did everything.

Her eyes were blurry from tears and exhaustion, but Opal continued to gaze into his handsome face, still rosy from the day’s windburn. Last evening, she had smoothed a lanolin balm over his cheeks before supper, which had made his grin sparkle all the more across their small wooden table. Her twin sister, Olivia, had given her the small tin of lanolin, scented with rosewater, as a wedding gift just two weeks before.

“You’ll need something fancy,” Olivia had said. “And practical, too. I don’t know how you will ever survive without all our nice things, Lovie.”

“I’ll do fine, Livie,” Opal told her, tears spilling past her cheeks and onto the lace cover of her sister’s bed. “I don’t need fancy things. I can cook and clean and do for myself just fine.”

Olivia giggled. “I just pray that Nonnie taught you enough about cooking so you two don’t starve to death.” Their laughter failed to overcome their tears.

Sitting in the bedroom they’d shared since birth, with its French provincial décor, they embraced for what they feared was the last time. When they separated at last, Opal went to her own bed and pulled a small cloth suitcase from beneath it. She opened the case and placed the tin inside, carefully covering it with one of the blouses she’d packed. She looked to the window, where the last few colors of sunlight were now evaporating.

“Only a few more hours,” she said quietly. “I’ll be his wife. Even Father can’t stop us then.”

Opal drifted into a more restful state now, although not fully into sleep. When a faint ray of sunlight washed across her face, she opened her eyes. She peered around her at the coarse log walls with brown daubing, the simple wooden table and chairs and the stone hearth with its smoldering remains of yesterday’s warmth. Theo had been collecting the stones for months. At each port along the river, after the barge was unloaded and the other bargehands had strayed into town to find a meal or a tavern, he would walk the river’s edge, seeking the perfectly smooth, flat stones that he carried back to Mooringtown. He had put every stone, every piece of timber in place to build their home, and once every aspect was just right, he went to Harrelville to fetch Opal.

Now, as the orange glow of sunrise trickled into their tiny home, Opal began to fill with dread. Theo would be leaving soon.

She stifled the urge to ask him to stay. It was pointless, anyway, since he had already taken time away from working for them to marry. The ceremony, with only her sister and Theo’s best friend to witness, was simple and quiet. Although she had always longed for a grand wedding, dreamed of a lace-laden white gown and the glowing adoration of family and friends, her father’s disavowal of their union had forced them to marry in secret.

"No daughter of mine will marry some miserable bargehand!" he had ranted, as they stood among the idle sewing machines of the garment factory.

"But Father, I love him! And he loves me!"

"I have worked my whole life to build all of this," he said, gesturing to the deserted room. "We are a respectable family, and I won’t allow you to dishonor my name—my family’s name—by marrying some…vagrant!" He loomed above her as he spat the venomous words. Opal had never known him to be so frightening: his narrowed eyes flashed with each verbal strike, his face was crimson with rage and serpentine veins protruded on his forehead and neck.

Despite her efforts to appear undaunted, she had felt herself shrinking before him. Straightening, she tried to take a full breath, but her father’s fury was wrapped about her, constricting her ribs; when she managed to speak, her voice was strained and weak.

"Theo is not a vagrant. He works very hard, and he has bought land in Mooringtown to build our home."

"Enough! I will never allow it!"

"But, Father, plea—" The sting of his hand against her cheek sent her reeling backward, but her bustle cushioned the fall. She was stunned for a moment—her father had never struck her before—but as she gingerly touched the burning area on her face, her disbelief suddenly turned to indignation. Her jade eyes flared as she regarded this now-unfamiliar monster.

His face was expressionless with steely eyes fixed on her, and the hand, which remained extended toward her, trembled slightly with simmering rage. It was impossible to tell from his stony features whether he meant to strike her again or help her to her feet. The moment lingered in icy silence.

Finally, Opal gathered up her heavy skirts and got to her feet. Standing straight-spined before her father, she realized for the first time that she was his equal height. She glared at him for a moment, braced for another slap, but he was unmoving except for the still-quivering hand that now reluctantly lowered to his side. Without a word, she turned her back to him and started toward the door.

"Don’t do something foolish, you ungrateful child!" He shouted after her. "I won’t allow you to disgrace me! Do you hear me? I won’t allow it!"

She squared her shoulders and did not look back.

Opal blinked hard to clear the memories now. She lifted her eyes to look at Theo’s face and was surprised to find his eyes open. He tilted his head to look back at her, and his loving gaze flooded her with warmth.

They nestled together only a few minutes more before Theo, with a lingering kiss to her forehead and a weighted sigh, rolled out of the bed. He dressed quickly in the chilly room, then he added wood to the waning fire, which quickly revived.

Opal slipped from the bed and prepared a light breakfast of eggs and bread. She was grateful that Theo’s workmates and friends had given them so much food as wedding gifts. At first she hadn’t understood the simplicity of their gifts, but she was coming to appreciate the practicality and sincerity of their generosity.

They ate in silence, each of them mulling in anxiety. Theo hated to leave Opal alone so soon, but he couldn’t afford to lose his job, either. Opal was not so apprehensive about being by herself; her fears were less tangible, springing from the tormenting visions that had plagued her every night since she and her father had argued. Each time she’d awakened, though, she could remember only the essence of her dreams. It was like rising out of a frigid pool; even as she left the murky depths behind, its chilling damp sheath lingered on her skin.

When their meal was finished, Theo readied himself to leave.

“It’s only three days. I’ll be back before you can miss me,” he said, his tone more apologetic than reassuring. He held her closely and kissed her once more. She managed to hold back the flood of tears until the door closed behind him.

The late winter weather turned much colder that afternoon. A chilling wind brought with it an icy rain that did not relent until the morning of Theo’s return. On that morning, Opal looked to the early eastern sky and smiled.

The arc of a brilliant golden sphere was peeking just above the horizon, casting an orange glow across the river, just visible in the distance. Blazing scarlet ribbons stretched above, mingling with luminous pink and auburn. Her smile began to fade as the old mariner’s tune drifted into her mind: Red sky at morning, sailors take warning…

She shook her head, rejecting the fear that suddenly washed over her. No, she would not allow any troubling thoughts on this day.

She tried to keep busy through the morning, but the hours lumbered past slowly, heavily, endlessly. After she straightened and cleaned every inch of the cabin, she tended the pot of stew she would serve Theo tonight. Finally, she settled into the squeaky rocking chair in front of the fireplace. The chair groaned, even with her slight weight, but she soon found comfort in the rhythm of its complaint, and she slipped into a light but placid slumber.

A long afternoon shadow was rippling across the bare-wood floor, lapping at the edges of her skirt, ebbing toward her feet. She flinched as the dimness reached her, and her eyes fluttered open.

She immediately rose from her chair, looking about the room anxiously. It took only a moment for her to re-orient, and then the chill of confusion was imbued with the warmth of happiness and anticipation. She grinned as she checked the stew once more. Then she pulled a heavy wool shawl from a peg near the door and, wrapping it closely around her shoulders and arms, left for the docks.

The sky was thick with grey clouds that seemed to grow larger and denser as she drew closer to the river. The streets of the tiny town were bustling with carriages and men and women scurrying to greet the incoming barge. It seemed that nearly every resident was hurrying in the same direction—toward the river—where the smoky clouds continued to grow. Behind her, Opal suddenly heard the clamoring approach of the fire-wagon, and turned to see the charging team of horses that pulled it toward—Theo!

She began to run alongside the rest of the townspeople, her legs like anchors dragging in mire. Her heart was pounding, her breath heavy and fast as she raced toward the river.

At last, she arrived at the levee, and she paused briefly at the crest. She quickly surveyed the frantic scene, blurred by tears. Hundreds of people crowded onto the banks and the landing. Beyond them, forty or fifty yards out on the river, the barge was ablaze. Lofty flames engulfed most of the craft, and black smoke billowed from the cabin structure at mid-deck. At least a dozen men were in the water, struggling against the undertow and freezing water to reach the dock. But Theo was not among them.

Opal darted down the embankment and plunged into the crowd. She pushed her way through the swarming mob until she reached the end of the pier.

A few exhausted bargehands had managed to make it to the landing and were being helped from the water near her. They were instantly surrounded by frantic people who begged to know of the fates of their husbands, brothers and sons. She couldn’t hear their answers amid the chaos, but Opal could see the shivering men shaking their heads mournfully in response.

Her eyes scanned the water once more, but she still didn’t see him. When her gaze reached the barge, Theo was there. He stood near the stern of the long boat, looking out over the turbid water; he seemed to number the men in the water, his eyes slowly spanning toward the dock.

"Theo!" Her desperate cry rang above the tumult, and he looked toward the dock. His eyes came to rest on her terror-stricken face. He raised a hand toward her, and seemed about to abandon the burning boat. Then, suddenly, he turned toward the barracks, as if something there had called out to him. Opal looked also, expecting to see one of his workmates emerging, but she could see only the fire-soaked walls of the structure.

Theo looked back to Opal. His face was drenched with indecision and fear. Even from that insurmountable distance, Opal could see the despair in his eyes. In an instant, she understood that he was deciding another man’s fate, and possibly his own. Panic swelled inside her, squeezing the blood from her heart, as she realized what was happening.

Theo hesitated briefly; then, with one final, rueful gaze at his young bride, he turned and rushed into the blazing cabin.

"Nooo!" She screamed, reaching desperately and vainly toward where he had been.

At that same moment, Opal felt a pressure against her back. She turned to glimpse the unfamiliar visage of a woman who was struggling to reach the brink of the pier. As the face moved quickly past, she became abruptly aware of the icy patch beneath her feet.

As Opal fell away from the heedless faces, she discerned one final image: the profile of her father, looking on at the carnage, a wry sneer distorting his features.

The river’s coldness engulfed her without warning, pulling her into the current, and the bleary picture of her father’s face was drowned by a vision of her gentle lover and his brave and selfless legacy.

As she drifted beyond the reach of a few helpless strangers, she was submerged in the frigid reality of her father’s treachery, and she suffocated with the revelation of her loss. Overwhelmed by sorrow, she quickly surrendered, sinking languidly into the placid depths of the nightmare.

Suddenly, from nowhere—and everywhere—a deafening tone penetrated her ears. The piercing shriek grew louder and louder, more intense and shrill, until at last she opened her eyes…and then there was only the darkness…and the fear…