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The Color of a Silver Lining
by Julianne MacLean
It’s been five years since Emma Cochran endured the worst possible tragedy—the sudden, unexpected death of her two-year-old son. The emotional trauma tore her marriage apart, but now her divorce is final and she wants to begin again. She’s found happiness at last with her fiancé, Lucas, who is eager to start a family with her.
On the other side of the country, single mother Bev Hutchinson watches helplessly as her five-year-old daughter Louise drowns in a high-profile boating accident. Miraculously, Louise is brought back to life by first-responders, then claims she went to heaven. The news causes a media frenzy surrounding the little girl, and Bev does everything she can to shield herself and her daughter from the relentless swarming of the press.
Lives collide when Emma becomes obsessed with the story of the child, thousands of miles away, who drowned and went to heaven. She wants to connect with the mother, but Emma’s fiancé is against the idea because he wants her to let go of her grief and move on.
But sometimes, moving on isn’t the right choice when miracles are leading you back to your past—toward something, or someone, who was your destiny all along.
Excerpt from THE COLOR OF A SILVER LINING
©Julianne MacLean 2017
Chapter One
Bev
Halifax, Nova Scotia
On the day the tall ship Dalila went down, taking all its passengers—including me, my sister, and my five-year-old daughter Louise—into the cold waters of the Atlantic, I had just turned thirty years old. I was a single mother and had started to notice a few wrinkles I’d never had before, and the odd gray hair in my curly blond locks.
As for Dalila, she was a magnificent, recently refurbished 153-foot, three-masted square-rigger. She was commissioned in 1936 and worked as a support vessel for fisheries in New England and appeared in several movies for the big screen in the 1980s and ’90s. In recent years, she’d become a tourist attraction at Halifax Harbour, Nova Scotia, taking landlubbers on day trips around Sambro Island to view the oldest surviving lighthouse in North America.
It was my sister Claire who convinced me to get onboard that day, because it was something we’d talked about for years. She insisted that my thirtieth birthday deserved a special celebration, something I could tick off my bucket list, and a voyage aboard Dalila had been sitting on that list for a while. What sealed the deal was the fact that my daughter had become fascinated with sailing ships after watching Pirates of the Caribbean, and she was desperate to go “on a big pirate boat.”
So off we went—just the three of us: Claire, Louise, and me—while Claire’s husband Scott stayed home to take their four-year-old daughter, Serena, to a birthday party.
As it turned out, it was a good thing they didn’t join us. It meant there were two less loved ones to worry about when the wave hit.
* * *
The sky was blue and the forecast clear when we stepped onto the gangway in downtown Halifax that morning. It had never even entered our minds that it might be a bad day to go sailing.
In addition to sixteen crew members, there were twenty-five passengers booked for the voyage. Claire, Louise and I were first in line on the wharf, so while other passengers were still arriving, we explored the ship, craning our necks to look at the tops of the masts, which seemed to reach halfway to the sky. We walked around the main deck, marveling at the complex rigging and the sheer volume of rope everywhere we looked.
Louise had always been a mindful, sensible child—surprisingly mature for her age—and she was well-behaved. As always, she kept to a walk when she might have preferred to break into a run toward the bowsprit.
After we’d seen everything on the top deck, we ventured below to the main hold—an impressive, wide-open space with a gleaming oak floor and knotty antique planks forming the hull.
“Feels like we’re inside a giant wooden barrel,” Claire said as she fingered the wrought iron hardware holding the planks together.
“That’s not a disturbing thought at all.” I raised an eyebrow at her while Louise danced around on the expansive deck.
Claire and I turned to watch her do a few pirouettes and pliés, which she’d learned in ballet class. Her blond curls bounced as she moved, and the smile on her face melted my heart. She curtsied and we gave a round of applause.
Continuing our exploration toward the forward deck, we found the galley—an ultra-modern kitchen with the newest technologies—and back toward the stern, through a narrow passageway, we came upon a number of small private cabins for the crew. The captain’s quarters were located aft and spanned the full width of the stern.
“It’s very luxurious, isn’t it?” Claire said quietly as she peered in at the varnished oak furnishings, shiny brass fittings and crimson upholstery.
Louise was about to run in and climb onto the bed, but I held her back. “I don’t think we’re supposed to do that, sweetheart,” I whispered gently.
She gave no argument, then followed Claire and me back to the companionway that took us up to the top deck. By that point, other passengers were exploring below deck as well.
A short while later, it was time to depart.
“Everyone is welcome to take a turn at the helm today,” our captain explained as we motored away from the wharf. He was a handsome older gentleman, very distinguished looking in a navy blazer, white trousers, white shoes and a smart-looking captain’s cap. “Our crew members are expert sailors and if you’re interested, they’ll be happy to show you how to set sails, assist with maneuvers, and once we’re beyond the mouth of the harbor, I’ll talk to you all about navigation, weather observations as well as plenty more. Now…” He spread his arms wide. “Are you all ready to see this gorgeous girl leave the harbor under full sail?”
We all cheered and clapped as the crew set to work.
“It’s going to be such a fun day,” I said to Louise, hugging her close and kissing the top of her sweet head. She wiggled with excitement on the bench, and Claire and I shared a happy glance.
* * *
We learned later that the crew could never have predicted the extreme wind gusts that would slam into the Dalila shortly after we circled Sambro Island, nor could they have done anything to save the boat. What happened was a meteorological phenomenon called a “micro-burst,” which is an abrupt downdraft during a thunderstorm. The wind shoots straight down from the clouds and bounces off the ground or water. Typically, it affects less than a two-and-a half mile geographical area, and wind speeds can reach hurricane force in a matter of seconds. It’s very precise. If you’re near the bullseye of a micro-burst, it’s almost like getting struck by lightning.
* * *
First came the rain, but that wasn’t a surprise to any of us, as we’d seen bad weather approaching from the horizon. The crew donned their foul weather gear, and as soon as the rain was upon us, the captain ordered us all to the main hold below to stay dry, while assuring us that he and his crew had sailed in far worse weather than this.
Down we went to the place where Louise had danced pirouettes a few hours earlier, and where they had served us a delicious hot lunch just before we reached the island. There were no portholes in that section of the ship so we couldn’t see out, but we felt the intensifying movements of the ship through roughening seas.
There was a sudden crash of thunder that seemed frighteningly close, and Louise started to cry.
“It’s okay, baby, don’t worry.” I scooped her into my arms and steadied myself against the center bulkhead. “It’s just a thunderstorm. And the captain knows what he’s doing.”
The ship pitched and rolled, and one of the other passengers—an older lady in her sixties—began to complain to her husband that they should have simply taken the ferry back and forth to Dartmouth like she wanted, rather than get on a sailing ship headed for open water. It would have been far cheaper, she said, and they would be on dry land by now. They continued to argue about it.
I was beginning to think the ferry boat sounded pretty good at that point, because I’d never been a risk taker when it came to wild adventures. I was a nurse in the city hospital, so I’d seen enough broken bones and concussions to steer me away from unnecessary risks to the only body I had. Yet here we were, on an old-fashioned square-rigger, riding violent ocean waves in the middle of a thunderstorm.
“The captain seemed confident,” Claire said to me, rather uncertainly, as she grabbed hold of the center post and braced her legs farther apart. “I’m sure he’ll get us out of this. Right?”
“Of course,” I replied, swallowing hard over a sudden surge of seasickness in my belly.
All the passengers grew quiet, even Louise, who remained very brave in my arms and didn’t cry. I suppose we were all too petrified to speak. It went on like that for a while, with the floor pitching and rolling beneath us while we fought to hold on to whatever was fastened to the floor or walls.
Then suddenly there was great roar from topside, as if it had come from a supernatural beast in the sky, and water came sloshing down the companionway.
The ship heeled sharply to starboard and we were all thrown against the hull. I tried to hang onto Louise, but I didn’t want to crush her as I slammed into the wooden planks and iron fittings, so I let her go and she flew out of my arms, catapulting into another couple and landing on top of them.
When I gathered my senses and looked up, I realized that the ship was on her side.
“Louise!”
“Mommy!”
Everyone started screaming. I climbed over a man to reach my daughter, while Claire followed beside me.
“Are you two okay?” she asked us.
“Yes, are you?”
“We have to get out of here!” someone shouted in a panic, and everyone began scrambling to clamber out of the hold.
Water was pouring in through the main hatch, and some of the passengers pushed and shoved to be first up the companionway steps, which was no easy task when the ship was lying on her side and heaving on enormous swells.
A man held up his hands. “Everyone stay calm! One at a time!”
He assisted some of the older passengers up the sloped floor and helped me lift Louise past the rushing water. Two crew members appeared at the open hatch and reached their arms down to us.
“Give us your hands! We’ll pull you up!”
Above, they were being battered by wind and rain and I could only imagine what they must have gone through in the past five minutes while trying to keep the ship afloat. As I stared up at them in awe, it all seemed like a terrible nightmare. It had been sunny and clear when we stepped aboard that morning. How could this be happening?
“Give her to me!” a crew member shouted, reaching his hands down to Louise. The wind blew his hair in all directions while he beckoned her forward. I didn’t want to send my child out there. I didn’t want to go out there myself, but I knew we had to.
“Maybe we should stay here!” an older lady shouted from behind me. “It looks too dangerous!”
“If you stay down there, you’ll drown!” the crew member replied. “The ship is sinking. We have to get you in lifeboats. Hurry! Give me the little girl!”
Out of nowhere, crew members appeared behind us, wading through the frigid seawater that was quickly filling the hold. They must have entered from some other passageway near the stern.
They began handing out lifejackets to those who weren’t wearing them, and shouting instructions to get us all out in an orderly fashion. I was grateful to see them, and grateful for their competence.
They began the evacuation while ice-cold water sloshed around at our feet. Within moments it was at our knees. Then we were waist-deep.
“Mommy, no!” Louise screamed as I handed her up to the crew members above, who took her by the arms and lifted her out. For a blistering second, I couldn’t see her. My heart raced as I hurried to follow, to stay with her.
Someone tried to push in front of me. A man. I shoved him back, glared at him and shouted. “That’s my daughter! Wait your turn!”
I scrambled up the sideways ladder, through the hatch to the outdoors, where the wind hit me like a speeding truck. A crew member grabbed my arm but I immediately lost my footing and slid down the vertical deck toward the churning, raging sea. The sails floated on the water. There were ropes and lines everywhere along the bulwark.
I don’t know what happened after that. I think I must have hit my head and fallen into the ocean, because I woke up coughing and sputtering in an inflatable yellow life raft. A young, female crew member was leaning over me, frowning with concern. “Are you all right?”
She was drenched and so was I. There were three other people in the boat with us, but I didn’t know them.
“Where’s my daughter!” I screamed, sitting up, my panicked gaze darting around as the wind and rain struck my cheeks. “Louise!”
“She must be in one of the other rafts!” the girl shouted, sitting up to blow a whistle.
I tried to look for another boat somewhere, but we were being tossed about on giant swells and it was near impossible to make out anything. Then I spotted Dalila on her side, her great sheets of billowing canvas filling with water.
My heart nearly pounded out of my chest, and white hot-terror flooded my bloodstream. “Louise!” I shouted again. “Louise!”
I crawled to the side of the raft to look over the side, scanning the whitecapped sea and searching for my daughter. Then I saw another yellow raft near the stern of the ship. It was full of passengers.
“Louise!” I screamed at the boat. “Claire! Anyone! Is my daughter with you?”
“They can’t hear you over the noise of the waves,” the girl shouted. “Please sit down or we’ll lose you over the side again.”
“But did they get everyone into the lifeboat?”
“I don’t know.”
I fell onto my behind, buried my face in my hands, drew my knees to my chest, and began to pray. “Please, God, let my baby girl be okay. Let her be safe. Please don’t take her away from me.”
“My God.” The woman beside me spoke the words in a low, horrorstruck voice.
I looked up to see Dalila rolling over so that her masts were pointing straight down. All we could see was the bottom of her hull. She bobbed there for a few seconds, then her stern went down and she sank beneath the surface. A second later, she was gone.
I put my hands together and prayed that everyone had gotten out. The woman beside me did the same.
Then I heard something. Someone was calling my name.
I scrambled to the edge of the raft and looked over the side. Panic and terror rushed into me, and I pointed at someone in the water, bobbing up and down on the enormous breakers. “There! I see someone!”
The female crew member in command of our little lifeboat dove over the side and swam toward the struggling survivor. Only then did I hear it again—the sound of my name over the din.
I realized it was my sister Claire in the water.
I called out to her as loud as I could. “Hold on!”
Her head disappeared beneath the surface and I almost dove in myself, but the crew member reached her and pulled her back up. She began to swim toward us, dragging Claire to our lifeboat. Only then, when they were close, did I realize that my sister was holding onto Louise, who did not appear to be conscious.