Rosie turned to look, hardly daring to breathe. A man rowed a boat after her, his face determined, his arms straining. The weight of the man and the boat slowed them, but he seemed to be gaining. Rosie clung desperately to her board, hoping, hoping.
There! The man was gaining, and quicker now that he’d found his rhythm properly. It seemed to Rosie that hours passed before he reached her, when it was only minutes. He seized her roughly from the water and set her in the bottom of his boat.
“Sorry, lass,” he said, seeing her shivering. “I haven’t any blankets in this thing.”
But she wasn’t shivering from the cold, for all that the air was chill. She was shivering from what she was certain had been a brush with death. All she could manage to say was “Thank you,” and “Thank you again.” The man merely smiled at her, before turning for the bank. The boat fetched up on the proper side of the river, and within minutes friends and neighbors and complete strangers were ushering the two of them to Rosie’s house.