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This is for the best, I thought as the cramped cabin lurched again, the hiss of seething water mere inches below my position. Had I not already been huddled against one grimy wooden wall, the motion would have probably torn me from my feet. I'm doing it for her – no, for both of us.
I thought back to the rumors that had drifted through my home town like a light, watery fog, condensing and coiling into the icy, loaded words of quite a number of the conversations that tossed their way around the streets: war is coming; so much unrest can only last so long; leave with your family while you still can. I pictured a war, shredding a ragged, wet gash straight through Europe, leaving its guts to bleed out in angry, crimson tendrils like an insatiable hellfire, completely devouring the continent – maybe the world. Like a volcano erupting, that gash would be bubbling over from the start with nightmares waiting to happen. Nightmares I wanted nothing to do with.
And so I (along with quite a few others, judging by how crowded the ship was) had left my fate to the sea. That was my decision, but it was the Atlantic's – and hers alone – as to whether she crushed us like glass in her thunderous gray fish, or cradled us gently to another life, a new world. And, judging by how our journey had been so far, it seemed she was dead-set on the former.
The word “cradle” jolted my mind back into reality; with the ship's shuddering motions, my baby daughter Adeline began to stir in my arms.
“Shhhh...” I murmured as loudly as I dared, stroking her mass of dark hair and rocking her gently. I risked a glance up towards the throng of other passengers to see if anyone had heard; fortunately they all seemed preoccupied with more important duties, like maintaining an upright position against the cruel grip of the seat.
I breathed a muted sigh of relief. Maybe we would last another day. Maybe they would think nothing of her restlessness this time, maybe they would forget the way each time Adeline cried it seemed to time perfectly with yet another storm, another passenger caught ill, another batch of food supplies gone rotten or eaten by stowaway rats. Maybe they wouldn't stop, subtly but surely putting one hand to a cross necklace or holding both of them in silent prayer whenever we passed by. Maybe this time, we'd end up okay.
Maybes were never good enough.
As if cued by my tiny, silent sight, Adeline began screaming, her cries at least twice as loud as the rhythmic crunch of waves on wood – and much easier to place. Especially by people who'd heard the same cry many times before. People who had by now associated it with unfortunate events and more pain.
“That's enough,” a male voice thick with an accent similar to my own bellowed. His voice was soft, almost disturbingly so – yet it still seemed to quake each floorboard with gentle but terrifying vibrations, even with the waves brewing all around. That voice was the slightest of tremors before a horrific earthquake, and it chilled me to the bone.
“Every time, every single time, we hear that child's cry and it brings way to more suffering. This will be the fifth storm in a matter of ten days. Each was marked by her voice. Do you think this is a coincidence?” He spoke slowly, deliberately, letting each word wrap around the edges of my daughter's still-running shrieks much like the way I pictured the sea holding us – clearly with enough power to flatten us in an instant, but also with the ability to choose not to, to traverse a peaceful path.
“This child means to do us harm; it is clear by now that we must do whatever we can to bring about the end of this suffering. Whatever we can,” he repeated, thunder splitting his last word in half like a dull knife. Another wave tilted the boat with explosive force; for a terrifying, weightless moment it was almost flipped sideways.
“Give me the child,” the man commanded, and the crowd frothed and foamed behind him, a force perhaps even more vicious than the storm outside.
My back was still pressed tightly to the wall, my fingers and arms tense around Adeline. It was all I could do to blankly shake my head, sheer terror constricting my throat and resting at the core of my heart like a deadweight.
“very well.” He stepped towards me, at least a full foot and a half taller, with a thick black beard and dark, determined eyes. Eyes that knew exactly what they wanted. Eyes that would get it by any means necessary.
Adrenaline flooded my veins like ice water, and it was the only thing that twisted my body to the side when he made a grab towards me.
I thought I had gotten lucky, thought I might be able to make it somewhere safe when another member of the crowd, not as big but still boiling with the rage of a hurricane, wrapped his arms around my shoulders.
I wriggled haplessly against the grip that held me, but soon my arms were pried from Adeline, another member of the mob slinging her over his shoulder and rounding the staircase that led to the top deck.
I managed to ram an elbow into the face of my captor, startling him enough to duck away and slip towards the stairs, out onto the deck where my daughter was being held.
The sea was angrier than I had first thought. Charred-black clouds were spread across the dead sky in hazy streaks, lightning coming down in vicious stabs at the soulless beast our vessel lay in the jaws of. Some waves were at least twice the boat's size, birthing and dying and looking like they could smash us like a bug without so much as a thought. The rain came down in sheets, like a knife blade, and I was immediately soaked to the bone, my hair glued to my face by moisture.
But I didn't care.
The punch I had thrown had transformed the riled mob into a full-blown riot, but through the churning mass, through the eerie sheen of rain pounding across the deck, I saw Adeline, held by the tree-trunk-thick arms of the man who had started all this.
“No!” My voice was snatched by the wind, torn to pieces and then engulfed by the dynamic storm as if it had never existed to begin with. It sounded weak, swatting ineffectively but wildly against the charcoal clouds.
But I was not weak. Not today. I rammed my way through the coarse blocks of people, fighting tooth and nail to get to the other side. It was sink or swim, and I was not drowning this time.
I saw that man, saw his hands releasing Adeline as if in slow motion, her tiny, wriggling form descending towards the edge of the boat, towards the crashing waves. And I jumped.
I dove towards the man, closing the distance between us in seconds as the world rushed by in a flurry of bright flickers. I couldn't exactly recall what had happened when I skidded onto the wet deck, tumbling and landing hard against one mast of the ship. I felt my head crack sharply against the wood, but there was now the weight of an extra body in my arms, and that was enough for me to keep going.
I scrambled to my feet – not an easy task on the soaked wood, much less the still-spastic ship. Adrenaline was on my side again as I ducked through the roaring crowd. I knew most of them were wondering what was going on, where the baby had gone, and I instinctively curled my body tighter around Adeline as I ran, mostly shielding her from sight.
Hurdling the last two steps of the passage to the lower decks, I looked frantically for a place to hide her. Surely there was somewhere, somewhere they wouldn't look, somewhere I could keep her safe another day – maybe longer if I was careful.
I careened into one of the barracks meant for passengers to sleep in and, in a corner, spotted a board in the wall different from the rest. It was warped ever so slightly with age, bent away from the others in what was barely more than a hairline fracture. Perfect.
I dashed over, setting Adeline on my sopping lap as I attempted to pry the board away. Slotting both hands into the crack, I dragged with all my strength, feeling splinters crackle into my fingers and wood rub my palms raw with the effort. But slowly, agonizingly, the board creaked aside.
I bundled Adeline tighter in her blanket, yanking one of the ragged, worn quilts from the nearest bed and wrapping that around her for good measure. Planting a small kiss on my daughter's forehead, I settled her into the nook within the walls and shifted the board back into its place. No one would find this spot if they weren't looking for it.
If I was lucky, I might have time to feed her in secret until we arrived in America, and maybe the walls and blankets would muffle the crying I knew she'd emit sooner or later. But with good fortune, we'd make it to America before that happened too soon.
Luck wasn't usually on my side, but as I leaned against that hollow wall, rainwater still trickling down my face as I let out a sign not of relief this time but exhaustion, I prayed with everything in my heard, every fiber of my being, that we'd make it out of this alright.
The tiniest thought flickered through my head just then, like the dragonflies I used to chase as a girl, flickering in and out of view but still there all the same. I could tell by the bright but sick trail it left across my already-splintering mind, the way it looks when a candle flame streaks through the air. Oh, that thought was as real as I was, maybe even more so if things continued the way they were already going.
There was growing tension in Europe, but perhaps even larger quantities on this small boat. Had I narrowly avoided one nightmare only to be flung violently, head-over-heels into another?
What if this wasn't for the best?

Description
This is for the best, I thought as the cramped cabin lurched again, the hiss of seething water mere inches below my position. Had I not already been huddled against one grimy wooden wall, the motion would have probably torn me from my feet. I'm doing it for her – no, for both of us.
I thought back to the rumors that had drifted through my home town like a light, watery fog, condensing and coiling into the icy, loaded words of quite a number of the conversations that tossed their way around the streets: war is coming; so much unrest can only last so long; leave with your family while you still can. I pictured a war, shredding a ragged, wet gash straight through Europe, leaving its guts to bleed out in angry, crimson tendrils like an insatiable hellfire, completely devouring the continent – maybe the world. Like a volcano erupting, that gash would be bubbling over from the start with nightmares waiting to happen. Nightmares I wanted nothing to do with.
And so I (along with quite a few others, judging by how crowded the ship was) had left my fate to the sea. That was my decision, but it was the Atlantic's – and hers alone – as to whether she crushed us like glass in her thunderous gray fish, or cradled us gently to another life, a new world. And, judging by how our journey had been so far, it seemed she was dead-set on the former.
The word “cradle” jolted my mind back into reality; with the ship's shuddering motions, my baby daughter Adeline began to stir in my arms.
“Shhhh...” I murmured as loudly as I dared, stroking her mass of dark hair and rocking her gently. I risked a glance up towards the throng of other passengers to see if anyone had heard; fortunately they all seemed preoccupied with more important duties, like maintaining an upright position against the cruel grip of the seat.
I breathed a muted sigh of relief. Maybe we would last another day. Maybe they would think nothing of her restlessness this time, maybe they would forget the way each time Adeline cried it seemed to time perfectly with yet another storm, another passenger caught ill, another batch of food supplies gone rotten or eaten by stowaway rats. Maybe they wouldn't stop, subtly but surely putting one hand to a cross necklace or holding both of them in silent prayer whenever we passed by. Maybe this time, we'd end up okay.
Maybes were never good enough.
As if cued by my tiny, silent sight, Adeline began screaming, her cries at least twice as loud as the rhythmic crunch of waves on wood – and much easier to place. Especially by people who'd heard the same cry many times before. People who had by now associated it with unfortunate events and more pain.
“That's enough,” a male voice thick with an accent similar to my own bellowed. His voice was soft, almost disturbingly so – yet it still seemed to quake each floorboard with gentle but terrifying vibrations, even with the waves brewing all around. That voice was the slightest of tremors before a horrific earthquake, and it chilled me to the bone.
“Every time, every single time, we hear that child's cry and it brings way to more suffering. This will be the fifth storm in a matter of ten days. Each was marked by her voice. Do you think this is a coincidence?” He spoke slowly, deliberately, letting each word wrap around the edges of my daughter's still-running shrieks much like the way I pictured the sea holding us – clearly with enough power to flatten us in an instant, but also with the ability to choose not to, to traverse a peaceful path.
“This child means to do us harm; it is clear by now that we must do whatever we can to bring about the end of this suffering. Whatever we can,” he repeated, thunder splitting his last word in half like a dull knife. Another wave tilted the boat with explosive force; for a terrifying, weightless moment it was almost flipped sideways.
“Give me the child,” the man commanded, and the crowd frothed and foamed behind him, a force perhaps even more vicious than the storm outside.
My back was still pressed tightly to the wall, my fingers and arms tense around Adeline. It was all I could do to blankly shake my head, sheer terror constricting my throat and resting at the core of my heart like a deadweight.
“very well.” He stepped towards me, at least a full foot and a half taller, with a thick black beard and dark, determined eyes. Eyes that knew exactly what they wanted. Eyes that would get it by any means necessary.
Adrenaline flooded my veins like ice water, and it was the only thing that twisted my body to the side when he made a grab towards me.
I thought I had gotten lucky, thought I might be able to make it somewhere safe when another member of the crowd, not as big but still boiling with the rage of a hurricane, wrapped his arms around my shoulders.
I wriggled haplessly against the grip that held me, but soon my arms were pried from Adeline, another member of the mob slinging her over his shoulder and rounding the staircase that led to the top deck.
I managed to ram an elbow into the face of my captor, startling him enough to duck away and slip towards the stairs, out onto the deck where my daughter was being held.
The sea was angrier than I had first thought. Charred-black clouds were spread across the dead sky in hazy streaks, lightning coming down in vicious stabs at the soulless beast our vessel lay in the jaws of. Some waves were at least twice the boat's size, birthing and dying and looking like they could smash us like a bug without so much as a thought. The rain came down in sheets, like a knife blade, and I was immediately soaked to the bone, my hair glued to my face by moisture.
But I didn't care.
The punch I had thrown had transformed the riled mob into a full-blown riot, but through the churning mass, through the eerie sheen of rain pounding across the deck, I saw Adeline, held by the tree-trunk-thick arms of the man who had started all this.
“No!” My voice was snatched by the wind, torn to pieces and then engulfed by the dynamic storm as if it had never existed to begin with. It sounded weak, swatting ineffectively but wildly against the charcoal clouds.
But I was not weak. Not today. I rammed my way through the coarse blocks of people, fighting tooth and nail to get to the other side. It was sink or swim, and I was not drowning this time.
I saw that man, saw his hands releasing Adeline as if in slow motion, her tiny, wriggling form descending towards the edge of the boat, towards the crashing waves. And I jumped.
I dove towards the man, closing the distance between us in seconds as the world rushed by in a flurry of bright flickers. I couldn't exactly recall what had happened when I skidded onto the wet deck, tumbling and landing hard against one mast of the ship. I felt my head crack sharply against the wood, but there was now the weight of an extra body in my arms, and that was enough for me to keep going.
I scrambled to my feet – not an easy task on the soaked wood, much less the still-spastic ship. Adrenaline was on my side again as I ducked through the roaring crowd. I knew most of them were wondering what was going on, where the baby had gone, and I instinctively curled my body tighter around Adeline as I ran, mostly shielding her from sight.
Hurdling the last two steps of the passage to the lower decks, I looked frantically for a place to hide her. Surely there was somewhere, somewhere they wouldn't look, somewhere I could keep her safe another day – maybe longer if I was careful.
I careened into one of the barracks meant for passengers to sleep in and, in a corner, spotted a board in the wall different from the rest. It was warped ever so slightly with age, bent away from the others in what was barely more than a hairline fracture. Perfect.
I dashed over, setting Adeline on my sopping lap as I attempted to pry the board away. Slotting both hands into the crack, I dragged with all my strength, feeling splinters crackle into my fingers and wood rub my palms raw with the effort. But slowly, agonizingly, the board creaked aside.
I bundled Adeline tighter in her blanket, yanking one of the ragged, worn quilts from the nearest bed and wrapping that around her for good measure. Planting a small kiss on my daughter's forehead, I settled her into the nook within the walls and shifted the board back into its place. No one would find this spot if they weren't looking for it.
If I was lucky, I might have time to feed her in secret until we arrived in America, and maybe the walls and blankets would muffle the crying I knew she'd emit sooner or later. But with good fortune, we'd make it to America before that happened too soon.
Luck wasn't usually on my side, but as I leaned against that hollow wall, rainwater still trickling down my face as I let out a sign not of relief this time but exhaustion, I prayed with everything in my heard, every fiber of my being, that we'd make it out of this alright.
The tiniest thought flickered through my head just then, like the dragonflies I used to chase as a girl, flickering in and out of view but still there all the same. I could tell by the bright but sick trail it left across my already-splintering mind, the way it looks when a candle flame streaks through the air. Oh, that thought was as real as I was, maybe even more so if things continued the way they were already going.
There was growing tension in Europe, but perhaps even larger quantities on this small boat. Had I narrowly avoided one nightmare only to be flung violently, head-over-heels into another?
What if this wasn't for the best?