“Yes, that’s still an issue,” Mom said to Cousin Jean Paul, just as Ella stepped onto the porch, and Ella knew they were talking about Pond House.

“But we can wait to deal with it later down the road.” Mom looked up at Ella. “You are stopping by to check on Tante, aren’t you?”

“Of course.”

“You tell her I’m heating up some of your father’s shrimp stew tonight and I’d love her to join me. I’ll come by at about 6:00 to pick her up. Are you planning to be home for dinner?”

“Yes, but I’ll probably be late. Just leave a plate for me. I’ll tell Tante.”

Ella walked down the front steps feeling only a little guilty. She wasn’t really “stopping by” Pond House, as in pausing there on her way to class to check on Tante. She had her bathing suit on under her clothes, and she was planning a nice, vigorous swim before heading out to the institute.

But of course, she’d also speak to Tante, see how she was doing. That had become even more of a routine than it was when Grandpa was sick. It wasn’t a big deal. Pond House was so close it was barely even worth hopping on the bike.

As usual, Tante wasn’t alone.

Today it was Judy Scardino.

“Why Ella,” Judy smiled. “How nice to see you!”

“Sit down just for a moment,” said Tante. “Would you like some ginger beer before you go in?” asked Tante.

“No thank you,” Ella settled on the bench next to her, hoping she wasn’t blushing. Tante always seemed to notice more than Ella expected.

“You go in the water here?” Judy asked. “Goodness, aren’t the currents terribly strong? I hope you’re careful.”

“Of course she is careful,” said Tante. “Ella’s no fool. And she’s a good, strong swimmer, aren’t you cherie?”

“Yes Ma’am.”

This wasn’t one of Tante’s bad days. Twice, in the months since Grandpa’s funeral, Ella had come by to find Tante sitting on her bench silent, dull, and unresponsive, with Marion or Judy edging around her, quietly doing housework.

Today she was cheerful as usual, though it seemed to Ella there was always something slightly unfocused about her. She’d not quite been the same since Grandpa died.

“I envy you,” said Judy. “Tante tells me you’ve even been on water skis. I wish I were as brave. Paddling around at Frenchy Beach is about as daring as I can get.”

“It’s great,” Ella said. “You should try it. Once you’re up it’s not hard at all. And even if you fall, that’s half the fun. What can you hit but the water?”

Tante laughed. “Ah, look at her. She wants so to get into the ocean, but she is too polite to rush off. She thinks she must talk to the old lady. Go ahead, cherie. I won’t bore you by telling you to be careful. Just promise to say a quick prayer before you go in, for my peace of mind.”

“I will.”

There were so many beaches on the island, so many little stretches of sand, some with names, some not. If you wanted to go for a swim, all you had to do was grab a towel and walk or bike a little ways.

But this one was special to her.

Maybe it was because her father had grown up in Pond House, had spent many of his days playing here. It also might be because it was bigger than most of the other private beaches. Lucas had taken to calling it “Macana Beach.” “It’s a nice chunk of property,” he’d told Ella. “The house? Feh. The land it stands on and that stretch of shoreline is what’s really valuable.”

She stepped out of her clothes and folded them neatly before sliding them into her bag. Then, because she’d promised, she said a quick prayer.

Before putting on her cap and going in, she always stood, just for a moment and breathed in the scent of the ocean. It made her feel stronger, ready for anything.

The water was like a lover’s strong arms around her, picking her up for a hug.

Or at least, how she imagined a lover’s arms would feel.

It wasn’t just her body that felt good. She was able to think while she was swimming. There was something about the salt in the water and in the air, her muscles pitted against the water, that made her feel smarter.

When Grandpa was alive, Ella couldn’t swim here. It might upset him, she was told, bring back bad memories. And she’d certainly never go in while Kitty was there. That could be downright cruel, because Kitty had seen Grandma Pinny drown — or so Lucas said. Lucas was usually right.

But now… Tante didn’t seem to mind, and swimming here felt right. She didn’t need her angel here.

Ella wondered what Tante and Judy were talking about now. Funny how things change. In the past she had always thought of Tante’s relatives as being offstage. You saw them from a distance, and sometimes you heard about them, like you heard about a lot of people on the Island, but they weren’t walking in and out of rooms and straightening things.

That had changed once Grandpa died. Half the time when she visited, either Marion Duday, or Judy, or Lee Tesange were there. Or old Mr. Duday from California when he was on the Island for the funeral and then later Laney’s wedding.

They were okay she guessed. Especially Judy, who was a nurse and had her own worries since her mother had that heart attack last September and her brother (as Mom put it) was “absolutely no help.” It was really nice of Judy to keep track of Tante the way she did.

Papa said she was “a very, very fine person,” but unhappy, trapped. It was true. Ella noticed that sometimes, if you looked at Judy when she didn’t know you were looking at her, she seemed sad.

“That’s because the fascists who run this island destroyed her hopes and dreams,” Pop had said when Ella mentioned it at dinner. Mom had nodded. When it came to fascists, she and Pop were on the same page.

Ella heard the bell and as usual, she stopped. Time to swim back.

But this time, instead of simply turning around and heading back to shore, she trod water for a moment, thinking. Funny that she never really heard the buoy as she was swimming towards it, or past it. It was always when her back was to it and she’d swum out a certain distance. Why was that? Did she not listen for it until she was further away?

She listened now.

Yes, she could hear it ringing behind her, as it usually did when the waves moved it, but it was the usual irregular clanks that carried across the water like a very loud cowbell.

She could swear what she’d heard was deeper and more resonant, almost musical.

Staying afloat here took real effort. The swells rose and fell like someone breathing, and each time the surface dropped she had to kick a little harder just to stay above water. It was easier to swim forward.

Why was the water suddenly so cold?

Another deep, rich peal, louder now, so close it was all round her, rising from the water and through the water and through her like an icy black current, filling her with a black coldness that remained even after the sound had faded.

She turned back towards the land…

and was so shocked the ocean almost swallowed her.

Ella launched her body forward like an arrow, sharp, hard, fighting the rise and fall of the water. She would seem to gain a few feet, but in each trough she’d be drawn back a little.

She was so cold, so frigid inside and out, and she knew if she faltered, let it pull her under completely…

She would never come back.

“Lie to yourself.” She didn’t actually think those words, but that was what she resolved, because if she didn’t pretend she could see land getting closer…

… she might start wasting her energy in useless screams. That little bit of green and yellow held voices, sunlight, warmth, flowers, everything she wanted back.

At last she felt warm water again, heard the clank of the buoy, and knew she was back in her own world.

Years later, she would remember with amazement how quickly she became calm. By the time she was on the right side of the buoy, her heart was still pounding, but it no longer had that painful, urgent ache.

By the time she was on the sand and drying her hair, she was thinking about getting to class on time.

She was twenty years old. She accepted with more trepidation than she would admit that she was practically an adult now. The world was still very new.

Just a little over ten years ago, she’d believed in Santa Claus.

She still believed in angels.

It was another first thing, being afraid for her life, and she had been calm enough not to panic, strong enough to get herself to safety. That, she sensed, was the most important thing she’d learned.

The sound?

No matter what changes took place in her life and outlook, Ella would always be her father’s daughter and her great-grandmother’s descendant, touched with the casual wonder some called madness.

She would, until the day she died, believe she had heard the deep and terrible voice of the ocean.