Agnes turned off the path into the swampy shoreline. It was difficult to walk where mud sucked at her feet, reeds blocked her way. The wet skirt of her dress weighed heavily against her legs and pulled her back with every step. She raised the baby up higher and higher over the tall cattails as the water deepened. The shawl’s silken fringe caught on their reedy spikes, which threatened to pull it away. She struggled to keep it wrapped around her and the baby as, step by step, she made her way along the swampy shore, feeling for her footing, her eyes fixed on the sun-lit island in the distance. An island of peace and rest.

‘Rose, ma petite,’ she said, ‘n’aie pas peur. I will not let you go, even if your papa begs me for you.’

The water now came up to her shoulders. She raised the baby above her head. She had not expected the way to be difficult. It had looked so easy. Suddenly she stepped off into deeper water and cried out as she fought to regain her footing. The reeds and the underwater weeds snatched at her torn dress and bound her bare feet. In another moment the rose-embroidered shawl floated free.

Excerpted from The Long Journey Home © Copyright 2012 by Laurel Means. Reprinted with permission by Academy Chicago Publishers. All rights reserved.