She waded in up to her knees, then her waist, then her chest. The cold was a kindness. When the water reached her chin, she opened her mouth and sang.
They buried an empty box in the old cemetery. But the children of the peninsula tell a different story. They say that on nights of the full moon, if you stand on the rocks at Shepard’s Cove, you can still hear a woman singing—low and clear, a note that makes the water tremble. And the tide always rises to meet her voice. majella shepard
The villagers, watching from the cliffs, saw her sink beneath the surface. Declan the lighthouse keeper ran to the water’s edge, but it was too late. The cove was full again. The tide had returned. She waded in up to her knees, then her waist, then her chest