On the left side wall, now the roof of the half-submerged post-carriage, the driver seemed more interested in collecting a few envelopes than in the dozen or so people squirming around. “Stop it and give me your hand,” Sophia commanded, the cold water choking her.
"I've lost my Christmas horse and turkey," grumbled the coachman, his voice lost in the wind and snow. “If I lose my letter, I lose my job.”
"So you're willing to lose the passenger?"
“If I were you, I would stop arguing and swim ashore like everyone else. The river is not deep.”
Trembling, Sophia was about to argue that the roof – or wall – of the carriage was much closer to the shore, but a stream of water rushed into her lungs. Coughing, she decided that the coachman's advice fell into the category of 'should be followed'. Sophia had refused to heed the advice of the owner of the club and her friends not to go to Yorkshire in mid-December when she had a mission to do in Cornwall in mid-January, so this time, she needed attention. idea.
Her legs were numb, but she took a deep breath, pulled away from the carriage, and began half-walking and half-swimming toward the nearest shore. The ice floes were lifted by the carriage and the current rushed at Sophia, pushing her toward the hard ice in the distance. Most of the men made it to shore. Evidently chivalry does not include pulling a freezing woman out of deep water during a blizzard.
Fearing that she would sink beneath the ice and drown, Sophia gritted her trembling teeth, pulled her wet, sloppy dress up to her hips and leaned forward. A drowned turkey hit her bare foot, causing her to lose momentum. A shoe got stuck in the crunching gravel at the bottom, she cursed and pulled her foot out. But she missed and fell.
By Ardrew J. Daiello