Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from Patricia Maclachlan's Sarah Plain and Tall series, this is a one shot inspired by the film trilogy, notably Skylark the sequel.

Between the whistling of the winds across the grasses, Sarah swore she could still hear the distant toll of a harbor bell.

It was never as loud as it used to be, as it was when it floated stationary in the mouth of the harbor. Back then the sea was just outside of her bedroom window and the bell tolled steadily with each passing current, carrying the sound over the murmur of the waves across the stony shore. That had been her lullaby for as long as she could remember. It had been a source of comfort even more so than the sound of her mother's voice lulling her into sleep. The sounds of the sea were still there, even though the view from her bedroom window had been replaced with the open Kansas plains. Like the way the winds blew the salted mist from the surface of the water, so too did the breeze lift the dust from the prairie and displace it blurring the boundaries between air and earth.

Sometimes, with only a hint of her imagination, Sarah could feel the cool ocean breeze blow across her as she lied in bed. The heat at times was unbearable. She could remember only a day, maybe two, growing up in Maine that had rivaled Kansas in late June. But this was more than one day. It had been weeks now, weeks without a single drop of rain. The well was drying fast; even the pond just over the grazing fields had yielded its water to the unquenchable Sun. There seemed to be no relief in sight. She had watched her garden wither into dust. She felt the particles of scorched grass and dirt hang in the air so thick it clung to her skin like a film. The sensation to her was akin to that of dried sea salt against her after dashing into the water with her Aunt Lou in the moonlight; the humid nights when too exhausted to dry off properly, Sarah had taken to falling asleep in her robe. Sarah had never longed for the ocean as much as she had in the recent blistering weeks.

Thinking of the dried crops and flowerbeds around her own house, Sarah felt a sting of guilt pass over her when she recalled the cemetery. Through the added burdens the drought had wrought upon the family she had neglected the care of Catherine Whiting's monument. And even before she could reproach her own conscience, Sarah recalled that even Anna had made no mention of the site. Even though Catherine's name had not passed the lips of the Whiting family for some months, Sarah thanked Catherine silently every day; every time she would look into Anna or Caleb's eyes or lock them tight against her in their goodnight embrace. She knew that loving Catherine's children as devotedly as she had in the last two years had transformed the family's bitter grief into shared remembrances. Nowadays when Catherine's name came up in the Whiting house it was in celebration of her life. Even Jacob could talk of her freely with no pangs of remorse. This was the difference Sarah had made, though at times Sarah found herself the richer for it. She had always known her innate maternal graces had been laid dormant in the life she had shared with her brother William. The children, Anna and Caleb, and the man lying peacefully asleep beside her were the fulfillment of her destiny; though at times a destiny she had not been fully prepared for.

But even now, especially on the fevered nights when sleep seemed an impossible feat, Sarah felt a yearning for something more. Sarah couldn't fathom it. She had been married happily for almost two years, had a life of her own surpassing anything she could have created on her own at the age she had been nearing. Sarah had longed for another beginning; another life she could start anew, and couldn't see within her own reason what it was that could suffice.

Not until that night, when she had at last fallen asleep, like the crack of heat lightening across the clouds illuminating the fields did the wish reveal itself from out of the darkness.

Sarah set her feet onto the floor, feeling the slatted wood give to the weight of her feet by sounding a squeal. She knew it was not yet morning, yet a light brighter than sunlight seemed to pour in from every window of the house, shining over her bed, over the cedar chest outside her door, over into the kitchen where it bounced off of the kettle in sharp lines up towards the ceiling. She could see the dust rising into the air, as though it had been blown, but felt no breeze against her face. Feeling the loose braid of her hair coming undone across her back, Sarah stopped before the front door. The light had drowned out the view of the fields. Pushing the door open and stepping onto the porch, Sarah raised her arm across her eyes, the dust beginning to sting her pupils. When she looked again, the white light had diminished, and she could see across the fields to the top of the hill. The grass had been burned. The trees had been stripped bare of every leaf, every tree so drained of life their barks appeared purple and black like scabs. Sarah stepped closer to the edge of the porch, reaching out to the post and holding tight to it, afraid of the moment the violent winds might return. There were no sounds, not the chirp of a bird, or even the trilling of an insect's wings. Sarah knew the silence would not last. Her heart began to race.

Just as she looked back out to the horizon, Sarah began to hear the growing sound, like distant thunder, seeming just beyond the hill. The sound grew louder and louder but still nothing within the view of Sarah's eyes could be causing it. She called out to Jacob. His name always came first to her lips whenever she began to feel fear.

When her eyes looked again across the land, Sarah noticed a torrent of water spilling out from over the top of the well. The water swelled up from the depths of the well and cascaded over the stone enclosure. It poured out over the well walls and soaked the beams of the windmill before continuing ceaselessly over the path, under the fence, onto the singed fields, and like the ripple of a single drop on the surface, continued onward in an ever expanding circle. But the sound continued. Sarah, still feeling the exaltation from the sight of the water, looked out again to the crest of the hill where at last, the source of the thunderous sound was revealed.

Sarah could see the speckled white crest of a tidal wave come across the hill. As it came across the top of the hill, the wave crashed across the grass and uprooted the trees. The sea had at last come for her. Sarah's heart could feel no fear. Her skin tingled, waiting with girlish delight at the impending tides to cool her at last from the scorching Kansas summer. Sarah stepped down the porch stairs. When she reached the ground, the dried soil had already turned to mud from the erupting well.

Closing her eyes, the wave crashed against her. When she opened her eyes under the water, she could see the sunlight reflecting on the surface. She had no need to struggle for breath. Sarah was swimming under the water as easily as the fish which began to circle her feet. The house had disappeared. She felt no worry for Jacob, Anna and Caleb. She realized it was a dream, and reveled in her underwater fantasy. Sarah saw, as though she were swimming amongst the debris from a hurricane, the sturdy fence from the cornfield floating below her. Seals were swimming through the gables. Sarah kicked her feet, feeling her nightgown cling to her ankles. She swam towards the surface and towards the white orb of light that the sun became from below the water.

When she broke the surface, Sarah opened her eyes to see that she was in the middle of the pond. The water had turned brown. The shore seemed to beckon her, the grass now long and green and swaying in the wind. Sarah reached the shore. She felt her knees give way beneath her and she rolled over onto her back, feeling the water begin to form beads across her face as it evaporated from the renewed sun.

Sarah looked up into the sky. There were no clouds, nothing to break the never ending void of blue; the only thing that like the sea had remained constant in her new existence. She raised her arm to block out the sun within the palm of her hand. When Sarah had at last went to rearrange the folds of her dampened skirts, still keeping her eyes upwards towards the heavens, she came across a foreign shape beneath her nightgown. With opened eyes, she pushed herself up from the grass. Her lap, once filled with nothing but the gathering fabric, was now swollen with the curve of a growing child.

That was it. The sea had brought it to her. Only now it was her responsibility to bring it to the plains. A child was the answer to everything; the drought, the withering fields, all of the decay would at once cease once Sarah's child could be born. Life would return to the blasted plains.

Sarah stood up into the wind. She could still feel the water dripping down her legs. She knew it was a long walk back to the house.

This is your home, Sarah whispered into the air, looking down at the life growing under her hands, your name will be written in this land, like your father.

When Sarah blinked again, the landscape disappeared and the hot breeze which blew across her eyelids shocked her back into consciousness. Sarah had awakened.

Feeling her heart sink, Sarah uncovered the blankets across her waist. There was nothing. It had been so long since she had felt the urge to cry. Sarah laid her head back down onto her pillow, fighting back tears. When she turned over, Jacob's sleeping face crowded her sight. She wanted nothing more than to fold herself into his embrace. She moved closer to him, feeling his breath across her cheek as she wrapped her arm over his shoulder. Jacob stirred, but remained asleep. Sarah had wanted to wake him, lay across him, and possess him as greedily as the wave had swallowed her in the dream she had just risen from. She could almost fancy the feeling of the breath of her child in the place of him. The weathered skin of his back turned soft as velvet and smelling of sweet wildflowers. How much would their child smell and feel of him? Sarah opened her eyes and watched Jacob as he slept; wondering all the more. She tucked her hand beneath her head and closed her eyes.

It was a girl. Sarah could see nothing but visions of a rose colored face with dark auburn hair like Moonbeam in the midday sun. She no longer felt the humidity of the air oppressing her. Falling back onto the brink of sleep, she envisioned herself back on the shores of the lake, reaching her open palm out towards an unseen figure. She felt tiny fingers wrap around her hand. Sarah did not need to see the face. She knew it was only a matter of time before she would finally see the girl's face.

Someday.