The coach came to a jarring halt. Ruth awoke with a start, lifted a hand to wipe away the dribble of drool at the corner of her mouth, and looked sleepily out the window. When she recognized where she was, the dread she felt only increased and she bit back a sigh while the driver opened the door and put the step down for her. "Whitby," said the gruff man shortly, announcing their arrival. She and one other person got up, one after the other, and stepped out of the crowded cab.

Ruth identified her bags and the coachman tossed them at her feet without preamble, and soon was off with the rest of the passengers who had booked a ride.

She stared at her surroundings, her hand going to the curve of her belly where her baby moved and danced about. How could she come home like this? Tears welled up in her eyes and she murmured to the unborn child, "I am sorry, I am."

Knowing she wouldn't get help unless someone took pity upon her, she spent the next several minutes trying to gather her bags passed the bulk of her stomach. She couldn't reach them without help... Frustrated, she stood there on the side of the road, looking like some poor lost soul. Added to that, the clouds seemed to gather overhead and the first, icy rivulets of early spring rain seemed to plop onto her. Damn it to hell, she thought.