Read Online More Than Magic by Donna June Cooper - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Donna June Cooper
Ads: Link
thoughtfully.
“The sang won’t let anyone find it lest it wants to be found, Gracie-girl.”
Grace preferred to be extra careful and always did a bit of doubling back on her way here to make sure. No one had disturbed this place in her lifetime, except for Pops and Pooka and herself.
But Pops’s theory did explain how easily her guests got lost up here, even with their fancy GPS units. Jamie, who was a GPS whiz kid, had mapped out an area on the mountain where, no matter where you stood or what you did, GPS units wouldn’t work, and neither would compasses. Jamie delighted in telling guests that this was the Woodruff Triangle. When Grace had taken a look at Jamie’s map, she had realized the ginseng bed was right in the center of that triangle, which was actually more of an egg-shape.
The heart of the mountain. There were times when she thought of the mountain as a living thing, its heart thrumming in the soil, its voice sighing through the woods. Something larger than life that had always been there, its ancient song a slow counterpoint to her own. Even when she was far away from the mountain, she sensed it in the distance.
Grace was glad she had come out here today, if only to reassure herself that the sun still filtered down into this vaulted space and that no filthy smoke swirled up from the rocks behind her. Seeing this place in her dreams had shaken her more than she wanted to admit.
Reaching the edge of the rocks, she looked down into the shadowy darkness below, remembering a long ago time when a little girl had run up here and crawled down into that very crevice so she wouldn’t have to leave Pops or the farm. Wouldn’t have to go back to the prep school she lived at most of the time. Wouldn’t have to abandon these living columns of wood for ones made of cold, dead stone.
She had scared Pops that day, disappearing into the cave that was hidden down there with only her daypack and a flashlight. A flashlight that, in hindsight, could’ve gone out at any time and left her stranded in the dark. But it hadn’t. And she couldn’t remember even feeling the slightest bit afraid—then. That sense of Something crooning in her ears, urging her onward, had not been frightening, but somehow familiar and expected.
Grace sat on the edge of the crevice and remembered making her way through the narrow twists and turns of that cave long ago. Pops had told her stories about people falling into bottomless pits or wandering forever in caverns like this one, but that day she heedlessly explored until she had found a room with a swirl of primitive-looking carvings on the wall. To her they had looked like a childish creation Daniel had once drawn in crayon on the wall of their playroom.
Out of all the carvings on the wall, and she remembered there were many, she could only recall one specifically—the one she had felt compelled to reach out and touch. It was a human handprint engraved in the center of all the other carvings, barely within her reach, and a perfect fit for her small hand. She remembered it because she had been reluctant to approach the wall, but then she had seen what looked like writing in the handprint. When she’d gone closer, the tiny letters “LLHW” and “1881” in elegant white script were apparent on the palm.
Lily Loreena Hickey Woodruff. Granny Lily.
So, convinced that it was safe, and fascinated that her great-great-great-grandmother might have placed her hand there long ago, she pressed her fingers into it. She wondered for a moment why Granny Lily’s hand was so very tiny when in 1881 she would have been really old—at least from an eight-year-old’s perspective.
On the trip back, the path had been easier and she had found herself at the entrance much faster than she expected. When she had recounted her trip through the cave to a very relieved Pops, he had smiled as if she was making up some magnificent tall tale. But when she described the handprint with the initials and the
“The sang won’t let anyone find it lest it wants to be found, Gracie-girl.”
Grace preferred to be extra careful and always did a bit of doubling back on her way here to make sure. No one had disturbed this place in her lifetime, except for Pops and Pooka and herself.
But Pops’s theory did explain how easily her guests got lost up here, even with their fancy GPS units. Jamie, who was a GPS whiz kid, had mapped out an area on the mountain where, no matter where you stood or what you did, GPS units wouldn’t work, and neither would compasses. Jamie delighted in telling guests that this was the Woodruff Triangle. When Grace had taken a look at Jamie’s map, she had realized the ginseng bed was right in the center of that triangle, which was actually more of an egg-shape.
The heart of the mountain. There were times when she thought of the mountain as a living thing, its heart thrumming in the soil, its voice sighing through the woods. Something larger than life that had always been there, its ancient song a slow counterpoint to her own. Even when she was far away from the mountain, she sensed it in the distance.
Grace was glad she had come out here today, if only to reassure herself that the sun still filtered down into this vaulted space and that no filthy smoke swirled up from the rocks behind her. Seeing this place in her dreams had shaken her more than she wanted to admit.
Reaching the edge of the rocks, she looked down into the shadowy darkness below, remembering a long ago time when a little girl had run up here and crawled down into that very crevice so she wouldn’t have to leave Pops or the farm. Wouldn’t have to go back to the prep school she lived at most of the time. Wouldn’t have to abandon these living columns of wood for ones made of cold, dead stone.
She had scared Pops that day, disappearing into the cave that was hidden down there with only her daypack and a flashlight. A flashlight that, in hindsight, could’ve gone out at any time and left her stranded in the dark. But it hadn’t. And she couldn’t remember even feeling the slightest bit afraid—then. That sense of Something crooning in her ears, urging her onward, had not been frightening, but somehow familiar and expected.
Grace sat on the edge of the crevice and remembered making her way through the narrow twists and turns of that cave long ago. Pops had told her stories about people falling into bottomless pits or wandering forever in caverns like this one, but that day she heedlessly explored until she had found a room with a swirl of primitive-looking carvings on the wall. To her they had looked like a childish creation Daniel had once drawn in crayon on the wall of their playroom.
Out of all the carvings on the wall, and she remembered there were many, she could only recall one specifically—the one she had felt compelled to reach out and touch. It was a human handprint engraved in the center of all the other carvings, barely within her reach, and a perfect fit for her small hand. She remembered it because she had been reluctant to approach the wall, but then she had seen what looked like writing in the handprint. When she’d gone closer, the tiny letters “LLHW” and “1881” in elegant white script were apparent on the palm.
Lily Loreena Hickey Woodruff. Granny Lily.
So, convinced that it was safe, and fascinated that her great-great-great-grandmother might have placed her hand there long ago, she pressed her fingers into it. She wondered for a moment why Granny Lily’s hand was so very tiny when in 1881 she would have been really old—at least from an eight-year-old’s perspective.
On the trip back, the path had been easier and she had found herself at the entrance much faster than she expected. When she had recounted her trip through the cave to a very relieved Pops, he had smiled as if she was making up some magnificent tall tale. But when she described the handprint with the initials and the
Similar Books
