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Wilder
Chapter 1
Lacey loved heights. She could stand out on the edge of Buck Rock with her eyes closed, face craning upward, thin arms outstretched and feel her body rise with the first gentle breeze. In her mind, she could picture herself swooping and diving out over the hollow in graceful imitation of the red-tailed hawks that nested above her on the cliff face.
The lush green of the new spring buds spread beneath her like moss on a creek bank. Besides the abundant pine, she could pick out half a dozen other kinds of trees. Her pa had taught her well from his days in the sawmill. The black walnut, a favorite for making gunstocks; the white and yellow poplar sixty feet to the first limb and the chestnut wide enough “so’s a preacher could hold a revival on the stump” her pa liked to say. The buckeye, gum and sourwood filled in the spaces.
The thawing of the last snow always sent Lacey scrambling up the slick to catch the first bloom of the redbud, its stark purity contrasted with the bleakness of the mining camp after a winter of mud and coal soot.
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