I knew House Key would be set on Wildcat Mountain the first time I rode its trails years ago.
Rich in visual and historic detail, the air is permeated with a spiritual quality that elevates the soul. If the climb doesn’t take your breath away, then surely the expansive views at 1,367 feet when the forest opens up should do the trick. So when a generous couple, members of the Hunt, organized a trail ride from their property on Wildcat Mountain a couple of weeks ago, I couldn’t wait to load my horse on the trailer!
August is hot, but as a group of twenty-six or so riders started the arduous climb up the mountain, a steady breeze through the trees made for cool shade and great conversation.
During the course of making new friends and enjoying the thrill of the ride — which included tip-toeing (as much as that is possible on a horse) around scientists conducting a butterfly count and cantering straight up a hill to evade a swarm of bees — I took mental notes. There were beautiful sights I had either overlooked the last time, or new ones that inspired me with ideas and descriptions for the sequel to “House Key” (yes, still a work in progress) that I can’t wait to share!
Meanwhile, here is an excerpt from House Key, Chapter 17, “False Faces”, that describes Wildcat Mountain in 1709 when inhabited by Indians, from the perspective of one of its early settlers, Evangeline:
We hadn’t gotten too far up the side of the mountain where I had seen the panther several times before. […]I had followed the stream and reached the same ledge where I had seen the great cat perched. […]I could now appreciate why he liked this spot; it was possible to spy everything in the foothills and valley below, and watch at this leisure all the comings and goings at the log cabin and the surrounding fields.
Fast forward three hundred years to 2009 when Indians and panthers are long gone (or are they?) and Chapter 41, appropriately called “Wildcat Mountain” when Jordan and Santi climb the same steep incline to her self-discovery. He knows that sometimes healing wounds involves ripping off the scab. They’re both taking a huge risk here, but the view from the top, the imagined possibilities, are worth it.
The spot he chose was lovely, a place that was a ledge, like a shelf built into the side of the mountain. The stream lay to one side and, on the other, a view of the verdant Piedmont with the smokier hues of the Blue Ridge Mountains in the distance beyond. It was picture-perfect, like a life-sized snow globe.
None of us lives in a picture-perfect snow globe that I’m aware, so you’ll have to read the rest on your own to find out what happens on “the spot he chose”. Its benign description belies what comes next. I’ll only say it is both racy and magical…
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