Free Briarwood Cottage by Joann Ross Page B

winds and the ages, were covered with pale green moss. She was able to make out several Joyce family names among the stones.
    She continued on, over ancient mountains crumbling their way to dust, pausing at a mound of earth blanketed with flowers and decorated with stones. Cassandra had read about cairns, burial chambers that archeologists dated to five thousand years in the past, but standing beside this one, she could almost imagine the voices of those who’d crossed through the thin curtain between realms.
    And although it was undoubtedly only a figment of her imagination, stirred by being in such an evocative place, she thought she’d heard some of them whispering her name as she walked away.
    After turning a corner, she came to a towering hedge ablaze with shockingly pink fuchsia entwined with white flowers attached to thorny limbs guaranteed to keep trespassers outside. Still, she considered as the impenetrable-appearing greenery stretched for as far as the eye could see, she would have expected at least a few of the more ardent Lady seekers to have shown up with hedge clippers in hand.
    Dragonflies flittered around the bushes, performing aerial ballets as they spun and turned, their bodies gleaming like jewels, their wings a sparkling and iridescent translucence in the shuttering rays of the sun breaking through the clouds. The buzzing drone of fat bees flying from flower to flower added deep base notes to the high treble whirr of the dragonflies’ wings.
    Cassandra remembered an elderly woman at the commune, who, along with making honey for the members to sell at local farmers’ markets, had supplemented her living by performing psychic readings at the markets, fairs, and to private clients who, from the luxury cars that would show up from time to time, profited quite well from her advice.
    One summer, when the skies were filled with dragonflies, she’d told Cassandra and Sedona that they represented change, not just in one’s life but in emotional growth and self-realization.
    The ever-pragmatic Sedona had scoffed at the woman’s pronouncement that the dragonfly’s skittering flight across water represented the act of looking beneath the surface, into the deep implications of life.
    “If they represent looking deeper, why do they fly so fast over the water?” she’d asked.
    The fortune-teller, apparently not used to being challenged, had gathered up her crystal ball and tarot cards and gone marching back to her small, brightly painted house, colorful skirts swaying.
    “I hope she doesn’t put a curse on us,” Cassandra had said, only partly kidding.
    Her cousin had merely shrugged. Even at thirteen, she’d been the most sensible, down-to-earth person Cassandra had ever met. “Zelda’s always been thin-skinned. It was a logical enough question.”
    Which had been true enough. But when Cassandra’s parents had died in that earthquake two weeks later, she couldn’t help wondering.
    Unable to go any farther, she made her way back down the trail to the cottage, only to find that Duncan still hadn’t returned. Which, even though she knew she should be relieved, left her feeling more than a little disappointed.
    Despite the sun struggling to shine, she felt damp and chilled from her walk. Retrieving her shampoo and body soap from her carry-on, she went into the bathroom located in the hallway between the bedrooms and was surprised to find it spotless.
    The Duncan she remembered hadn’t bothered to unpack, and since hotel rooms came with maids—who were admittedly tipped well—housekeeping had never been a priority. Then again, she thought as she stripped off the underwear she’d been sleeping in, she’d never known him to cook, either. Apparently she hadn’t been the only one who’d changed over these past months apart.
    The warm shower water sluicing over her felt like nirvana. Tilting her head back, she closed her eyes and felt it washing away the travel grunge, along with lingering fatigue and