The Dark Music

The Dark MusicIt was Not a Path at all but a dry white river of shells, washed clean by the hot summer rain and swept by the winds that came across the gulf: a million crushed white shells, spread quietly over the cold Alabama earth, for the feet of Miss Lydia Maple.She'd never seen the place before. She'd never been told of it. It couldn't have been purposeful. her stopping the bus at the unmarked turn, pausing, then inching down the narrow path and stopping again at the tree-formed arch; on th...