Chapter 1

"I swear, I have never seen so much Spanish moss in my life," commented Marybeth. She drove her little red sports car like a NASCAR ace. This time, her wild driving was slowed somewhat by the orange and white trailer she was towing. It was an incongruous sight, but a matter of necessity. She had promised her passenger and roommate of four years that after this little adventure, she would take her home.

Eartha Black was as dark as her name, just the opposite of Texas born and bred Miss Marybeth Dawson. Marybeth was the spoiled daughter of one of Dallas' primary movers and shakers. Eartha had lived all over the South and later the Northeast with her itinerant father, who had done his best to raise four kids by himself. He claimed their mother ran off with another man, but Eartha was too young to remember. No one could understand how these very different women could be so close.

"Honey," she said, "you probably never saw any Spanish moss until you left Dallas. Come on, admit it, you thought they were massive cobwebs spun by giant spiders, didn't you?"

"I most certainly did not, for your information. I thought it was some kind of bird's nest, or something. Anyway, to this day, I still do not believe you ... that it is a relative to a pineapple and is not Spanish nor moss either. So there!" She stuck her little pink tongue out at her friend like a petulant child. She would still be a petulant child when her hair turned white, thought Eartha.

Behind them, they heard a car horn. Marybeth pulled over to the edge of the road and watched the truck and trailer following them pull in behind. Of course, there was no shoulder wide enough to accommodate their vehicles, but that did not seem to bother them. Inside the other vehicle were Ellen Scarlett O'Hara Davis and Windsong Clayton, aka Windy, of Roswell, New Mexico, or rather near there. Windy had spent the last four years explaining that not once had she seen any little green men or flying saucers, nor had she visited Area 51. Ellen swore she was not the Belle of Atlanta, regardless of her name, and that her home was not originally Tara.

The four of them piled out of the cars and met in the middle of the road. "Are you sure we are going the right direction? Seems to me I have not seen another human, house, or car in the past ten miles." asked Windy, who was driving her black pickup.

Ellen added, "There have been no mailboxes or side roads either, unless you count the little paths only a person on foot could use."

"Relax, ladies. We are on the right track. No pun intended, as this is not much more than a track." Eartha opened the paper she removed from her pocket and read aloud the instructions. "See that huge hole in the road up ahead? Well, that tells us we have two miles to go, turn right, follow the dirt road three more miles, and we will be there. So, back to the wagons, and let's hit the road."

The dirt road was just that ... dirt, and narrow. Brush and small trees on each side scratched her truck. Windy grumbled about her paint, but there was no choice except to keeping going. "If this path gets any narrower, I swear I will turn around and go back."

Ellen laughed. "And where do you plan to turn this thing around?"

Before Windy could answer, they saw a clearing ahead. "Well, looks like we are here." She looked around and then said quietly, "Wherever here is."