In The Forest Of Harm by Sallie Bissell Page B

feet to the right, a tiny footpath seemed to plummet off the edge of the world.
    The three women got out of the car and walked to a crumbling stone wall that skirted the overlook. Alex hopped up on the wall, putting her hands on her hips as she surveyed the expanse below.
    â€œHoly shit!” she exclaimed. Her cry floated out over the mountains like a bottle launched upon an ocean.
    For miles, a sea of trees undulated away from them. Still green at the lowest elevations, it swelled to red and gold and brown until distance tinted it mauve, then lilac. Finally it disappeared, miles away, into a hazy blue nothingness. As they watched two faraway hawks glide on a high thermal, the only sound they heard was the breath that rose from the forest itself. Cool and unwavering, it carried the fecund smells of growth and decay and made the fine hairs on their arms stand erect.
    â€œJeez,” Joan murmured, standing beside Alex. “And I thought Central Park was something.” She fumbled for the disposable camera she’d stashed in her purse. “I gotta get a picture of this.”
    Mary watched as Joan snapped away. She knew from experience that her pictures would come out disappointing—the colors would be flat, the scope less majestic. Photography was frustrating that way. Only the images etched in your memory remained crisp, with colors undiluted.
    â€œCan you imagine how the pioneers must have felt the first time they saw all this?” Alex spread her arms, as if all the acres below were a wild empire that belonged only to her.
    Mary smiled. Alex’s imagination had always been able to soar at the slightest provocation, thrusting her back into history or forward into some crazy future. Though it made for interesting conversations, sometimes when she stood next to Alex she felt as dull as a stump.
    â€œIf we got lost could we follow those electrical wires out?” Alex pointed at a phalanx of power lines that stretched over the trees like strands of some giant spider’s web.
    Mary squinted at the TVA cables linking the Cheoah and Calderwood dams. “I suppose, if we could climb a high enough tree to get a fix on one. It’s probably a day’s hike from pole to pole, though.”
    Joan stared at the vastness before her and frowned. “Mary, are you sure you can find one little Cherokee hot spring in the middle of all those trees?”
    â€œIf this were New York could you get us to Coney Island?”
    â€œAbsolutely.”
    â€œOkay,” said Mary. “Then just think of this as my Manhattan.”
    â€œGreat, but when you take the subway to Coney Island, all you’ve got to deal with is muggers and street gangs and your basic New York loonies. Here you’ve got a jillion acres of God-knows-what hiding in the trees.” Joan pushed her Yankees cap back on her head. “I don’t know if I’m up to this, guys. I smoke, remember? I don’t know a fox from a ferret and I don’t jog every day like you two.”
    â€œI haven’t jogged in six months,” Alex told her. “Anyway, I’ll take care of you. You’ll be back at the office Tuesday raving about the fun you had.”
    Joan scowled. “If I pass out, will you give me CPR?”
    â€œIn a heartbeat.” Alex’s laughter was rich and genuine. “I swear you’ll have a good time up here.”
    â€œWell, okay,” Joan sighed. “But just remember I’m supposed to have dinner with Hugh Chandler next Saturday. I don’t want to have a broken leg or poison ivy or anything.”
    â€œAll you’ll have is thrilling tales of hiking through Appalachia,” Mary assured her. “Hugh will think he’s eating with Superwoman.”
    Joan shot Mary a dubious glance, but she followed her two friends to the car and watched Alex unlock the trunk.
    â€œGood grief!” Alex cried, hoisting Joan’s backpack out onto the ground. “What in