"Phyllis A. Whitney - The Singing Stomes" - читать интересную книгу автора (Whitney Phyllis A)

DOUBLEDAY and the portrayal of an anchor
with a dolphin are trademarks of Doubleday,
a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell
Publishing Group, Inc.
All of the characters in this book are fictitious,
and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
is purely coincidental.
"White Light," music by Ed Tossing,
lyrics by Thorn Bishop.
Album: White Light recorded by Heartsong
P.O. Box 2455,Glenview, IL 60025
published by Ed Tossing Music and
Thorn Bishop Music, BMI.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Whitney, Phyllis A., 1903-
The singing stones/Phyllis A. Whitney.
1st ed.
p. cm.
I. Title.
PS3545.H8363S56 1990 89-37137
813'.54-dc20 CIP
ISBN 0-385-41334-3
Copyright © 1990 by Phyllis A. Whitney
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
MARCH 1990
FIRST LARGE PRINT EDITION BVG
Thank you, Faye T. Walter, for that fine tour of Wintergreen on top of the mountain. Not only did you give me a scene for Rainbow in the Mist, but you enabled me to imagine White Moon in this novel as well.
I am indebted to Charles and Sari Newman, who conduct Flights of Fancy over Nelson County, and who took me up in the real Air Dancer for my first marvelous adventure in a hot air balloon.
My gratitude as well to Lewis Price, who led me through a painless regression into the past life of a woman in Colorado in the late 1880s. I have used this experience exactly as it happened to me-except for a few fictional embellishments to carry my story.

c
oinging Stones

Prologue
The month was October and ground breaking was to begin next week-well before winter set in. This would be our last visit to the peace and emptiness of this Virginia mountaintop that now belonged to us-Stephen and Lynn Asche. Months ahead, when all the workmen were gone, peace would return, and the emptiness would be perfectly filled by the house Stephen would have built in this high place. I could hardly wait to see all that we had imagined and planned come to life.
Just a year ago I'd changed my name from Lynn McLeod to Lynn Asche, so I was still a very young bride-nineteen, and eight years younger than my husband. For all these months I had been watching the house grow on paper. A good part of me had gone into the plans as well, since Stephen wanted this to be a shared creation, even though he was the professional architect.
10 PHYLLIS A. WHITNEY
He had chosen perfectly for the setting. Not many miles away to the west, the Blue Ridge rose above drifting clouds, while nearby clusters of foothills crowded in, giving the landscape a special variety that was typical of Nelson County, Virginia -one of the state's least populated and, I was sure, most beautiful counties.
Today Stephen had brought along a big roll of plans and I knelt beside him as he spread them out on rough grass. I found myself studying him more than I did the lines he had drawn on paper. His red hair that could sometimes match his temper fell over his forehead as he bent above the prints, and I managed to keep from pushing it out of his eyes-always too eager to touch him.
Gesturing widely with a wave of his '• arm, Stephen embraced the slope of hillside below where we knelt. "You can see it, can't you, Lynn? The house will drop downhill from here in three levels. The base, where the driveway winds up from the road to the front door, will follow the contour of the hill as though it grew there. The living, dining and cooking areas will
The Singing Stones 11
be on the first level, with bedroom apartments at each end."
I could picture the house clearly-rising in graduated levels, each a little smaller than the one below. The second floor would hold a guest apartment, the library, and Stephen's workrooms, while here at the very top level, with magnificent views all around, would be our private rooms, and space enough to partition them off in any way we wished. He'd even planned a workout room we could both use. Feeling physically fit was the best way to keep one's brain alert and creative, as he told me often enough. I was happy to agree to whatever he wanted. Workouts were fine with me, if they pleased my new husband.
He was still talking about the top level, and I paid attention.
"We'll put a huge fireplace up here where we can build a roaring fire on cool nights. There'll be a thick rug-from Peru, of course-to lie on and dream. And for making love. A place where we can shut out the world."
He needed solitude for his work, and
12 PHYLLIS A. WHITNEY
since I needed Stephen, that was what I wanted too. I always enjoyed the way words could pour out of him with such energy and enthusiasm. I loved the way his eyes would light with their own green fires. He was more alive than anyone I'd ever known and he carried me along with his special exuberance. Sometimes he could be filled with a wicked laughter that broke me up completely. Or he could be almost frighteningly stormy when something angered him. Yet he could be tender as well, sharing those dreams that made him so successful an architect while he was still young.
As far as becoming Virginia's bestknown architect-which he fully intended -I knew that would never satisfy his driv- „ ing ambition. He would be among the great ones of the country-perhaps of the world. I was far more sure of that than of my own unarrived-at identity. A splendid future stretched ahead and I was proud and astonished to find myself part of it and moving with my husband. That I was to have a place in all this seemed so miracu-
The Singing Stones 13