"Hattie's Valley?" Virginia sinks another nail. "The name drew me."
"Hades Valley brought you down from the Trail?" Sylvia's tape measure snaps as it rewinds.
"The sign said, 'Hattie's Valley Overlook. Elevation 3400 feet,'" says Virginia. "That's not Hades in mid-town Manhattan."
"Here neither. We've got two languages, one spoken and one written. Often the one's got nothing to do with the other."
"Three," says Virginia. "I've heard y'all talkin' ta kinfolk. Your turn. What brought you here?"
"God planted me in this valley," Sylvia pauses. "Or the devil did."
"From what I've read," says Virginia, "Hattie was almost as amazing as you."
"The proof's in the pudding." Sylvia hands Virginia the end of a chalk line. "Hold tight, her great-great-great-granddaughter, or whoever you are."
"Don't be so sure. Sorry, I wasn't quite on the mark." Virginia lets go as Sylvia winds it in.
"Heed this warning," says Sylvia, offering the blue line again. "Don't trust what you read. A lot of the truth ain't there."
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