Tears of frustration blurred my vision. Why had I even seen that small beacon to the outside world when it was evidently far beyond my reach? How could I, a lady of indeterminate age, ever hope to scale these rocky walls? Even a college athlete might find it a lost cause. It would have been better if I hadn’t looked up toward the ceiling with its taunting, unattainable opening.
I know I didn’t hear it, but it might as well have been audible, because, something stirred in my memory–a small, happy children’s song from way back in my childhood. Part of it was, “Put one foot in front of the other.” It was a song of encouragement. So, what did I have to lose if I put one foot in front of the other, not to walk across the floor, but to scale that formidable wall? If I slipped and fell back onto the rocks, so be it. At least, I would have tried.
Rolling over to my knees, I got up on my shaky feet and put my hand on a rock jutting out from the wall. Then, I reached above it for the next rock and put one foot on the first one. The rocks were wet from sea spray and slick, but my tennis shoes kept my feet from being lacerated, so that was a plus. Put one foot in front of the other, I whispered, as I hauled myself up to the next toe hold.
My hands became slippery from blood as the jagged boulders cut them. Even though the cave was probably cool, I was sweating. Sweat trickled into my eyes and dropped off my chin. Leaning against the wall, I looked up. Above me, the small patch of gray sky looked just a bit bigger than when I started this journey.
My arms ached and my legs shook from exertion. I couldn’t climb any further. The cave had won. Should I just let go and fall back down or should I try to retrace my steps? At that point, I didn’t much care which.
I don’t believe in ghosts, never have and Dad had died many years before, but I heard him say, I didn’t raise a quitter. That made me mad. A quitter? How could he say that? I’d tried, but even a mountain goat couldn’t manage this–probably wouldn’t get as far as I had already.
Glancing down, I saw the floor way, way below me. So, how could I get back to the floor when I couldn’t see where to put my feet? Gritting my teeth, I looked up at the light and began climbing again.
Unbelievably, at last I reached the small hole in the earth. It was barely wide enough for my head and shoulders, but it was a wonderful door to freedom, to life and living, and the cold, hard rain. I reached through the hole and heard someone yell.
“Help,” I called. “Help me get out of here!”
“Are you real?” came a lilting voice. “Are you sure you’re not a ghost or…or somethin’?”
“Just grab my hands,” I shouted. “Please. I can’t hold on much longer.”
Young, strong hands gripped mine. They pulled and I pushed with my feet. Then, miraculously, I lay panting in the outside world.
A red-haired teenager and a curious shepherd dog stared at me. “How in the world did you get down there?” he asked, disbelief written clear on his face.
Lying on the grass, I looked up at my rescuer and laughed. My voice sounded shaky and faint to my ears as I whispered, “You wouldn’t believe it.”
Much later, I huddled at my kitchen table wrapped in a quilt, with a cup of hot coffee in front of me. My young rescuer, his parents, and the local constable sat in the other chairs. I had told my story, as incredible as it was. From their astonished reactions, I knew they thought this American writer had gone round the bend. But they had followed the tunnel from the fireplace down to where the boulder blocked the cave.
“It’s gotta be true,” Davey, my rescuer said. “It’s gotta be just like she said. Oh, boy! A real, live skeleton and a cave that had treasure.”
I didn’t know about the ‘real live skeleton’, but I understood what he meant.
“Poor, poor lovey,” murmured my neighbor, Davey’s mom. “You’ve had such an ordeal. And, to think, that cave and that luckless, dead person have been here the whole time and we didn’t know of it.”
“It’ll be taken care of,” the constable said, closing the notebook in which he had been writing, and looking at me. “We’ll get some men out here and solve this thing. You’ve done something which nobody else has done ever, and you nearly lost your life doin’ it. We’ll get it all sorted out, don’t you worry.”
My neighbor, whose name turned out to be Martha, frowned at the officer of the law. “I’m sure you will, Michael,” she said. “But, you’re talking about something that happened years ago and this lady is a hero and in need of some care and a long, long rest.”
I smiled. I couldn’t have agreed with her more.
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