Veronica and the Cave of the Wind

By J.Hamilton

Veronica Wilde grew up accustomed to being stared at. If her steel gray eyes and shocking mane of red hair were not enough, her ability to read the thoughts of people she came in contact with unnerved strangers and acquaintances alike. When the county’s social welfare department got involved, the eleven-year-old girl tested out beyond genius level and nearly put the test administrator into a mental hospital.

Her life-long friend, Billy Swift Fox, was equally astonishing—materializing out of thin air and departing by the same method. Veronica’s mother, herself adept at magic, was not perturbed by the children, but her father, who didn’t even believe in magic found them difficult to deal with.

But Barbara Wilde, her mother, carried a depressing secret within her, not knowing how to explain to her husband, the only man she had ever loved, what was likely to happen to the daughter he adored. Only Barbara knew that Veronica, by a force much greater than family love and attachment, would be compelled to enter the Cave of the Wind. Furthermore, Barbara had the premonition that Veronica’s trials in the cave would far surpass anything she herself had faced when she entered the cave as a young girl.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.Hamilton
• Release date: Jul 26, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465916334

J.Hamilton

Author and visionary J.HamiltonAuthor, Visionary, Coach and Believer that by re-enabling our natural state of connection with Source, we become the means by which viable solutions become available for a planet in need of a few good ideas.My interests revolve around teaching personal empowerment based on fundamentals. By re-enabling our natural state of connection with Source (Innate Intelligence), we partner with the Order that everything shares. In this capacity, we become powerful beyond belief, i.e., we exhibit the characteristics of compassion, unconditional love, a solutions-orientation that knows no bounds, and a capacity to deliver solutions to a world in need of a few good ideas!I have been fortunate. I have been meditating for 40 years (since 1973). When I was young, I learned how to combine goal setting and meditation and retired when I was 30. After a number of years of big boat sailing, I started to do consulting and then wrote my first book, Visionaries Thrive In All Times. I now have three books and about 120 articles and a system based, in part, on neurofeedback for rapidly advancing personal (and collective) consciousness.It is my belief that the only solution for a planet seemingly a bit out of control is for the human species to become more conscious (mature). Meditation is great as an introspective tool but takes a lifetime or longer. CORE Resonance TrainingTM is a means of rapidly advancing consciousness by quieting the brain and nervous system through proprietary exercises such that the brain "cleans itself up" - itself! No programming or other invasive techniques, but the end result might be similar to defragging a hard drive, i.e., performance jumps significantly.As we quiet the brain, our very subtle connection with Innate Intelligence becomes evident and we learn how to build on this connection. As we build this connection "home," we begin to relax. As we relax, our personal reality creating begins to shift for the better. As we build this partnership with Innate Intelligence, we begin to become more whole (mature). We begin to see with "new eyes," new perceptions and new capacities for contribution.In partnership with Innate Intelligence, our true and rightful persona, we make far better decisions and inadvertently more usefully influence the whole. In partnership with Innate Intelligence, Presence and Guidance become available and we become exponentially contributive. In this partnership, Innate Intelligence delivers solutions "through us" to a world in need of a few good ideas.We become hosts for Innate Intelligence expressing and experience "the ride of our lives." It's what we came here to do.Build what’s next..TapRootTM by CORE ResonanceIntentional Communities and Intentional Corporations~harnessing the power of groups~CORE Resonance ColoniesTMProblems are of the mind;Solutions are of the Divine..TMAlignment before ActionEach and Every Day~stay tuned~TMFor additional information:Imagine a Solution: CORE Resonance ColoniesTMThe Twelve Premises of CORE Resonance ColoniesTM

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Veronica

and the Cave of the Wind

Book One of

the Veronica Trilogy

A Fantasy for Young Readers

J. Hamilton

Copyright © 2011 by J. Hamilton (All rights reserved.)

Published by J. Hamilton, Smashwords Edition

Veronica and the Cave of the Wind

Chapter One

VERONICA WAS ACCUSTOMED TO BEING STARED AT. Her shock of fiery hair and steel gray eyes had stopped more than one person dead in their tracks as she passed by. If not exactly beautiful, Veronica was at the least stunning, a mere wisp of a ten-year-old girl with the commanding presence of a princess. Yet Veronica was anything but a princess. The only child of reclusive backwoods parents, she often came into the village alone on some errand or other and then disappeared back into the wooded mountainside from whence she had come. Only a few hunters had ever seen Veronica’s house, almost hidden in a dense growth of pine trees behind a hedgerow of brambled berry bushes.

The village itself was a small cluster of log buildings nestled neatly amid towering pines and fluttering aspen trees in the New Mexico Rocky Mountains. It consisted of a general store, a small local newspaper, a bowling alley, two gasoline stations, an elementary school, and a drugstore and clinic run by a retired doctor and his nurse wife. Around the village were other log cabins, homes of the few hardy locals who annually braved the stark winters, and several more cabins belonging to retirees who spent their hot summers in cool, refreshing mountain air.

There was, even after the emergence of the nuclear age which had been given birth just down the mountain in the Alamogordo valley, an air of magic surrounding the village, though the inhabitants simply thought of it as the atmosphere. There was, however, something mysterious about that pine-scented air that felt like an ancient warding against the harsh realities of the outside world. In another part of the state, magic took on another feel when rumors of visitors from outer space ran rampant. People theorized that those visitors had somehow affected the entire course of human history.

Only the eldest among the remnant of native American inhabitants retained a sense of the true magic that had once woven the fabric not only of this particular area but also of the entire world. That magic had waned with the onset of so-called enlightenment to the point that those who still held to the magic were looked upon with suspicion and, sometimes, hatred.

Now, in these times, the early years of Veronica Wilde’s young life, the last pockets of true magic had all but disappeared. Whenever she accompanied her father and mother into the village, Veronica felt the revulsion and suspicion of the locals who looked upon her family with fear and distrust. Gypsies they were called, and hippies and a few other words that Veronica didn’t really understand. It was nothing confrontational. Just whispers spoken loudly enough to be overheard. She was always relieved when they had finished their errands and returned to their secluded home.

On several occasions, district officials had come to Veronica’s home demanding that she be enrolled in the village school. Her father, a true wilderness character, had adamantly refused, finally chasing the officials off with his shotgun. When they returned with armed sheriff’s deputies and tight-lipped social workers, Veronica’s mother came out of the house to speak with them.

Barbara Wilde was an imposing figure of a woman. She was tall and gaunt with the same thatch of red hair and steely eyes that made her daughter so distinctive. She wore only black ankle length dresses and more than one person had suggested that she was, in fact, a witch. She met the delegation with eyes flashing but her voice was calm.

Before we discuss this any further, Barbara Wilde began, I want you to bring a battery of tests for Veronica to take. After that, we’ll see if we can reach a decision.

The deputies and social workers were not happy with such an ultimatum, but there was something about the demeanor of Barbara Wilde that caused them to retreat in compromise rather than face confrontation. Smugly, the social workers agreed that after Veronica tested out as illiterate, they would have a greater case for insisting that she go to school and, perhaps, even to remove the girl to a foster home where she could grow up like a normal child.

A week later, the deputies, social workers and academics returned to the Wilde house and were invited inside. Although rustic, the house was immaculate with some surprisingly good pieces of antique furniture and heavy velvet drapes on the windows. The main room of the log house, where they all gathered, was a large living room with a rock fireplace at one end and the kitchen at the other. A cedar bar separated the living area from the kitchen with high wooden stools around it to serve as the dining table.

Whatever the visitors had been expecting, there were no cauldrons, spider webs or jars of indeterminable contents lining the kitchen shelves. One of the women social workers even made mental notes of some of the décor to use in her own home.

Barbara Wilde had placed a small table in the middle of the room and Veronica was seated there when the guests entered. Erik Wilde remained seated in a darkened corner of the large room near the fireplace. His shotgun was nowhere in sight.

Good morning, Veronica, said Frances Baker, one of the social workers. How are you today?

I’m fine, Miss, Veronica replied, staring directly into the social worker’s eyes until she was finally forced to look away from the girl.

Well, we’re here to give you some tests, Veronica, she said, avoiding Veronica’s gray eyes, are you ready?

Yes, ma’am, Veronica replied and picked up a pencil her mother had placed on the table.

This is Mr. Markum, Frances Baker said, indicating a young man with a briefcase, He’ll be giving you the tests. The rest of us will wait outside until you’re finished.

Mr. Markum stepped to the table and began taking out his test papers and timer. Miss Baker, the Wildes, the deputies and the other social worker all went outside to wait in the warm sunshine. Erik Wilde had placed rough log benches around the front yard and Barbara had set out a large pitcher of lemonade and some delicious cakes. At first, the visitors were a bit reluctant to partake of the refreshments but as the time went on, hunger overcame apprehension, and soon the cakes and lemonade had to be replenished.

Still, during the long morning while everyone waited for Veronica’s test results, there was little communication among the tense faced adults waiting outside. Erik Wilde sat aloof, staring at the assortment of officials with an expression of open hostility. He resented this intrusion into his family’s private life and let everyone know his displeasure. Barbara seemed relaxed but, like her husband, had no social intercourse with the delegation other than to replenish the refreshments from time to time.

Most of the morning, Barbara busied herself at the side of the log house in her herb garden. Frances Baker walked around to see the immaculately kept plot and asked Barbara about several of the plants growing there. Barbara gladly explained each of the herbs but gave no lengthy discourse on their uses. Her angular face gave a hint of amusement at the idea that Miss Baker was trying to discover whether she was cultivating any illegal substances.

As the morning wore on, the group became more tense and restless. The sheriff’s deputies openly wanted to clear out as they stood in a tight group whispering among themselves. The social workers also talked in hushed tones, visibly becoming more agitated as the hours passed.

At fifteen minutes after twelve, an ashen faced Fred Markum came out of the house, his briefcase and a sheaf of papers thrust under his arm. His expression was one of shock as the others gathered around him to hear his verdict. For a few moments, he could not speak.

Well? asked Miss Baker, what are the results?

The girl is a genius, he said, finally finding his voice. She has incredible reading speed and accuracy. Her command of mathematics and science is higher than the average university graduate. There is nothing any one of our public schools could offer this girl.

Why do you look so stunned? one of the deputies spoke up.

Markum hesitated. He really didn’t want to speak about everything he had seen in the little over three hours he had spent with Veronica. He doubted his own perceptions and certainly didn’t want to place himself in a position to be ridiculed by the intellectually inferior audience he was addressing. But it was clear they were not going to back away until he had given some kind of answer to the deputy’s question.

I can’t really explain it, he muttered. Everyone strained to hear him as he continued, I never once saw her use her pencil, yet I have stacks of marked answer sheets and other pages of essay answers.

They all looked at him as though he had lost his senses.

During the IQ tests, I never saw her hands move as she put the pegs in the holes and I could have sworn her eyes were closed when I administered the picture association tests, Markum went on, almost hysterical by that time.

How about the social interaction tests? Miss Baker asked.

Oh, she tested out as unbelievably normal. If the tests can be believed, she is the epitome of the perfect child. Markum was almost whispering by then but his hands were shaking so bad that they feared his papers might fall to the ground.

Ever the social worker, Miss Baker said kindly, Come, now, Mr. Markum. You seem to be under a lot of stress. It’s dark in that room and probably a bit warm as well. And, maybe, you’re coming down with a cold. I’m sure there is a rational explanation for these seemingly strange circumstances.

Markum looked at her with a mixture of appreciation and suspicion. Was she trying to give him a reason to believe his observations had been simple illusions, or was she being condescending toward someone she considered to be mentally unbalanced? He did not reply but walked on faltering legs toward the car he had arrived in. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw Miss Baker, the other social worker and the deputies in a heated but whispered discussion. Then Miss Baker separated herself from the group and re-entered the house. Barbara Wilde followed her inside.

Where’s the girl? Miss Baker asked, seeing that Veronica was no longer in the room.

She’s probably out back with her friends, Barbara said emotionlessly.

Friends? Are there other children up here on the mountain?

Well, some kids come up here from time to time to play with Veronica, but mostly her friends are mountain creatures. Go look for yourself, Barbara Wilde said, indicating the back door.

Outside, Miss Baker’s eyes had to readjust to the bright sunlight. As they did, she saw first a bright ring of light and the blurry image of Veronica sitting on the grass. As the girl’s form came into focus, Miss Baker was startled to see two chipmunks and a squirrel playing in her lap and a sparrow perched on her shoulder.

Seeing the social worker standing at the back door, the sparrow began to chatter noisily in Veronica’s ear and the little mammals buried themselves in the folds of Veronica’s long, homespun skirt. Miss Baker hesitated to advance toward the strange little girl.

It’s all right, Veronica said, not looking up, you can come over here. They’re just shy around strangers.

Miss Baker walked over and sat down on the grass next to Veronica, hardly taking her eyes off the little furry creatures peering suspiciously up at her. The little sparrow chattered again and fluttered over to Veronica’s far shoulder, away from the visitor.

Are these your friends? Miss Baker asked, intuitively speaking in a very low voice.

Some of them, the girl replied, looking up at her with her mysterious gray eyes.

Are…are all your friends…animals? Miss Baker asked.

Oh, no. My best friend is Billy Swift Fox. He comes to visit me almost every day.

Another forest child that’s not in school, Miss Baker thought, but said nothing. They were silent for quite some time and the little animals began to creep cautiously out of their hiding place and return to their games on Veronica’s lap.

Finally, Miss Baker asked, Veronica, where does Billy Swift Fox live?

Up the mountain near the Cave of the Wind, Veronica replied.

Could you…take me there…sometime?

"Oh, no, Miss. Billy lives with his Grandfather White Feather and he doesn’t like many people coming around. Only my Ma and Pa and I ever go up there. Ma takes vegetables and herbs out of her garden to Grandfather White Feather and Pa takes venison and wild turkey he’s hunted in the forest.

They don’t talk much when they go there. Billy and I talk all the time, though. He’s like me.

Miss Baker wondered what Veronica meant by that last statement but decided not to ask. She wanted to gain the girl’s confidence before she started asking the questions that social workers were known to ask. But not only that, Miss Baker felt a certain intimidation around this strange child. Perhaps, she thought, I’m only reflecting Mr. Markum’s weird reaction to Veronica. She certainly doesn’t seem to be anything but a perfectly normal child. Yet…

What is the Cave of the Wind? Miss Baker asked, changing the direction of their conversation.

It’s a very special place in the mountain. Not even Grandfather White Feather goes inside. Magical things happen there. Billy and I want to go in, but Grandfather White Feather tells us it is not time yet. We have to wait.

Very active imagination, Miss Baker thought, and impressionable. I need to know more about Billy Swift Fox and his grandfather.

As though reading her thoughts, Veronica asked, Would you like to meet Billy? I can call him.

Well, I don’t have much time today, Veronica. The others are all anxious to return to the city. Why don’t I come back tomorrow and… Miss Baker stopped in mid-sentence as a young Indian boy stepped out of the shadows of the forest and came toward them.

The boy, dressed only in a deerskin loin cloth and a pair of moccasins sat down cross legged in front of Veronica. The two children stared for a moment into each other’s eyes as though some sort of communication were passing between them. Then he reached over and picked up one of the two chipmunks from Veronica’s lap and set the furry animal up on his bare shoulder.

Miss Baker was stunned. Here were two pre-teenaged children who appeared on the surface to be perfectly normal kids, but there was something eerie about the both of them. The boy was beautiful—that was the only word Miss Baker could think of to describe him—with long black hair that fell below his shoulders and black eyes that were as mysterious as Veronica’s. Strange…or unusual? Miss Baker thought as she sat there speechless.

Miss Baker, this is Billy Swift Fox. Billy, this is Miss Baker, a social worker from the city, Veronica made the introductions.

Billy stuck out his hand for Miss Baker to shake. When she did, she thought she felt a kind of shockwave pass up her arm. But then she told herself that it was only her imagination from this certainly exceptional day. Billy didn’t speak, however, unless directly spoken to.

Veronica was just telling me about your grandfather, Miss Baker offered.

I know, Billy said.

There it was again. Miss Baker was taken aback at how these children communicated wordlessly.

I’m sorry I can’t take you to meet Grandfather, Billy continued, once again almost reading Miss Baker’s mind, but he doesn’t like strangers coming around.

The social worker decided not to press the issue. Do you go to school, Billy? she asked.

Yes, ma’am. I come here to learn from Erik and Barbara. Grandfather has always taken care of my Indian education.

Native American, Veronica corrected her friend, Indians are in Asia.

Billy smiled, flashing the whitest teeth Miss Baker believed she had ever seen. I know that, Ron. But she’s… He indicated Miss Baker.

Veronica smiled. Yes, of course, she said.

Miss Baker noted that when Veronica smiled, she changed somehow. A beauty radiated out of her that was compelling. She ceased to be that strange child with the shocking red hair and metal eyes and became a glowing young lady.

Does everyone call you Ron, she asked the girl.

Only my folks and Billy. Grandfather White Feather calls me Red Flower.

That seemed appropriate to Miss Baker who was suddenly feeling very tired and out maneuvered by these mysterious children. She wanted to ask Billy Swift Fox if he would be willing to take the tests Veronica had taken that morning, but she was too weary to pursue such a conversation. Carefully, so as not to startle the animals that still romped around and over the children, Miss Baker rose to leave.

Well, good-bye for now, she said, I’d like to come a visit you again real soon.

We know, Veronica said, maybe next time you can meet more animals. When they’ve seen you with us a few times, they’ll come out of the forest.

That would be lovely, Miss Baker said, turning to walk around the house to where the others were eagerly waiting to leave.

Let’s go see Grandfather.

Yes, that’s a good idea. But I have to tell my mother.

Barbara and Erik stood rigidly as Miss Baker climbed into the car with the two sheriff’s deputies. They neither smiled nor waved as the two vehicles turned around in the small clearing and headed back to the city. There is no doubt that the occupants of those cars would have been amazed had they witnessed the change in Barbara Wilde’s face as she received the mental request from Veronica to go and visit Grandfather White Feather.

Just be back before dark. Is Billy Swift Fox with you?

Yes, ma’am, he met Miss Baker.

Barbara made no comment. She slipped her hand into her husband’s and led him back into the house. Inside, as Barbara cleared away the table where Veronica had taken her tests, Erik sat brooding in the corner. Barbara knew they would have to talk. It was too bad that Erik didn’t have the gift. Yet, still, there was always a certain understanding between them that bordered on being the same thing.

They’re gone, Erik, and I doubt if they’ll be back soon. Veronica did well on those ridiculous tests and you saw how upset Mr. Markum was when he finally came out. It’s not likely that they would know what to do with Veronica if they took her, Barbara said with her deep, reassuring voice.

Erik looked at her and smiled for the first time that day. I would have loved to be inside and watch while it was going on, he said. Veronica even scares me sometimes. And he broke into laughter.

Barbara laughed with him—more out of relief than of humor. She had been so afraid that Erik would do something foolish like he had done before, chasing the deputies off with his shotgun.

Where is Veronica? Erik asked.

She’s gone up the mountain with Billy Swift Fox. Ron didn’t say, but I suspect that social worker was switching her attention to Billy. Ron said she had talked to them out back. I can just imagine what she thought about that nearly naked boy as Ron’s best friend, Barbara said. Can you imagine what Markum would think if he gave Billy some of those tests?

They both laughed at that idea and Erik said, They’d have to put the man into an asylum if Billy pulled one of his disappearing acts on him!

When Ron and Billy reached the cave where he lived with his grandfather, the old man was sitting outside waiting for them. They didn’t have to tell him about all the things that had happened at Red Flower’s house. He could have written a story about the entire event.

Sometimes, though, when they were together, they didn’t use the gift to communicate. Grandfather White Feather often told them that it was good to hear actual voices. It is not good to use your gift on small matters, he explained, for that puts you too long in the Spirit world and you might find it difficult to return.

Why is that, Grandfather? Ron asked.

Well, child, the Spirit world is very strong. It is difficult to return from that world. That is why we don’t see the ancestors that often. They send us messages through animals and trees or, sometimes through the weather.

Like the time we saw the lightning on a clear day and you knew there would be a forest fire down the mountain? Billy asked.

Like that, yes. You remember we went to the place I saw in that quick vision and found a small fire that would have grown very large if we hadn’t put it out.

But, Grandfather, how did you know where to look?

That’s something I can’t explain. Soon you will be old enough to go into the Cave of the Wind and there you will learn many mysteries that you won’t necessarily be able to tell anyone about.

When Billy goes, can I go, too? Ron asked.

"You can try, Red Flower. Over the history of our people, a few women have been allowed to enter. Most were turned back, though. The one I knew best was Dancing Faun. When she returned from the cave, she became our medicine woman. By the time she died, she was very, very old. Possibly more than two hundred and ten. No one ever knew for sure.

"Well, she was allowed to enter the Cave of the Wind when she was just a young girl. When she returned, her hair had turned white and she was an expert medicine woman. She had never studied the herbs and plants with her mother and grandmother. Yet, when she came out of the cave, she knew more about the healing things of nature than both those wise women put together.

So, you see, child, I cannot tell you whether you will be allowed to go in. The Spirits will decide that.

I want to go with Billy Swift Fox when he goes, Grandfather. Did Dancing Faun have the gift? Was that why the Spirits allowed her to enter the cave?

White Feather chuckled, I don’t know, child, if she had the gift before she entered the cave, but she certainly did after she came back out. I’ve heard the stories all my life, but I hadn’t even been born when it all happened. In fact, Dancing Faun was the midwife at my birth as well as that of Billy’s father.

When it was nearing sundown, Ron and Billy started back down the mountainside. On the way down, they saw several deer, a black bear and her cub and Billy pointed out the fresh tracks of a mountain lion.

As they stepped into the clearing at the back of Veronica’s house, the sky turned a vivid red-orange and the shadows were heavy under the tall pine trees. Barbara noticed the children through her kitchen window just in time to see Billy Swift Fox fade away. Veronica turned and came into the house.

Having the gift was not like being open to the eyes and ears of everyone else who also had the gift. One with that power could cloud his or her thoughts and not allow another inside that very special place. Veronica and her mother often kept themselves shut off from each other, preferring to have normal conversations. Using the gift sometimes meant missing little nuances of facial expression and vocal tones that make everyday conversations so pleasant.

Veronica was thinking about what Grandfather White Feather had said about not using the gift very often for fear of not being able to return from the Spirit world. Is that why we don’t use it so much? Veronica asked.

Well, Barbara smiled at her beautiful daughter, that, and the fact that your father doesn’t have the gift. It wouldn’t be polite to have all our conversations where he would be left out.

Ron had never thought about that. She took her father’s presence for granted and loved him so deeply that it had never occurred to her that she and her mother could actually conceal things from him.

But I would never do something like that, Veronica cried vehemently and ran to throw her arms around Erik’s neck, burying her face in his shoulder.

Erik lifted his daughter into his lap and stroked her fiery hair. Of course you wouldn’t, my darling child, he said softly,