Whispering Roots [antikvár]

CHAPTER ONE Down on the beach, the sands were cooling. Lost in the trail of horseshoes by the water's edge, the two girls wandered on, oblivious to the sinking sun, until a shadow fell across the younger's path. Frances looked up, startled, and saw the girl ahead. Her shape was black, the curves half formed, a bare outline against the shimmering rocks. What had happened to the long, hot afternoon? Dazed by day dreams, Frances stopped, shivered and looked doubtfully after the retreating figure. Hester, born to Frances' grandma in her later years, stood in the awesome authority of aunt over her. She was supposed to look after Frances, but she was lost in her own dreams, kicking at the foam, shading her eyes to follow the long trail farther up the beach. 'Hester!' Frances called at last. 'Hester! It's getting late!' Hester turned suddenly. Frances stepped back in fright, overbalanced, then sat down, in the shallows. 'What did you call me?' Hester's voice pursued her. But Frances picked herself up, wringing out her petticoats, as she scampered to dry land. 'Hester.' She was in for trouble and she knew it. Her aunt bore down on her, black eyes blazing from the shadowy face. 'How dare you call me Hester!?' 13