We have against all odds arrived at home, Monroe had said.

Inman did not consider himself to be a superstitious person, but he did believe that there is a world invisible to us. He no longer thought of that world as heaven, nor did he still think that we get to go there when we die. Those teachings had been burned away.

At the time, it was a sentiment Ada took with a great deal of skepticism.
All of their Charleston friends had expressed the opinion that the mountain region was a heathenish part of creation . . . Ada’s informants had claimed the mountaineers to be but one step more advanced in their manner of living than tribes of vagrant savages.

He had grown so used to seeing death . . . that it seemed no longer dark and mysterious. He feared his heart had been touched by the fire so often he might never make a civilian again.
But he could not abide by a universe composed only of what he could see, especially when it was so frequently foul.

Ada believed she would ***** towers on the ridge marking the south and north points of the sun’s annual swing. . . . Keeping track of such a thing would place a person, would be a way of saying, You are here, in this one station, now. It would be an answer to the question, Where am I?

We have against all odds arrived at home.

But what the wisdom of the ages says is that we do well not to grieve on and on. And those old ones knew a thing or two and had some truth to tell. . . . You’re left with only your scars to mark the void. All you can choose to do is go on or not. But if you go on, it’s knowing you carry your scars with you.