Rural USA, December 21, 1927 Sally May climbed the carved granite steps, careful not to slip on the damp stone. The cave walls wept, and cool drops fell from the ceiling. She could already hear her parents scolding her. They might even send her to bed without supper. Daddy would say, “Sarah, how many times have we told you? Don’t go wanderin’ like that.” Momma would tell her, “Go on to bed, Sally.” In the thirteen years since momma birthed her, they still couldn’t agree on the name. She loved the way grandma said her name with that drawl. SallaMay. Skeletal trees scratched at the cave’s mouth, as if trying…