The Hollow by Jessica Verday
Katy nodded as she started sorting her yarn piles. "Awareness for the town has certainly grown over the years, but there's always been something special about this place. I don't think anyone could spend time living here and not feel its magic… the pull of living history all around us. We feel a special bond with the cemetery ourselves."
A clicking noise echoed through the room as she picked up her needles and began to knit. I folded my hands in front of me and watched her fingers fly through the motions, looping and pulling, over and over again.
"Have you been to the Sleepy Hollow Museum lately?" I asked, leaning forward slightly, still unsure of what to do with my hands. "The genealogy exhibit has a lot of new stuff in it that's really interesting. I like the-" The teakettle whistled sharply, interrupting my sentence, and I jumped at the unexpected noise. Nikolas got up to grab a dish towel for the hot kettle handle.
"Just a minute, dear." Katy patted my hand before she reached for three identical teacups. "Let me fix the tea, and then you can continue."
Nikolas brought the teakettle over for her, carefully poured the steaming liquid, and then returned the kettle to its iron hook.
Two matching smaller silver serving pots were resting in the middle of the table, and I moved them closer to us. Katy brought a third matching silver pot out from the refrigerator and sat it down next to the other two.
"Milk is in this one, and those two are sugar and honey," she explained, picking up her teacup.
I watched as she poured a small amount of milk and a couple drops of honey into her tea, and then thanked Nikolas when he placed three spoons on the table. Nikolas made his tea the same way, except he used a bit more honey. Katy smiled in mock disapproval at him, and he grinned like a little boy who was grabbing a second piece of chocolate cake.
My cup was next. Usually I made my tea like I used to make my coffee. Three milks and two sugars. But today I tried the honey. I added a couple of extra drops, like Nikolas, figuring the sweeter, the better. While I was briskly stirring my spoon in my cup, Katy settled back into her seat and Nikolas returned to his rocking chair.
I took a cautious sip.
It was surprisingly good. The mint taste was clear and strong, much better than a generic peppermint tea bag, and the honey added just the right amount of flavor, giving it an edge. I took another sip. Larger this time. I could really grow to like this stuff.
We sat there in silence, and it almost felt as if I'd known Katy and Nikolas my whole life and had spent every day having tea with them. But then I started to feel like I had to make up for lost time, and that scared me a little. These are not your grandparents, I sternly reminded myself. Although they seemed like they were very nice people, they probably had their own grandchildren who really did come to visit them for tea. I was only a stranger passing through.
"Go ahead and finish what you were saying, dear," urged Katy with a warm smile, and I forced myself to shake off the melancholy.
"I was just going to tell you that I really like the exhibit they made based on Washington living's life. That's all." I wrapped my fingers around the warm teacup in front of me.
"You must be a fan of his," said Katy. "Not many people your age would help an old man take care of a grave."
"Oh, I'd do it anytime," I blurted out. "I mean, for any grave, but particularly for his grave. My best friend and I used to spend a lot of time there. Talking to him and stuff." I looked down at my drink, realizing how crazy that made me sound. "I mean," I said hastily, "not like crazy or anything. Just like… pretend." I heard my words and cringed inside. Yeah, like that was going to make them think I'm not crazy.
Katy smiled at me over her clicking needles. "We know what you mean, Abbey. I think it's wonderful. He was very important to us, too. His works are a piece of American history, and I think you do his memory a great service to remember him like that."
"That's exactly how I think of him too! 'The Legend of Sleepy Hollow' is one of America's only ghost stories, and I get to live right here, in the middle of it all. It's amazing. We are literally living in history, and that just leaves me in awe."
Nikolas chuckled at my obvious enthusiasm, and I blushed. "Sorry," I said. "Sometimes I can get a little carried away."
Katy disagreed. "Nonsense. There is nothing wrong with loving history. I bet your friend feels the same way, doesn't she?"
"Well, she did. She… died." I stared down into what was left of my tea.
"There are those sad memories again," Nikolas said from the corner.
I gave him a brave smile and shook my head. "Not today. I won't let the sad ones in today."
"You said before that you've lived here all your life. Where is your house located?" asked Katy.
I was glad she changed the subject, and I willingly accepted something else to talk about. "I live across the street from the other side of the cemetery, by the main gates. It's the big white Victorian with green gables. Can't miss it."
They both asked lots of questions, and seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say, so I spent the rest of the afternoon telling them about school, and Kristen, and even my plans for the shop downtown. I hesitated several times, unsure of how much to tell them, or how long I should keep talking about myself, but they urged me on every time I came close to stopping.
The sunlight in the room had shifted positions several times before I realized that I was probably wearing out my welcome. So I quickly said my good-byes and left their house with a promise to stop by for tea again.
It was surprisingly easy to find my way back to the main cemetery path. As I crossed through the entrance gates and headed home, I couldn't help but think about how weird it was that they had lived back there all this time and I'd never met them before.
Strange.
Chapter Fifteen
The Job Offer
His notable little wife, too, had enough to do to attend to her housekeeping and manage her poultry; for, as she sagely observed, ducks and geese are foolish things, and must be looked after, but airls can take care of themselves.
"The Legend of Sleepy Hollow"
I stopped by the river almost every day over the next week, but Caspian wasn't there. I knew he'd said he would be busy, but why couldn't he squeeze a five-minute break into his schedule? I visited Katy and Nikolas again, but only ended up staying for a couple of minutes. I wasn't very good company.
One afternoon I even found myself heading to Kristen's grave. I hadn't been there since prom night, and I really wasn 't in the best of moods, but I felt the urge to go. It had been too long since I'd seen her.
As her stone came into view, my breath caught. I could feel the ache go straight to my heart. Would it ever get easier? Would I ever be able to get used to the fact that my best friend lived here now?
I knelt down and touched the top of her tombstone. "Hey, Kris." Tracing the rough edges of her carved name, I sat in silence. It was nice to connect with her in this quiet way.
After sitting for a while, I started talking about the letter I had written to her on prom night. Then I brought up Caspian and how I'd spent the last couple of days looking for him. I didn't mention the diaries I had found, or the secrets she'd been keeping from me. I wasn't ready to talk about that yet. Maybe I never would be.
It started getting dark and I knew it was time for me to get home, so I rose stiffly from my position on the ground. One of my legs had fallen asleep, and I hobbled my way out of the cemetery, leaving Kristen with a quick good-bye and a promise to visit again soon.
While I walked home, I made excuses to myself for Caspian. He must have gone away for the holidays. He had gotten sick. His family decided to spontaneously move to Africa… But I knew none of them were true, and depression sank in. I had a hard time concentrating. I didn't sleep very well. And even my appetite was gone.
When school finally let out on Monday afternoon for Thanksgiving break, I was overwhelmingly grateful. My daily trip to the cemetery didn't yield anything new, and I en
Since we were going to be bouncing around from relative to relative for most of the Thanksgiving vacation, I needed to make sure I had enough stuff to keep me busy so that I could spend as little time as possible actually with the extended family.
I spent the next two hours going through my perfuming supplies and sorting through different notes from old projects that I hadn't finished yet. I packed plenty of tester vials, an extra half dozen cobalt blue tubes, and almost all of my essential oils. Then I packed another bagful of books, CDs, movies, and a couple of magazines.
Once everything was ready to go, I looked it all over again, satisfied with what I'd chosen. Feeling a sudden ache in my back and heaviness in my eyelids, I piled my now full suitcase and two bags into the corner, and then staggered to bed. Hopefully I'd be able to fall asleep soon; I had an early wake-up call coming my way.
Considering that I got only four hours of sleep that night, I felt surprisingly good the next morning. Jumping out of bed, I hurried to claim my seat in the van. If I didn't get there before Dad finished loading it up, I'd be forced to endure an uncomfortable ride crammed between stacks of suitcases.
Luckily, success was mine, and I made sure that everything I'd need for the seven-hour trip to Ohio was close at hand. Dad must have been rushing Mom, too, because a scant thirty minutes later they were both buckled up and we were on our way.
I pulled a pair of headphones out of my bag, settled them over my ears, and set my music volume to low. The melody was slow and mournful, but soothing. I leaned my head back and stared out the window as we left the house behind; I was content to just let my mind wander. The trees passed by in a blur, one after the other, and it became hypnotic. My eyes jumped from limb to limb while my brain tripped from thought to thought.
Why did / have to be the one to find out Kristen's secrets?
Why did / have to be the one to have a best friend betray me? Why did / have to be the one dragged from home and carted halfway across the country to see relatives I only saw once a year? Why couldn't my parents tell everyone that turkey would taste just as good at our house as it would at theirs? And why couldn't Caspian have a damn cell phone number so I could reach him?
Clearly the entire world was plotting against me.
Unfortunately, my mood wasn't given any chance to improve once we reached the relatives' house. I got stuck sleeping on a lumpy couch, was pestered to no end by meddling fifth cousins, once removed, and was reminded again and again by several aunts why I needed to concentrate harder on my schoolwork "because college is no picnic to get in to." I was now depressed, angry, and insane from being cooped up with all that family.
Mercifully it came to an end, and we were soon moving on to the relatives in New Jersey. They, at least, had a spare bedroom and an extra DVD player. The time passed all too quickly there.
The final stop on our Thanksgiving journey was back to New York to see Uncle Bob. He lived only about an hour away from us and owned an ice cream shop that was less than twenty minutes from our house. Once I found out we were going to see him at the shop, I eagerly looked forward to that. Uncle Bob + an ice cream shop = all the free samples I could eat.
Oh yeah, I couldn't wait for that visit.
The drive didn't take very long, but I was pretty tired from the past week of relative-hopping, and I crashed on an old leather couch in Uncle Bob's office as soon as we got there. When I woke up, I could hear Mom and Dad talking to Uncle Bob out in the actual shop part of the ice cream shop, so I quietly made my way back to the supply room to help myself to some of those free samples. I knew Uncle Bob would let me have all the ice cream I wanted, but Mom, on the other hand, was a different story.
The supply room was dark and cold, but the freezers were surprisingly shiny and new. They were probably the only new thing around here. Uncle Bob had attempted to decorate most of the shop in a vintage 1950s decor, but it had ended up more old and drab than old and vintage.
Eleven samples later I couldn't eat any more ice cream, so I wandered back into Uncle Bob's office. A bunch of old pictures decorated the walls, and most of them had been signed by people who had stopped in at one time or another. I recognized a couple of celebrities, and two singers, but the rest I couldn't place. The picture frames were chipped and dusty, and looked like they should have been replaced several years ago.
I shook my head at the further signs of neglect as I continued my tour of the office, and I swore to myself that my shop would never look like his.
Once I reached the desk, I saw more evidence that upkeep was obviously not very high on Uncle Bob's "to do" list. Boxes were everywhere.
Each one was stuffed haphazardly with papers, receipts, and unopened envelopes. Wedged underneath the desk next to a chair was a huge file box marked DUE in black letters. It was overflowing too. A filing cabinet against the wall had one drawer halfway open, and upon further inspection, I found that it contained nothing but empty folders.
As I looked around the room, I realized that someone should really straighten up a little. An office couldn't stay this messy and still be functional. And if Uncle Bob wasn't functional, he could lose the shop. I didn't want that to happen. Plus, it was something to keep me occupied while Mom and Dad told him every single detail of every single thing that had happened since the last time we saw him. That was bound to take a while.
So I tossed my almost empty sample cup into the nearest trash can, vowed never again to try peanut butter pineapple ice cream, and got to work.
The first thing I did was get started on the desk, which was completely covered with a stack of mail about a foot high. Pretty much anywhere mail could be laid, or stacked, it was laid and stacked. And then laid and stacked some more. It was one giant mess. I got so involved with my project that I lost track of time and didn't stop again until I heard voices getting louder. When I realized they were calling for me, I raced out of the room to meet them.
Mom gave me a strange look as she asked if I was too busy to go get some lunch. I glanced down at my jeans, completely lost on what she meant, but then I saw a streak of dust running up one leg. I hurriedly brushed it off, trying to think of an explanation. "I was just… dusting some… pictures on the walls," I said weakly.
She must have bought the lame excuse, though, because she let it drop. Dad and Uncle Bob brought up the rear of our party, and we all headed out for some pizza.
The pizzeria we went to was practically empty, and the owner personally made and delivered the pies to our table. Uncle Bob was in the middle of telling us a story about the turkey he set on fire last Thanksgiving, when the little bell over the door jingled and in walked Ben.
I guess I should have been surprised to see him, but I wasn't. I tried not to make direct eye contact, and slouched down in my chair, but he saw me anyway. A second later the bell jingled again and in walked a familiar-looking girl. I figured that I probably went to school with her.
"Do not look over there," I whispered to everyone at the table. On cue, their heads all turned to the door. "I said don't look," Igroaned. "There are some kids I go to school with over there, and I don't want them to see me."
But it was too late.
"Hey, Abbey," yelled Ben. "Can we come sit with you guys?"
The girl he was with did not look very happy about his request, and I wasn't too happy with it either.
"Sure, honey," said Mom before I had a chance to say no. "We've already ordered some pizzas, so why don't you two kids come right over?"
Ben grinned and grabbed the girl's hand, hauling her to our table. I forced a smile and scooted my chair all the way over to the opposite end. They might be sharing our food, but that didn't mean I had to sit next to them.
Proclaiming the girl he was with to be Ginger,
Consoling myself with a slice of cheese pizza, I tried to hide my humiliation while Ginger stared at me with daggers in her eyes, and I pondered exactly how long this meal of shame would last.
As soon as we got back to Uncle Bob's place, Mom and Dad resumed their conversation and I hurried back to my project. Ihoped it would be enough to wipe the terrible memory of that pizza place from my brain.
I changed over all the calendars to the current month and straightened up a pile of magazines strewn across the coffee table next to the couch. The last thing I did was heave a giant stack of unopened mail onto the worn leather recliner that served as a desk chair.
By the time I was done, I was covered in more dirt and my back was killing me, but the office was starting to look great. Plopping down on the couch, I took my shoes off and leaned my head against the cushion. Professional cleaners would have charged an arm and a leg for what I had accomplished. It was a good thing I liked ice cream so much. Uncle Bob could just pay me in scoops.
I felt for the necklace I wore under my shirt, touched it for a moment, and thought about Caspian. What is he doing right now? Is he thinking of me? I closed my eyes and tried to rest, but thoughts of double mint chocolate chip and rainbow sherbet kept dancing through my head. Forget resting. It was time to go get my pay.
Slipping my shoes back on, I brushed my arms and legs to get all the dust off. Then I briskly clapped my palms together. Once all traces of dirt were removed, Mom shouldn't be giving me any more strange looks.