15. Ember #2
“But I heard a story once,” he says, lowering his voice.
The tenor deepening until his voice is almost gravelly.
I take a step toward him, drawn to move closer.
“In the 1800’s, there was a well on the property.
The well was said to have magical powers.
If you made a wish on the well, it would come true.
Everyone in town knew about it. Old and young alike would make the walk through the woods to the circular structure.
They would take a penny and throw it in, whispering their greatest desires into the void.
“When the Civil War raged, a local woman trudged through the woods, clasping a dull penny. Her love had gone off to war, and she hadn’t heard from him since.
With thoughts of their future life, she reached the well.
She prayed. She wished, and with a trembling hand, she held the penny over the well until it slipped through her fingers.
“‘Oh, wishing well. Oh, wishing well. Please bring back my beloved.’”
Devon swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. The look on his face has turned serious, gaze cutting. A shiver runs up my spine.
“Week after week, the townspeople saw her take the path to the outskirts of town, her fists clenching another coin, an offering to the well.
She wished and she wished. When the war ended, the young men from town started returning.
Some unscathed except from the mental scars of war.
Others still were missing limbs from cannon and musket fire.
“From the day they started to arrive, the young woman started going to the well every evening. Wishing, and wishing.”
The hairs on the back of my neck rise. The ballroom around us has faded, and it’s just me and Devon’s story. My stomach twisting at the heartache.
“Then one day, the men stopped coming back.
The war was long over. The family had heard nothing of her beloved, and still they saw her go to the well.
Except for one day, they saw her go for the very last time.
After a week, the townspeople got curious and asked what her final wish was.
She looked them in the eye, and said, ‘I asked that if he be gone, I be gone too. If he be dead, that I go where he is.’ She broke down, wailing, because the well did not give her the wish.
“Years passed and the young lady never married. Decades went by, and still, she never made the trek to the well again. She ended up an old lady, living alone in a cottage by the woods, when one day, the townspeople saw her slip into the woods again. Except, this time, they never saw her return. A few days came and went, and no one had seen her. They didn’t see her tend the garden, or get water.
Worried something had happened to the old woman, the townspeople got together to check on her.
When they walked into the house, they were bombarded with the smell of decayed flesh. Finally, she had gotten her wish.
I swallow, my throat suddenly dry, but he doesn’t stop there. His gaze shadows over, and suddenly, it’s darker in the ballroom than it was before.
“But that wasn’t all. After seeing her body, the townsfolk ran from the house.
The remains they found were not the remains of the freshly dead.
They were the remains of someone who had passed long ago.
The woman they’d seen walk into the woods a few days prior was her ghost, looking for her beloved once more. ”
Goosebumps spread up and down my arms, and I hug them to myself.
“Now, legend has it that those who wish for their loves to return see the reflection of the young woman in the water as beautiful and as young as the day she first made her wish. But the longer they see her, the image decays before their eyes. Twisting and aging. Her hair falls out, and then her bones turn dark and diseased. Her eyeballs roll inward until she is nothing but a rotting skeleton, never to have seen her love again.”
Devon’s shoulders rise and fall as if he just survived a workout. I catch every angle of his face, serious as it is. Fear creeps into my body and settles in my heart, but moreso, I feel the heartache of the woman.
“Is that really true?”
The corners of Devon’s lips turn up, breaking the spell. “Why would you think it wasn’t?”
I swat at him. “Devon, you really had me going.”
He playfully dodges my attempt and grabs my hand, tugging me closer. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I think I did.”
“Good, because it’s completely true. Well, a true local legend anyway.” He peers down, and I don’t know if he notices how close we are like I do, but he tilts his head, confusion flickering across his face.
I clear my throat. “You told that story so well, I think I know exactly who needs to tell it on the Tour.”
He lets go of my hand. “No, no.”
“Yes,” I cling to him. “You have to. You have no idea how good you were, and I’ll never be able to do it justice.
I’ll dress as the woman. You can make a small well that we can use as a prop.
I’ll act the scene out, but you need to tell it.
People will be shaking in their boots. Do a lot of people know that story? ”
I peer at him with so much hope. My oratory skills are lackluster at best. If he agrees to tell the story though, we’ll be the best stop in town. I’m sure of it.
“It’ll bring so many people by the manor to show them what we’ve done.”
“We?” he asks, just like my mother had echoed before.
“You get to take a good chunk of the credit for doing all the hard stuff. Please?”
His gaze traces all over my face, and I know I have him, even if he doesn’t already know it. There’s not much Devon Lachey won’t do for Sleepy Hollow Manor, and I’m beginning to realize that.