16. Devon
DEVON
All those days in drama class and nights performing plays for the local theater have really paid off because from the first tour, Sleepy Hollow Manor is a hit.
Ember, with her design skills, decorated the porch half like a forest with a well, and the other like a sitting room in a cottage.
A gown from the times swishes across the floor as she walks.
For myself, she rented me a Civil War era military uniform as I tell the story from the side, watching beautiful Ember wait until the last moment to turn her other side to the audience.
She hits a hidden button for an eerie green spotlight, illuminating decayed skull makeup and black cobwebs draped across half her gown.
Gasps continue to ricochet through each group at the final reveal.
The tip jar I made just before the first group showed up is nearly full.
Ember hesitated at first, but I told her it was customary to replace the monies spent for the costumes and our time.
I even put a note on it that all the proceeds would go directly into rehabbing Sleepy Hollow Manor.
I sat the jar next to the pamphlets Ember had printed for the upcoming events here: the Children’s Haunted House and the end-of-year Ball.
The groups pepper us with questions about the story. I have no doubt most of the elder residents have heard the tale, but the kids haven’t, and definitely not the tourists who mix with each group.
When the host turns on the lantern again, he rallies his group and tells them they must move on to the next house. I wait until they’re out of earshot until I say, “I’d like to see how they measure up to us.”
Ember laughs. “This is so much fun.”
She keeps echoing that statement. From the first group until now, I can see the way she’s settled in. Her movements becoming more laid back as the initial nerves rescinded. “You made a really good dead person.”
“Ha. Ha.”
I nod toward the retreating group. “You see that guy there?”
She raises to her tiptoes and stretches out over the railing. “The one with the weird hat on?”
“Yep. He’s from Heritage, probably here scoping out the competition.”
She makes a sound of protest. My mother has already regaled her with stories about how we have to beat Heritage in a competition that’s really only in my mother’s own mind.
I think Ember is just as into it though.
“The nerve.” She turns toward me immediately.
“I’d like to see them put on a show like this!
” She holds up her hand like she’s waiting for a high five.
To mess with her, I just stand there until she grabs my hand and slaps it against hers.
Despite the decayed makeup on half of her face, Ember is a sight to be seen.
She wears the gown well, like she stepped right out of the nineteenth century.
She even made a deal with the costume designer.
To get a discounted price, she told the woman she would advertise her business to the people on the Tour.
I told her to expect at least a hundred people, but from what I’ve seen so far, every group has had fifteen to twenty, and we still have a few left.
As promised, a little yard sign with the costume designer’s business sits just in front of the bushes below.
“I don’t think I could’ve asked for this night to have gone any better.”
“And we still have tomorrow.”
“And we still have tomorrow,” she repeats. Her gaze drifts toward the tip jar. “I don’t want you to think I’m all about the money, but I can’t wait to see how much is in there. Did you notice that almost every single family from the last group dropped a tip in?”
“I did.”
She bites her lip, but I remind her not to ruin her makeup. She swipes her finger across her front teeth and gives me a huge grin. Part of her face is perfect as usual, and with the other done up, the smile makes her look evil. “It’s all due to you, you know?”
“What’s due to me? I mean, I’ll probably agree, I just want to know what I should be taking credit for.”
“How well this is going.” She peers out over the railing, her face turned up toward the stars. Lucky for me, I’m getting her normal face. She looks like an angel with her hair on top of her head, single curls poking out of a fancy twist she did with her hair.
I shake my head. “I don’t think you understand what you’ve done. The backdrops? The woods here, and the sitting area here. You’re the one who took the story and gave it a base. If I was just standing up here talking, it wouldn’t have the same impact.”
She shrugs. “I hope I’m contributing, but I never would’ve been able to do the story justice so thank you. I’m so happy you agreed to do this with me.”
“I seem to remember not really being given an option not to.”
“Except you’re a strong-willed man so if you really didn’t want to do it, you would’ve told me no.”
She’s got me there. From the way I was acting before, she probably expected me to say no, but my mother was right.
Being involved with the goings on of Sleepy Hollow Manor is so much better than just watching everything from the outside.
I can almost picture my grandpa out in the grass listening to the story.
“I was happy to. I have a lot of fond memories of the manor.”
My brain pushes me to tell her about the well because I’m not sure she believes it’s even real, but I hesitate.
What if she laughs? What if she doesn’t see it the way I do?
I’ve built up this landmark in my head like it’s the very being of Harvest Falls.
It’s one of—if not the sole reason—that I even wanted the manor because the well is on Manor property.
The manor is a draw for me, too, but the well is an even bigger one.
From the very first time my grandfather walked me to the stone wishing well in the middle of the trees, I could almost feel its magic.
Or at least, my childlike mind had. He gave me a quarter.
I squeezed it in my tiny grip and shut my eyes.
He told me, “Devon, what’s the very thing you want most in the world? ”
I was only eight at the time, but back then, I couldn’t imagine being anything other than a professional hockey player.
Hockey was my life. It was ice rinks on weekends, and on weekdays in the winter, I’d be at the Harvest Falls pond with a bunch of kids my age.
In the summer, I would be on rollerblades all over town, pretending I was on the ice. I didn’t want anything more.
He’d said, “Don’t tell me, tell the well.”
So I thought of every aspect of hockey. How the cool air would hit my cheeks as I skated down the ice, but on the flip side, how I would be sweating in my jersey underneath all the pads.
The exhilaration of scoring a goal. The utter sadness of defeat.
The way my body and my mind craved the competition.
“When you’re done, drop the coin into the well.”
I stared at the quarter, shiny, almost like it was brand new, wondering if this coin that couldn’t even buy me a whole candy bar would be enough to make me a pro hockey player, but deciding that believing it could was a heck of a lot better than believing it wouldn’t, so I dropped it into the well.
I heard it hit the water with a sound that echoed back up to us, and then after that day, I practically forgot about it.
I went on with practice and made the traveling team.
I was good enough to play college hockey, and I only played a couple of years before people started reaching out about going pro.
I didn’t think about that well again until it was draft day.
Grandpa was gone by then, but in some weird way, it felt like he was still here with me because he’d taken me to that well, and he’d told me to make a wish.
Suddenly, I wasn’t nervous anymore. The nerves slid off me like melting ice, and from that moment on, I was sure my name was going to get called.
When it did, I closed my eyes, and I thanked grandpa, and I thanked the well, and I told myself that I wouldn’t wish for anything again unless I really needed it.
A few years later, I found myself back at the well, but that’s a completely different story.
“Here they come,” Ember says, pointing down the road to the single lantern light coming up the other side of the street. From catching bits and pieces here and there from past groups, the tour guides tell everyone the history of Sleepy Hollow Manor before they get here.
I reach out for Ember’s hand, enclosing mine over hers.
She peers at our hands and then at me, staring at me through thick lashes that she’s made even longer with makeup.
I don’t know how to tell her that I’m happy I’m even involved with anything that has to do with the manor.
It’s like I’ve done a one eighty from the moment she got here.
Instead of thinking how much I was losing by not being the one to turn Sleepy Hollow Manor around, it’s been the exact opposite.
I didn’t have the means to start any of this, but she did, and she brought me along for the ride.
She clears her throat, slyly pulling her hand away from mine before I can say anything.
There’s been so many missed opportunities for me to say anything, but I keep wasting them.
I can’t find the words, or I just look at her and get lost, worried that what I’ll say will scare her off or worse. Maybe even work out?
Now’s not the time to worry about it though because the group crosses the street and the two of us retreat to our positions for our next show.
Halfway through, I notice Trav in the audience, and his knowing smirk almost messes me up.
Instead, I put even more flare in the story because he’s heard the tale almost as much as I have.
If I can spook him, I know I’ve done my job.
I move from speaking out at the crowd to watching Ember glide across the porch, walking through the “forest” and dropping a penny in the well.
I wonder if she’s ever made a wish this whole time, and if she did, I bet I know what it would be.
It would be about making the manor come alive again.
About giving it the best it deserves, which she’s already doing.
The finale is coming up, and in the dark, Ember slips across the porch like a spirit, landing in the sitting room backdrop. Hidden in shadow, no one can see the makeup yet, but when I say the words “her ghost,” she presses the button and the spotlight comes on at the same time I raise my voice.
A few people jump, even Trav. I beam at him as I finish up and then Ember gets to her feet as we take a bow. In the crowd, Trav gives me a thumbs up, and I smirk as if to tell him I know how good we’re doing.
We take a few questions, and Ember promotes the upcoming activities at the manor before the group leaves for the next stop. Trav lingers behind, so I head down the stairs to say hi.
“Hey, come out to the pub afterward. We’re having some specials for anyone who can show their ticket to the Tour. You, too, Ember.”
“That might be nice,” she says. “Though it’ll take me forever to get out of this dress.”
“Come with it on,” Trav insists. “People will love it. It’ll be like a walking billboard for the manor.” He peers at me. “And I have to get a picture of you with that on.” He quickly turns and there’s a bright light that shines for an instant as he takes my picture.
“No fair, asshole.”
Trav laughs and starts to jog toward the group who’s now halfway down the block. “See you two later. First drink is on me for the spookiest stop on tour.”
“Did you hear that?” Ember asks. She’s leaning over the railing with a huge smile on her face. “Spookiest stop on the Tour.”
“Well, he hasn’t been to all of them yet.”
She makes a sound of dissent. “You have little faith in us.”
On the contrary, I have a lot of faith in us.
I take the stairs two at a time and end up on the porch with her again.
We have one more tour that’ll be by in about ten minutes.
“So, are you up for an evening at the pub…with me?” I tack on because I want her to know this won’t just be an outing with friends.
I have other ideas in mind for the two of us.
“With you? Like a…”
The words get caught in my throat. I want to verify that it’ll be like a date. Or like two people who go somewhere together when they want to get to know one another better, but my voice won’t say the words. I’ve never had this much trouble with a woman before. I’ve never had to work this hard.
“I’ll go,” she finally says. Relief spreads through me, and then she grabs the cell phone that’s hidden in the corner of the porch and starts to text. “Just asking Bea if she wants to meet us there. I’ll be hungry, too,” she says offhandedly. “I’ve worked up an appetite with my bad acting.”
I watch her fingers fly over the screen with a knot in my stomach. It’s not that I mind Bea going. I like her, always have, but this certainly isn’t the night I was envisioning.
I let out a breath, cursing myself. It might be the night Ember needs though. She should get out and meet more people from the town. Socialize and all that. “Sounds good,” I say.
I don’t know if she catches something in my voice, but she peers out the corner of her eye at me, her fingers still moving swiftly. I give her a genuine smile, and she goes back to what she’s doing.
There will be other times, I tell myself. Someday, I’ll find my balls again and make sure to ask her out like a real man without someone like my mom, Trav, or Bea trying to push us together.
What a novel idea.