Chapter 15 Ivy
IVY
The midday sun warmed the festival square as Ivy settled into her usual spot near the fountain, guitar case open for tips and a small hand-lettered sign propped against it advertising music lessons.
The morning rain had left everything fresh and clean, and the cobblestones steamed gently in the autumn light.
She'd barely played three chords when Martha from the art booth approached with a steaming cup.
"Coffee," Martha said, setting it beside Ivy's guitar case. "Thought you might need it after last night's performance."
"Thank you. That's very kind."
"Nonsense. Good music deserves good coffee." Martha gestured toward the lesson sign. "My granddaughter saw this. She's been pestering me for months about learning guitar."
"How old is she?"
"Twelve. Full of energy and absolutely convinced she's going to be the next big thing." Martha's smile was fond. "Think you could handle that level of enthusiasm?"
"I think so. What's her experience level?"
"She can strum a few chords, but nothing formal. She's been teaching herself from videos on her phone."
Ivy nodded, already mentally adjusting lesson plans for a determined preteen. "I could work with that. Would she be interested in a trial lesson to see if we're a good fit?"
"I think she'd love that. What do you charge?"
"Ten dollars for a half hour, fifteen for a full hour. Trial lesson is free."
"Very reasonable. I'll talk to her mother and get back to you."
As Martha walked away, Ivy began playing again, her fingers finding a cheerful melody that seemed to match the market day bustle around her. Within minutes, a small crowd had gathered, some sitting on nearby benches, others pausing in their shopping to listen.
"That's beautiful," said a young woman pushing a stroller. "Do you know any lullabies? My daughter loves music."
Ivy transitioned into a gentle tune her grandmother had sung to her. The baby in the stroller gurgled happily, reaching chubby hands toward the sound.
"She likes you," the mother said with a smile. "I'm Sarah, by the way. I saw your lesson sign. Would you consider teaching adults? I've always wanted to learn."
"Absolutely. Same rates apply."
"Wonderful. I'll stop by when you're done here to discuss times."
The morning continued like that, a steady stream of people stopping to listen, chat, and inquire about lessons. Ivy found herself agreeing to teach everyone from Martha's granddaughter to an elderly man who wanted to finally learn the folk songs his father had hummed.
"Excuse me, miss?"
Ivy looked up to find a middle-aged man with a camera hanging around his neck and a notepad in his hand. "I'm Tom Brewster from the Hollow Oak Gazette. Mind if I ask you a few questions?"
"What kind of questions?"
"Nothing invasive. Just about your music, how you ended up here, what you think of Hollow Oak." Tom's smile was warm and professional. "The town's been buzzing about your performances. People are curious."
"I suppose that's fair."
"Great. First question: what brought you to our little corner of nowhere?"
Ivy's fingers continued moving on the guitar strings as she considered her answer. "I was traveling through and heard about the festival. Decided to stop and see what Hollow Oak had to offer."
"And what did you find?"
"A community that values music. People who listen with their hearts, not just their ears."
Tom scribbled notes as she spoke. "You're offering lessons. Planning to stay for a while?"
"For now. I like what I've found here."
"Can I get a photo? Nothing formal, just you playing."
Ivy nodded, and Tom raised his camera just as a particularly melodic phrase made her laugh with delight. The shutter clicked, capturing the moment of pure joy.
"Perfect," Tom said, checking the display. "One last question: any message for potential students or people thinking about coming to hear you perform?"
"Music is meant to be shared. Whether you're learning your first chord or writing your hundredth song, there's always room to grow together."
"Beautiful. Thank you for your time."
As Tom walked away, Ivy realized she'd spoken about staying in Hollow Oak like it was a foregone conclusion. When did that happen? When did this temporary stop become something that felt like a choice rather than a necessity?
"Deep thoughts?"
She looked up to find a woman watching her with warm brown eyes and ebony curls that cascaded over her shoulders. There was something ethereal about her, an aura that suggested she saw more than most people.
"Just wondering when I started thinking about staying instead of leaving."
"Ah. That's the Hollow Oak effect." The woman settled onto a nearby bench. "I'm Sonya, by the way. Moira's cousin."
"Ivy. Nice to meet you."
"The feeling's mutual. I've been hearing wonderful things about your music." Sonya's expression grew thoughtful. "You know, this town has a way of showing people what they didn't know they were looking for."
"And what's that?"
"Home. Real home, not just a place to sleep.
" Sonya gestured toward the square, where people moved with the easy familiarity of long belonging.
"Most folks who find their way here through the Veil do so because they need something they can't name.
Safety, acceptance, a chance to be who they really are. "
The observation hit closer to home than Ivy was comfortable with. "And if someone's not ready for that?"
"Then they leave. The Veil doesn't keep anyone prisoner." Sonya's smile was gentle but knowing, as if she understood things others couldn't see. "But in my experience, once someone starts putting down roots, even small ones, it means part of them has already decided to stay."
After Sonya left, Ivy played for another hour, her tip jar gradually filling with coins and small bills. The sense of community acceptance was both warming and terrifying. These people were welcoming her not just as entertainment, but as a potential neighbor, teacher, friend.
When was the last time anyone had looked at her and seen possibility instead of profit?
As the lunch crowd began to disperse, Ivy packed up her guitar and counted her earnings. Enough for supplies, maybe a few small luxuries. More importantly, she had four people definitely interested in lessons and three more who wanted to think about it.
The bulletin board outside the post office caught her eye as she walked past, and she paused to study the community announcements. Piano recital on Saturday. Book club meeting Tuesday. Volunteers needed for the harvest festival planning committee.
All the small details of a life lived in one place, with people who knew your name and cared about your contributions.
The post office was quiet, just the elderly clerk sorting mail behind the counter. Ivy approached with the letter she'd written the night before, after hours of careful consideration.
"Need a stamp for that?" the clerk asked.
"Please. Just regular mail."
As the stamp was affixed and the letter dropped into the outgoing bin, Ivy felt a familiar mixture of hope and fear.
The letter contained no return address, no way for anyone to trace it back to Hollow Oak.
Just a few careful lines to let someone know she was alive and safe, without revealing where safe happened to be.
Outside the post office, she stood for a moment looking at the town square with its festival preparations and friendly faces. The belonging she felt here scared her more than any empty highway ever had.
Because highways were temporary. Belonging meant staying. And staying meant the possibility of being found.
But as she watched a group of children chase each other around the fountain while their parents chatted nearby, Ivy found herself thinking that maybe being found wouldn't be the worst thing that could happen.