Page 44 of Manors & Mischief

“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.