My breathing calms at the sight of his familiar and trusted face. “No, it’s my fault. I allowed myself to be wound up by a scary story.”
He gives me a gentle smile. “Our imagination thrives in the darkness.”
“It does,” I agree.
From somewhere aloft, a whispering disrupts the quiet night.What was that?Looking around, I suppress a shudder. “Would you mind escorting me home, Father ? I live just a few houses down. I think. This fog is so thick.”
In a move that’s oddly uncharacteristic of our Reverend, he hesitates. His posture is tense as he shifts on his feet. “Of course.”
We move through the fog in silence. I was only one house away after all. I turn from my door when I finally reach it, intending to thank Reverend Statton for his help. It’s the first time I’ve gotten a proper look at him this evening. His clothing is stained. Hands dark, fingernails caked with dirt. A layer of sweat shines across his face and his usually neat brown hair is mussed. He clutches a parcel beneath one arm.
“Are you well, Father?”
“Quite. Goodnight, Emeline. I’ll see you at service.” His hasty retreat leaves me feeling even more curious.
Reverend Statton performed the wedding ceremony. I don’t remember seeing him at the party that followed. Where has he been all these hours? He seemed to come from the direction of the woods. It’s a little late for gardening, and everyone knows not to venture into the forest alone after dark. What business would he have, and why is he covered in dirt in the middle of the night?
And what was he carrying?
The answers I seek don’t come to me. Perhaps I’ll ask him at church. I shake my head.What has gotten into you, Emeline? It is not my place to question Reverend Statton.
Crawling beneath my covers, I let dreams overtake my thoughts. The slightest sound outside my window has my heart rate spiking.
“Monsters aren’t real,” I remind myself, tucking my covers tightly around me.
Even if they were, they surely wouldn’t choose to carry out their wicked deeds in our small town. Would they?
Chapter Two
Emeline
Two months later
The signs of Samhain fill the streets of Sleepy Hollow. We’re a little over a week away from my favorite holiday. Pumpkins perch on every porch, awning, and gate from the town line to the Blackwater Mansion. We grow some of the largest and most colorful varietals here.
Shop fronts spill steady streams of caramel and candied scents. Dipped apples and pumpkin cakes line the bakeries’ festive displays. I soak it all in, strolling through town, bathing in the crisp autumn air and steady rain of red and orange leaves.
Our little town thrives this time of year. Sleepy Hollow is known for its bounty of freshly grown fall produce. We have fields and fields of pumpkins. Giant and orange, tiny and white, squatty and covered in deep green warts, even some that are pink.
Our apple orchards are renowned as well. Farmers here prune the trees such that they grow low and wide, making most of the apples readily available and within arm’s reach. Walking through the fragrant apple trees is like disappearing beneath the sugar-sweet canopy of a storybook land. The branches brush up against one another, blotting out the sun and creating a secret world beneath the treetops.
This late in the season, many of the fruits have fallen, and the trees remain heavy with the last round of fruit. If you want the sweetest of the apples, boots covered in rotten mush is the late-autumn tradeoff. I picked an entire bag full of tart green apples this morning. They’re not as good for eating, but they’re great for baking.
The strap of my satchel digs into my shoulder with the weight of the fruit. I should have dropped these off at home first.
I spot Estie and Fran approaching from across the square.
Estie finishes braiding her strawberry-blond hair and flips it over her shoulder. “Sorry we’re late.”
“Where’s Alesia?” I ask.
They exchange a look. “Oh, you know,” Estie says. “She’s assisting Reverend Statton again today.”
Again? I’ve barely seen her in the last few weeks. “What does she help him with? Fran, you’ve been asked to help before. What is it you do?”
There have been a great many shifts in our small town and its routine in the past couple of months. Reverend Statton announced that he had a religious revelation, but did not expand further. Since then, he’s taken to bringing the townsfolk, or maybe just the town’s girls, in as assistants to help with his religious duties. I’ve never been invited to his study. A bit of envy hooks beneath my friendly smile.
Fran’s dark bangs fall across her eyes as her gaze shifts to the ground. Her voice is unusually quiet. “The Lord’s work, ofcourse. Reverend Statton says it’s to be kept between us, him, and God.”
