Washington Irving’s series on George Washington was on one row; his other works, including “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow,” were on another.
She closed her eyes and tried once again to sleep. She wasn’t sure if she did or not. In her mind’s eye, she saw the forests of Tarrytown as Washington Irving had seen them in his day.
She saw the bridge that Ichabod Crane had needed to reach to escape the horseman.
A slow mist rose from the ground and swept around graves and she was running through it.
She had to get to the bridge, race over it....
There was someone ahead of her in the mist. She saw that it was Aidan. His arms were outstretched and he was waiting for her.
Then she heard the sound of hoof beats and the whinny of a horse—and some kind of thunder that made the earth tremble.
She turned back. There was a horseman. The Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow.
The horse reared in the passion of the hunt.
The headless horseman was hunting her.
She started to run, just as Ichabod Crane had run on his worn-out nag. The night seemed alive with the bright eyes of nocturnal creatures.
Owls hooted. The moon came out and hid again behind the clouds, and she realized the thunder she heard was her own heart.
Aidan was waiting....
She could see him just across the bridge, his arms outstretched.
But she could feel hot, fetid breath on the nape of her neck. The horseman was almost upon her.
She heard Aidan then, shouting to her, calling her name.
“Aidan!” She breathed in a desperate plea.
But the horseman was practically on top of her. She turned to scream but she couldn’t face him. It would be too horrible. Because she was terrified that she would see her own head on his shoulders.
She began to hear Rollo as if in a fog, barking wildly.
And then she woke up abruptly; someone was calling her name.
Aidan.
It was morning—and he had come for her.
11
Mo sprang out of bed and went racing down the stairs. Rollo was already at the door, wagging his tail madly. Mo threw open the door and called Aidan’s name. The sun was up, bright and high. She had evidently slept and slept deeply—and for several hours.
“Aidan!”
A moment later, he appeared from around the side of her cottage, relief clearly written on his face.
“I was about to break down the door,” he told her.
“I’m sorry. I was sleeping so soundly.” She supposed that was true enough; she didn’t mention the half sleeping, half waking dream she’d had. She suddenly noticed that he was dressed in jeans and a warm sweater and she was...
Standing on bare feet with her hair tousled and wearing a T-shirt emblazoned with a children’s cartoon character in a sleeping cap.
“You need to keep your phone with you. I was getting worried,” he said.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“About ten-thirty,” he told her.
“Wow! I slept longer than I realized. Come in. I can be ready in five minutes. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry. I’m just relieved you’re all right. I’ll make some coffee while you get ready.”
Mo was upstairs, in the shower, dressed and back downstairs in the five minutes she’d promised. Aidan was in the kitchen, holding a cup of coffee. Judging by his expression, he was trying to work out some deep puzzle.
She headed to the coffeepot. “At least it’s only about a twenty-minute drive from here.” He nodded absently.
“What is it?” she asked.
“There’s just something about this house,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“I felt like I was being watched. And when I turned to look down the hallway, I thought I saw a shadow. But I guess it’s nothing. Rollo’s been just fine.”
Mo looked down the hallway herself. She saw a sweep of skirts and smiled. “Candy,” she said.
“Candy?”
“She lives here. Exists here, I mean. She was a slave. This house wound up being used as a hospital during the Civil War, and they even cared for some Confederate prisoners. Candy was escaping the South and helping in the hospital. She fell in love with one of the Confederate officers who’d had been brought here—Colonel Daniel Parker. Daniel is around, too, but Candy is more curious.”
He was staring at her again, just staring at her.
He’d asked her to try to speak with a dead man. And now they were about to go and look for a ghost—at his request. He couldn’t think she was...
Weird. Different. Cursed. To be avoided.
“Oh,” he said simply. “Should we go?”
“Rollo, come on,” she called, finishing her coffee and collecting the dog’s leash and service vest. “We’re going on an outing.”
Rollo bounded over to her. They were quickly on the road, and for a while, they drove in silence—but this time their silence wasn’t awkward.