Cedar Hollow

by Tracey Smith

  “It’s only for one night.” She told herself as she dragged the desk chair over to the door and braced it under the handle.

  Cassidy woke to wonderful smells that overwhelmed her senses and momentarily she was transported back in time, to a time when her mother would bake blueberry muffins for breakfast on Sunday mornings. A time when life was uncomplicated, and her biggest concern was what to wear to school that day, or who to go to the homecoming dance with.

  As she floated in that limbo between sleep and wakefulness for the briefest moment she was fifteen again, without a care in the world. Resentfully she allowed her eyes to slip open, wishing she could hold on to that feeling just a little bit longer.

  Bright sunlight slipped through the crack in the heavy blue curtains drawing her gaze and all too quickly Cassidy remembered where and when she was. Shaking off the grief that came with the morning she jumped out of bed and crossed to the window, pulling the heavy curtains wide open and accepting the sunshine. She was stunned by the view.

  From this vantage point high on the hill she had a full view of the ocean and the bay down below. Rolling hills covered in dense pine forests surrounded her and the sky was a cerulean blue with perfect little white puffs of clouds along the horizon.

  She admired the view until the wonderful smells wafting from downstairs finally tempted her away from the window. She quickly dressed in a charcoal grey pencil skirt and a white buttoned blouse. She slipped on her favorite pair of silver stilettos which made her about six inches taller and always made her feel like she could take on anything. She wished she had an iron as she attempted to smooth out the wrinkles in her clothes. She hadn’t bothered to unpack her bag, since she didn’t plan on staying more than one night.

  She ran a brush through her long blonde locks and then pulled them up tight into a high bun on the crown of her head. She efficiently applied her make-up and brushed her teeth. Taking one last look at her reflection in the round mirror above the sink, she nodded her approval. Yesterday she had tried for friendly, today she was all business.

  She didn’t want to be here anymore than Mr. Ben Riley apparently wanted her to be. Today she was going to sign whatever needed to be signed and then she was going back home to Chicago.

  She moved the desk chair from under the door handle and laughed at her anxiety from the night before. She’d never been a superstitious person, definitely not easily spooked. She wasn’t sure what had gotten under her skin last night.

  The natural light flooding in from the large window at the end of the hallway reflected off the pale pine wood floors, giving the hallway the appearance of practically glowing. As Cassidy made her way down the hallway to the stairs she couldn’t believe this was the same house that had felt so dark and desolate last night. As she passed under the staircase leading up to the third floor she felt a chill, but she quickly dismissed it and continued on downstairs.

  The first floor was furnished in darker woods. The pine wood floors were stained a deep amber, as was the heavy wooden furniture. Cassidy glanced into the room to the left of the staircase and found that it was filled with large pieces of furniture that were covered in heavy drop cloths, the drapes were pulled on all the windows leaving the room in shadows. She ventured farther into the entryway, examining the antique grandfather clock that stood just to the left of the large heavy front door. The right wing had a matching dark room of shadowed furniture hidden beneath heavy cloths.

  Somehow all the bright cheeriness that had greeted her upstairs had evaporated. This house had such an overwhelming effect on a person’s sense of well-being. It was unnerving.

  Cassidy turned from the front door and saw bright light filtering through the gloom just beyond the stairs. She fled toward the light, once again feeling as if the darkness was suffocating. She emerged into a brightly lit kitchen.

  She took a moment to adjust to the light as she blinked and looked around the kitchen, taking in the white countertops and bright yellow walls. A middle-aged woman turned from the stove holding a tray of freshly baked blueberry muffins.

  “Good morning, dear.” The woman said sweetly as she carried the tray to the small round kitchen table. “Would you like a muffin?”

  Cassidy stared at the tray of large blueberry muffins, the kind with the crumbles on top just like her mom used to make. For a moment she was reminded of a happier time. She smiled at the memory.

  “I’d love one.” Cassidy agreed eagerly.

  “Please have a seat. My name is Lucy Owens, I’m the cook and housekeeper here at Miller’s.” She smiled proudly.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Owens.” Cassidy said as she began to nibble on her muffin.

  “Likewise, I’m just happy to have someone else to cook for. It gets kind of lonely around here in the off-season.” The older woman smiled kindly down at her and Cassidy was relieved to know that not everyone in this little town hated her.

  “How long have you worked here?” Cassidy asked conversationally as she enjoyed her muffin. Cassidy estimated Mrs. Owens to be in her sixties, she appeared strong and sturdy, but her graying hair and lined face betrayed her age.

  “Oh let’s see…” She pondered as she poured Cassidy a glass of orange juice. “Nearly forty years now. Mr. Owens and I came to work for Mr. Miller just after we married. My Harold was the grounds keeper here. Of course Ben takes care of all that now.” Mrs. Owens smiled fondly when she mentioned Ben, the way a grandmother might smile when speaking of her grandchildren. Cassidy’s interest was piqued. Last night he had seemed like a simply awful man. Perhaps this nice old woman could shed a little light on why he was so angry.

  “How long has Ben worked here?” Cassidy asked casually, concentrating on her muffin and trying to seem disinterested.

  “Quite a few years now.” Mrs. Owens answered vaguely as she moved from the table and busied herself with wiping down the counters. Apparently she wasn’t going to be the source of information that Cassidy had been hoping for.

  Just then, as if on cue, Ben Riley sauntered into the kitchen through the back door.

  “Speak of the devil.” Cassidy muttered under her breath.

  “We try not to do that around here.” Ben retorted dryly. Mrs. Owens giggled and the childlike sound was strange coming from someone her age. It made Cassidy a little uncomfortable as if she wasn’t getting some sort of inside joke.

  Despite his comment Ben had not looked over at Cassidy which gave her the freedom to ogle unobserved. He wore a faded pair of blue jeans, work boots, and a plain blue t-shirt that was pulled tight across his broad shoulders. His unruly brown hair was haphazardly brushed away from his eyes, and a light stubble covered his chin shadowing the planes and angles of his face. He looked rugged and untamed, dangerous. Cassidy couldn’t take her eyes off him.

  He casually leaned against the counter next to Mrs. Owens as she studiously cleaned the already spotless countertops.

  “Good morning, Lucy.” He said kindly.

  “You’re tracking dirt on my floor.” She admonished with disapproval.

  “It’s the off-season, Lucy, without me to clean up after you’d be bored senseless.” He teased with a mischievous smile playing across his lips. Then he finally glanced over to the table and saw Cassidy watching him. Immediately the smile vanished.

  “You don’t have to cook for her you know.” He said to Mrs. Owens, while glaring at Cassidy. “She’s not a paying customer.”

  Cassidy felt awkward and off balance. She’d had no idea someone could be so attractive and repulsive all at the same time.

  “You’re right, she’s not a paying customer. She’s the owner.” Mrs. Owens emphasized, sounding every bit the scolding grandmother.

  “Not yet, she isn’t.” Ben grumbled still glaring at Cassidy resentfully as he leaned against the counter.

  “Look I’m not trying to take over.” Cassidy assured them both. “I didn’t ask for any of this. I just got a call that I’d inherited this property and for some reason I h
ad to be here in person to sign the paperwork. That’s all I’m trying to do. I’ll sign whatever papers are needed and then you can buy the land from me. I don’t want it.”

  “Oh how generous of you.” Ben sneered. “You’ll allow us to buy our home from you? And what if we can’t afford it? Will you kick us out to sell the place to the highest bidder?” The vehemence in his words was staggering. This man truly hated her.

  “Ben.” Mrs. Owens whispered, placing her hand on his arm to calm him.

  Cassidy wasn’t sure what to say. What did he expect her to do? It dawned on her that this property had no mortgage. He had been living here rent free, apparently with his own personal cook and housekeeper. He’d been living the easy life up here on the hill, only having to dust off the furniture and fill the hot water tanks during the “on-season” whenever that was. Cassidy had had no idea the middle of summer could be considered an “off-season”.

  Well maybe it was time for Mr. Riley to grow up and realize not everything in life is quite this easy. Cassidy was not going to be made to feel guilty just because he was going to have to step up and either buy this place or move on. She wasn’t kicking him out, she was giving him a choice.

  “What you decide to do is of little consequence to me, Mr. Riley.” Cassidy said, putting her game face on. “The fact of the matter is I’m here to handle my business and that’s exactly what I intend to do, with or without your approval of how I go about it. I have a meeting in town with Mr. Woodard. I better be on my way.” Cassidy stood and sashayed out of the kitchen. She could feel Ben’s burning green eyes follow her out of the room.

  Chapter Three

  As Cassidy drove into Cedar Hollow she admired the simplicity that this little town enjoyed. Two young boys rode their bikes past her as she pulled onto Main Street, and she marveled that there was still a place where children could ride their bikes unsupervised. Growing up in Florida, Cassidy’s mother had never let her out of her sight.

  She noted two elderly gentlemen sitting at a wooden table playing checkers in front of the hardware store. She didn’t realize people actually did that; she’d only before seen it in movies.

  Across the street a mother and her teenage daughter emerged from the beauty parlor each looking freshly groomed as they walked up the street laughing and talking. The sight made Cassidy long for happier times when she used to share moments like that with her own mother. It also made Cassidy wonder what it would have been like to grow up in this little town.

  For a moment she felt a twinge of guilt at having that thought. The St. Claire’s were her parents. They had loved her and raised her and had given her everything she could have ever wanted. It wasn’t until they were taken from her so suddenly that she had ever even wondered what her biological family was like.

  She had always known she was adopted, since she was old enough to understand, but she had never felt anything but lucky for having the wonderful parents that she’d been blessed with. She had never longed for the family she hadn’t known. The family that hadn’t wanted her.

  Even now she wasn’t entirely sure what had inspired her to search for them after all these years. When she had put any thought to it she just assumed that her biological mother had been young and single, a teenager perhaps, who had unexpectedly found herself in a compromising position. That explanation made the most sense.

  When she actually began her search a few months ago she was surprised to find that her biological parents were in fact married and that they had both died in a fire five years after she’d been born, long after she’d been given up for adoption. This revelation left too many questions in her mind. If they were a young married couple, why didn’t they want their baby? Why didn’t they want her? And why had they driven hundreds of miles to place her up for adoption in another state. Were they so afraid of being found if she was kept too close?

  Cassidy was rescued from her sad reverie when she realized that she’d arrived at her destination. The law office was simply a converted single story house located on Main Street just beyond the commercial businesses. The only thing identifying it from the other houses on the street was the sign hung in the front yard that simply read WOODARD LAW in hand painted white letters.

  Cassidy pulled into the driveway and stepped out of her car smoothing her hands over her skirt. A young mother pushing a stroller passed by and waved at Cassidy smiling. Cassidy smiled and waved back wondering if perhaps she’d misjudged the people of this town based on her first uncomfortable encounter in the diner.

  Cassidy walked up onto the wooden porch and hesitated at the door, although she knew this was a place of business she felt awkward simply opening the door and walking inside. It felt like invading someone’s home. She was so used to the sterile professional buildings of downtown Chicago.

  Cassidy bolstered her courage, secured her professional demeanor and opened the door. She walked into the small living room that had been converted into a waiting area with vinyl chairs lining the walls and functional multi-colored carpeting covering the floor. A desk was set up against the far wall and a plump, red-haired woman sat at the desk reading a gossip magazine. Her pale red hair was piled loosely into a granny-bun and she twirled a loose strand absently around her finger absorbed in her magazine.

  When she saw Cassidy enter she quickly stashed the magazine and sat up straighter in her chair, organizing some papers on her desk in an attempt to look occupied. Cassidy hid her smile as she approached the desk.

  “My name is Cassidy St. Claire, I have an appointment with Mr. Woodard.” Cassidy informed her.

  “Yes, Miss St. Claire, we’ve been expecting you.” The receptionist tried to affect the same formal tone that Cassidy had used. “Please have a seat while I see if Mr. Woodard is available.” She gestured to the chairs along the wall and Cassidy nodded as she took a seat.

  The receptionist hurriedly rose from her desk and hustled down a short hallway. Cassidy noticed the small coffee table in the center of the room was covered with various editions of the same tabloid that she’d seen the woman reading when she entered. She picked one up glancing over the glossy cover and reading the headlines. She could hear the woman’s hushed voice echoing down the hall.

  “The Miller girl is here.” She whispered loudly. Cassidy started at the name. She’d never been called that before. She was well aware that her biological family’s name was Miller, but it still felt strange to hear herself referred to that way. A chill ran up her spine.

  She heard the heavy-set receptionist hurrying back down the hallway, but she halted abruptly when she came into view, slowing her walk to a more casual pace.

  “Mr. Woodard will see you now.” She gestured professionally up the hall.

  “Thank you.” Cassidy smiled warmly as she stood and walked into the short hallway, there were only two doors in the hall. She chose the one that was open.

  Mr. Woodard sat at his large mahogany desk with a wall of accolades behind him, surrounded by bookshelves packed full of thick volumes. He was middle-aged and balding, with a round ruddy face and a kind smile.

  “Good afternoon, Miss St. Claire, please have a seat.” He gestured to one of the wingback chairs positioned in front of his desk.

  Cassidy sighed a breath of relief that he’d used her real name. She wasn’t sure why being called “the Miller girl” had shaken her so badly, but she hadn’t liked it.

  “Thank you, Mr. Woodard, it’s a pleasure finally meeting you in person.” Cassidy said politely as she took her seat.

  “I hope you are enjoying our little town?” Mr. Woodard smiled.

  “It’s a lovely town.” Cassidy agreed. “Although I must admit I’m a little confused why I needed to sign the acquisition papers in person.”

  “Yes well, your uncle…” Mr. Woodard hesitated as if trying to find the right words. “He was a very particular man. He was very specific in the wording of his will. He required any living relatives to appear in person in order to receive the inheritance.”


  “Yes, Sir, I understand.” Cassidy agreed reasonably. “Well, here I am. Where do I sign?”

  “Unfortunately, it’s not quite that simple.” Mr. Woodard hedged, shuffling some paperwork on his desk and looking uncomfortable. Cassidy felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, she had a hunch she wasn’t going to like this next caveat.

  “How exactly ‘un-simple’ is it, Mr. Woodard?” Cassidy asked calmly.

  “Your uncle required that the property only be passed on to a blood relative of the Miller family line. As you are aware by now, you are the last living relative.”

  The minor has no other family? Haunting words from the past came unbidden into Cassidy’s mind, but she pushed them away.

  “Yes, Sir, I am aware.” Cassidy agreed, wishing the man would just get to the point.

  “He also required that the descendent inheriting the property must live on the premises for thirty consecutive days before the deed can be relinquished.” Mr. Woodard finally dropped the bomb, it was worse than Cassidy thought.

  “Live on the premises?” Cassidy repeated incredulously.

  “Yes, Ma’am, before you can take control of the property you are required to maintain residence for thirty consecutive days. I’m afraid the will is quite specific.” Mr. Woodard explained apologetically.

  “What if I refuse? What if I don’t want it?” Cassidy challenged in disbelief.

  “Then the property will be condemned.” Mr. Woodard stated matter-of-factly.

  “Condemned?” What on earth did that mean?

  “Yes, Ma’am, it states quite clearly that if no living relative is in existence then the structure is to be demolished.”

  “You mean they would just tear the house down?” Cassidy immediately thought of sweet Mrs. Owens, who had lived in that house for the last forty years. What would she do?

  “Yes, Ma’am.” Mr. Woodard confirmed solemnly.

  What was she supposed to do? She couldn’t possibly stay here for a whole month. But she couldn’t be responsible for that poor old woman being turned out of her home. Now the resentment of the townsfolk was finally sinking in. Did they all know? Did everyone know that she would be required to live in this town, in that strange house filled with bright rooms and dark corners? There was something about that house, something that made her feel off. She shook the superstitious feeling. It was just a house. But to Mrs. Owens it was a home, the only home she’d known since she’d married her husband nearly forty years ago. Did she even have any family, did she have anywhere else to go? This was all too overwhelming. Cassidy had been responsible to no one, alone in the world for the last fifteen years. Now suddenly the fate of these people she hardly knew rested in her hands. She didn’t want the responsibility.