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Green Valley, Grey Fieldstone
The small town was quiet, basking in the late afternoon sunlight as the shadows of the Catskill Mountains fell across the Hudson, slowly creeping toward Main Street. Next to an enthusiastic game of tag orchestrated by several young boys, the freshly painted door of a quaint red storefront popped open, revealing two matronly women who excitedly clucked, gesturing to the drink cups they held, then back towards the store with broad grins pulling at their cheeks. The boys ceased their game to clamor around their mothers, nearly knocking a passing pedestrian off of his feet. This middle-aged man slid past the boys and mounted the steps towards the clean white door the two women had passed through moments earlier.
The man entered the shop to the tinkle of bells, but paused just inside the doorway, looking startled. The transformation caught him off-guard; what once was a run-down, greasy establishment had been transformed over the space of but a few weeks into a fresh-faced, inviting café. He eyed the newly-tiled floor and dainty tables with a keen interest before moving forward towards the granite countertop, tempted by the cases of pastries on display near the register. The sounds of pots and pans knocking together came from the back, presumably the kitchen, nearly drowning out the soft stream of music playing in the background.
“Can I help you, sir?” a voice startled him out of his reverie. He peered at the brunette behind the counter, wondering at the familiarity of her face before deciding that she must be his son’s age, and tried to decide how a girl of no more than sixteen would have found employment at a new place in town so quickly.
“I’m looking for a cup of coffee; what’s good here?” he asked, gruffly. The girl smiled, her blue eyes twinkling.
“Just about everything, sir. Behind me is a list of all the different types we carry, and I can make it however you like. I’d also recommend you try a pastry; Miss Catherine’s a fine cook. If you’re looking more for an early dinner though, you can try one of my mom’s sandwiches. She’s been making them for me since I was old enough to chew, and I still haven’t gotten sick of them yet,” the girl smiled.
Before the man could answer, the back door swung open, revealing a woman about his own age, with a pudgier frame and slightly darker hair than the girl at the counter, but the same twinkling blue eyes. “Jordana,” the woman said, a teasing smile lighting up her features, making the resemblance between them still more striking, “are you sweet-talking our customer?”
Jordana laughed, smiling at her mother before turning her gaze back to the man in question. “I’ve just been telling him about your sandwiches and Miss Catherine’s pastries, mom. Now sir, as I was saying, all our coffee’s great, but if you’re also in the mood for a sandwich or a little pastry, these are the best you’ll find this side of the Hudson. We’ll put ‘em in a little bag for you if you’re in a rush, but if you’d rather sit and eat, you can pull up a chair and enjoy the view,” she said, gesturing towards the tiny tables lining the floor-to-ceiling windows at the front of the store. The man turned around, looking briefly towards the stores on the other side of the street, then upwards to see the Catskills looming in the distance, beyond which the sun was setting.
“I think I’ll have a regular coffee, milk and sugar, with one of these little apple things,” the man said, studying the glazed pastry in the case in front of him.
“Sure thing, sir,” Jordana smiled, sliding the display case open and placing the pastry onto a dainty china plate with a tiny, well-polished fork, sliding it across the counter in his direction before doubling back, and getting his coffee started.
“You’ve quite a nice place here, Mrs. . . .” he trailed off, turning his gaze towards the older woman.
“Miller, but let’s have none of that, honey. Just call me Debbie. ‘Sides, it’s not my place; Catherine Verhaaren was kind enough to give me and my little Jordie employment.”
“I’m afraid I’ve never heard of Miss Verhaaren,” the man said slowly. Debbie shrugged.
“She’s from out of town – an artist of sorts, come up here to escape the hustle and bustle of New York City. Got a little place outside of town, she does, a pretty cottage she calls a ‘fixer-upper’. She ain’t a baker except as a hobby, she says, even though she’s dern good at it. This little shop is just here to help her keep her rent, and it’s a blessed thing it opened when it did, what with me out of work and Jordie still too young to get a job waiting tables at O’Malley’s bar. You’re from around here, aren’t you? I know I recognize your face,” Debbie said, leaning forward and squinting her eyes at him.
“I live down the street, just off Broadway,” the man answered.
“Say,” Jordana cut in, handing him his coffee as she studied his features, “aren’t you Danny’s dad?”
The man smiled briefly at the name of his son and nodded slowly. “Yes, Danny’s my son.”
“Dear, come sit down! Danny’s such a sweet boy – I’m sure everyone tells you that, but it don’t make it any less true,” she gushed, bustling around the counter and towards one of the elegant little tables, ceremoniously pulling out the chair so he could sit down. “You must be Caleb Vaughan, then, the carptenter.”
Caleb nodded, taking a sip of the excellent coffee Jordana had made for him, letting his eyes wander around the splendid little café once more. Whoever this Catherine Verhaaren was, she had found a very talented man to do her carpentry. Caleb could hardly keep from huffing at the pastry he bit into; it wouldn’t do well for his business at all, to have such a fine testament to some other man’s carpentry sitting in the middle of town for everyone to see. He frowned. It was probably some contracting company from Kingston, come up to steal his customers right out from under his nose. This transplanted city woman likely had no problem covering the inflated costs of Kingston City carpenters.
“That’s me,” he said, hoping that his voice didn’t betray any of the irritation he felt. “And I have to say, the professional in me has to compliment the men Miss Verhaaren hired to fix up her shop. Even I myself thought this old grease pit had no promise before she bought it.”
“Your compliments are high praise indeed, Mr. Vaughan,” came another voice from the direction of the counter, one Caleb didn’t recognize. He turned to see a pretty woman, thin and somewhat pale, stepping past the counter and coming to join him. Her long, copper-colored hair was pulled back with a claw-like clip, though tendrils had escaped and stuck to her forehead and temples with sweat; Caleb surmised she had been bent over the oven for quite some time. He tried to force himself to hate her, but she exuded an air of simple friendliness, and he found himself hard-pressed not to smile in greeting.
“Miss Verhaaren, I assume?” he asked.
“Please, call me Cat, or Catherine, if Cat is a little too informal for your liking,” she said, sparing an amused glance for Jordana, who was behind the counter, awaiting the entrance of more customers. Caleb nodded.
“Catherine, then,” he said, figuring her to be in her mid-thirties, and finding it strange that she would rather be called by the youthful nickname she had insisted upon.
“Mr. Vaughan, I’ve been meaning to give you a call for some time, now,” Catherine continued, sitting down at the small table, smiling slightly as he took another bite from his pastry.
“Why is that? It looks like your contractor has everything in hand,” Caleb asked, gesturing around the room.
“I haven’t hired a contractor,” Catherine answered. “I did most of the work myself. Some things, like the ovens in the back, and some of the lighting, I had to hire out for, but most of the other work is mine alone. Well, mine and Jordana’s, that is – she was a huge help once I started painting the place,” Catherine smiled.
“Well then, if you’re a do-it-yourself kind of woman, why would you need my help?” Caleb asked, mentally kicking himself for sounding as irritated as he did. Clearly he had misjudged Catherine, and everyone in the room was well aware of that fact.
“I just bought a little cottage down near the river at the end of Bartlett Court. Though I can do some of the work for it, most of the carpentry is well beyond my abilities. I was hoping to hire you to help me out for the next few months, if that’s alright with you; I’d like to be all finished with the carpentry by late November, so the structure at least is complete before it starts to get too cold out,” Catherine answered, smiling slowly at the transformation Caleb’s face underwent.
“That sounds just like my kind of project, Miss Verhaaren,” Caleb grinned, his excitement causing him to forget to call her simply by her first name. Catherine’s smile broadened to match his.
“Since the afternoon’s getting on, why don’t we meet to talk about the details tomorrow? You’re welcome to come in for any meal you’d like. As I’m sure Jordie told you earlier, Deb makes some of the best sandwiches around.”
“I should be free around two o’ clock,” Caleb answered.
“Perfect,” Cat smiled as the phone rang. “Excuse me,” she said, pushing her chair back and shuffling towards the back room.
As Catherine picked up the phone, Jordana left her post behind the counter to venture over towards where Caleb and her mother sat. Caleb noticed her awkward shuffling, and wondered at its cause. Being a rather straightforward man, he sat through only a few more seconds of her gawking before asking,
“What is it, child?”
Jordana started guiltily, looking down at the tabletop briefly before raising her clear blue gaze to meet his own. “Mr. Vaughan, Danny’s sort of a friend of mine at school. Well, he’s a friend of a friend, since he gets on well with Colin, who’s a neighbor of mine, and once Colin told me that Danny said that you’re the brother of someone famous,” she said in a rush.
“Did he?” Caleb asked, raising an eyebrow. “And just who’s brother am I, then?”
Jordana took a deep breath before answering. “Well, some kids and school say that Arden Vaughan’s your younger brother. Danny used to get picked on a lot, a couple years back, but then he said some stuff, and now they leave him alone . . .”
“Yes,” Caleb said with a smile, watching Jordana’s eyes light up, “Arden’s my younger brother.”
“You didn’t have a fight with him or anything, did you? Because Danny said that you don’t really like talking about it, but I just had to ask, and . . .” she sighed. “Guttering Light’s my favorite band, you see, I just love them. I’m sorry if I bothered you.”
“No bother,” Caleb waved a hand, taking another swig of his coffee. “Arden and I get on just fine. I tell Danny not to spread word around ‘cause Arden likes coming up here for the holidays and during some of his time off, and wouldn’t want to be surrounded by people who only know him for his fame, like they do in Los Angeles.”
“Wow,” she murmured, a slow smile spreading across her face. Just as she opened her mouth to ask another question, however, the front door swung open, and a few teenagers who looked to be about Jordana’s age walked in. Jordie made a quick about-face and scurried back behind the counter to take their orders. Debbie watched her go, shaking her head and sighing.
“My Jordie – she got a head on her shoulders, to be sure, but sometimes I worry at how she looks up to those famous people she idolizes. No offense meant to your brother, of course, but I shouldn’t like her to get fanciful notions into that head of hers – she’s still so awfully young, you know – and start thinking she can up and become a rock star just like that. She keeps tellin’ me she’s saving up her extra earnings to buy a guitar, when she could well use a nice new pair of dress shoes. Now I don’t know what kind of a man your brother is, Mr. Vaughan – I’m sure he’s a fine man at that, but to a concerned mother, sometimes it just don’t look right to have my little girl so interested in mimicking his every move,” Debbie said.
Caleb shook his head slightly at the woman’s words; to tell the truth, he had expected a similar reaction, had word of his brother’s identity started to spread around town. It wouldn’t have shocked either him or Arden if the “good citizens” of the tiny town of Red Hook took issue with their impressionable youth being subjected to the presence of a famous rock star.
“You’re right in saying that Arden’s a good man. You have no reason to fear for Jordana. Arden may have been the wild one when we were young, it’s true, but he’s calmed a bit with age. It’s been a long time since he dropped out of college to follow the punk scene in Greenwitch Village, and it shows.”
“A man always defends his baby brother, eh?” she smiled, leaning back in her chair. “But you sound worried, Mr. Vaughan.”
“Do I? I guess it’s like I said to your daughter before; when Arden comes here, he’s not looking to be recognized, and he’s not spoiling for a fight. His time in Red Hook is family time, and I don’t think he’d take kindly to having the town board or the citizens committee in his business,” Caleb replied.
“I suppose he’s coming soon then, isn’t he?” Debbie asked with a wry smile.
“Yeah. I haven’t seen him in a year, what with the new album coming out and making it big, and I’ve been busy myself. Danny and Elise made it down to the city to see Guttering Light a couple of months ago, but other than that, it’s been just phone calls . . .” Caleb sighed. “And far be it from me to say I’m not nervous, because I am. He’s a lot more recognizable now that he’s so famous than he was two years ago, when he was last here, and he wasn’t all over the television.”
“Well, so long as he don’t come lazing about and spoiling for a fight,” Debbie shrugged. “What’ll he be doing here, anyway?”
“Arden? He’s a busybody if I’ve ever met one. He loves working with his hands as much as I do. It’s a lucky thing for me he got into music, or he’d run me right out of business. I’ll bet when he comes home, he’ll be helping me out with my fall projects. He’ll likely stay through Christmas before going out on tour again.”
“You’re having company over?” Catherine asked, neatly sneaking up on Caleb and Debbie. Caleb started, turning around to face her.
“My brother’s visiting through Christmas.”
“That’s wonderful! Where’s he coming from?” Catherine asked.
“California,” Caleb answered, providing no further information.
“It’s nice to be able to spend the holidays with your family,” Catherine answered with a wistful smile before turning to Debbie. “Deb, a few of the kids who just came in ordered sandwiches; I wouldn’t even try to top your heroes with concoctions of my own.”
“I’ll be on it straight away,” Debbie smiled, standing up immediately. “It was nice talking to you, Mr. Vaughan. We hope to see a lot more of you. Bring dear Danny next time, that sweet boy, and of course we’d love to see your wife, if she ain’t too busy in the house.”
“I’ll do that,” Caleb nodded.
“Let me take your plate and empty cup, Mr. Vaughan,” Catherine said. “I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow at two, then?”
“Tomorrow at two,” Caleb confirmed. Catherine smiled and whisked the plate and cup away around the edge of the granite counter, through the swinging door, and into the back. Caleb zipped up his light jacket and pushed in his chair, pausing to regard the group of chattering teenagers seated at a table by the doorway. As he slowed his step, he again took notice of the music playing softly in the background. He smiled at the ending notes of something pleasant and familiar, before the opening chords of a different song began. He jumped, startled, as the entire group of girls near the doorway squealed with pleasure. It took a moment for Caleb to realize that the delight of the teenagers had to do with the music which was pouring from the ceiling above their table; the familiar voice of Arden Vaughan, Caleb’s brother, crooned over the speakers. Caleb smiled, shaking his head, before leaving the café and stepping out into the cool evening air.
“Mr. Vaughan’s here to see you, Miss Catherine,” she said.
“Would you ask him if he’d like anything to drink or eat? It’s on me,” Cat answered, tucking a pen behind her ear and scanning the shelf for something. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
“Sure thing, Miss Catherine,” Debbie answered, disappearing back into the store. Cat finally located the binder she had been looking for, pulled it from the shelf, then followed Debbie through the swinging door. Upon emerging into the main room of the brightly-lit café, Cat grinned at the sight of Mr. Vaughan being prodded into a seat by Jordana, who held a steaming mug of coffee out towards him. The poor man seemed a bit bewildered by the welcome reception, given how rude he’d been at the beginning of his visit the day before.
“Good afternoon Mr. Vaughan, how are you?” Cat asked.
“I’m well – and yourself?”
“About the same,” she answered, taking the seat across from him and placing the green binder on the table between them.
“What’s this?” Caleb asked, peering at the binder as Jordana swung by, placing two warm pastries on the table, along with a cup of coffee for Cat.
“Thank you, Jordie,” Cat smiled warmly. She turned back towards Caleb, pastry in hand. “I put all of the information I have on my cottage in the binder. It includes the deed and floor plans, as well as photographs of the cottage’s interior and exterior, and the surrounding grounds.”
“That will be quite helpful,” Caleb mused, opening the binder and looking at the pictures of the little Dutch cottage. “It’ll be tough work, but this one should be fun to fix up.”
“I figured about the same. That’s why I wanted you to work on it for me. I’d really like to help you work, and I wouldn’t want some business-as-usual carpenter from Kingston working next to me. I figured you’d seen beautiful old buildings like this before, and knew you’d appreciate it as much as I did.”
“She’s a beauty, that’s for sure. What kinds of renovations did you have in mind?” Caleb asked, feeling inwardly guilty for previously associating her café with Kingston builders.
“Well, it’s an old three room Dutch cottage with a grey fieldstone exterior, and an all-wooden interior. I’d like to keep it as ‘period’ as possible, but obviously there are going to have to be some modifications – it doesn’t have electricity as far as I know, although it looks as though whoever lived there at the turn of the century installed indoor plumbing. Some of the wood is rotting in areas, so that will have to be replaced – in many rooms, I think we’ll have to reconstruct the walls entirely. I’d also like to insulate most of the house, garret included, because I plan on using the garret as my bedroom – a loft of sorts. The house is constructed like an old h-bent . . . I was told it dated to 1703 when I bought it. All in all, I wouldn’t say difficult carpentry, just very consuming and tricky,” Catherine replied, flipping through pictures in the binder as she did.
“That all sounds about right. Were you thinking about adding any other rooms onto the structure?” Caleb asked.
“Not particularly. The north room seems to have been used as a kitchen; there are a few quickly-built wooden countertops, a large bureau that seems to have been used as a cabinet, and a sink with running water. There’s a hallway between the middle and south rooms; I’d say the south room was a later addition – the stonework on the exterior of the house suggests it, at least, as you can see. That hallway seems like a perfectly fine foyer for me. The staircase leading to the garret needs renovation without a doubt, but I see no reason to change or move it much. I suspect that I’ll be using the middle room as a room where company can come, and the south room as an informal living room. I would appreciate it, however, if we could have the back door leading from the middle room lead out to a nice deck over-looking the water; the property is just on the banks of the Hudson, and I’d love to take advantage of that.”
“Surely. If that house hadn’t been protected by Hudson Historic Preservation, someone would have knocked it over, built on the lot, and sold the house for a million and a quarter, at least. How did you come by that house, anyway? I was told not just anyone could buy it,” Caleb wondered.
“I taught art history and historic period architecture at New York University for several years. My main interest was in refurbishing and restoring old houses in Manhattan, which I did a few times, moving around the city. Finally, I decided that teaching wasn’t for me, at least not as a full-time job. I came up here on an offer from the Hudson Valley Historic Preservation Society – they offered me a part-time job and this cottage to restore and live in. It sounded like fun, so I came up. Of course, I would need a more stable income, so I decided to open up a little café. I’ve always loved baking, after all,” Catherine smiled.
“You’ve done well for yourself,” Caleb responded, gesturing around the café. “I’ll admit to you – I thought this former diner had no life left whatsoever. You’ve done a fine job with it.”
“Thank you,” Catherine smiled. “I hope we can do as fine a job on my little cottage – I’ve already become attached to it, even if I have been camping out in the back yard and not actually living in it for the last few months.”
“You’ve been living in a tent since the summer?” Caleb asked, shocked.
“Oh, it’s not all that bad. In fact, I’d say it’s kind of like an adventure.”
“But it’s getting cold – Halloween’s coming up, and it’ll soon be frosting overnight. Don’t you have anywhere to stay?” he asked.
“Not as of yet, but I figure I’ll work something out. If I must, I can always put a cot in the back room of the store.”
“I’m sure Elise wouldn’t mind putting you up until the cottage is at least livable,” Caleb stated.
“No, I wouldn’t want to impose. And please don’t tell me it’s not an imposition; I know you’re having company for the holidays.”
“Alright,” Caleb sighed. “At any rate, when are you looking to start work?”
“As soon as possible. I’d rather not be living in the back room of the café all winter, although I’m willing to, if that’s what it takes.”
“It shouldn’t be necessary. We’ll have insulation and electric in the garret at the very least by Christmastime. I know a good, fair man for electric, and for insulation, no one’s better than my own brother. We’ll have to change your windows, too, to prevent leaks, though I suppose you’ll want them to look authentic, so that will be a bit of a challenge. On our crew will likely be Joe Corgan, the electrician, Will Rivera and his son Justin, Alex Roberts, and my brother. With you working too, that makes seven of us. Should be enough to fix up your place between now and the cold months.”
“I’m so excited to start work,” Catherine smiled, eyes aglow.
“How ‘bout Monday of next week? I should be able to get my crew together by then,” Caleb answered.
“Monday is perfect. Thank you so much, Mr. Vaughan. How much do you think a renovation like this should run?”
“Please, call me Caleb. And we’ll work out the pay on Monday when I get a proper look at this place – no sense throwing any figures around until then. Now, I must be going – I’ve got a job to finish down on Route 9. I’ll be seeing you, Catherine,” he said, standing up.
“Great,” Catherine said, standing with him and shaking his hand. “You have a nice afternoon, now.”
“You too,” he said, throwing his jacket around his shoulders, giving a quick wave, and walking out of the café.
