The Secret of Sleepy Hollow

by Andi Marquette

  A server walked past with someone’s order, the smell of hot French fries lingering even after the food was delivered. The ceiling near the bar was plastered with coasters from a variety of beers and countries, many of which emphasized paranormal themes. A headless horseman appeared on a few.

  “How much do you know about the local history of Sleepy Hollow?” Lu asked. She was seated across from Abby in this pub that was only a couple of blocks from the bed and breakfast.

  “Not as much as I’d like to. There are the legends, of course, but the point of my research is to look behind those and see what might really have gone on, if anything. This is the first time I’m looking at the primary documents.”

  “Legends always have a grain of truth,” Eleanor said. “But then people embellish. Like our dear friend Washington Irving.” She smiled and took a buffalo wing from the plate in the center of the table. “He set his story around 1790, but the events of it happened around 1799. Creative license, of course.”

  Eleanor sat next to Lu, and Abby had guessed, when she checked in at the bed and breakfast earlier, that Eleanor was probably in her mid to late sixties. Her hair was nearly all white, and she kept it short. She wore a maroon turtleneck under a tan sweater and dark brown corduroys. She looked like she was ready to take off on a hike. From her great complexion and down-to-earth vibe, Abby figured she did that quite a bit.

  “I guess I do wonder what happened to Ichabod and why he disappeared from the historical record,” Abby said.

  “Scandal,” Eleanor said with a smile before she wiped her mouth.

  Lu laughed. “El and I have our theories. We think the legend is correct insofar as there was something between Ichabod and Katrina van Tassel—you are familiar with the Van Tassel name in this area? Not just that it’s a name on a collection of papers?”

  Abby took another wing. “Dutch, one of the founding families, had money back in the day. Still a lot of Van Tassels around, and they’re integral to Ichabod’s story.”

  “The Van Brunts were influential, as well. Brom’s—Abraham’s family, from the legend.” Lu sipped her iced tea. “At any rate, El and I think that Ichabod and Katrina were an item of sorts.”

  “And then Ichabod disappeared,” Eleanor said, “and we’re not sure what happened to him, as legend has it his body was never found.”

  “Not unusual,” Lu interjected. “After all, his body could’ve been dragged off by a bear or some such. Depending on where he last was.”

  Abby moved her glass so the server could put her salad down. “I can’t find any record of Ichabod after he disappeared. Not even in my family history. He was there, and then he wasn’t.”

  “History can be maddening,” Eleanor said as she picked up her Reuben. “That’s why we love it so. Keeps us occupied for years. Do you have anything in particular you’d like to see in the Van Tassel or Van Brunt papers?”

  “I think I’d like to start with the Van Tassels, and get a sense of them. Correspondence, business papers. That sort of thing.”

  “We have a wonderful collection of the correspondence, as I’m sure you know,” Eleanor said. “Katrina—Baltus’s daughter, from the legend—was a particularly lively writer. You’ll find mention of Ichabod in her letters. Perhaps you’ll see something that the rest of us haven’t. Lu and I like to think that Katrina lived passionately.”

  Lu chuckled as she finished dressing her burger. “She did have a flare for the dramatic. But I don’t want to spoil it for you,” she said to Abby.

  “So what’s the deal with the horseman?” Abby asked.

  “Oh, my. He is a primary figure in the legend of Ichabod Crane, but he’s not the only story here.” Eleanor wiped her hands off and sipped her wine.

  “How so?” Abby asked.

  “Well, I think the real force behind Ichabod’s legend is the fact that he disappeared. Legend created a reason for that—a ghost horseman who was already established as part of the lore of this area. But the story behind Ichabod and Katrina is the one that I think drives the folklore. Something happened between them, and it culminated one night in 1799, at which point Ichabod was no longer part of the historical record. The blame for his disappearance fell on a ghost, which is always easy to do when perhaps you don’t want to look inward or involve locals in an investigation.”

  “Are you suggesting he was murdered?” Abby set her fork down and reached for her iced tea. Irving had set that possibility up, and hinted that it might be Brom, but because the history was conjectural in that regard, so was the story.

  “It’s a possibility, but as you go through Katrina’s correspondence in particular, I don’t think that’s what happened. But something did, and therein lies the mystery. The horseman is merely a vehicle for mysteries rather than a creator of them.”

  “The horseman is definitely tied to Ichabod’s story in some way,” Lu said. “But like El says, there’s a much bigger story behind the horseman and Ichabod. What that is we aren’t sure, but the horseman eventually took precedence over whatever really happened that night. After all, a headless ghost riding around a haunted glen has more sex appeal than a story about political and romantic intrigue, which often takes longer to unravel.”

  “So was there actually a Hessian soldier who could’ve been the source of the ghost horseman story?” Abby continued eating her salad.

  “Yes,” Eleanor said. “His history is correct in that there were Hessian soldiers in this area during the Revolutionary War. Many undoubtedly died in battle. Some were properly buried, with tombstones, and there’s a record of them. Others, not so much. There was a mention of a Hessian soldier who suffered a terrible head injury in a battle near White Plains—”

  “Sorry to interrupt, but where was this injury mentioned?” Abby asked.

  “Well, let me think. Lu, do you remember?”

  “One of the local manors in this area was used as a temporary medical facility, and one of the Van Brunts kept an inventory. It’s in that collection. I recall that the injury killed the soldier, but they didn’t include a name.” She ate a fry. “And from that, it seems, came the headless horseman. But we’re not entirely sure how or why.”

  “Weird, how that happens.” Abby poked at a tomato. Somehow, a story grew from some unknown soldier’s death into a driving force behind a ghostly legend that had repercussions in several families and in the history of a town.

  “It is,” Eleanor said. “Fascinating, isn’t it? But I’ve always been curious about the love triangle between Katrina, Brom Bones, and Ichabod. I personally think Ichabod was her first choice, and when he disappeared, I think it may have devastated her. I always wonder what might have happened if Ichabod hadn’t disappeared. Guess that’s the romantic in me.” She smiled at Abby.

  “Regardless, if you decide to go through Katrina’s correspondence, you may come to some conclusions about Ichabod,” Lu said. “That’s one of the things I enjoy about history so much, seeing the people I’m studying as human, with pain and love and joy and sorrow. That’s what makes history come alive for me. So many things can change in terms of technology and politics and the like, but ultimately, we’re all human.”

  Abby nodded. That was one of her favorite things about history, too. And she wondered, sometimes, about Ichabod and what happened to him. Maybe he was able to hook up with Katrina. Abby hoped he did, and that they were happy, if only for a while. Maybe she was a romantic, too, in spite of her completely unsuccessful dating experiences over the past year.

  They finished the meal and Abby handed cash to Lu, who was going through the bill. “Thanks for inviting me.”

  “A pleasure,” Lu said. “And rather interesting, having a Crane back in Sleepy Hollow.”

  “Yes. You’re part of the legend, now,” Eleanor said.

  “What do you mean?” Abby stopped sliding out of the booth.

  “Well, I don’t bel
ieve I’ve ever met a Crane. At least not one who had a direct connection to Ichabod. It changes things.”

  “What things?” Abby remained in the booth, puzzled but also a little creeped out, though she wasn’t sure why.

  Eleanor smiled, which blunted the creepy factor. “There’s just such a mystery surrounding Ichabod’s disappearance. Katrina, I think, loved him passionately but when he disappeared, it left a gap in the historical record as well as in her life. Legends develop to fill those gaps, but I always wondered if perhaps Katrina never rested, and she’s still out there, looking for him. Like Lu says, it’s interesting, that a Crane shows up who happens to be a historian. Perhaps it’s time for the mystery to be solved.”

  “That’s a lot of responsibility when I’m just here to look at documents,” Abby said. Eleanor might have spent way too much time with the legend, she decided.

  “You never know what you’re going to find. After all, you’re a Crane who came looking. So now there are two Cranes in our local lore.”

  “Yeah, I guess so. Maybe history does repeat itself in some ways.” Abby stood and put on her fleece jacket.

  Eleanor got out of the booth and stepped aside so Lu could get out, too. “I’ll meet you outside,” Eleanor said. “Lu and I see someone over there we have to talk to.”

  Abby nodded and made her way between the tables toward the front door. The pub was by no means raucous, but it was busy for a Wednesday. Must be a favorite local hang-out, she guessed. She reached to push the front door open and someone on the other side pulled it at the same time. Abby stumbled a little across the threshold to the sidewalk beyond.

  “Oh, sorry,” said a woman outside, still holding the door open.

  “It’s okay.” Abby straightened and looked at her. She had her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and she wore jeans and a sweatshirt under a barn jacket. Abby stared, knowing it might be rude of her to do so, but unable to stop.

  “My fault. I get a little too exuberant sometimes when I open doors.” The stranger smiled and Abby kept staring because the smile was warm and welcoming and almost familiar, though Abby knew they’d never met.

  “Hey, c’mon, K,” said a guy behind the stranger. “Starving.” He nodded at Abby and she nodded back as he brushed past her into the pub.

  “He’s starving,” Abby said with a smile. “Better not let him into the kitchen unsupervised.”

  “Brothers,” the stranger said with a laugh. “Have a great evening.”

  “You, too.” Abby moved so the woman could go inside but she didn’t and instead they stared at each other for a few more moments before the stranger broke the contact.

  “Later,” she said, with another little smile as she went inside.

  Abby continued staring, this time at the door. Was there such a thing as an instantaneous crush? Because that’s what it felt like.

  Both Eleanor and Lu joined Abby outside. They said their good nights and Lu went the opposite direction from them. Two blocks later, Abby thanked Eleanor and went up to her room, tired from the drive and the day. She fell asleep soon after her head hit the pillow, thinking about the woman at the pub.

  SECRETS

  Where was this place? Abby smelled damp earth overladen with wet wood. A forest. She was in a forest enveloped by night and weak moonlight. She knew it was cold because she could see her breath, though she didn’t feel the chill. Carefully, she took a step, then another.

  She heard a woman’s voice drifting through the trees, but she couldn’t make out words. Another step. And another.

  “Ichabod.”

  Abby stopped. That, she heard. A woman, approaching. Abby heard movement in the forest but she couldn’t tell what direction. She had to find the woman because the woman had something to tell her. Something important, but she wasn’t sure what.

  “Ichabod,” whispered the woman again, much closer, but Abby still couldn’t see her. She took two more steps, and then she heard hoofbeats, like a drum, all around her, coming from all directions. Where could she run? There was no escape. A big black shape burst into the clearing. A headless rider on a horse, wielding a sword. She couldn’t move. The horse slowed to a walk and advanced on her, moonlight glinting off the buttons on the rider’s uniform.

  “Ichabod,” called the unknown woman.

  But Abby couldn’t even turn toward the sound. She stared at the horse as it got closer and closer—

  She sat up with a jerk. Morning light filled the room, and as she turned to look at the clock on her bedside table, the alarm buzzed. She turned it off and rolled out of bed, glad it was morning, glad it was only a dream.

  But it stuck with her through her morning shower and then breakfast and all the way to the historical society. Probably she’d dreamed it because she’d been talking about the legend the night before, and Eleanor’s strange statements had left her a little uneasy.

  And though Lu greeted her enthusiastically, Abby still couldn’t shake the dream. Maybe getting focused on history would help. Sure enough, after Lu took her down into the climate-controlled vault on a tour, Abby felt a little better, and by the time she was back in the reading room with her first box of material, the effects of the dream had dissipated.

  She set up her laptop for taking notes and opened the box, paying attention to how the files were arranged with labeled tabs indicating the order the archivist had assigned. Abby put on the white cloth gloves Lu had supplied. Though the documents were preserved in transparent sleeves, it helped keep the plastic clean and oil-free by wearing gloves. Part of the glamorous fashion of a historian, Abby thought as she withdrew the first file, which dealt mostly with business according to the collections list.

  The first document was an inventory, written in black ink in a cramped, neat script. The paper was in good shape. Abby held it up to the overhead lights. It was good quality, from the look of the fibers. Not easy to get back in the day, but the wealthy managed to acquire it. She imagined Baltus sitting down at his writing desk, dipping his quill into the inkwell, and painstakingly writing out his inventory. Or rather, whoever he designated to do it. As she skimmed the list of items, Abby guessed that Baltus was exacting, and probably would check and double-check the items if he didn’t do the inventories himself.

  Well, nobody said all of history was exciting, Abby thought as she settled in and prepared herself to go through some more boxes.

  A few hours later she finished going through her third box of Van Tassel papers. The routine of research had cleared out the rest of the dream, and now she was focused on figuring out what direction the collections were taking her and how the materials fit into her larger theme.

  She checked the inventory list Lu had provided. Eleanor had suggested the Van Tassel papers first as good background for the community of Sleepy Hollow. She’d gotten a lot of excellent historical context thus far. The Van Tassels had been consummate record-keepers, right down to how much ink they used on a monthly basis. All of that was useful, historically speaking, but now she was ready to delve into some relationships. The fourth box, Eleanor had said, primarily held correspondence. She looked forward to exploring that one next.

  Abby carefully returned the materials to the box, making sure they were in the order she had found them. She picked up the box and used her back to push the glass door of the reading room open before she continued on to the front counter, keeping her gaze on the floor. The reading room was in the back of the building, and Abby had to carry the box through the display area. It would not be pretty if she tripped carrying this box and scattered files and centuries-old documents all over the floor. As she rounded the corner to the counter, she nearly smacked into somebody.

  “Oh, sorry,” Abby said, but then she didn’t say anything else as she stared into the other woman’s eyes, a soft brown that crinkled at the corners as she smiled. She had her hair pulled back into a ponytail, like she had the nigh
t before, when Abby had thought she was cute. In daylight, she was even more attractive. And again, Abby was struck by a sense of familiarity.

  “My fault,” the stranger said with a laugh. “And we’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

  “It would probably be a good idea,” Abby smiled back. “For public safety if nothing else.”

  “Good thing you have good balance. Lu and Eleanor would kill me if they knew I made you drop a Van Tassel box.”

  “How did—”

  She pointed at the side of the box and the large black letters. “Kinda obvious.”

  Abby smiled back, sheepish. “Duh.”

  The newcomer laughed again, and it was a rich, fun-filled sound that lit little sparks in Abby’s chest.

  “I’m Katie. You must be Abby. You were out of context last night, or I would’ve introduced myself then.”

  “Yeah.” And then she couldn’t think of anything else to say, because it was a little disconcerting to have a reaction like that to someone she’d just met. “Um, I mean, yes, I’m Abby.”

  “Lu said you were coming in from UConn to do some research,” she said, saving Abby from both her awkward silence and response. “I’m in grad school at Binghamton. Political science.”

  “Oh, cool. Are you on some kind of break?” Abby adjusted her stance. The box was heavy. Katie apparently caught the movement.

  “Just a visit. Here. I’ll go put this up.” She reached for the box. “Did you want number four?” Her fingers brushed Abby’s and the sparks left Abby’s chest to race down her legs and up her arms.

  “Yes. Thanks.”

  “That’s mostly correspondence,” Katie said.

  “You’ve been through the collections?” Abby surreptitiously rubbed her fingers on her jeans to make them stop buzzing from Katie’s inadvertent touch.