by Dax Varley
Elise put her handkerchief to her nose. “Dear Lord, Marten, you smell like mackerel.”
He took a step back, but kept his eyes to mine. “Katrina, come, I must speak with you.”
I hopped up from the chair. “What’s wrong?”
“Just come,” he said, nodding toward the door. “I haven’t much time.”
As I was setting aside my plate, Brom stepped forward, blocking the way. “Much time for what?”
More of that cat-like agility. If he’d been born twenty years earlier he could’ve served as a military spy.
Marten’s face momentarily dipped, then he stood taller, chin raised. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Brom crossed his arms, challenging. “At least I dressed for the occasion.”
Except for the hat.
“Marten,” I said, “let’s go.” I hitched my skirt, ready to rush out.
But Marten stood firm, still facing Brom.
“Marten,” I repeated.
He made no effort to move.
I glanced from one to the other, my impatience roiling. It was rare to see these two at odds. Growing up, we had all been the closest of friends – Elise, Marten, Brom, me, and the Notary’s son, Garritt de Graff. Had Garritt been here, our circle would’ve been complete.
My heart raced from not knowing. “Marten, what is it?”
“Yes,” Brom said, “Do tell.”
I waited, still gripping my skirt. There was a bridge of silence before Marten spoke. “Never mind, Katrina. We’ll speak later.”
“No. Let’s speak now.”
He shook his head, shushing me with his look. “Don’t worry. I’ll stop by soon.”
Brom still held a glare. “And when will that be? Perhaps Elise and Garritt can come too. We’ll have an outdoor party. Just like old times.”
Elise dropped the handkerchief from her nose. “Leave me out of this.”
I was very near ready to rip out my hair. Or even better…Brom’s. The three of us lingered as though challenging the next one to speak. I couldn’t hold back my anxiety. “Marten, if you have something important to tell me, I think –”
Elise hopped up, thrusting my plate back into my hands. “Speaking of Garritt, has anyone seen him?”
My heart thumped from impatience, but I took a few easing breaths. I couldn’t cause a scene in church. And those fritters wouldn’t settle well on a clenched stomach.
Brom finally took his eyes off Marten’s. “Garritt didn’t attend.”
“That’s odd,” Elise said. “He always accompanies his father to these things.”
True. But today, his father sat with the Council. Garritt was nowhere around.
Brom shrugged. “I guess he’d rather score marks with the devil than pay his final respects.”
Marten raised an eyebrow. “You’d know plenty about scoring marks with the devil.” “As you,” Brom sniggered. “We’ve raised a tankard or two in his honor.”
I swatted his arm. Hard. “Don’t make such remarks in church.”
“At least I’m here to make them. Garritt isn’t.” Brom sneered as though Garritt’s absence was a burr in his bottom. “I’ll check on him later.”
Marten drifted back, suddenly aware of his unsuitable presence. Several eyes were on him, including Henny’s as she whispered to one of the goodwives seated next her. “I should go,” he said, “before the Reverend asks me to leave.”
Brom clapped a hand to Marten’s shoulder. “Come, I’ll walk you out.”
Marten shoved the hand away, cast a quick glance at me, then turned and strode away.
Blast! He took his secret with him, leaving me with wonder, and two fritters still on my plate. I bit into one like it was Brom’s hide.
Brom leaned close. “Katrina, you really shouldn’t eat so much. You’ll wind up looking like Henny.”
I cut my eyes to him. “Good. Then you’ll stop pestering me about marriage.”
He placed a sticky kiss on my forehead. “Don’t be silly. I’ll simply ration your pastry supply.”
I wiped it off with the back of my hand. “You’re impossible.”
“So you’ve told me.” With that he pulled his cap over his head. “Good day, ladies.” To my relief, he hastened out the door.
I sank back onto my chair.
Elise eased down next to me. “I’ve never seen Marten so anxious. What could’ve possibly been that urgent?”
“I wish I knew.”
I was about to take another bite when my gaze drifted to the window and the cemetery beyond. From this angle the row of crypts and headstones framed a path straight to The Horseman’s grave. He only rises at night.
I dropped the fritter back onto the plate. “Just pray he’s back on the boat by dusk.”
* * *
Another restless night. Every creak of a tree limb jolted me. Every call of an owl set me on edge. Sounds that usually lured me to sleep had me gripping my pillow. All reminders that it was his time. His territory. And he could be just outside my window…right now.
The lack of sleep caught up with me, and by midmorning my jaws ached from all the yawning. I was in desperate need of fresh air. Just as I stepped outside, Brom rode up on his horse, Daredevil – so named because of the animal’s speed and temperament. He was leading my horse, Dewdrop – so named because I simply liked the sound of it.
The freedom of riding seemed all too wonderful – the very thing to wake me up. But with Brom? I’d rather yawn until my jaws cracked.
He tossed me Dewdrop’s reins. “Come along, I have something important to show you.”
“Brom, I’m not one of your charges. You can’t order me about.”
“Don’t be difficult,” he said, his face tight. “As I said, it’s important.”
I learned a long time ago that Brom’s definition of important was far different from mine.
“Does it concern the farm?”
“Of course it concerns the farm,” he bit.
“Then show Father.” Until I inherited, farm matters weren’t my responsibility. I merely helped with the books.
His knuckles grew white on the reins. “Baltus is busy with Council business.”
True. Several members of the Council had arrived earlier. Father had been shut in his study with them all morning. Business regarding The Horseman, I’m sure.
“Fine,” I said, trudging to the saddle. “But if Father finds out, it’s your noose. He’s insisted that I stay close to the house. Demanded, even.”
Brom gave me a half smile. “When has that ever stopped you?”
I’d been known to ignore a rule or two.
“I’m not sure what good it’ll do.” I mounted Dewdrop. “But if it’s that important…”
Brom spurred his horse, leading the way.
We crossed our vast acres of ripened fields, fruit-laden orchards, and open pastures. The air in my face livened me, and I didn’t yawn once. We finally came to a halt at my favorite part of our property – a lush knoll that overlooked the Hudson.
The autumn leaves had scattered like pirate’s gold. Ships and scows drowsed along the river. Gulls circled the winking whitecaps. The smell of pine nuts and sighs of the lapping water were an elixir for the soul. Because of its serenity, I had secretly named it Bliss.
When we dismounted, Brom took my hand and walked me into a clearing.
“What was it you wanted to show – ” My words were buried when he pressed his lips to mine.
How dare he!
I shoved him hard, spitting away the taste of his kiss. “Were you kicked in the head?” I stomped back toward my horse. I swear, in all the years I’d known Brom, he’d never once tried to take advantage of me. Why would he break that trust now?
He rushed forward, blocking my path, his chestnut eyes glimmering. “What’s wrong? Too soon after your lover’s demise?”
And now he was speaking in riddles. “What on earth are you talking about?”
He cocked a brow. “Still
mourning the loss of old Nikolass? Missing your midnight trysts?”
He could only have heard that from one person. “Henny?”
His laughter shook some birds from a tree. “Who else? According to her, you’re the reason he came to Sleepy Hollow in the first place.”
I clenched my fists. “That woman.” Again I tried to leave. Again he blocked the way.
“Calm down,” he said, still chuckling. “No one believes the prattles of that old witch.”
Nevertheless. “Brom, step out of the way now or I’ll tell Father how you lied to lure me here.”
“I didn’t lie. This is farm business.”
“How?” If I had a shred of patience left, it was thinning fast.
He stood taller as a gleam lit his eyes. “I spoke with Baltus. He’s giving me this acreage to build a house.”
Maybe it was me who’d been kicked in the head. My mouth lopped open and I was momentarily speechless. What he’d said made no sense. The only man-made structure here was an old granary. Father would never allow this place to be ruined. “You’re a bigger liar than Henny. Why on earth would he offer it to you?”
He held up his hands like it was crystal clear. “So we’ll have a place to live once we’re married.” He reached for another kiss, but I shoved him off. Then I searched his eyes for the truth. “Brom, did you go behind my back and ask Father for my hand?”
“It was going to happen eventually, and you’re already eighteen.”
“It was never going to happen, and it never will. Would you get that through your thick head?”
He huffed a huge sigh as he gazed across the landscape, then he brought his eyes back to mine. “Be logical, Katrina.”
“Logical?”
“It’s a good business match.”
Yes, Father’s guarantee that he’ll stay on as overseer. What Brom lacks in civility, he makes up for in productivity. Our farm has earned far more under his supervision.
“Oh, so now I’m just an asset for bargaining?”
His mouth twitched until he finally admitted, “There’s also the fact that I love you. You know that.”
And something I’ve always tried to ignore. “Brom, I don’t have those feelings for you.” Even if I did, I could never put up with his endless brawling and half-witted stunts. He, along with Marten and Garritt, were always up to some foolishness – especially after an evening at the River Song tavern. Where there was mischief, Brom was involved – be it cockfights, racing, or ridiculous pranks like upending an outhouse or stringing wire to knock a rider from his horse. I would be marrying a child.
“I won’t marry you, Brom. Or allow you to spoil this beautiful property by building a house on it.” I stormed by him, but he caught me by the waist.
“Now, now,” he whispered. “Settle down.”
I pried his hands off. “That’s my point. I won’t settle down. I’ll never settle down. Especially with someone who spends most evenings reveling and gambling and – ”
He drew a quick breath. “Katrina, I assure you, I am done with carousing and foolish games.”
“And that is supposed to sway me?”
He rose a little taller, piercing me with his eyes. “This marriage makes good sense.”
“To you,” I said, stomping around him. “You can bully everyone else, Brom, but you won’t bully me. And given a choice,” – I threw myself upon my horse – “I’d rather marry The Horseman.”
* * *
That night I dreamt of Nikolass in his coffin. His body sinking into the wooden flooring, his folded hands hardening like stone. The gaping wound where his head once sat served as a doorway for all manner of parasites. They crept like sap oozing from pine bark – millipedes, woodlice, ticks, scorpions, maggots and mites. Wiggling and squirming and eating their way through him.
My bed curtain rustled against me, and though I didn’t fully awake, I jumped as if one of the insects had made its way out of his coffin – out of my dream – and scuttled up my arm. Wrestling with sleep, I was powerless to fling it off. It writhed its way under my skin, and I could do nothing but lie motionless and suppressed. A silent shriek engulfed me, yet I could not expel it. I burned from my struggle to scream. The bed curtains closed in, and I became trapped in a coffin of my own. I fought for breath, inhaling leeches and snails and other manner of grave dwellers. Wake up! Wake up! But the paralysis kept its hold.
Beyond this, I heard him…The Horseman, whipping toward our farm.
Dear God! I will not come. I will not.
The Horseman only rose at night. At dawn, he returned to his grave, his cell, with only the maggots and mites for company. Would he take me there with him? Would this nightmare become my reality?
As he drew nearer my senses heightened, and I woke up gasping for air. But just as quickly, I froze. My dream had vanished, but The Horseman had not. He rode close by, hooves beating against the heavy clay of the road leading to our farm. Perspiration covered me. My nightdress clung to my skin. Yet a chill washed over me like a rippling tide.
I will not go.
He journeyed closer. Had my dream mystically drawn him, or had he purposely waited till now for my capture?
Curiosity ate at me like the insects in my dream. I gathered the courage to slip from my bed and take the tiniest glance through my window. I strained to see, but he rode in shadow. Still, he approached. I waited and watched, my mouth parched, my heart banging against my chest. Moments later, the black clouds parted and the moonlight shown upon him. I exhaled for the first time in what seemed like an eternity. It was only Brom, riding past our farm to his cabin. I didn’t know the hour, but could sense it was late…or early rather. Far past midnight.
And he’d said he was done with carousing and foolish games.
I eased back onto my bed, my nerves a shattered mess. The Horseman had not come, yet I could feel his cold breath upon me.
* * *
Over the next week, Sleepy Hollow became ghostly and withdrawn. While there were no credible sightings of The Horseman, rumors of witchcraft spread like the Tappan Zee. The slaves took precautions, wearing all manner of crude charms and enchantments. Simon, our house servant, carved a protective talisman for me from a black willow root – an oblong pendant with a spiraling eye. I discreetly wore it tucked into my bodice. Of course, with Father insisting I remain inside, I had nothing to dread. Other than being imprisoned in my own home.
Twice I sent messages to the dock, hoping to reach Marten, but he sometimes spent a week or more on the water. What had he wanted to tell me? Just when I thought I might literally burst, he finally showed up.
“Marten, I’ve been so worried,” I whispered, stepping onto the piazza.
He placed a finger to his lips and led me away from the door. “Katrina, I’ve done it.”
I searched his eyes. “Done…what?” This was Marten, the boy who always reached for the impossible, yet never came close.
“I have arranged for the purchase of a ship.”
I stood, thunderstruck. No wonder he’d burst in at the funeral.
He bent his knees to see eye level with me. “Did you hear me?”
“Yes,” I said, blinking away my shock. He’d always talked of owning his own vessel, but on his wages? I never dreamed it’d be a reality. “But…how?”
He scratched his head, looking away.
Gripping his chin, I turned his gaze back to mine. “Where did you get the money?”
He waved it off. “Don’t worry. It’s taken care of.”
“I worry, Marten. I always worry. And even more so since we’re whispering.”
He placed his hands on my arms and lowered us onto one of the wooden benches.
“Marten,” I urged, “Why so secretive?”
“Because,” he said, “when it arrives, I’m leaving the Hollow for good. And I want you to come with me.”
Though Marten and I were only close friends, we’d always sworn that one day we’d leave Sleepy Hollow and sail off to e
xotic ports unknown. I never thought it’d actually come to pass. Was this my escape? Had my “someday” finally arrived?
My heartbeat quickened and a thousand thoughts flickered through my mind. “When?”
“Not for a few weeks.”
“Weeks?” He offers a chance at escape, then tells me this?
He rubbed his hands together, fidgeting. “No one’s more frustrated than I. But it’s currently sailing up from the West Indies. And it’ll need some repairs and preparations.”
I didn’t hide my disappointment. “A lot can happen in a few weeks.”
“Or in the blink of an eye.” His ominous tone was reflected on his face. “Keep in mind, there are other arrangements to be made.”
“What other arrangements?”
His expression flattened as he leaned close. “Katrina, think. Your father would spare no expense to hunt us down and bring you back. And with his wealth and power…”
Father would definitely find a way. Not to mention the unspeakable things Brom would do to Marten if we were caught.
“But don’t worry,” he assured me. “I’ll work it out.” He nudged me and winked. “I’m clever that way.”
I couldn’t keep the smile from my face. “Yes, you certainly are.”
“In the meantime,” he said, “don’t breathe a word to anyone. Only you and the necessary parties know I’ve purchased this ship. If you’re to go with me, it must remain secret.”
I nodded. The only person I’d even consider telling was Elise, but I’d never risk it.
“I must go,” he said, rising, “but I’ll return soon with more news.”
I walked him to the steps. “Marten.” He turned his soft blue eyes to mine. “Thank you.”
He gave me a warm smile, then left.
* * *
I had only seen Garritt, the notary’s son, once in all that time, and that was at Sunday service. I gasped at the sight of him. A walking death. His eyes were red veins and his pallor like sour milk. I tried to speak with him, but he kept evading me…and everyone else for that matter.
Rumor was, when he wasn’t working for his father, he was hiding behind a glass of rum. So it was quite unexpected to see him at the town meeting that evening, sitting next to his father and squirming like a schoolboy. His russet hair hung stringy and unkempt, though he’d occasionally rake his trembling fingers through it. He had always been so witty and full of laughter. I had to find out what had set him on edge.