SEVERED (A Tale of Sleepy Hollow)

by Dax Varley

  We kissed at length, and with passion – as though our very existence depended on it. When we finally parted, he whispered, “Had I spent another second without holding you, I might’ve gone mad.” He pulled me in for another kiss, and I melted into it.

  My fingers played through his hair as I consumed every eager moment. My heart raced, and my breath came quick and shallow. I’d never known a joy like this.

  We kissed again and again among the solemn sounds of the rolling brook. But just as I’d lost myself completely, an eerie chill swept through me, as it had that Sunday night. I broke our embrace and glanced around.

  “What is it?” he asked, suddenly on guard.

  “I don’t know. It feels like someone’s watching.”

  He drew me close as he scoured the area. “Unless you count the birds and insects, there are no eyes upon us.”

  “But The Horseman has no eyes,” I whispered.

  Sensing my apprehension, he placed his arm around me. “We should get inside.”

  The sun had tilted in the sky and our shadows fell before us. Though leaving Ichabod would be difficult, I needed to get home straight away. Dealing with Father would be easier if I returned well before dusk.

  As we approached the school, Ichabod slowed his pace. His brows dipped and his eyes narrowed. “Did you leave the door open?”

  “No.” Yet it stood opened all the way.

  “Stay here,” he said, quietly. Then cautiously, he took the steps and went inside.

  I waited, biting a fingernail and straining to see in. After a few moments, I couldn’t wait anymore. I hurried inside and… “Dear God!” It looked as though a cyclone had found its way in. Overturned Desks. Copybooks ripped, pages scattered to the floor. The water basin shattered. And fireplace ash was smeared across the floor, windows, and walls. Even some of Ichabod’s personal books, including Aesop, had fallen victim to this rage.

  He stood limp, assessing the damage – a mixture of hurt and awe on his face.

  “Oh, Ichabod!” I knelt, scooping up papers and quills.

  “No, Katrina. Leave it.” He bent to help me stand, but I continued whisking up all that I could hold.

  “Katrina,” he urged.

  “Who would do this?” I asked, slipping pages into their covers.

  “Don’t worry.”

  I couldn’t help but worry while I gathered more and more. As I reached for a page of scripture lying under a tumbled bench, my bracelet caught on a loose nail. Instinctively, I jerked back, snapping the thin chain. The tiny roses clicked to the floor, bouncing and rolling in various directions.

  “No!” I dropped everything, sweeping it all aside. I quickly plucked up three of the beads that hadn’t strayed far.

  Ichabod knelt to help me. “Here.” He took my hand and dropped two more into my palm.

  Five. Only five. “There’s one more. I have to find it.”

  I ran my hand across the filthy floor. “It has to be here.” Peter’s payment. What have I done?

  “I don’t see it,” he said.

  “Search!”

  Ichabod lifted me to my feet and wrapped me into his arms. “Katrina, relax. It is here, somewhere among the clutter. I’ll find it. I promise.”

  I gently pulled away from him. “I need to find it now.”

  “Believe me, it will turn up when things are put back in place.”

  My eyes roamed over the devastation that had been his orderly school. “That’ll take hours.”

  “On the contrary,” he said, placing his hand to my cheek. “Tomorrow I’ll bring a pocket watch, and my students will have a lesson in ingenuity and time management.” Then he whispered in my ear, “I bet your father would approve.”

  I forced a smile.

  He retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket, then loosening my cupped hand, he placed the five clay roses and chain within it. “Can you have it repaired?”

  “I need the sixth one.”

  “I assure you, it’s here somewhere.” Then his lips touched mine, comforting me with a kiss. I again fell victim to his affection.

  He ran his thumb along my jaw. “Come. I’ll accompany you home.”

  “No,” I said, “you have much to do here.”

  “But I would feel better if –”

  “Really, I’ll fine.” I couldn’t risk Father seeing us together. “Just promise me you’ll be back at Van Ripper’s before dark.”

  “I promise.”

  He helped me around the clutter, then rested his forehead against mine. “Remember, Katrina, nothing can undo the happiness you brought me today.”

  Before leaving, I tucked the handkerchief into my bodice. I couldn’t risk losing the rest.

  Ichabod smiled, his eyes soft. “I’ll find the other and return it Saturday.”

  “Saturday?”

  He winked. “When you bring me more sausages and beer.”

  * * *

  I had intended to ride back to the stables, but as I neared the house I saw Brom on the piazza, leaning against a column, arms crossed. I hitched Dewdrop in front.

  His eyes narrowed as I approached. “So how was your visit with the schoolmaster?”

  Without hesitation, I drew back and slapped him hard across the face. “You’re such a child!”

  His eyes widened as his hand flew up, touching the sting.

  I stormed into the house.

  “Katrina,” he called, following. He reached out and latched onto my arm.

  “Let go of me.” I jerked free, glaring.

  Father came out of his study. “What the devil is going on here?”

  “Katrina, stop!” Brom barked.

  I continued walking until Father stepped in front of me. “What is this nonsense?”

  I took a deep breath to compose myself. “How you can employ such a monster is beyond me.”

  “What has he done?” Father asked, implying that I’d done plenty.

  I glanced back at Brom who stood firmly, his cheek crimson from the slap.

  “He’s cost you money for new copybooks.”

  “Katrina,” Brom attempted.

  I stepped around Father before he could further intervene. “Tell Simon I’ll take dinner in my room.”

  * * *

  I waited all evening for a tirade from Father, but no reprimand came. Did Brom have a hand in that?

  I spent the better part of the evening conflicted. I wanted more than anything to be with Ichabod, even at the risk of my “someday.” But would Father allow it? Never. Not after Ichabod had shamed him before the Council…a body far more important than me.

  On Saturday, I sneaked a hamper into my cabriolet and secretly rode back to the schoolhouse, praying that Ichabod had found the missing rose. If the bracelet was that valuable to Peter, I had to make sure all six were returned to Marten.

  I was surprised to see Isaiah there, loading flagstones from the wagon into a handcart. With the teaching exchange off, it didn’t make sense. I didn’t see Ichabod around, but assumed he was working in the cellar.

  Isaiah stopped as I approached.

  “I didn’t expect to see you here,” I said.

  “Mr. Brom insisted I be here every week until the floor is done.”

  This was before he destroyed the schoolroom, I presume. “Did he mention why?”

  “No, ma’am. He just tells me what, not why.”

  Has Brom suddenly grown a conscience? “Well, I’m sure Ichabod appreciates your hard work.”

  A trace of a smile crossed his lips. “He’s a good man, Miss Katrina.”

  I remembered then that Isaiah was the father of three children, one being the adorably rambunctious Elijah.

  I patted his shoulder. “Come help me with the hamper.”

  As we were spreading a quilt, Ichabod popped up from the cellar. “Do I smell food?” His wool shirt hung loose, the collar undone, and his hair was wildly rumpled. Even in a disheveled state he was beautiful.

  I sat down next to the basket. “I h
ave brought nourishment.”

  He washed his face and hands and joined us.

  He’d barely sat before I blurted, “Did you find it? My rose?”

  His expression dropped. “I’m so sorry, Katrina. We searched everywhere. Everywhere. We turned the hunt into a game, and I even offered a reward to the student who could produce it. It simply wasn’t there.”

  “That makes no sense. You saw it break loose. It couldn’t just vanish.”

  “And somehow it has.” His eyes glimmered with empathy. “Can you order a replacement?’

  “I’m afraid not.” How’s Marten going to take this news?

  Ichabod reached over and touched my hand, sending delightful sparks through my flesh. “I’ll continue to look. This cabin is old. Some of the boards are loose. It could’ve fallen through.”

  “That would be like finding a pea in a pumpkin patch.”

  His lips curved into a smile. “I happen to be a proficient pea-picker. But now,” – He snapped away the cloth covering the hamper – “let’s celebrate what we do have.”

  I turned to Isaiah. “Has he been this cheerful all day?”

  “Mr. Crane is always agreeable. But he only gets cheery when you show up.” Then he quickly added, “It must be this great food you bring us.”

  Ichabod winked.

  We laid out the spread, then spent our time eating, laughing, and discussing how the weather took pity and stayed dry. Once we’d had our fill, Isaiah said, “I’ll unload those stones into the cellar.” He heaved away, going back to his chore.

  “Is there much left to –”Before I could finish, Ichabod drew me into a kiss. It tasted of salt and seasoning and was absolutely delectable. When I worried my passion might overtake my good sense, I broke away and tamped down my emotional fire with a swig of beer. “As I was about to say, is there much left to do?”

  “It seems I’ve barely started.” He stretched out and laid his head on my lap. “Before I can put in the planks, I have to lay a stone foundation. That’s what I’ve been doing all morning.” He groaned.

  I brushed back some of his black curls, damp from perspiration. “I could help you.”

  He chuckled.

  I didn’t.

  His eyes narrowed and his smile disappeared. “You’re serious?”

  I twisted a clump of his hair and pulled.

  “Ow.” He laughed again. “Katrina, masonry is not woman’s work.”

  “I guess I misjudged you, Mr. Crane.” I pushed his head off my lap. “I thought you were a freethinker. For your information, any task that I’m capable of performing is woman’s work. And I can certainly lug a few rocks.”

  His rubbed his head where I’d tugged. “Yes, I keep forgetting that you’re no ordinary woman.”

  I patted down the lock of hair. “Just don’t let it happen again.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He pulled me into another long delicious kiss, then said, “Let’s get to work.”

  We packed away the remains of the meal and went to the cellar. Several lamps were lit, the flames bringing life to the room. Along the right-hand wall, flagstones were fitted about eighteen inches off the dirt floor – a drum of mortar beside them.

  I noted how the stones were cut and assembled to conform. “Your own mosaic.”

  “You might say that. Only mine will be hidden by wooden planks.”

  I ran my fingers across the rugged rock. “I’ll know it’s there.”

  I helped Isaiah carry down more. After a while my palms reddened and stung. Of course I’d never let on to Ichabod.

  He stayed fixed, working the trowel. Occasionally he’d raise his arm to wipe his face with his sleeve. I found that I lingered more and more just to watch him work. He took his time, fitting each stone just so.

  After a bit, Isaiah stopped. “We’ve unloaded ‘em all. I’m going up to chisel more.”

  Ichabod finally rose.

  Once Isaiah had gone, I reached for him, wanting another kiss.

  He took a step back, palms raised. “I’m filthy.”

  “That won’t stop me.” I put my arms around his neck, and our lips met in a sultry kiss.

  After a few more, I leaned back and cocked my head. “I’m keeping you from your work.”

  He pulled me in and whispered, “An enticing distraction.”

  It was then that we heard the gallop of an approaching horse.

  Ichabod looked up. “Who could that be?”

  Please don’t be Father. Or worse, Brom, looking for trouble.

  As the horse neared, an eerie chill shrouded me. That foul breath rolled down the back of my neck. “Ichabod!”

  I’d barely spoken his name when a strong searing wind shot through, slamming the cellar doors and extinguishing the lamps. We were instantly thrown into darkness.

  My heart drummed as I clutched Ichabod close.

  “Careful,” he said, his voice soft and soothing. “It’s only the wind. I’ll help you out of here.”

  He led me through the blackness till we reached the cellar stairs. Just as we’d managed two of the steps, we heard it – the grinding sound of metal scraping wood. We both stumbled back down as the heat of burning kindle struck us.

  “Someone’s burning the doors,” I said, quivering.

  Ichabod held me. “Shhhhhh. Stay still.”

  Then the grating stopped, leaving only the severe odor of fiery embers.

  Are we trapped?

  Shadows passed over the doors, and ribbons of smoke curled through the cracks.

  My heart rose to my throat. “Ichabod.”

  He lay his fingers on my lips, staying perfectly still.

  The sound of the horse’s hooves – heavy on the earth – faded, leaving us in that blackened void.

  “Let’s go,” Ichabod urged, hurrying me up the steps.

  We burst through the cellar doors into the cool air. I held him close as we surveyed the area. Tendrils of smoke rose where the hooves had branded the grass. Several small fires remained. The wall of the school had been burned as well.

  Ichabod let go and went to the doors. He closed one then the other, revealing a long black slash seared into the wood. I recognized it immediately.

  “Oh my God!” It was the same as the mark scored into Garritt’s window.

  Ichabod studied it for a moment then turned, panicked. “Isaiah.”

  We dashed around to where he’d been working.

  “Isaiah!” I screamed, when I saw the work area empty. “Isaiah!” Please let him be safe.

  Then we heard rustling within the woods. He approached, eyes wide, lit with fear. The chisel was still gripped in his hand. “I’m here.”

  “Did you see him?” Ichabod asked.

  Isaiah trembled. “Yes sir. It was like the devil himself rode in – all dressed in black, swinging that sickle. I hid in those trees.”

  Ichabod exhaled relief. “Thank God you weren’t harmed.”

  Isaiah rested the chisel on one of the stones. “What brought ‘im here? He never rides in broad daylight.”

  “He’s right,” I said to Ichabod, my skin crawling like ants. “The Horseman’s never been seen during the day.”

  Ichabod’s eyes searched as though looking for an answer. Or maybe he was trying to rationalize what had happened. Until this moment, he’d only heard rumors of the ghost. This was proof that The Horseman was real.

  He placed a shaky hand on Isaiah’s shoulder. “Let’s assess the damage.”

  Cautiously, we went back to the cellar. The small fires had died, leaving patches of withered grass. It looked as though The Horseman had circled twice or more before finally riding away. And the blackened gash he’d sliced into the doors extended right to left, moving upward. His scythe had also connected with the schoolhouse wall, leaving a scoring there as well.

  My hand flew to my mouth as realization struck. “Ichabod, he has marked you.”

  His face paled as his eyes coursed over the slash. “Isaiah, take Katrina home.”


  “What? No! I won’t leave you here all alone!”

  “Take her,” he ordered, his gaze trained on mark.

  “I won’t go.”

  Isaiah, looked conflicted, then he faced me. “Come, Miss Katrina. Mr. Van Tassel will have my hide if I let you come to harm.”

  “Come with us, Ichabod,” I cried. “Do not stay here.”

  He gently reached out and pulled me into a hug. “I’ll leave shortly for Van Ripper’s.”

  I buried my face on his shoulder. “Promise me you’ll stay safe. Please.”

  “I promise. Now go.”

  Reluctantly, I left him and returned to the farm.

  * * *

  Father rose from his chair when he saw the state of my condition. “What’s happened?”

  “The Horseman,” I said, still quivering fear. “He’s laid claim to Ichabod.”

  “What?” His eyes cut to Isaiah.

  Isaiah nodded. “Yes sir. What she’s telling is true.”

  “And you saw the monster?”

  Isaiah nodded again.

  “Father, it’s Ichabod he’s after. He marked the school in the same manner he’d marked Garritt’s window.” I continued on, blurting the entire story of helping Ichabod in the cellar. His face reddened with outrage as I relayed the event. If the situation weren’t so dire, I’d be facing retribution.

  “I’ll assemble the Council.” He pointed a rigid finger in my face. “And you will stay inside.”

  “But I must go to Ichabod. I have to know that he’s safe.”

  “Have you lost your mind?” he thundered. “You’ll do nothing of the sort!”

  “He’s in danger!”

  “And now so are you. I forbid you to leave this house.” He pushed around me and rushed out the backdoor. Minutes later, he rode off.

  I flinched as Isaiah reached to help me remove my cloak. His hand popped back like he’d touched fire. We were both on edge.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, realizing what I’d done. Poor Isaiah had seen the demon up close. “How are you feeling? Will you be all right?”

  Distress still outlined his face. “That’s a sight I won’t ever forget.”

  I unwrapped the cloak myself and draped it over my arm. “And one I hope you’ll never have to see again.”