by Dax Varley
“Either of us,” he said.
After that he hesitated, not sure what to do.
“Thank you for everything, Isaiah. Now go find your children and give them a hug.”
His face softened. “Yes, ma’am.” He started to turn, then said, “Miss Katrina, don’t worry too much about Mr. Crane. He’s a right smart man.”
“I know.” But could he outsmart a brutal ghost?
* * *
Hours later, Father still hadn’t returned. In that time, I’d paced a hole in the floor, bitten all my nails, and was close to banging my head against the wall. I sat at the dinner table, slashing marks into my yams.
Simon refilled the one sip of water I’d taken from my glass. “Eat something, Miss Katrina. Starving yourself won’t do no good.”
“I can’t.” I glanced at the clock. “Why is Father not back yet?”
“I’m sure he’ll be here soon. And he’ll have answers.”
As much as I wanted to believe that, I knew it wasn’t true.
The slashes I scored in my yams grew deeper. I was seconds away from risking a ride out to Van Ripper’s myself. Then I heard Father’s horse on the road. I scraped back my chair and rushed to meet him at the door. I was still holding my fork, crusted with yam bits.
“What’d you learn?” I spouted before he could step inside.
I hadn’t realized I was aiming my fork at him until he reached out and pushed it away. “I should be the one asking the questions.”
He will not do this to me. I wanted answers. “What of Ichabod?”
Father’s nostrils flared as he countered my question with his own. “Why in God’s name were you at the schoolhouse today? And alone with him in the cellar?”
“Is that really more important than Ichabod’s head?”
“To me. Yes.” He bore around me, removing his coat. “The whole blasted village knows of this now. Our good name will be ruined.”
Not as long as our money fills the veins of this town.
I followed him into the dining room, my fork clenched tight in my fist.
He whipped back his chair and took his usual seat at the head of the table.
“Father, how is Ichabod?”
“Safe at Van Ripper’s for now. We’re keeping a watch over him. Though he’s not agreeable to being kept under guard. The young fool.”
I quietly sighed relief, knowing he was being looked after. But he must loathe every second of it. Even though I was on shaky ground, I sat down and continued to badger. “What will the Council do now? Did they work out a plan? Maybe it’s time to make a list of suspicious citizens who might be controlling The Horse –”
His rigid finger was again in my face. “Maybe it’s time for you to stay quiet and consider your defiant behavior.” Then he glared down at the empty space before him. “Where the hell is my dinner?” Instead of waiting on Simon, he reached over and snatched my plate of uneaten food. He didn’t seem to mind the rutted yams as he jabbed his fork into them and ate.
* * *
The next morning parishioners packed the church. Father was right. The whole village knew of yesterday’s incident. I wanted so badly to speak with Ichabod, but didn’t dare. And besides, he was surrounded by grim-faced men who were nodding their heads and stroking their chins. Our eyes met briefly and his widened in a “help me!” plea. If I’d had a way to rescue him from the old codgers, I would’ve.
I’d barely taken three steps toward the pews when Henny, and a throng of other women stopped me. They must have been lying in wait.
“Horrendous,” Henny boomed, taking my hand. “You must have been one scared little duckling.”
I had no wish to discuss this with her, but she was accompanied by most every busybody in the village, so I couldn’t resist filling their ears. “It was terribly frightening.” I fanned my face like recalling it might cause me to swoon.
“There, there,” Henny said. “You are safe here in church.”
I’d have felt safer if I weren’t being suffocated by these prattlepusses.
She patted my hand like I was a small child. “We have been going round and round with this and cannot come up with a reasonable explanation as to why Ichabod has made an enemy of The Horseman.”
Everyone gawked, eyes immense.
I cocked my head, tossing her a questioning look. “And you think I would know?”
“Of course not,” Henny said in a tsk, tsk manner. “But you were there with him at the time.”
I breathed in, lifting my chin. “Yes, I was. But that doesn’t mean I’d know why The Horseman appeared.”
“I understand, my dear,” Henny patronized. “You were probably too preoccupied in that cellar to even give it a thought.”
Sheer delight crossed the ladies’ faces.
“Yes,” I said, pulling my hand away. “Those doors weren’t the only things smoldering.”
A dozen jaws dropped.
I smiled sweetly. “Now if you’ll excuse me.” I proudly pushed through them to where Father sat.
Reverend Bushnell took to the pulpit. He led us in an opening prayer, asking God not only for an end to this unholy affliction, but to also keep safe our beloved schoolmaster, who especially needed His benevolent hand. I didn’t know where Ichabod sat, but I imagine he wanted to crawl under the pew.
The Reverend continued, preaching a sermon on enticing evil. He read to us from Psalm 59: Deliver me from mine enemies, O my God: defend me from them that rise up against me.
Only when we bowed our heads did I not feel judgmental eyes on me. But I read the scriptures and sang the hymns as though it were any other Sunday. I listened for Ichabod’s voice, but could not hear it. He must’ve felt it best not to drown out Mrs. Twiggs on this particular morning.
Service finally ended, and I was able to turn and look. That’s when I saw Elise. Knowing how she felt about Ichabod, I had to explain.
I caught up to her. “Elise, I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize.” She stood stiff and straight and spat the words like they were poison.
“Please, I want you to understand.”
“I do,” she said, her eyes narrowed. “You’re Katrina Van Tassel. The daughter of the wealthiest man in Sleepy Hollow. You always get what you want. You always have.”
“You know that’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?” Her mouth curled into a false smile. “Perhaps I should loan you that book of Persian tales. There’s an intriguing story of a man named Ali Baba. A fable filled with theft and deceit. I’m sure you’d enjoy it very much.”
Before I could comment, she whisked away. But what else could I have said? I had failed her.
After many parting pleasantries, the parishioners began to filter out. My father stood in one corner, speaking with the Council. Ichabod was among them. I casually wandered over, yes, to eavesdrop, but also for a chance to be close to him. I stayed in the shadows behind the pew, thumbing through my Bible, trying not to look obvious.
“We’ll resume at my home this evening,” Father said to the men. “And I suggest you arrive in groups – safety in numbers.”
They all nodded and mumbled, then broke their circle.
Once they’d dissembled, Ichabod walked by me, slipping a folded piece of paper onto my Bible as he passed. After making sure no one saw, I opened it. It contained one sentence:
When and where can we meet?
The when and where I knew. But how could I tell him? Especially now that he was across the room between two men.
Just as I looked up, he said something to one of them, then came back to retrieve his Bible lying on the windowsill. He sauntered over to where I stood.
“Three o’clock. Our stables,” I whispered. “But Ichabod, should you risk it?”
He kept his voice low. “Katrina, they even escort me to the privy. I’ve got to get away.”
The misery weighed on his face.
“Then three o’clock if you can manage it.”
; “I won’t be a second late.”
* * *
Keeping to his word, Ichabod rode up on a splendid roan. I met him just inside the stable doors, holding Dewdrop’s reins. “Thank God they gave you another horse. Do you think it can outrun The Horseman?”
He rubbed its neck. “You’d be amazed at how fast a frightened horse can gallop.”
“Then let’s go quickly before we’re caught.”
I spurred Dewdrop into action. Ichabod followed closely at my side. Our horses raced at a full gallop – crossing fields and orchards – carrying us to my sacred haven. Not only would we have the privacy to talk, but I also longed for Ichabod to see it.
When we reached the hilltop, we did not immediately dismount, but instead cast our gaze over the beauty of the countryside and the quiet rolling waters of the Hudson. I could tell by his expression that he was breathing in every wondrous detail.
I climbed off my horse and stepped to the edge, drawing my cloak around me. Ichabod joined me and we stood together, overlooking the tranquil domain.
“This is my sanctuary. I call it Bliss,” I said.
“Bliss,” he murmured.
“I played here often as a child.”
He continued to look on in awe. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Ichabod…I must apologize.”
He turned to me, brows furrowed. “What for?”
“For everything. For everyone. The Council brought you here under false pretenses, and never warned you afterward. You’re in danger because of them.”
He ran his fingers along my cheek. “Katrina, you shouldn’t apologize for them. Especially since you were the only one who was honest with me.”
“But the Council – ”
“We should be thanking them for bringing us together.”
“But now they’re keeping us apart.”
There was a sudden rustling nearby. “Come,” I said, “we should go inside.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Inside?”
I led him around to the old weather-beaten granary. As I pushed open the door, we were met with the golden scent of scattered grain.
We climbed the stairs to the very top, and stopped at a small crusted window that overlooked the beds of wild asters. “I spent my best hours here,” I said, unfastening my cloak and setting it aside.
An old patchwork quilt lay in the corner, next to a wooden stick pony, and a tangled marionette. I unfolded the quilt, shook out the grain dust, and settled it onto the floor. Then I sat down, bringing him with me.
“Ichabod, what are we going to do?”
He wrapped me into his arms. “We’re going to find a solution.”
“Can we?”
He gazed out the window, thoughts circulating behind his eyes. “There’s obviously more to The Horseman’s killing than random choice. He murdered the previous schoolmaster and now he’s marked me. Why does the position of teacher incite him?”
“It’s not just that. What about Garritt? He was an apprentice to his father. He had nothing to do with teaching or education.”
“That’s another part of the puzzle that I can’t place.” He heaved a frustrated sigh. “It makes no sense. In life the man was a Hessian. A mercenary. He killed for profit. What does killing gain him now?”
“Perhaps he kills for the thrill of carnage.”
“Then why pick and choose his victims? Bloodlust is blind. It controls the slayer. This ghost has a purpose.”
“Have you told any of this to the Council?” I asked.
He laughed. “They’re looking for ways to exorcise a demon, not put it under a microscope…as they have made clear to me twice now. They insist it’s my radical behavior and modern teaching methods that’s attracted him.”
“That’s absurd.”
He tilted his eyes toward me. “Remember, we’re talking about the Council. I was surprised the word modern was even in their vocabulary.”
Nothing surprises me when it comes to those men. “What about the belief that someone controls The Horseman?”
“That still doesn’t explain how the victims are chosen.”
I stroked a finger across his cheek. “Surely they’ll find a solution. They must feel some responsibility.”
“I’ve heard no apologies from them. And anyway, it’s not really my head they’re worried about. Should The Horseman take it, then more citizens of Sleepy Hollow could fall victim. As long as I’m marked, everyone else is safe. That’s all that really matters to them. They look after their own.”
A fact I’ve known my entire life. “Right now, yours is the only head I’m concerned about.”
He gave me a gentle squeeze. “We have so little time here. Let’s not waste it talking of this.”
I arched a brow. “What shall we waste it on?”
He lifted his hand, noting our surroundings. “I’m quite curious how you spent your best hours here?”
I kept my brow lifted. “Would you like me to show you?”
“Absolutely.”
“It’s very girly,” I warned.
“I will admit, it’s your girlishness that I noticed first.”
I tickled him and he chuckled. God, I love that laugh. I then took out my small basket of miniature Delft teacups and tiny silver spoons.
Ichabod held up one of the wee cups for inspection. “Oh, now I see. Were your party guests of the imaginary sort?”
“I had a lot dolls back then. And Elise was here with me sometimes.”
He set the cup down, then rocked back, resting his arm on his knee. “I can envision it now. You, innocent-eyed. Lace bonnet. Pink apron.”
“That’s not too far off. But of all the toys I brought here, nothing compared to these.” Moving the crate that I’d used as a table, I pulled out a blue silk pouch I’d hidden underneath. I turned away, holding it to my breast. “Do you, Ichabod Crane, solemnly promise not to laugh at what’s in here?”
He moved behind me, resting his chin on my shoulder. “So help me God.”
I paused a moment, then unclasped the silken pouch and removed the contents.
“Paper dolls!” he said, intrigued.
“I cut them from issues of The Lady’s Magazine that I sneaked out of my mother’s bureau. That’s why they’re such a secret.”
“Why did your mother not share her fashion papers with you?”
“Are you familiar with that publication?”
He sighed dramatically. “Sadly, I let my subscription expire.”
I reached back and tickled his side again.
He buckled, laughing. “I should never have shared that particular weakness with you.”
“I’m glad you did. Now I’ll always have an advantage.”
He nodded back toward the dolls. “You were saying?”
“Mother never shared her fashion papers because some of the articles and stories were not suitable for children.”
His lips twisted into a grin. “And yet you read every one.”
“Of course,” I said with a giggle.
Ichabod brushed my hair aside, his fingers skimming my cheek. “You’ve never spoken of your mother.”
“She died of a fever when I was twelve.” Six years have passed, yet at times, I still feel her about.
“I’m so sorry,” he said.
I gazed down at the paper dolls. “You would’ve liked her. She was kind and giving, and always smiled. Always. Even as she lay dying she had a smile for us. I can’t recall a single moment when she was cross. Father says I favor her. And there are times when I look in the mirror and can see it.” How different life would be had she lived.
Ichabod looked at me with loving eyes. “Then she must’ve been very beautiful.”
I turned and gave him a kiss.
He rested his chin back upon my shoulder, then pointed to the paper dolls. “So, how many lovely ladies do you have there?”
I spread them on the quilt. Only three had survived my hours of play, and they were creased and dark an
d worn. But the beautiful details of their fashions had not faded. Elegant wigs. Wide-brimmed hats. Low cut bodices, and grand hoop skirts. All adorned with ruffles, lace, and flowers. Gloves, parasols, and fans.
“Quite a parade,” he said.
“They still make me happy.”
“Tell me, do these refined ladies have names?”
I blushed. “Yes, but those will remain secret.”
“I’ll bet they have grand names like Dorothy and Ester and Florence.”
“I tend to prefer floral names.”
“Then, Peony and Iris and Rose.”
“You got one right.”
As I placed them back into the pouch, Ichabod curled his arms around my waist, laying soft kisses on my neck. Tingles prickled my skin. He brushed aside my hair, making his way around to the nape. I closed my eyes, shutting out all senses but this.
We lay back on the quilt, reveling in our closeness – our kisses. But there was still one thing between us.
“Ichabod,” I said, grazing his cheekbone with my thumb, “tell me about Connecticut. Why did you leave?”
He rolled onto his back and gazed somberly at the beamed ceiling. “Katrina, let’s not do this now.”
“I want no secrets between us.”
There was anguish on his face. Whatever the reason, it was something he couldn’t bear to relive. Yet now, more than ever, I had to know.
“Tell me…please.”
Then closing his eyes, he did.
“Just after finishing my studies at the university, I worked as an aide to one of the professors. My two closest friends were still students. One evening, the three of us were at a tavern. A young woman happened to be there. Until she struck up a conversation, we hadn’t even noticed her. We talked, had a few drinks, then she left.
“Several days later, I began thinking about her…a lot. And with each day, more and more. No matter what I was doing, she was there, invading my thoughts. Eventually, she was all I could think about. I wanted badly to see her again, but I had no idea where she lived. So it became my mission to find her.
“And you did?” I asked.
He opened his eyes, but kept them to the ceiling. “Believe me, it wasn’t easy. Hartford had completely swallowed her up. But just when I was giving up hope, she came back to the tavern. I hadn’t remembered how beautiful she was. Breathtaking. By the end of the evening I was completely in love.”