“Indeed,” my mother said. “You may expect invitations to dine with us in future.”
He bowed to my mother. “Nothing would please me more, madam. Truly, the pleasure has been all mine in receiving your wonderful hospitality, and I shall be forever grateful.”
Apparently the talking to my father had given the both of us yesterday was to be forgotten and not spoken of again.
Ichabod turned to me, and could not entirely mask the heat in his gaze. “Miss Van Tassel,” he said, taking my hand and kissing it. Even so innocent a touch of his lips caused my breath to catch in my throat. “I shall see you in two days’ time in the afternoon, when we shall continue your musical education, yes?”
“Yes,” I echoed, struggling to control my voice. “I shall look forward to it.”
“As shall I.” He turned away from me and tipped his hat to my parents. “Thank you again, dear sir and madam.”
“Not at all,” my father said. “And indeed, I do have a parting gift for you, if you will be so good as to accept it.” He let out a sharp whistle, and Henry rounded the corner, leading one of our horses—the older gray gelding.
“This is Gunpowder,” my father said. “I present him to you, sir, as a gesture of my gratitude for your work in Sleepy Hollow, and in the hopes of making your way here a bit easier.”
I was speechless, and I could see that Ichabod was as well—though not only with gratitude. We had spoken of how he might somehow find a horse—and here my father was, presenting him with one. It was nearly too good to be true.
This boded well for my father’s opinion of Ichabod. Perhaps things were not as dire as we’d thought.
“I … I do not know what to say, sir,” Ichabod said. “I am quite overwhelmed with gratitude.”
“You are most welcome,” he said. “And now we bid you good journey, and hope to see you soon.”
We waited as Henry and Ichabod attached his bags to the saddle, and once that was done, Ichabod slung his guitar over his shoulder and mounted up. He swept off his hat again. “You have my infinite thanks, all of you,” he said. “May we meet again soon.” His eyes locked on mine in the final instant before he wheeled Gunpowder about and turned toward the road into the village, away from our farm.
My parents went back inside, but I could not resist watching until he was completely out of sight. I felt naught but desolation as I watched him ride away.
16
Herbs and Warnings
I must confess that I moped about much of that day, like a lovesick girl—which I suppose I was. Yet after a while, even I got quite bored with myself. Ichabod had only moved to a house in the village, for heaven’s sake. I would see him again, in a mere matter of days.
The following day, I awoke with a new resolve. I would go see Charlotte and tell her all.
Indeed, I was burning to tell her, had been ever since that night in the woods—was it not always so? When something so momentous had happened, did we not all wish to tell our dearest friend? I had kept it to myself for as long as I could, and I knew Charlotte would never betray me.
Yet truth be told, I had another, more practical reason for wanting to confide in Charlotte—I needed her help. There were ways a woman could go about preventing herself from conceiving a child, but I was not certain what those might be. Luckily for me, Charlotte would know. I could hardly go asking Mevrouw Jansen, as any other woman in Sleepy Hollow might.
Before lunch, I left the house and found my mother tending her geese. “I am going into the village to visit with Charlotte,” I told her. “Do you need anything from Mevrouw Jansen while I am there?” I hardly needed an excuse to see Charlotte, but being a dutiful daughter would not hurt.
“No, but give her my best,” my mother said, straightening up. “And invite them both to dinner Wednesday, won’t you?”
“Certainly,” I said, turning away. “I shall see you when I return, then.”
“Have a good afternoon, dear.”
I rounded the corner of the house and headed for the barn to saddle my horse, but stopped halfway down the path, grinning. Charlotte was walking toward me, a basket over her arm. “Katrina!” she called, waving.
“Why, Charlotte,” I said, “I was just this moment on my way to the village to visit you.”
“Were you?” she asked. “That is a happy coincidence.” She winked at me. She had come because she had already known I wished to see her. Charlotte’s gift could be handy that way.
She lifted her basket. “I made some more scones, and baked some fresh bread as well. I thought perhaps we could beg some cheese and wine from your cook and have that picnic by the river.”
“Perfect!” I cried. And it was—along the banks of the Hudson we could talk freely, as Ichabod and I had days before. “Come inside and we shall see what Cook has for us.”
Nancy was in the kitchen chatting with Cook when we went in, and we wheedled and cajoled the two women until they laughingly relented and fetched us a hunk of fresh cheese and a bottle of wine, as well as some chipped cups to drink from, and a big old cloth for us to sit on. “If either of your parents come looking for that wine, I am going to tell them you took it, Miss Katrina, make no mistake,” Cook said teasingly. She was a gray-haired woman about Nancy’s age whom we had all called Cook for so long that I often forgot her real name was Marie.
“Very well,” I said, “but had we not, no doubt you two would have gotten to it before long!” We left them chuckling to one another as we headed out with our very full basket and clambered down the steep incline to reach the banks of the wide, glorious Hudson. The water sparkled in the sun as if studded with diamonds, and the far bank was hazy and distant in the summer heat, as though a whole world away. Charlotte helped me spread the cloth on the grass, and then, giggling, we removed our socks and boots, lifted our skirts high, and splashed out into the water to cool off, before finally settling in and turning our attention to our food.
“You had the right idea,” I said. “It is the perfect day for a picnic by the river—warm, full of sunshine, and almost too hot.”
She glanced over at me, smiling. “I rather thought you might agree.”
I turned toward her. “The truth is, Charlotte, I was coming to see you because I have something to tell you.”
“I had a feeling.”
“Yes. And this is—well, it’s important, in truth. You must promise not to tell a soul.”
She shifted, folding her legs beneath her. “I swear. Now, tell me!”
I took a deep breath and began, starting with the first day Ichabod and I spent reading together in the woods and ending two nights ago, when we had made love.
Her eyes grew wider and wider as I spoke, and when I confessed the last part her jaw dropped open. “Katrina!” she cried. “You didn’t!”
“I did,” I said. “And sin or no, I enjoyed every second of it.”
“But, Katrina…” She closed her eyes in consternation. “How could you? You are not married! What if someone finds out?”
“No one will find out if you do not say anything,” I said, annoyed and a bit hurt by her reaction. “I thought you would be happy for me. I did not think that you would be so … so…” I searched, frustrated, for the word. “So disapproving.”
She sighed. “I … I am not, not really. I am a bit shocked, is all. You had told me that there was nothing between you and this man.” Now it was her turn to look hurt. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth when we first spoke of him?”
“I wanted to, but … it was all so strange and new, and I did not know what this relationship was, or what it would be,” I said. “I was afraid to put too much stock into it yet. But…” I shook my head. “It all happened so fast.”
Charlotte reached over and grabbed my hand. “And that is just it,” she said. “It has all happened very fast, Katrina, and I am worried for you. Worried about what will happen if anyone finds out, or if, as you fear, your father does not let you marry this Ichabod Crane fellow. Worrie
d about you having your heart broken.”
“There is little chance of that,” I said, recalling the words Ichabod and I had exchanged that night.
Never leave me.
Never. I will die first.
This I would not share. Some things I would keep for myself, for just Ichabod and me. “My heart you need have no fear for, that much I know,” I said. “He is a good man, Charlotte, and he loves me. Very much.”
She still looked troubled. “Perhaps,” she said. “But oh, Katrina, how long can you go on like this? Suppose he gets you with child?”
I raised my eyebrows, and her expression hardened. “I see,” she said. “You want me to help you avoid that.”
“Yes,” I said. “I know that you know of such things.”
“I do, yes,” she said. “But let me ask you this, Katrina Van Tassel—if you did not need my help in carrying on your secret love affair, would you ever have told me the truth?”
I drew back as though she had slapped me. “Charlotte! Of course!”
“Are you certain of that?”
“Yes, I am,” I said. “I have been burning to tell you since it happened! I would have come to see you yesterday, but I…” I bit my lip. “I wanted to keep it all to myself, for just a little while longer.”
Charlotte was silent for a moment, then sighed. “Forgive me, Katrina,” she said. “I am sorry. Of course I will help you. Of course I know that you trust me. It is just … as I said, a bit surprising. It is a lot of news to take in all at once.”
“I know,” I said. “But you are my best friend—you are the only one I can tell.” I leaned over and embraced her, and she squeezed back.
“Since that is settled,” she said, grabbing the wine, “shall we enjoy our lunch?”
“Yes, let’s,” I said, moving to the center of the blanket. I drew out the loaf of bread and began cutting it into slices while Charlotte poured the wine. I took the knife to the cheese next, and soon we were happily eating, the momentary coldness between us gone as if it had never been.
“Contraception, then,” Charlotte said. She grinned mischievously. “My mother would rather I knew nothing about this part of her business, but she has had no choice but to teach me. It is one of the most frequent requests she gets.” She shrugged. “Some say it is a sin, but children cost money to feed and clothe, and that is the truth of it.”
“Indeed,” I said, “and a child would cost a great deal more than money for an unmarried woman.”
Our eyes met, both thinking of the consequences of what I was doing. “Katrina,” she said softly, “is there no way you can desist until you are safely married?”
I closed my eyes. I had asked myself this many times, both before Ichabod and I had made love, and after. I had no answer Charlotte would like, and no good reason for it. “I … I love him,” I said. “Oh, Charlotte, one day I hope you know what this feels like. It is the most wonderful feeling, even as it hurts. Even as it frightens me.”
“Sounds to me like a rather unenviable disease.”
I laughed in spite of myself. “Perhaps. But I love him all the same. I cannot be without him now. I cannot go back. No matter the cost.”
She sighed. “Very well. There are some herbs I can give you. Brew them into a tea and drink it after each time you are with him. And keep the herbs well hidden.” She shook her head. “I do not know how much Nancy or your mother knows about herb craft, but it would not do for them to make such a discovery.”
“That sounds easy enough,” I said, relieved. I did not know what I had expected—something altogether messier, perhaps.
“There are other ways, of course, if you should ever be without the herbs,” she said. “Sponges soaked in vinegar can do the job, as well. If properly inserted.”
I frowned. “Sponges? Inserted? But how—what…”
Charlotte raised her eyebrows at me, and comprehension dawned. “Good Lord,” I said. “That sounds altogether uncomfortable.”
She giggled. “Hardly the stuff of romance! But, as I said, should you ever find yourself in a tight spot…”
“A tight spot indeed!” I cried, and the both of us fell over onto the picnic cloth, giggling uncontrollably.
Charlotte struggled to pull herself upright again, through her laughter. “You shall make me spill my wine!” she said, raising her glass.
“Perish the thought,” I said. “Thankfully we have more!” I plucked the bottle from the basket and poured some more for both of us.
“Well, isn’t this a cozy scene.”
The two of us started at the familiar voice.
“Brom Van Brunt,” I said, all traces of mirth gone as I shielded my eyes from the sun to look up at him. “Your family’s farm must be falling into quite the state of neglect, seeing as you have been spending all your time over here.”
“Hardly,” he said, taking a seat beside me as though he was welcome. “Things are running along better than ever, and I have an excellent reason to visit the Van Tassel farm.” He smiled at me in what he no doubt thought was a charming manner.
“Oh? And have you an excellent reason to be intruding on Charlotte’s and my picnic as well?”
He spared a glance in Charlotte’s direction but did not say anything to her—ever since the incident, they ignored one another whenever they could. Every inch of her was tense. “I should say I do,” he said. “I keep coming to call on you, Katrina, and yet I find you are always otherwise occupied.”
“That is by design.”
“Come, now,” he said. “You know that—”
“You are not welcome here, Brom,” Charlotte said, breaking her silence at last. “You are not welcome anywhere that I am. Ever.”
“Oh, yes?” he said, turning to sneer at her. “And what are you going to do about it?”
“Do you really want to find out?”
His face paled slightly. “You are nothing but a fraud,” he said, a note of uncertainty in his voice.
“Is that so? I wonder, then, that you went to the trouble of accusing me of being a witch to the entire village,” she shot back.
He rose quickly. “I shall not be spoken to like this!”
“Yes, being confronted with one’s own sins is always an uncomfortable business,” Charlotte said.
Brom’s petulant expression called to mind another summer day many years ago, the three of us enjoying a picnic very similar to the one Charlotte and I now shared. Brom had brought Charlotte an apple tart from one of the village women, because it was her favorite, and he had gallantly crushed a spider that had been crawling over my skirts, causing me to scream as though the Headless Horseman himself was after me.
What happened to that boy? I wondered, studying him. Is he still inside this man, somewhere? Yet then his expression hardened, and any traces of nostalgia I had felt vanished as quickly as they had come.
“Be gone, Brom,” I said. “Visit with my father if you will, for it would seem he has some desire for your company. I certainly do not.”
“You will see, Katrina,” he said, over his shoulder as he walked away from us. “You will come around, in time.”
I rolled my eyes at his back as he clambered back up the embankment. “Honestly, why can he not take no for an answer?”
When Charlotte didn’t respond, I glanced over at her. She was watching Brom with an oddly stricken look on her face. “Charlotte? Charlotte, are you all right?”
She started slightly, as though she had forgotten I was there. “Katrina,” she said slowly, “you are certain Brom does not know the truth about you and this Ichabod Crane?”
“Yes,” I said. “I do not see how he could.”
“But he saw the two of you coming and going from the woods. Are you certain he never followed you?”
“Quite certain,” I said. “We would have noticed him following us, and no doubt if he had proof of any so-called improper behavior between me and Ichabod, he would have wasted no time in telling my father.”
“
I suppose that’s true,” she said, looking visibly relieved. “Good. Make sure he does not find out.”
“I shall do everything in my power to ensure that no one finds out,” I said. “Why, Charlotte? What has you so worried?”
“Just a … a feeling I have.” She reached out and grasped my arm, just as she had done in her garden. “Be careful, Katrina.”
I shifted so that I faced her fully, and took her hands in mine. “But why?” I asked again. “You said the same thing a few days ago. Why all the warnings?”
She shook her head, seeming unable to speak.
“Charlotte,” I whispered. “What do you see?”
“I don’t know,” she said, her eyes focused on something far away. “As I said, it’s just a feeling I have.”
17
Friends and Lovers
The next morning, I awoke to find my monthly course had come overnight. I was both relieved and disappointed: luckily, my night with Ichabod had not seen me conceive; yet this meant it would be a week’s time before we could arrange to meet again.
He was coming to give me a music lesson that day, though I wondered how much music would actually be taking place. After, I would need to venture to Charlotte’s house to get the herbs she had promised me.
He arrived in the afternoon, after having taught the morning classes at the schoolhouse. I had been unable to resist the temptation of waiting for him on the portico, and rose from my chair when he walked up to the house, his guitar slung across his back.
“Good morrow, Miss Van Tassel,” he said. “It is an exceedingly fine day, is it not? I decided I may as well walk rather than ride, while the weather is agreeable.”
This day is made all the finer now that you are here, I thought. Aloud, I said, “It is indeed, good sir. So much so I decided I may as well await you outside.” This I added for the benefit of anyone inside who may have been listening.
He walked up the porch steps to me, and took my hand and kissed it. It was all perfectly proper—save the look in his eyes. “It is almost a shame we must confine ourselves indoors for a time,” he said, and I grinned as I took his meaning. “But it is not truly so when there is music, yes?”
The Spellbook of Katrina Van Tassel Page 9