He scowled. “You’ll see, Katrina,” he said. “I mean to have you. I’ll win you over somehow, no matter what it takes.”
I turned and began to walk back toward the farmhouse. It was the only way I could contain my anger at his gall, his outrageous assumption that I was his for the taking, that he was somehow entitled to me. “By all means, continue deluding yourself,” I said. It took every ounce of my will not to scream in his face.
I had not gotten very far when he called after me. “Haven’t you seen him, Katrina?” he asked.
I stopped walking and turned back to him. “Seen who?” I asked, though I didn’t need to. I knew who he meant.
He drew closer. “The Horseman,” he said, his voice low. “Haven’t you ever seen him?”
I remembered, vividly, Ichabod asking me the same question. And if I would not speak the truth of my dreams, my nightmares, to him, I certainly would not speak of them to Brom. “Of course not,” I said. “There is nothing to see, Brom. He is a fable, nothing more.”
His eyes looked over my shoulder, scanning the river and the rise of the fields above us. “I am not so sure,” he said. “I … I swear that I see him sometimes, out of the corner of my eye, riding toward me. But when I turn to look, there is nothing there.”
I struggled not to let him see how his words chilled me. “It is your imagination, nothing more,” I said, trying to sound disdainful. “You have this foolish superstition now, because of what Charlotte said all those years ago.”
“Or she has bewitched me, so that I see things that are not there,” he said, his voice low.
I wanted to slap him, but I settled for laughing in his face. “How ridiculous,” I said. “As if she could. As if such things were possible. And to think, just moments ago you were ready to apologize for the harm you’d done her.” I resumed my walk back home. “I could perhaps forgive you if I really believed you’d been young and foolish, and nothing more. But you have not changed. You still believe those lies you told about her then, and if it is possible, I like you less now than I did when you arrived at my house this morning.”
Brom caught up to me, placing my hand on his arm. “And yet I have your father’s approval all the same,” he said through gritted teeth. “This is not how I wished this day to go, but soon everything will be different. You will see, Katrina. You will see.”
I did not dignify his words with a response, even as a bud of anxiety bloomed in the pit of my stomach. What did he mean to do?
When we arrived back at the house, I was delighted—and relieved—to see Ichabod riding up earlier than expected on Gunpowder. “Miss Van Tassel,” he said, pulling up the horse when he drew near enough. “Master Van Brunt.”
“Good day, Mr. Crane,” I said, brightening. Brom merely grunted.
Ichabod swung down from the saddle, and as he faced us his eyes lingered on my hand on Brom’s arm. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. My discomfort returned in a rush.
“You are early for your music lesson, are you not, Mr. Crane?” Brom asked finally.
“I am,” Ichabod said, “but ’tis such a fine day for riding that I find I have spurred my horse on faster than usual, and so here I am.”
“I see,” Brom said. “And yet I find that I am not through with the lady’s company for the day.”
I pulled away from him. “You shall have to be.”
I glanced at Ichabod, but he was busy tying Gunpowder to the hitching post. “Farewell, Brom,” I said loudly. A disbelieving look crossed his face. His eyes darted to Ichabod, then me. He shook his head slightly.
The blossoms of anxiety in my stomach grew into a full forest of fear. He knows. Somehow, he knows.
But how can he? I had done nothing to give us away. Had I? The feeling of dread would not leave me.
“Very well,” he said at last. He kissed my hand, taking his time so Ichabod couldn’t help but see. “But I shall visit you again soon, Katrina. And mind you do not forget what we discussed today.” He spoke in English, making sure Ichabod understood every word.
Silently I turned away and went in the front door. Ichabod followed me soon after.
He did not speak until we were safely ensconced in the music room. “What was that about?” he asked.
I took a deep breath. He would not like this, but he needed to know. “Brom asked—demanded, rather—that I accompany him on a stroll today,” I said. “My father has given him permission to court me.”
Ichabod’s face drained of color, and he clenched his jaw in anger. “And you could not refuse, I suppose.”
“Obviously not. If I could have, I certainly would have.” I caught sight of his face, and my anger flared. “I could not have refused,” I said, my voice hard. “Whatever you are thinking, you may put it from your mind. Only under direct orders from my father would I give Brom Van Brunt a moment of my time, and even then it is grudgingly.”
“And if your father orders you to marry him, Katrina?” Ichabod asked. “What will you do then?”
“I would think a man as intelligent as yourself can see the difference between a walk beside the river and a walk to the altar.”
“Indeed. And yet if you can be compelled to one, why not the other?”
“You are being absurd,” I said coldly. “And after what I have just endured, I do not have the patience for this.”
“You have not answered my question, Katrina. What will you do if your father insists that you marry him?”
“Refuse!” I all but shouted. “He already knows of my objections. I am acquiescing in this so that I might refuse later. Can you really not see that? Are all men such jealous fools?”
Ichabod looked as if I had slapped him. Then he sighed. “You are right, Katrina. I am acting quite the fool.”
Yet I was not quite so easily appeased. “That you would doubt me, after everything—”
But he cut me off by pulling me into his arms. “I am sorry, my love. I am. You are right, we men in love are jealous fools. I do not doubt you. I could never doubt you.”
I remained rigid before slowly yielding, letting my body soften against his. But when I spoke again, my words were firm. “I am risking everything for this, for you,” I said, looking up at him. “Just as I know you are doing the same for me. So we must trust one another to see this through.”
His arms tightened around me. “You are right. Of course you are.”
I sighed, letting myself relax further into his arms. “I was angry at Brom, at the whole situation, and I did not mean to take it out on you,” I said. It was not an apology, exactly, for I did not feel I owed him one. Yet it was a concession I was willing to make.
“I know, my love,” he said. “You are in the most difficult position of all. As God is my witness, I will extract you from it soon, no matter what it takes.”
I smiled against his shoulder, the last of my anger draining away.
“Now, I suppose we must put up at least the pretense of a music lesson,” Ichabod said, releasing me.
“I suppose we must,” I said.
Yet I could not forget the expression on Brom’s face as he looked back and forth between Ichabod and me.
Even as I struggled to focus on the music on the page in front of me, I made a decision. It was time to ask another—and far more unusual—favor of Charlotte. One I hoped I would not regret.
21
Tarot
The next day, I sent a note into town with Cook for Charlotte, asking if I might dine with her that evening. Her reply was in the affirmative, and so when the time came I set out into the warm summer evening, leaving Nox at home.
Charlotte opened the door of the cottage before I could even knock. “Come in,” she said. “I’ve made us some beef stew, if that suits.”
“That is perfect,” I said, stepping inside. I glanced quickly around. “Your mother is not home?”
“No,” Charlotte said, closing the door behind me. “She had to leave to attend to a birth.”
“And
she did not need you to come along to assist her?” I asked.
Charlotte shook her head. “She said she’d send for me if I was needed, but she expected it to be an easy birth—Mevrouw Van Buren has borne four healthy children already.”
It was too easy, too convenient. I had been planning to draw Charlotte out into the garden if needed, for Mevrouw Jansen likely would not approve of the favor I intended to ask. Yet now it was unnecessary—almost as if Mevrouw Jansen, in the same uncanny way that her daughter sometimes had, somehow knew and was giving us her blessing.
Or it is a happy coincidence, and that is all, I told myself.
We served ourselves and carried our bowls and spoons out to the tiny dining room off the kitchen. Charlotte fetched some wine, and lit a few candles and lamps against the growing dark.
We chatted idly as we ate, Charlotte filling me in on the latest village gossip while I tried to think of the best way to bring up the favor I needed. Charlotte would help me in any way she could, but in this case I knew she would have reason to be reluctant.
I shouldn’t have wasted a thought on it, however, for once we’d both finished eating, Charlotte laid her spoon down and looked at me seriously. “All right, Katrina. Out with it.”
“Out with what?”
“You came here tonight to ask me something,” Charlotte said. “So you might as well do so.”
“How did you know?” I asked.
She waved a hand dismissively. “I know you better than anyone.” she said. “I can tell when you’ve something on your mind.”
I sighed, pushing my bowl away. “Very well. I do have a favor to ask of you.”
“Another?” she asked. Laughter tinged her voice as she added, “You do not need more herbs already, do you?”
“No!” I said, giggling before I grew serious again. “No, it’s something else.”
“Well, do not keep me in suspense.”
“Well…” I looked down and fiddled with my spoon. “My father has given Brom permission to court me, and he has already begun doing so. Or trying to.”
“No!” Charlotte exclaimed. Yet then she shook her head and closed her eyes. “In truth, I am not surprised. I had expected it.”
“Yes, I was not truly surprised, either,” I said. “He came to call yesterday and insisted I go walking with him. It did not last long, is the best thing I can say.”
“Whatever did you talk about?” she asked. “He did not try to speak to you of love, did he?”
I laughed humorlessly. “I suppose he thought that was what he was doing,” I said. “In the end, we argued, and why he expected anything else I cannot say.” I did not mention that we argued about her.
Charlotte shook her head in disgust. “You have my sympathies, Katrina. But what has this to do with a favor?” Her face fell slightly. “I am afraid I have already thought of poisoning him, but that is too easily traced back to me.”
I laughed. “No, it is not that. It is just…” I sighed. “Everything seems so uncertain,” I said. “With Ichabod. I tell myself that I will let nothing stand in the way of our marriage, but I know this is not what my parents would choose for me. I … I will defy them if I must. For him. But that path is rife with its own uncertainties, the nature of which I cannot yet know. It is difficult to bear, all this anxiousness. And so I…” I looked up at her and took a deep breath. “I need to know for certain. I need to know if we will be together, he and I.”
“And how am I supposed to know?” Charlotte asked. Her tone had cooled slightly, as if she knew what was coming. “If I had any such assurances to give you, Katrina, you know that give them I would.”
“Yes, but … you have ways of finding out, do you not?” When she did not answer, I lowered my voice slightly, though there was no one to overhear us. “I thought you might consult the cards for me.”
She exhaled slowly, eyes closed. Only a trusted few knew that the Jansen women even possessed the tarot cards. I knew that, during the war, an injured French officer fighting on behalf of the Americans had, while recovering in the Jansen cottage, taught Mevrouw Jansen to divine the future using the beautifully painted deck of cards that he possessed—a pastime that was all the rage in France at the time. Yet whatever uncanny ability Mevrouw Jansen possessed made the reading of the tarot cards more than just a pastime, and so it was for Charlotte as well, once her mother taught her. It was not a service that Mevrouw Jansen offered to the public; even the easy-going villagers of Sleepy Hollow would be mightily unsettled if they knew the things the Jansen women could see with the help of the deck.
“Do you know what you’re asking of me?” Charlotte asked finally.
“I do, Charlotte. Believe me. I would not ask if I did not have to.”
“You do not have to. You could wait and see what your future holds, as everyone else must.”
“This is no idle curiosity!” I cried. “This is my future, and the man I love, at stake!”
She was silent, and absolutely still, for a long time. Then she rose and picked up our bowls to take to the kitchen. “Very well,” she said aloud. “I will do it this once, Katrina. And I know it goes without saying that you cannot tell anyone.”
“Of course,” I called after her, feeling excitement and fear coursing through my blood. “I will take it to my grave. The Headless Horseman himself could not pry it from my lips.” I felt a twinge of superstitious regret as the words passed my lips, as if by invoking the Horseman’s name he could now somehow hear us.
She did not reply, merely passed back through the room a moment later and climbed the staircase to the upper floor. She returned with a small bundle wrapped in a piece of dark blue silk. Moving aside some of the candles on the table, she unfurled the silk to reveal a deck of well-worn yet gorgeously illustrated cards. She spread the cloth over the table before her, leaving the cards at its center. She placed her right palm atop the deck and took a deep breath, eyes closed. I shivered slightly at the sight of her, her long, wavy red hair down about her shoulders, the candlelight casting her features into shadow. She looked mysterious and magical and otherworldly indeed. And though I would mean it as a compliment—for she looked powerful and beautiful—I could never tell her so.
She exhaled slowly, and after what seemed like several minutes she opened her eyes. “Very well,” she said again. She picked up the cards and shuffled them, their edges soft and pliable from many years of use. Then she placed the deck back down, this time closer to me. “Cut the deck with your left hand,” she instructed me. “And as you do so, think hard on the question you are asking. Make it a yes or no question, and ask it in your mind three times.”
I cut the deck, my mind furiously reciting my question. Will Ichabod and I wed? Will Ichabod and I wed? Will Ichabod and I wed? Then I nodded confirmation.
“I am going to do a simple three-card spread,” she said, her voice low as she picked up the cards again. “Past, present, and future. The first card is your past, what has been, and what is now behind you in regards to the question you have asked. The second card is your present, what your circumstances are now. And the third and final card is your future: what is to come, and what the ultimate answer to your question will be.”
I felt my first flicker of foreboding. What if I did not like what the future holds? What if I got my answer but I could not bear what I heard? Perhaps I should not have asked.
But it was too late to go back now. Charlotte had already placed the first card down on the table between us. To me it was upside down, though I could make out the image of a man walking along his way, looking as though he were whistling a tune, while the edge of a cliff waited nearby.
Charlotte exhaled as she considered the card. “The Fool,” she said. “The Fool is a naïve traveler, one who is about to embark on a great journey. He is optimistic and hopeful and unaware of the danger and risks that may await him.” She pointed to the cliff. “Remember, this is your past. This is where you began with whatever is at the root of your question.”
She glanced up. “So in this case, your relationship with Ichabod.”
“Yes,” I said, my mouth strangely dry. I cleared my throat. “Yes. I fell in love and made love to him with scarcely a thought for the consequences. I did what I wanted simply because I wanted to do it. Only lately have I imagined it may not work out as I wish.”
Charlotte nodded. “That is my reading of the card in this situation, as well.” She placed her hand on the next card on the deck.
The room grew strangely warm and stifling, the walls seeming to shift around me. I blinked my eyes several times, trying to clear the haze that settled over them in the dimness.
Charlotte placed the next card beside The Fool. A man and a woman stood naked, their hands outstretched toward one another. An angel hovered in the sky above them.
“The Lovers,” Charlotte announced, and a chill went down my spine at how appropriate the card was. “A card that signifies relationships. You have a chance for true love, and a decision you make in regards to this relationship will have long-lasting consequences for you.” She glanced up at me, and our eyes locked.
“Yes,” I said aloud at last. “That is certainly … most appropriate.”
“Tonight the cards have proven themselves very accurate indeed, which is not always the case.” She smiled slightly, as if to break the tension. “So far they are not telling us anything we do not know. I have found when I get an unexpected card for the past and present I must consider it more carefully, and how its meaning may apply to the situation at hand. Often I gain much greater insight into it as a result.”
I scarcely heard her. Her words seemed to trail off, as though she were speaking to me from a great distance. My attention had been captured by the flickering of the candle to my left. It whispered to me as the flame danced and undulated, beckoning me to look closer, to listen more carefully …
I stared into the center of the flame, and I somehow fell into it, as though it had grown to envelop me. It expanded around me, until all I could see were images within it, like shadows cast against the great wall of a barn.
The faraway whinny of a horse. Shadows moving through the forest, one chasing the other—a man. Two men. Panting, and heavy footfalls against the dirt. The sounds of a brutal struggle, and that far off whinny yet again. And the violent, unmistakable sound of a blade being drawn from its sheath.
The Spellbook of Katrina Van Tassel Page 13