The Spellbook of Katrina Van Tassel

by Alyssa Palombo

  I had spoken these words assuredly, yet I was no more certain than I had ever been. A traveling schoolteacher, with no home or land of his own, was not the match my parents wanted for me. But they could be made to change their minds, couldn’t they?

  The uncertainty on Ichabod’s face melted away as I spoke. “A good plan,” he said. “As good as we are likely to have, I think.”

  I nodded. “All shall be well, my love. We must believe only in that.”

  He kissed me again, and I responded hungrily. I was just rethinking our previous decision when a most aggressive and unwelcome voice shattered the peace of our hidden sanctuary, as violent as a gunshot. “What in the name of God goes on here?” the familiar voice demanded in English.

  Ichabod and I sprang apart as though our skin had burned one another, and leapt to our feet. We turned to see Brom Van Brunt within our little clearing, fists clenched and rage in his eyes. “Keep your hands off of her,” he said, striding across the clearing toward Ichabod. He grabbed Ichabod’s shoulders and shoved him, nearly sending him into the stream. “You lowly, no-account—”

  “Brom!” I shouted. I grabbed his shirt and dragged him away, nearly tearing the fabric. Brom was a great deal larger and stronger than me, but I caught him by surprise, and he stumbled back. “Stop this, now! Do not lay another hand on Ichabod, or I swear I’ll—”

  Brom recovered himself and wrenched away from me. He charged at Ichabod again and landed a hard punch on his cheek. I screamed in horror, and tried to grab Brom again.

  But Ichabod did not need my help. His slender frame made him much quicker than his opponent, and he easily ducked Brom’s next punch and landed one on his jaw in turn, sending Brom sprawling back. He rubbed his jaw angrily. “Why, you little—”

  I took advantage of this break in the action to run between them. “Stop!” I cried, holding out a hand in each direction. “For the love of God, stop it now!”

  To my surprise, they obeyed me. They stayed where they were, breathing heavily as they eyed one another warily, like two wolves locked in battle for control of the pack.

  I turned to face Brom, though I did not move from my peacekeeping position. “Leave, Brom,” I said shortly. “Now. Your intrusion is most certainly not welcome.”

  Brom ignored me, addressing Ichabod. “You dare,” he said through gritted teeth. “You dare come to Sleepy Hollow, a nobody from nowhere, and put your filthy hands on the woman I mean to make my wife.”

  “I think the lady may have something to say about that,” Ichabod all but snarled, and the edge in his tone took me by surprise. I had never seen him so enraged before. “She seems to much prefer my suit to yours.”

  “Why you…” Brom made to charge Ichabod again, but I stepped in front of him protectively.

  “No,” I said. “If you wish to strike Ichabod, you must go through me.”

  Brom laughed shortly. “You hide behind a woman, then?” he taunted Ichabod, still ignoring me. “This shall not help your suit in the eyes of her father, I shouldn’t think. And he is the one who matters.”

  Ichabod stepped around me. “I do not need you to fight my battles for me, Katrina,” he said tautly.

  But I would not stand aside. “How many times must you be told that I will not marry you?” I all but shouted at Brom. “And if you think my father is so enamored of you that he would wed me to you against my will, then think again.”

  “And yet I do not think Master Van Tassel will smile so favorably on the man who seduces Miss Van Tassel in the woods,” Brom said smugly. Finally he looked at me. “Katrina, you are the wealthiest heiress for miles around; do you honestly think your father will permit your betrothal to a penniless, itinerant schoolteacher?”

  I faced him squarely. “It does not matter,” I said coldly. “Not to you, anyway. For I would not marry you if you were the last man in Sleepy Hollow. Not if you were the last man in all of New York.”

  As soon as the words left my mouth, I wished they had not. For I saw the rage ignite on Brom’s face again, and I realized all too late who the target of that rage would be: not me, but Ichabod.

  “Since you seem to show no shame for your dishonorable actions,” Brom said to Ichabod, his anger boiling just beneath his voice, “then meet me as a gentleman. Dawn. The empty field two miles past the church.”

  Slowly it dawned on me what he meant. “No,” I said quickly. “No. No! I will not allow it. I will never—”

  Yet the two men continued their ridiculous game of honor as if I was not there. “Very well,” Ichabod said. He stepped forward, past me, and shook Brom’s hand. “I accept your challenge.”

  “No!” I shrieked at the two of them. “I forbid it! I forbid you to duel over me!” I seized the front of Ichabod’s shirt. “Ichabod, listen to me! You must not do this stupid thing, do you hear me?”

  Brom chuckled. “He has no choice,” he observed. “He cannot be talked out of this by a woman—not if he is a man of honor.” He leveled a wicked grin on me. “But as I am somewhat in doubt as to Ichabod’s honor”—he spat the name like a curse—“I shall add some further motivation.” He met Ichabod’s eyes. “Should you fail to show tomorrow, I will tell Master Van Tassel of what I witnessed.”

  Ichabod’s face was hard as stone as he nodded.

  “And these are the words of a man of honor, then?” I growled at him, releasing Ichabod. “You will blackmail your opponent into meeting you?”

  “As I said, I can’t be sure he will do what’s right,” Brom said. He gave a mock bow. “Our business here is concluded for today, then.” He sneered at Ichabod again. “I shall see you at dawn, Crane.” With that, he turned and left the clearing.

  As soon as he was gone, I spun to face Ichabod. “Do not do this,” I said in a low voice, so that Brom might not overhear. “I beg of you, Ichabod. Do not do this foolish thing.”

  He looked at me as if seeing me for the first time since Brom had entered the clearing. “Oh, Katrina,” he said, his voice soft. He caressed my cheek. “I have to.”

  Tears sprang to my eyes at the stupidity of it all. “But you don’t,” I said. “You don’t, not really.”

  “Katrina, you heard him,” he said, raising his voice. “Even if I were inclined to disregard my honor altogether, if I do not show, he will tell your father about us. And we cannot have that.”

  “But you could die,” I said, tears now spilling freely from my eyes. “What is any of it next to that?”

  “I will not die,” he said. “I will fire into the air, and so will he, and the honor of each of us will be satisfied. That is how it is done.”

  “But what if he does not?” I demanded. “What if he decides to get his rival out of the way, and—” I broke off with a choked sob, unable to bear even the image in my head.

  “What would you have me do, Katrina?” he demanded. “Kill him? Kill a man who was once your friend, no matter what he is to you now? It is not in me to kill a man, let alone kill one for the most commonplace crime of being a braggart and a fool. And say I could and did do it. What then? I will be the disgraced outsider who has killed the village’s favorite son. That would hardly endear me to your father.” He shook his head. “No, Katrina. I cannot even consider it.”

  “You would not consider killing a man even to save your own life?” I demanded.

  “It will not come to that,” he said, exasperation evident in his voice now. “As I said, we will both discharge our pistols in the air, and that will be an end to it.”

  “Then why bother?” I asked, trying to employ logic. “What is the point? If it does not mean anything—”

  “It does mean something,” he corrected me. “I have to do this, Katrina. I have no other choice.”

  I let out a scream of frustration. “Men are such fools!” I shouted at him. “Utter, utter fools, do you know that?”

  He did not speak; he merely stepped forward and took me in his arms, holding me until I quieted. Part of me wanted to storm from the clearing,
refusing his comfort.

  But I could not. Not when I did not know what the dawn might bring.

  25

  The Duel

  Our whole walk back to the farmhouse, I continued to try to persuade Ichabod not to take part in the duel. His replies were limited to a few words here and there, and as we exited the woods he stopped responding altogether. When we reached the front door of the house, he embraced me swiftly, even though anyone could have seen us. “I have to do this,” he whispered against my hair. “I am sorry, Katrina. I am sorry to upset you. But I must see this through.”

  With that, he left and did not look back. If he had, he would have seen the silent tears streaming down my face.

  * * *

  I flew up to my chambers, and gathered up a nightgown and a set of clean clothes to put into a satchel. Nox, who had been lazing sleepily in the sunshine on the portico, burst into my bedchamber behind me. I paused in my frantic preparations and sank to my knees beside him, burying my face in his fur. He whined softly and nuzzled me, licking at the tears that were silently trickling down my face.

  If I could not stop the duel, I at least would witness it. I would not wait quietly at home, hoping idle gossip might make its way to me to allay my fears—or, heaven forbid, confirm them.

  “Come, Nox.” We went down the stairs, my satchel in hand. “Mother,” I called, trying my best to keep the urgency from my voice.

  She emerged from the parlor. “Yes, my dear?” she said, eyeing the satchel in my hand. “Where are you off to?”

  “Charlotte’s,” I said, hoping my tone sounded sufficiently casual. “I forgot to tell you that she invited me for dinner, and to spend the night. I will be back tomorrow morning, if that is all right with you, and I shall take Nox with me.”

  My mother waved a careless hand, already turning back to the kitchen. “Yes, of course, dear. And do give Dame Jansen my best.”

  I was out the door and toward the road almost before she had finished speaking.

  Charlotte lived a great deal closer to the dueling ground than I. If I was to make it in time, better to start from her house. And, with any luck, I could persuade her to accompany me: so that I need not witness this travesty alone, and also—though it made my heart quake in my breast to even form the thought—so there was a healer present, if need be.

  Once I reached the village, I knocked on the door of the Jansen cottage. I pinned a false smile to my face in case Mevrouw Jansen should answer, then nearly crumpled with relief when the door opened to reveal Charlotte. “Oh, Charlotte,” was all I could muster, as she stepped back to let me in.

  “What has happened?” she demanded, shutting the door behind me. “What is the matter?”

  I cast my gaze furtively about the small front room. “Where is your mother?” I asked in a low voice.

  “Out. Tending to a patient.” She drew me over to the daybed and pressed me down, taking my hand as she sat beside me. Nox lay down atop my feet. “Whatever has happened, Katrina? Tell me. You look as though you’ve seen the dead arisen.”

  I flinched at her choice of words. “Something terrible has happened,” I said, “and will happen still. I had to come right away…”

  She moved closer and rubbed a soothing circle into the back of my hand with her fingers. “Tell me.”

  I related the day’s events as best I could without weeping, watching her face grow more dismayed as I spoke.

  “I tried my best to talk him out of it,” I said, “But Ichabod is intent on meeting him at dawn tomorrow. And so the fools are going to duel.”

  Charlotte clasped her hand over her mouth in horror. “Oh, Katrina.”

  I nodded. “And I cannot persuade Ichabod of the folly of it, no matter what I say. So I…” I trailed off as tears sprang to my eyes again.

  “So what will you do?” she asked.

  “I came here hoping I could spend the night. The dueling ground is not far from here, and I must go. I could not bear waiting for news, not when I cannot even openly ask about it.”

  She nodded. “Yes. It may well be a horrifying sight, but I think you must go.” She squeezed my hand. “I shall go with you.”

  I gave her a grateful smile. “I must confess I had hoped for that, too.”

  “And I shall bring some bandages,” she said, thinking aloud, “and some herbs and poultices.” She glanced at me. “If, God forbid, we should need them.”

  Despite our distressing topic, my smile widened. “You seem to be reading my very thoughts.”

  She laughed. “Sometimes I think that so long as the two of us are in accord, all will be well.”

  “I sometimes think so, too,” I said. “I do not know how much that will help on the dueling ground, though.”

  Our smiles faded. “Oh, Katrina,” Charlotte whispered. “What if Brom actually shoots him? What if he…” She hesitated. “What if he kills Ichabod?”

  I shook my head, to ward off that awful possibility. “I asked Ichabod that,” I said softly. “I asked what he would do if Brom sees this as a chance to eliminate him as a rival, and doesn’t discharge his pistol in the air, as Ichabod expects. He…” I bit my lip. “Ichabod said that he cannot kill another man. But he doesn’t expect Brom to shoot him.”

  “He does not know Brom as we do,” Charlotte said, a hard note in her voice. “Brom would shoot him. He may do. And there is not a soul in Sleepy Hollow that would hold him to account.”

  “I know,” I whispered, shutting my eyes. “I know, but I do not know what else I can do. He will not listen to me.”

  “Men are fools,” Charlotte said succinctly. She bent down to scratch Nox’s ears. “Even the intelligent ones are completely impervious to reason where their stupid honor is concerned. Aren’t they, Nox? You are smarter than the lot of them, you good dog, you.”

  “Honor,” I said bitterly. “What good will that do him—or me—if he’s dead?”

  * * *

  It was still dark when Charlotte and I rose, dressing silently in the dark so as not to wake her mother. Outside, the air was chilly and damp, and the first frost was clearly not long in coming. We wrapped ourselves in our cloaks, hoods up, bracing ourselves for the two-mile walk out of the village, Nox padding alongside us.

  Still rubbing the sleep from our eyes, we didn’t talk much, still unaccustomed to the strange reality of this morning. My heart seemed to pound faster as we drew closer to the dueling ground. I found myself wishing that I could stop time before the duel ever happened, so that I would never need to deal with the consequences.

  When we reached the appointed place, no one was there yet. The sky was only just beginning to lighten as the sun arose from its slumber.

  “Where should we go?” Charlotte asked in a hushed voice.

  I cast my gaze around and noticed a clump of trees a ways off. “There,” I said, pointing. “We’ll hide there. I do not want them to see us.”

  Charlotte hesitated. “Might it not be worth announcing yourself, and trying to persuade them again to call a halt to the whole business?”

  “No. They will not be dissuaded, not at this late date. Believe me, I have tried every line of reason there is. And the last thing I want is for Ichabod to be distracted by my presence.”

  Charlotte did not reply, but she followed me across the field to the copse of trees.

  We huddled silently behind the tree trunks, waiting. Nox hunkered down on his belly beside us. He had a happy look on his face, as if this was all a game we were playing.

  I had never considered myself a woman of particularly strong faith—though I went to church every Sunday, of course—but in those fraught, cold moments I prayed as I never had before. I prayed that all would be well, no one would be hurt, and that we could move on from this folly as if it had never been.

  As the sun crept higher in the sky, we heard voices approach. Brom came into the field, followed by a member of his loud-mouthed gang, Pieter Van Horn. The two were joking loudly, like they were about to spend the day
picking apples for the harvest, not engaging in a duel. Nox’s ears pricked at the sound, but I grabbed the scruff of his neck, forcing him to stay where he was.

  “Where is he, then?” Pieter asked Brom.

  “Perhaps the schoolmaster has lost his nerve!” Brom declared, laughing.

  I nearly snarled in my rage, clutching the bark of the tree so hard it dug into my palms. Oh, I wish that Ichabod would shoot him, I thought, in one bloodthirsty moment.

  Not a minute later, Ichabod emerged onto the field as well, followed by a thin young man of similar height whom I did not know.

  “Ah, you showed after all!” Brom crowed, almost sounding a bit disappointed. “The woman did not succeed in talking you out of it?”

  Ichabod leveled a cool look at Brom. “I am here as we agreed, Van Brunt,” he said. “To business, if you please.”

  Brom shrugged and turned to Pieter, who brought out a gleaming pistol. Brom took it, hefting its weight, aiming it into the sky and sighting along the barrel.

  Nervously I looked at Ichabod. He, too, had a pistol in his hand now, though a sight more tarnished than Brom’s. That doesn’t mean anything, I told myself sternly. And, if what Ichabod had told me was true, no one would be shooting anyone.

  I simply couldn’t bear it, that there was to be a ritual of violence between these two men because of me. I tensed my body forward, preparing to race out onto the field and stand between them until they desisted. As though sensing what I was thinking, Charlotte reached out and gripped my arm. “No,” she murmured to me. “They will not thank you for intervening now, Katrina. We can only watch and wait.”

  I gritted my teeth, but I stayed where I was.

  “All right, Crane?” Brom called, swaggering toward the center of the field. “Let’s go. If you’re still man enough, that is.”

  Nox growled again beside me. Even when Nox was a puppy, when Brom and Charlotte and I had all been friends, he had been wary of Brom. That should have been all I needed to know, back then. I hushed him again, my fingers tightening in his fur, and he snorted slightly but stayed put. Not for the first time I was immensely grateful he was so well trained.