Ichabod refused to respond to Brom’s taunts, and pride swelled in my heart. How could anyone, seeing the two of them, ever doubt Ichabod was the better man?
The seconds—Pieter and the man I didn’t know—walked to the center of the field and spoke briefly, the customary last chance to negotiate a way out of the duel. Pieter made a dismissive gesture; there were no true negotiations this day.
My fingers dug harder into Nox’s fur as Ichabod and Brom crossed the field and bowed to each other, Ichabod’s a stiffly elegant gesture, while Brom’s was exaggerated and mocking. Then they turned their backs to each other, their shoulders almost touching, and began to walk in the opposite direction.
Ten paces. Charlotte and I counted together, under our breath, eyes fixed on the two men.
“… eight … nine … ten…”
I inhaled sharply as both men whirled. It all happened in an instant, though as I watched it unfold it seemed to take place painfully slowly. For a split second, Ichabod appeared to hesitate before he raised his pistol and fired harmlessly into the sky.
Brom hesitated as well—a heartbeat, a blink—and, to my horror, leveled his gun at Ichabod.
“No!” I screamed, unable to stop myself.
The gun went off with a boom, and Ichabod crumpled to the ground.
“No!” I shrieked, launching myself out from behind the trees and running toward him, Nox barking at my side, Charlotte on our heels.
Brom whirled to look at me, bewildered. “Katrina?” he asked. His eyes narrowed on Charlotte. “And the witch. What are you two doing here?”
I barely heard him. I flung myself onto the ground beside Ichabod. “Ichabod!” I screamed, lifting his head into my lap.
He opened his eyes. “Katrina?” he asked dazedly. “Where did you come from? What are you doing here?”
In my panicked, hysterical state, I was slow to realize he was clutching his shoulder, blood seeping between his fingers. “You were hit in your arm,” I exclaimed. “Oh, thank God, thank God. I thought he killed you. I thought you were dead.”
Ichabod gritted his teeth and raised himself slightly into a sitting position.
Charlotte knelt on the ground beside us. “He may yet be, if the wound takes an infection,” she warned. “Move, Katrina. Now.”
I scooted out of the way as she opened the bag of bandages and remedies she had brought. Using a pair of shears, she cut away the sleeve of his shirt so she could fully see and assess the wound.
After examining it quickly, she pulled a flask of whiskey out of the bag as well. “Here,” she said, offering him a sip. “This will hurt.”
He obediently took a swig and handed the flask back to her. “Go on,” he said, weakly.
She poured some of the whiskey onto the wound, and a moan of pain escaped him as the alcohol scoured his raw flesh.
“I am sorry,” she said, her tone businesslike as she bent her head over the wound to inspect it more closely. “But it must be done.”
Ichabod nodded, eyes closed as he rode out the pain.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Brom moving toward me, but Nox planted himself between us and snarled, showing Brom all his teeth. Brom wisely came no further. “You should not have come here, Katrina,” Brom said. “This is men’s business.”
“Men!” I cried. “Oh, yes, what a man you are, to shoot a defenseless opponent, to shoot someone who had already thrown away his shot!”
Fury ignited in his eyes. “How dare you speak to me so,” he said. “I have won, and he has lost. He must give you up.”
I laughed cruelly at him. “He will do no such thing! I will never let him! And I will tell you this, Brom Van Brunt,” I swore, “This changes nothing. I would as soon shoot you myself as marry you!”
“Damn it, Katrina—”
“Leave! Now! Or I will have Nox tear out your throat!”
Brom cast a quick fearful look at the still-snarling dog, then quickly composed his face into its mask of disdain as he turned away.
“Katrina,” Charlotte said, lifting her head to look at me, “the bullet is lodged in his shoulder. It will need to be removed.”
“So remove it!”
“I do not have the tools here,” she said, her voice low and calm, the voice of an experienced healer. “We will have to get him back to my cottage. I can remove it there. I will bandage it in the meantime, to try to slow the blood flow.” She glanced down at Ichabod’s pain-ravaged face. “Two miles is a long way in your condition,” she said. “Can you make it?”
Ichabod grunted. “I have no desire to die in this field at the hands of Brom Van Brunt, so I suppose I will have to.”
“There’s a good man,” Charlotte said. She began wrapping a bandage about his shoulder.
The unfamiliar man who had served as Ichabod’s second spoke up. “I can help you get him back to the village,” he volunteered.
I cast a brief look at him. “Who are you?”
“My cousin,” Ichabod said through clenched teeth. “Giles Carpenter. He lives in White Plains.”
Giles smiled quickly at me. “At your service,” he said. “I suppose you are Miss Van Tassel, though I wish we could have met under better circumstances.” His smile widened slightly. “A wedding, perhaps.”
Ichabod’s hand sought mine and squeezed it tightly. “Let us pray God that Miss Jansen here is successful,” he said, as Charlotte completed the bandaging, “and we can all meet again at my and Katrina’s wedding, and forget this ever took place.”
“Amen,” I said.
“Very well,” Charlotte said. “You’re going to need to stand now. Here, Mr. Carpenter, assist him. Steady, now. Don’t rise too quickly.”
With his cousin on one side of him and me on the other, Ichabod slowly got to his feet. He swayed violently before finding his balance under our solid hold.
“All right?” Charlotte asked. “Can you walk? Or should we return with a cart for you?”
Ichabod shook his head. “I can walk.”
“Good man,” Charlotte said again. “I’d rather not waste time.”
We began to make our sluggish way back to the road and to the village, Nox following.
I had my arm wrapped around Ichabod’s waist on the side that bore the wound, and Charlotte walked closely beside me, keeping an eye on it. Blood soon began to soak through the bandages she had wrapped around it, and I noticed her bite her lower lip with concern.
“How are you doing?” she asked, after we had gone perhaps a mile. Halfway there. Halfway still to go.
There was a sheen of sweat on Ichabod’s face. “As well as can be expected, I suppose,” he said.
Charlotte nodded. “Good. Is there any way we can move a little faster?”
“Charlotte, I think he is doing as much as—” I began.
She shot me a hard look. “If he loses too much blood, he will become light-headed, and it will be even more difficult for him to walk. We must get him to my cottage before that happens.”
Ichabod nodded, his pale face set with determination. “I think I can.”
We increased our pace, and perhaps three quarters of an hour later—though it felt much longer—the church came into view. I could have wept with relief.
Luckily, it was still early enough that not many people were up and about. It was best if we did not have to explain the circumstances of Ichabod’s injury. Dueling, despite being a matter of course in terms of settling disputes, was illegal, and Ichabod was an outsider. He would be thought less of were it known he had engaged in a duel—though he would have been thought less of if he had refused to duel and that had gotten out. I shook my head, thinking of the folly of it all.
Even so, we saw a few passers-by on our way. Charlotte and I did our best to hide Ichabod’s wound. We attracted a couple curious looks, but no one approached us to inquire.
Finally, we reached Charlotte’s cottage—and not a moment too soon. Ichabod had started sweating profusely, his face gone waxy and his movemen
ts more pained.
“Here we are,” Charlotte said soothingly. “Into the examination room, please.”
I guided Ichabod and Giles into the room Charlotte and her mother used to examine patients. We helped Ichabod onto the cot within, and he immediately closed his eyes in relief and weariness.
“Charlotte?” I heard Mevrouw Jansen call. “What is happening?”
Charlotte spun around and went out. I could hear their low voices as they rapidly conversed, but I could not make out what explanation Charlotte gave to her mother—the truth, most likely. I did not care. Not so long as Ichabod emerged from this well and whole.
Charlotte returned and closed the door behind her, shutting Nox out. He whined in protest, but we ignored him. She grabbed an apron off a hook by the door and put it on, then swiftly tied back her long hair. “If either of you does not have a strong stomach, I suggest you leave now,” she warned us.
Giles looked a bit green, hovering indecisively near the door. “I … I shall stay,” he said in an uncertain tone.
“I will be fine,” I said. If I had not been able to bear waiting at home for news of the duel, then I could hardly wait outside this room for word of how Charlotte’s efforts had gone.
“Very well,” she said, turning her attention to Ichabod. “But keep back, both of you. I can’t have you in my light.”
She moved about the room, working quickly and efficiently. She drew back the curtains from the high window, and lit all the lamps in the room. After washing her hands, she pulled out another bottle of whiskey. Charlotte poured a glass and handed it to Ichabod; he drank it as she assembled her tools: a pair of metal forceps, a bowl, more bandages. She motioned for me to take the glass once Ichabod had drained it, which I did, and set it on the sideboard. She drew up a chair beside the cot, as well as a small table holding her supplies, and began to unwind the now crimson-soaked bandages from the wound.
Despite her warning to stay back, I crept closer to get a better look at the wound. It was still bleeding, the edges where the bullet had gone in ragged and torn. My heart lurched at the thought of the pain Ichabod must be in, and began to pound faster with fresh anger at Brom.
Ichabod closed his eyes and Charlotte poured some more whiskey on the wound to clean it. She wiped away the liquor and blood with a soft cloth, then picked up her forceps. “I am sorry,” she said briefly to Ichabod before beginning. “This will hurt a great deal.” With that, she carefully inserted the instrument into the wound, to begin digging for the bullet.
Ichabod grimaced in pain, his body twitching slightly, yet it seemed the whiskey he had consumed was having some dulling effect, at least. His face contorted as Charlotte continued to probe. She grunted a few times in frustration before making a small noise of triumph, withdrawing a bit of metal. “Got it,” she said, sounding suddenly weary. She dropped the bullet into the bowl on the table beside her, and immediately set to cleaning the wound again.
Ichabod’s body relaxed slightly as she rubbed an herbal paste on the wound. “Witch hazel, yarrow, and comfrey, to clean it and help it heal,” she explained briefly before tightly winding a clean bandage about his arm. Rising, she washed her hands again. “I will be right back,” she told me and Giles. “Make sure he doesn’t fall asleep. I’m making him an herb drink that will help prevent fever from setting in. He’ll need to drink it right away.”
She left the room, removing her apron—now flecked with blood—as she went.
I moved to her vacated chair, taking Ichabod’s hand in mine. “You must stay awake, my love,” I said.
He opened his eyes slowly and took me in. “Katrina,” he murmured. “You’re still here. I wasn’t sure.”
I brushed his sweat-soaked hair off of his forehead. “And where else would I be?”
His lips twitched into the beginning of a smile. “I don’t deserve you,” he said.
“Of course you do,” I whispered. “Why would you say such a thing?” But before he could answer, Charlotte returned.
“Can you help him to sit up?” she asked me. “It’ll be just for a moment, Mr. Crane. Drink this, and I will help you to another room where you can sleep.”
I helped him into a sitting position. Taking the cup from Charlotte, I put it to his lips, and he obediently drank it down. He made a face. “Not the best-tasting stuff,” he remarked.
“No, but it will have the desired effect,” Charlotte said. “All right, now. If you can stand—slowly—we will get you into the next room, where you can sleep. Mr. Carpenter, perhaps you can assist.”
Giles Carpenter obliged and helped Ichabod to his feet, and the two men followed Charlotte into the adjoining room, furnished with a bed for patients to recover. Giles helped him into bed and drew up the covers over him, Ichabod’s eyes already closed.
I moved to sit beside him, but Charlotte put a hand on my arm. “Let him rest,” she said. “He should be perfectly well given some time to recover. You hovering will do neither of you any good.”
Reluctantly I obeyed, and we left the examination room, causing Nox to bark joyfully at the sight of us, as though we had been gone for days. “What did you give him?” I asked.
“A tea of cinnamon, yarrow, and wormwood,” she said. “It helps to cool the body and prevent a fever.” She studied me carefully. “Perhaps you should rest, too,” she said. “You are welcome to sleep for a bit in my room upstairs if you like. This whole ordeal has not been easy for you, either.”
I realized that sleep was just what I needed right then. “Thank you,” I told her, hoping my tone conveyed the depth of my gratitude, which was more than words could ever say.
“Of course,” she said. And no more words were needed between us than that.
26
Healing
It was midday by the time I awoke. Nox’s tail began to wag as I stirred. I had fallen into a deep sleep the moment my body touched the mattress, the stress and fear of the day—and the sleepless night before—finally earning their victory over me.
I went downstairs looking for Charlotte, and a bit nervous that I might run into Mevrouw Jansen. I did not see her, but Charlotte was in the stillroom, at work making tinctures and potions.
“You’re awake,” she said brightly when she saw me. “Well rested, I hope?”
“Very,” I said. “How is Ichabod? Is he—”
“He is still sleeping,” Charlotte said soothingly. “I have been checking on him. He has no fever, and his color is returning to normal. Rest is the best thing for him now, so I must insist you let him sleep.”
I may not have liked Charlotte’s admonition, but I knew she was right. And if she assured me Ichabod was well, then I could be sure it was the truth.
“You must be hungry,” Charlotte said, wiping her hands on her apron. “I have some porridge and bread, if you like. We can go out into the garden.”
I helped Charlotte carry the food out into the garden, and she spread a sheet over the grass, as though this were one of our carefree picnics. Nox settled in the grass beside us, sticking close. “Where is Ichabod’s cousin?” I asked, once we were seated. “Mr. Carpenter?”
“He’s gone back to White Plains,” Charlotte informed me. “He waited a bit after you went to sleep to make sure Ichabod seemed to be well and wasn’t taking a fever, then he had to return home.”
I nodded. Giles had seemed an amiable sort, and no doubt he would not betray the events of the day to anyone.
“So what now?” Charlotte asked, handing me a hunk of bread.
“I must go home soon,” I said. “I should like to see Ichabod before then, but if he is not awake in time—”
“No,” Charlotte said, a touch of impatience in her voice. “I mean, what will you and Ichabod do now?”
I frowned, not understanding her question. “We will do exactly what we’ve been doing, what we plan to do,” I said. “This changes nothing.”
“Katrina.” Charlotte sighed in frustration. “It changes everything. Brom knows about
you two. The duel has not erased his knowledge, nor has it likely settled anything for him. Not when you and Ichabod are still lovers.”
“He does not know that we are lovers, technically,” I said quickly.
“That you are courting, then,” Charlotte said, exasperated, “though he no doubt guessed at more than that.”
“But he said if Ichabod took part in the duel, he would not tell my father,” I said, my stomach sinking even as I spoke the words. “And Ichabod did, obviously. It must be settled now. That is the point of the duel.”
“Surely you cannot be that naïve,” Charlotte said. “Brom does not have what he wants: he does not have you. He will tell your father. He may wait, and choose his moment, but he will tell him.”
“But Ichabod—”
“This is Brom we are talking about,” Charlotte said. “He may bray about duels as a matter of honor, but the truth is he has none. The duel itself proved that.”
I stayed silent, worry eating at me. “I do not know what else I can do,” I said at last. “We can no longer meet in the woods, that is true; not now that Brom knows we have met there. But we had a plan, Ichabod and I, and we must execute it and pray that it works.”
“What is this plan?” Charlotte asked.
“Ichabod is going to ask my father for my hand,” I said. “On the night of the All Hallows’ Eve feast. He will be in high spirits then, and more likely to say yes. We cannot wait any longer, especially with the weather growing colder so that we cannot meet outdoors…” I trailed off, looking away from Charlotte’s thoughtful gaze. “And we cannot bear being apart anymore. We wish to live as husband and wife. It is time to face what comes next, whatever that may be.”
Charlotte did not say anything for a long while. “I shall hope it all works out well, then,” she said at last. “I have always hoped so. I will hope that I am wrong, for, oh, Katrina…” She took my hands, clutching them tightly. “I have a feeling that something yet stands in your way. I cannot help but feel Brom is not done with you.”
The Spellbook of Katrina Van Tassel Page 17