The worst part was I could not even be certain they were wrong.
Days passed, and soon I could hardly bring myself to leave my room, let alone the house. Finally Charlotte came, with another letter from Giles.
“Ichabod’s mother has not seen nor heard from him,” Charlotte reported, sitting beside my bed. Nox lay across my legs, seeking to protect and comfort me. “Her last letter from him was dated mid-October, well before All Hallows’ Eve.” She handed me the sheet of paper. “You may read it for yourself if you wish.”
I scanned the page listlessly. Sighing, I let it drift to the floor. My last hope—flimsy as it had been—was dashed. I scarcely felt the pain of it; my heart was already in so much agony that one more wound hardly made a difference.
“He sent another note, as well,” Charlotte offered. “Giles, that is. Almost as though he were unsure whether to send it when he wrote this letter.”
“What did it say?”
“He asked if I thought he should come to Sleepy Hollow, if there was anything he could do here.”
It took almost more energy than I had to shrug. “He needn’t bother. He knows nothing we do not already know. What would be the point?”
“He … well, he suggested he might ask around, inquire of the villagers if they knew or had seen anything. As Ichabod’s cousin, he has cause to ask questions. We do not; not in a manner that would be appropriate.”
I could not have cared any less what was appropriate or not under such circumstances. “Given the volume of gossip, we would hear straightaway if anyone knew something,” I said. “They would be falling all over themselves in their haste to be the center of the gossip mill.”
Charlotte narrowed her eyes at me. “Well, certainly it could not hurt to have Giles come ask a few questions,” she said. “What else do you propose we do?”
I had no answer to that.
Charlotte, however, seemed to interpret my silence as hostility. “And has it occurred to you that perhaps I might wish to see Giles Carpenter?” she asked.
The selfish, merciless brat in me wanted to rail at her for finding some measure of happiness in my anguish, for using my tragedy to further her own romantic prospects. The rest of me, though—the part that was a good friend—knew no matter how hard it might be for me now, I was happy for her, happy she had found someone to take a shine to. For too long her romantic prospects in Sleepy Hollow had been nonexistent, thanks to Brom’s slander. A handsome gentleman from another town was just the thing.
But I was too lost in my own pain to tell her that. “Have him come, if you wish,” I said, sliding down in the bed again and turning my back to her. “You do not need my permission.”
* * *
Several more days passed, and still there was no sign of Ichabod, and still the villagers could talk of little else. When it occurred to me that lying in bed brooding all day was likely not helping my state of mind, I forced myself to ride into the village again, leaving Nox at home, for even he had begun to look at me with worry in his eyes.
Luckily, I found Charlotte alone. Giles Carpenter had indeed come on her invitation, and though he was staying at the inn, I had no doubt he had called on Charlotte many a time since his arrival.
“Katrina,” she said, sounding surprised when she opened the door. “Come in. I’m glad to see you up and looking…” She trailed off.
I gave her a wan smile as I stepped inside. I knew what I looked like; my face pale and drawn, with dark shadows under my eyes; I was thinner as well, from eating very little over the past week. “It is all right,” I said softly.
She nodded and motioned for me to sit. I settled myself carefully in a chair, as though my bones were brittle and fragile now, liable to break. “Has Giles discovered anything through his inquiries?” I asked.
Charlotte reluctantly shook her head. “I’m sure you were right. If anyone knew anything they would have added it to the gossip mill long ago,” she said. She covered my hand with hers. “I am so sorry, Katrina,” she whispered.
I shook my head, tears springing to my eyes. Good Lord, was there an endless well of tears inside me? “I did not expect anything else,” I said quietly. “He has left me, it seems. He must have. I have been over it and over it and—”
Charlotte tilted her head thoughtfully. “He may have, I suppose,” she said. “But it makes no sense. If he had simply left of his own accord, why hide from Giles or his mother?”
I shrugged listlessly. “Who knows? Perhaps he did not want to admit that he impregnated the woman he claimed to love and left her.” I wanted so desperately to believe that Ichabod had not left me, but what else could have happened? “And if he did not leave of his own accord, where is he?” I demanded. “If he met with some sort of accident, surely someone would have found further sign of him. If he…” I shuddered. “If he fell from his horse and broke his neck, they would have found him beside the road. But he has simply vanished, almost without a trace.”
Charlotte was silent for a long time. “You don’t think…” She trailed off and bit her lip. “You don’t think the legends are true?”
“I can think of little else,” I confessed. “One moment I am sure he has left me, and the next I think it must be true, that the Horseman is real and rides in the night.” I paused. “Do you remember the vision I had?” I asked.
She nodded, sadness pooling in her eyes. “I do,” she said softly. “I wondered if you did.”
“As I said, I can think of little else.” I put my head in my hands.
“And you … you actually saw the Horseman?” she asked. “In the vision?”
I lifted my head. “I did not see him, not clearly,” I said. “Just shadows. But I heard the horse, and heard him draw his blade…” I moaned softly. “And I’ve dreamt of him … of him standing between me and Ichabod … oh, Charlotte, what else could it mean? I … I do not think I ever believed, not truly, but … it must all be true, mustn’t it?”
She had no answer for me.
* * *
A short time later, after I had calmed down a bit and Charlotte had made us some tea, insisting I take a biscuit with mine, she brought up a subject I had been desperately trying to avoid. “And so … what of the child?”
I was unable to meet her eyes. “I don’t know.”
She stared hard at me until I had no choice but to look at her. “What do you mean, you don’t know? Surely you realize that you must decide, and soon.”
I rose to my feet in agitation. “What choice do I have?” I asked. “I must wait and hope Ichabod comes back, that we may marry and our child be legitimized.”
Charlotte waited a long time before saying quietly, “And if he doesn’t?”
I turned my face away from her.
“I am sorry, Katrina,” she said firmly, “truly I am, but you must face the facts. He may never come back. And so you must protect yourself.” She took a deep breath. “I can make you a potion, you know.”
I stared at her, uncomprehending.
“A potion,” she clarified, “to rid yourself of the child. It is easy enough to do. You will likely be sick for a few days, but better that than you are found to be with child and unwed.” She frowned at me as I continued to stare at her in shock. “Why are you gaping at me like that?”
“I…” My mouth was dry as I attempted to speak. “I cannot. I will not. I…” I crossed my arms over my belly. “This is Ichabod’s child. Ichabod’s and mine. I … I cannot simply rid myself of it.”
“Katrina, what choice do you have?” Charlotte demanded. “You know well what will happen if you are discovered pregnant out of wedlock. Your parents may be indulgent of you, but they are not so indulgent as to let you stay at home and raise your bastard.”
“How dare you—”
“I dare because that is what this child is, and all anyone here will ever see it as,” she said. “What kind of life is that, for the child or for you?”
“I just … I cannot,” I said again.
“I do not see as you have a choice.”
“Ichabod may still come back.”
Charlotte looked at me, for the first time, with true pity in her eyes. “He may,” she allowed. “But that seems less likely every day. And so you must make a decision before your condition becomes apparent to everyone.”
“I cannot do it,” I said stubbornly. “No matter what. Not his child.”
“So you lied to me before.”
“What? When?” I asked, confused.
“When you said you did not know what you were going to do about the child. You lied. You do know. You mean to have it, no matter what it may cost you.”
“Charlotte,” I said, my voice anguished, “this child may be all I ever have of him. Can’t you understand that?” My voice broke as I articulated to her what, until now, I had only felt down in my very bones.
“I can,” she conceded, “to a point. Where I confess I begin to lose my understanding is why you wish to keep any pieces—let alone a child—of a man who would abandon you when you need him most.”
“We do not know for certain that he abandoned me,” I retorted hotly.
Charlotte met my gaze evenly. “No,” she said. “That is true. We do not.”
I turned away from her, the tears spilling down my cheeks now. Yet was not the idea of him leaving preferable to that of him having been murdered by a vengeful specter? At least the former would mean he still existed; that he was still out there, somewhere, alive and well.
“I … I cannot decide anything yet,” I said at last. “I need more time.”
Charlotte nodded in concession to this point. “I can well understand that,” she said. “But you do not have too much time, Katrina. I know you know that, but I think it behooves you to hear the words anyway.”
34
Search for Salvation
The next day, my parents, it seemed, felt I’d had more than enough time to wallow in my despair. I could not fault them, for they did not know the true extent of it, yet still I could not entirely forgive my mother for summoning me downstairs. “Katrina,” she said, standing in the doorway of my bedchamber, “we have a visitor. Get dressed and come down, please.” She stepped aside so Nancy could help me dress.
Perhaps playing hostess for an hour or two would not be the worst thing in the world. At the very least it would take my mind off of my incessant worrying.
Once dressed and my hair hastily pinned back, I went downstairs to the parlor. I stopped dead in the doorway when Brom Van Brunt rose to his feet upon seeing me. “Oh,” I said, coldly. “It’s you.”
He bowed slightly. “I heard you have been unwell, and wanted to see how you fared,” he said, his tone perfectly courteous. “I am glad to see you up and about.”
Without another word, I turned to leave.
“Now, Katrina,” my father’s voice said, stopping me. Slowly I turned back into the room. “There is no need for such rudeness. Mr. Van Brunt is only asking after your health, after all.”
I did not have the strength to make a battle out of this. Not today. “I thank you for your concern, Mr. Van Brunt,” I said tonelessly. “I am well.”
Brom smiled. “It is a fine day out,” he said. “Rather warm for November. I thought you might indulge me in a stroll?”
“Very well,” I said, noting the warning glance from my father. I fetched my cloak, brushed past Brom, headed out the front door and toward the river.
Brom jogged slightly to catch up. “You are moving so quickly that you must be quite recovered from your illness,” he said.
I was not reassured by his courteous tone; quite the opposite, in fact. No doubt he had some fresh torment for me hidden up his sleeve. “What do you want?” I asked finally. “Why are you here?”
He looked surprised. “What do you mean?” he asked, taking my hand and threading it through the crook of his elbow. “I told you. I heard you were unwell and came to see—”
“I did not realize my health was the talk of the village,” I interrupted.
“It is not,” he conceded. “But I had not seen you about much, and I figured that you were upset by…” His gaze hardened slightly. “By the disappearance of the schoolmaster.”
I wrenched away from him. “Do not you dare speak to me of him,” I spat. “Do not act as though you have any sympathy for what I am going through.”
He stood, motionless, watching me. “I imagine you must be in a great deal of pain,” he went on, as though I had not spoken. “I know what he was to you, and for him to abandon you like that…”
I almost slapped him. “That is not what he has done,” I retorted.
“Then what do you think has happened?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious.
I whirled away from him, unwilling to let my uncertainty show. “It could be anything,” I said. “In any case, you can have no proof he abandoned me, so before you continue with such slander—”
“Oh?” Brom said, storming forward, his anger finally rising. “No? Well, the rumor in the village is he asked Baltus Van Tassel for your hand and was refused. And so he disappeared rather than face the disappointment and shame.”
This time I did slap him. “Is that so?” I hissed. “My health may not be the talk of the village, but my marriage proposals are?”
“You have just confirmed it yourself,” Brom said, raising a hand to where I’d struck him. “You must accept the truth, Katrina: Ichabod Crane was only after your inheritance. And when he saw he would never get his hands on it, he simply left to try his luck elsewhere.”
I went to slap him again, but he grabbed my wrist. “How dare you,” I said, fighting not to let Brom see me cry. “You know him not at all; you know nothing of what was between us.”
“And what do you think happened, Katrina?” he asked. “I suppose the Headless Horseman came and carried poor innocent Ichabod away?” He chuckled mirthlessly and tossed my arm aside. “Believe that, then, if it makes you feel better.”
“Why are you here?” I asked him again. “Did you expect now that Ichabod has vanished, I would fling myself into your arms?”
He shook his head and stepped closer to me, taking one of my hands in his. “No. Of course not. This has not gone at all how I wanted.” He squeezed my hand gently. “My offer still stands, of course. I have not formally spoken to your father, but you need only say the word and I will make you my wife.”
With a glare, I whirled around and stalked back up to the farmhouse. I did not know if he followed me, and I did not care.
* * *
The next day, Charlotte came to visit. “I heard Brom was here yesterday,” she said, once we were alone in my room.
“Good Lord, is everything that happens here the talk of the village?”
Charlotte cast me an impatient look. “In any case,” she said, “what did he have to say?”
“What you would expect,” I said. “He acted as if he was full of concern for me, then informed me that Ichabod had surely left me, but he was still most willing to take me as his wife.”
Charlotte shook her head in disgust.
“And yet,” I said to myself, realization suddenly dawning now, “he does have a point.”
“About what?” Charlotte demanded, looking alarmed. “Not that you should marry him, surely?”
“Of course not,” I said. “But … I could get married. To someone.”
Charlotte waited in shocked silence for me to explain.
“It could be my way out,” I said. “My only way out. If Ichabod never returns…” My breath caught in my throat as I spoke the words aloud, but I soldiered on, “If he never returns, then I must protect my child, as you said. If I married soon, then everyone will assume the child is my husband’s.”
“Katrina … you cannot be serious.”
“What other choice do I have?” I demanded, my voice rising sharply. “What would you have me do?”
“I already told you my suggestion,” she said. “But you dismissed it out of hand.�
��
I closed my eyes. I had considered doing as she advised, but only for a moment.
But I loved this child already, had loved it since I learned of its existence. And now, this child—son or daughter—was all I had left of Ichabod. I could not simply rid myself of it.
“I cannot, Charlotte,” I said. “Do not ask me to.”
“I think you are making a mistake,” she said. “You would not be the first woman in the village to do so, you know. Nor would you be the last.”
“I don’t care. I won’t.”
She sighed. “And so where will you find an acceptable suitor to wed in a matter of weeks? Has any man but Brom approached your father?”
“I do not know, in truth,” I said. “But I will speak to my father, and tell him I am ready to wed as he sees fit. He told me he would not force me to marry Brom against my will, so surely he must have someone else in mind.”
“I do not know about this, Katrina,” Charlotte said. “But you must do as you think is best, I suppose.”
I took that as a sign she could not hear the sound of my heart breaking.
35
October’s Legacy
Once Charlotte left, I went to see my father in his study, before I lost my nerve. After all, was I really ready to commit to marriage with a man I would barely know, if indeed I knew him at all?
And what if I did marry and then Ichabod returned for me?
That was a chance I had to take. For my child. Wasn’t it?
I knocked on the door to my father’s study and he called for me to come in. I entered and sat in one of the chairs before his desk. “I wanted to speak to you, Papa,” I said.
“Of course, my dear,” he said, setting aside the ledger he’d been examining.
I took a deep breath. “I am ready to marry, I think. And as you have said you will not force me to marry Brom if I do not choose to, I assume you have some other suitors in mind.”
My father looked somewhat startled. “Why, Katrina,” he said. “I knew not that you were in such a hurry.”
“Not a hurry, per se,” I said carefully. “I just feel it is time.”
“Well, perhaps we should think on this more,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “After all, you were quite disappointed at my refusal of young Mr. Crane’s suit.” He gave a harrumph of derision. “Of course, seeing as how he vanished into thin air right after said refusal—leaving his duties at the schoolhouse behind without a thought, I might add—I made the right decision, as you now no doubt agree.”
The Spellbook of Katrina Van Tassel Page 23