“There is always another choice,” she snapped. “I myself gave you one. You cannot truly believe you have no choice other than to marry the one person I hate the most, the man who tried to ruin my life and who would have likely seen me dead if he could?”
“I do not want to marry him,” I said. “It is not out of love or desire, and it is certainly not to hurt you. I truly do not have another choice that I can see. Not one that allows me to keep my child, my and Ichabod’s child, and raise her in safety and comfort.”
Charlotte went silent, and I realized that, for the first time, I had said her in referring to the child. A warmth spread through me at how right it felt. Hmmm, I mused to myself, my hands resting on my belly. A daughter, my and Ichabod’s daughter. I could not help it; though this was hardly the time, tears sprang to my eyes.
Charlotte’s face softened. “I hate that this is happening to you,” she said finally. “You should not be upset on my behalf. You should be upset at what your own life is going to become, married to one such as him.”
“I have thought of all of that, Charlotte. Believe me. But I can see no other way. I do not believe that Brom is any the wiser as to my motives; he never knew for certain that Ichabod and I were lovers. He will likely not doubt the child is his. It will come a bit early for it to be his child, of course, but such things happen.”
“And what will you do if you marry him and Ichabod returns?”
She had hit on the one question that threatened to hold me back, even at the last. “Then I will ask him why he left me, alone and carrying his child, for so long. And I will ask him what else he would have had me do.”
“But you do not think he will come back.”
“No,” I said, pained, even now, to admit it aloud. “No, I think that whether because he cannot or will not, he is never coming back.”
She sat silently. “This will not be easy for me, seeing you marry Brom Van Brunt,” she said at last. “I cannot pretend otherwise. But I know it will be much more difficult for you.”
I nodded. It was the most I could hope for right then. “Thank you for understanding.”
“You must do what you think is best.” She rose at last from her seat. “Just promise me one thing.”
“Anything.”
“Promise you will still make me the child’s godmother when she is born.”
I smiled at Charlotte’s use of she. “You need not even ask. I will be counting on her Aunt Charlotte to help me raise her.”
“I will,” Charlotte said. “I will love her to pieces. And I will tell her stories about her true father, once she is old enough to understand.”
“We will both tell her such stories,” I said. Then I was weeping again as Charlotte held me.
* * *
After that, plans for the wedding—which soon became the talk of the village—happened at a rapid pace. My mother and Cook were all too happy to handle the arrangements, and I was just as happy to let them. I did not care about any of the details; what food would be served at the wedding feast or what gown I would wear. It was all rather painful, actually, when I realized how much joy and care I would have taken in such decisions had I gotten the chance to plan my wedding to Ichabod. But as it was, I simply wanted it over and done with, the sooner the better.
In addition to the generous dowry he settled on me—and with the promise of assuming ownership of both the Van Tassel and Van Brunt farms someday—my father snapped up a cottage in the village that had recently become available as a wedding gift for Brom and me. My heart ached anew at this reminder of the life Ichabod and I had planned, and the bleak reality that I would now be living that future with another man. The only thing that gave me any solace was that the cottage was near the Jansen cottage, only a few houses down and slightly larger. Brom could hardly be thrilled by this proximity to the woman he so hated and feared, but by taking me as his wife he had assured Charlotte’s presence in our house whenever I saw fit to invite her. And he would hardly say no to a house bought and paid for.
Soon after Brom and I had announced our intentions, my mother came to see me in my room one morning. “Katrina,” she said, sitting beside me on the bed, “are you sure this match is what you want? I hope you are not simply acquiescing because you know it is what your father would have chosen.”
I gave her my most winning smile. “I have had a change of heart, Mama. I have known Brom forever, and it is a good match, as Papa has always said. It is time I married and moved ahead with my life.”
My mother had nodded, still searching my face probingly, but in the end she seemed convinced enough and was more than willing to let herself be swept up in the excitement of the wedding plans.
Maybe she did not know me as well as I had always thought. Either that, or I was a convincing enough actress to grace the stages of Europe.
As it turned out, though I should not have been surprised, Nancy was the one who truly remained unconvinced.
The night before the wedding, she came up to help me undress and found me sitting motionless on my bed, legs crossed beneath me in a most un-ladylike fashion, staring absently as I stroked Nox’s head. This was the last night I would spend in this room, something that had not occurred to me until just that moment.
“Miss Katrina,” she said, coming to stand before me. “You all right, girl?”
I looked up at her blankly, unsure how to answer her.
She sat beside me. “Miss Katrina,” she said, her voice soft and serious now, “you sure about this? You really want to marry him?”
I drew a deep, shuddering breath and looked down, picking at the threads of the quilt. “Yes.”
“That don’t sound very convincing to me.”
I didn’t reply.
“Look, Miss Katrina,” she said, “you don’t have to marry this man. You can still change your mind. Your parents might be upset, after all this fuss, but they’d forget about it soon enough. They love you.” I could feel her scrutinizing me closely. “And I know you don’t love Mister Brom.”
Finally, I looked up at her. “What difference does it make?” I asked softly. “Love rarely enters into marriage. You know that.”
“It makes a difference,” she said, her voice suddenly heated, “because I know well that that isn’t the kind of marriage you wanted for yourself.” She paused. “And it’s not what I wanted for my baby girl.”
Tears sprang to my eyes, for oh so many reasons: because Nancy was right, because she had seen right through me, because she had seen what even my own mother had been unable—or unwilling—to see. “I don’t have a choice,” I said through my sobs.
Had she asked me, then, what I meant, I would have told her all. I knew she wouldn’t betray me. But either she already knew, or was willing to wait until I was ready to confess unprompted, for she didn’t say anything. She only drew me into her warm embrace, just as she had when I was a child, letting me wring myself dry on her shoulder.
“Come with me to my new house, after I’m married,” I said, when I recovered myself. “Come work for me. Please. I need you still, Nancy.”
“I’d be glad to,” she said. “So long as your mama can spare me, of course.”
“I’m sure she can. I’m sure she will, if I ask it of her.”
“And I’m thinking your husband might have something to say about what servants are hired,” she added.
I rolled my eyes. “He can say whatever he likes, but it need not make a difference to me,” I said. “He is making himself very rich with my father’s money, and as such I shall hire whatever staff I desire.”
Nancy chuckled and patted my cheek. “Now that’s my girl.”
38
Mistress Van Brunt
The day of the wedding dawned unexpectedly mild and sunny for early December—as if the weather was mocking me, I thought dejectedly as Nancy helped me into a bath and began the process of washing my long, thick hair. Nox was again banished to the barn, and I missed his soothing presence beside me. Once
bathed, I sat in a chair by the large downstairs fire to aid with the drying of my hair. All too soon Nancy assisted me in donning my brand-new white underclothes—silk and lace, ordered special from New York—and my champagne-colored gown. It was from my last trip to New York with my father, back before I’d ever met Ichabod, long before any of this started. There hadn’t been time to have a new dress made, so my mother and Nancy had added some new lace and ribbons to this one.
Then Nancy put up my hair, weaving braids and ribbons in a crown about my head and leaving the rest to hang down my back. She curled the loose strands around a poker heated in the fire. When she was finished, she had me stand to look at myself in the mirror above my dressing table. “You look absolutely beautiful, Miss Katrina,” she said, taking in my reflection. “Just gorgeous.”
Her words, kindly meant though they were, caused my eyes to brim with tears. “There, there, darling,” she murmured softly. “I know. This isn’t an easy day.”
Thankfully, she said no more, for if she had I am certain I would have broken down entirely, and all the guests would see what an unwilling, miserable bride I truly was.
My parents were waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs as I descended. My mother gasped aloud. “Oh, Katrina,” she said. “You are a vision.”
I smiled what I hoped was the smile a beautiful, happy bride on her wedding day would wear. “Thank you, Mama,” I said.
My father kissed my cheek. “Just beautiful, my dear,” he said. I was surprised to see tears shining in his eyes as he stepped back. “We are all very happy today.”
I kept my smile pinned to my face. At least someone is happy today. Truly, the only unhappy ones on my wedding day were Nancy, Charlotte, and I.
“Thank you, Papa,” I said. I cleared my throat, trying to steady my nerves, which had begun to mount steadily ever since I’d come down the stairs. “Shall we go?”
My parents, Nancy, and I went out to the carriage waiting outside the front door. We climbed in and Henry snapped the reins, carrying us off to the village church, where most of Sleepy Hollow’s residents—and my bridegroom—were awaiting us. Awaiting me.
I took several deep breaths as the carriage rattled on, taking me closer and closer to the destiny I would not be able to escape. I chose this, I reminded myself. It is the best way. It is the only way.
I was determined not to think—yet—of what would come later that night. My skin crawled at the very thought of Brom in bed with me, of him … no. I must not think about it, or I would never be able to go through with the marriage vows. And for the sake of my child—Ichabod’s child—I must do it all.
Perhaps it would have been better if I were a naïve virgin on my wedding night, I thought wryly. I might have less cause to dread it.
And yet if I had been a virgin, I would not be in this position. I would not be marrying Brom at all. Perhaps I should have listened to all those rules about how unmarried women should comport themselves.
“You are very quiet, Katrina,” my father said, interrupting my thoughts. “And rather pale. Are you quite well?”
I very determinedly did not look at Nancy as I answered. “Yes, very well, Papa,” I said.
“Just nerves, I’m sure,” my mother said, smiling gently at me.
“Yes, very much so,” I said.
All too quickly, we had arrived at the church, and my father was helping me down from the carriage, while my mother and Nancy went inside to take their places in the pews. We paused just outside the doors. “Are you ready, my dear?” he asked, beaming at me.
No. “Yes, Papa,” I said, smiling.
He pulled open the doors, and we stepped inside.
The congregation rose as we appeared, and I could hear the gasps and appreciative murmurs as everyone took in the lovely picture I made. I tried to smile at them all, to glow and blush with the happiness they were all so sure I was feeling. None of them could know that inside, I was screaming; that in my heart I was crying and praying for someone to save me from myself and this decision I had been forced to make.
When we reached the altar, I could ignore him no longer.
Brom stood before the minister, dressed in a neatly pressed suit. The grin on his face was one part genuine happiness, one part smug triumph. And in that moment what I hated most of all was that, after everything, he had won.
Damn him. Damn him to hell and back. I shall never forgive him.
Nor, I realized, would I ever forgive myself.
Brom took my hand, his grin widening as our fingers touched. I looked down at the stone step that led to the altar so I did not have to meet his eyes as I stepped up beside him. Once we were both standing in front of the minister, I looked straight ahead. It was the only way I could endure it all.
The minister began the wedding service, and as he droned on I caught Brom sneaking glances at me out of the corner of my eye. I kept staring determinedly forward. I would not face him, face the life I had chosen, until I had to.
When the time came for the vows, and the minister had us face each other and clasp hands, still I cast my gaze modestly down. Hopefully Brom would merely think of me as the nervous, blushing bride.
“Do you, Abraham Van Brunt, take this woman, Katrina Van Tassel, to be your wife? To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”
“I do,” Brom pronounced.
“And do you, Katrina Van Tassel, take this man, Abraham Van Brunt, to be your lawfully wedded husband? To have, hold, and obey, in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?”
I dreamed that Ichabod would fling the church doors open just then, announcing to all that he had come to claim me. He would come to save me from this choice I’d made; he would save me before it was too late.
But of course, that did not happen. Closing my eyes, I could only speak the words through clenched teeth. “I do.”
We exchanged the rings, and the minister pronounced us wed, in sight of God and man. Brom leaned forward and kissed me, and I was glad that it was only a chaste kiss, here in the church before the congregation.
Hand in hand, we made our way back down the aisle. I caught Charlotte’s eye as we walked, and saw that she understood my feelings completely. The unsmiling look she gave heartened me all the same, if only a little. For her, at least, I would not have to pretend.
I could not hide the tears that were streaming down my cheeks. I could only hope those watching took them for tears of joy.
* * *
We returned to my parents’ house for the wedding feast. Upstairs, one of the spare bedchambers had been prepared for us, and tomorrow morning we would move into the new house my father had bought for us. But I would not—could not—think beyond the feast just then.
Brom and I sat at a table on a raised dais in the dining room, with two long tables for the rest of the guests. Cook brought out each dish and served us first, before serving the rest of the company, assisted by the other servants. As early December was the time when the pigs were slaughtered, my parents had had an entire roasted pig prepared, which caused murmurs of appreciation among the guests. Several kinds of potatoes, fresh white bread, squash, and glazed carrots were also served. Nancy gave me a wink as she passed me, carrying jugs of wine and beer, and I smiled—the only genuine smile I had given all day.
Throughout the meal, Brom would occasionally lean over to kiss me—much to the approval of the guests—and to whisper in my ear. “Are you happy, my bride?” he murmured soon after we sat down. “Are you happy to be Mistress Van Brunt?”
My stomach twisted at the name unfurling from his lips. “Of course,” I lied with a smile.
The words tasted bitter in my mouth, surely poisoning me from within. Every word, every smile, felt like a betrayal: of Ichabod, of our love, of myself. Yet had I not been betrayed first? That I took no joy in my perfidy was no consolation.
The servants kept my glass filled with wine, and I imbibed liberally, for I would need it to get through wha
t lay ahead. Brom, too, drank his first glass of wine, then called for ale; then, after dinner, my father had the brandy poured.
“To the bride and groom!” my father called, lifting his brandy glass. “To the new Meneer and Mevrouw Van Brunt, that their marriage may be long, fruitful, and happy!”
“Hear, hear!” the guests echoed, and everyone drank.
Interesting that happiness should be the last of the things I am wished in my wedding toast, I thought as the brandy burned its way down my throat. I hoped it would take me into oblivion.
* * *
After the feast came dancing, and then the moment I had been dreading arrived: it was time for Brom and I to retire. “Come, Miss Katrina,” Nancy said, finding me in the crowd. “Time for you to come upstairs, and I’ll help you out of that gown. Your husband will follow after.”
Charlotte appeared at my side. “Nancy, may I steal the bride away for just a moment before you take her upstairs?” she asked sweetly.
Nancy smiled. “Of course, honey.” She moved a few steps away to give us some privacy.
Charlotte took my hands in hers, quickly slipping me a small glass vial. “Chicken blood,” she said.
My nose wrinkled in disgust. “Whatever for?”
“For you to sprinkle on the sheets.” Her face darkened slightly. “You know … after.” She lowered her voice until she was barely audible. “So Brom will think you were a virgin.”
Finally I understood. “Thank you,” I murmured, my hand closing tightly around the vial. “I would never have thought of this.”
She smiled, and this time it was genuine. “I know, so that’s why I did.” She embraced me tightly. “Be strong,” she whispered in my ear. Then she drew back, gave me a swift, tight smile, and went to return to her seat. The crowd shied away from her as she passed, and I felt a flash of anger that she should still be treated so, at my own wedding feast. That I had married the man who had made her life this way.
I pushed the guilt aside, for it would not do me any good this night. I looked around for Nancy, and she caught my eye and motioned me to the doorway.
The Spellbook of Katrina Van Tassel Page 25