by Dax Varley
As I’d feared. He’d come to escape a broken heart. “What happened then?” I asked, hoping he couldn’t detect how those last words stung.
“I became obsessed,” he answered. “I spent every second I could with her – leaving work unfinished, papers ungraded, and neglecting my friends as well. She was the oxygen I breathed, and my only purpose for living.”
My blood rose with jealousy, yet I still needed to hear.
“My two friends tried to intervene, but I threatened them. Even fought one of them. I’d let no one come between us.
“As weeks passed, I’d lost myself completely. I no longer read or wrote. My job was hanging by a thread, and my friends had abandoned me.”
He finally turned to look at me. “Then one day she came to the university, crying and begging me for help. Before she could explain, two constables marched in and arrested her.”
“Arrested her? Why?”
“At the time I didn’t know, or even care the reason. I rushed them, swinging and clawing. The more she wept and reached for me, the more it fueled my rage. They were going to arrest me too, but my professor intervened and vouched for me. I’m indebted to him to this day.”
I searched Ichabod’s face, trying to imagine this gentle man expressing any kind of anger.
“I quickly learned,” he went on, “that she’d been accused of witchcraft.”
“Oh, Ichabod.”
“Supposed evidence was found by her servant, who presented several small pouches of bristle and bone. The servant also claimed to have seen her conjure fire. Two merchants came forward as well, alleging to have witnessed her manipulating the weather and seas. Particularly in the case of export ships.”
Her servant? Obviously her place in society was greater than I thought? “Did you see her do any of this?”
“No. All I ever saw was her.”
My teeth clenched, but I reminded myself, You are here with him, not her.
“Nevertheless,” he continued, “I was outraged. I spent the next several days outside her cell, refusing to eat or sleep or even bathe. By that third day, I looked like one of the beggars who slept in the streets.”
Dear God.
“But her trial was swift, and she was sentenced to hang.” He raked his fingers through his hair, misery in his eyes. “On the day of her hanging, I became a pure madman – screaming and gnashing. My friends seized me and locked me in a closet. But I was like a diseased animal, literally growling and charging the door. Finally, I grew so sick and tired, I just curled up, wanting to die.”
“Ichabod,” I whispered, wanting to take him into my arms and soothe away his past.
His eyes softened as he gazed into mine. “But then, instantly, everything changed. I knew the exact moment she was hanged – the very second that she died. Because at that moment, every feeling I’d held for her fled. Every one. I no longer felt love. Or hate. Like or dislike. I had no more concern for her than I would a stranger I’d passed on the street. That’s when I saw the truth.”
“She’d bewitched you.”
“And nearly ruined me.”
My heart ached as I soothed my fingers across his brow.
“The professor, understanding the situation, took me back. But it was never the same. I’d lost my standing within the community. Then I saw Baltus’s advertisement and a chance for a new start.”
“Is this why you study that book of witchcraft?” I asked.
“Yes. I feel a need to understand.” He brushed my hair back, searching my face. “I hope this doesn’t change anything between us.”
I put my hands to his cheeks and kissed him. I’d never let her win.
He relaxed into the kiss, relieved. But there was one other thing I needed to know. “Ichabod, what was her name?”
He shook his head. “No. Forget her.”
“Please, tell me.”
He sighed and spoke it softly. “Victoria. Her name was Victoria.”
Victoria. Now I knew whom to loathe.
We lay silently for a moment, and then he pulled me close. “Katrina, I’m ashamed of what took place in Hartford, but I’m not the least bit sorry. Had it not happened, I wouldn’t be here with you.”
I curled up next to him, my head on his shoulder, my hand upon his chest. I could never imagine this gentle person as a brutal beast.
We held and caressed each other for a time, then Ichabod said those dreaded words. “We should get back. Surely, they’ll be looking for us.”
I knew he was right, but I was not ready to face the harsh realities outside the granary walls.
“It’s safe in here,” I whispered. “Out there The Horseman waits.”
“We’ll find an answer,” he said. “I promise.”
We rode back under a violet sky, the sun already beneath the trees. Before leaving the stables, he drew me in for one more treasured kiss. “And now, I must face the Council.”
I groaned. “Which is nearly as bad as The Horseman himself.”
* * *
Brom was standing out back as we neared the house, like it’d been his duty to wait.
“Ichabod,” he said, his voice scathing and sharp. “I thought you were under watch.”
Ichabod walked ahead, wearing a smile. “I managed a prison break.” He opened the backdoor and stood aside for us to pass.
Brom placed his hand on the small of my back, guiding me forward. Though his touch was light, I could feel the tension wound inside him. Within a few steps, he leaned slightly and inhaled.
He smells Ichabod on me. I could practically hear his teeth grinding.
As we entered, Brom stopped in front of Ichabod, their faces mere inches apart. “Where were you?”
Ichabod leaned even closer. “Hiding from The Horseman,” he whispered. Then patting Brom’s shoulder, he ducked around and walked off.
Brom turned every shade of red as his chest heaved with anger. He whipped around, stabbed me with a glare and stalked out. I sighed relief, thankful that hadn’t turned into a more serious confrontation.
A short time later, dinner was served. I sat toward the end of the table, where I could eat in silence and not interfere with Council business. Archaic, I know, but thankfully, it meant I was seated away from Brom. Notary de Graff sat next to me. The man looked older and frailer every time I saw him.
Father snapped his napkin and placed it in his lap. “Now that you’re actually here, Crane, maybe you have some input that’ll help us resolve this matter. It is your neck on the line, after all.” Judging by Father’s tone, The Horseman might be the least of Ichabod’s worries. But to my relief, I saw no indication that Father knew he and I had just been alone together.
Ichabod kept his chin high. “I didn’t mean to worry anyone, I just don’t take well to being leashed. Even for one day.”
“Well that leash won’t hold if you’re missing your head.” Father tore into his pheasant and cast his eyes from man to man. “Speak up, gentlemen. How are we going to end this?”
Magistrate Harding turned to the Reverend. “I keep saying some type of exorcism is in order.”
“And I keep repeating,” the Reverend countered, “I wouldn’t even know how to go about that.”
Exorcise a ghost? I thought that was a practice for demon possession.
“I say we get to the source,” Caspar Jansen suggested. “There’s still talk of witchcraft.”
“There’s always talk of witchcraft,” Father said. “We need evidence.”
I expected some discomfort on Ichabod’s part, but he kept his composure. “Witches usually control the living, not the dead,” he put in.
“You have some experience in the matter?” the Reverend asked. He seemed eager for an answer, as though Ichabod could educate him on a subject that he should already know front to back.
Ichabod shifted in his chair. “Only what I’ve read.”
He was not an expert liar, but the men didn’t seem to notice.
I glanced over at Brom, who gl
owered at his boiled potatoes as he diced them into small bits with his knife. It was evident he was seeing more than a helpless lump of food as his victim.
Go ahead and murder your dinner, if that puts you in control.
“Those accounts won’t help us,” Father said to Ichabod.
“Then what will?” Caspar asked. “We can’t kill what's already dead.”
The Magistrate drummed his fingers. “Think about it, gentlemen. This is merely another haunting. Not the first we’ve had.”
“I know,” Father agreed. “It’s like there’s a contagion in the air that sweeps through Sleepy Hollow, bringing with it all manner of spirits and specters.”
Goosebumps sprouted on my arms. Why is our village haunted?
Van Ripper nodded, pheasant broth glistening on his chin. “The Woman in White. ‘member her?”
They all grunted acknowledgement.
“All her shrieking got your skin to crawling, it did.”
“I hadn’t heard about her,” Ichabod said, lifting his glass of port.
Van Ripper’s lip curled as though the subject were bitter swill. “Lost her way searching for her children in a snowstorm. Screamed and yelled for them till her vocal cords went numb. They found her clinging to a tree, froze harder than a January pond. After that her ghost screeched every time a storm was due.”
Ichabod’s eyes gleamed like a child’s as he absorbed the eerie tale. “Really? There are many stories throughout New England of the so-called Wailing Woman. Though the accounts are different, she’s become a popular legend.”
Van Ripper swiped his chin with his sleeve. “Are you saying you don’t believe us?”
“No, I’m merely stating that it’s a common form of haunting.”
“Common or not,” Father said, “she plagued us for years. We finally put a stop to it.”
Ichabod’s face was widely curious. “How did you accomplish it?”
“We all knew her,” Father answered. “It was Dora Hindricks. Turns out her children weren’t really lost – they’d found their own way home. Poor Dora died in vain. Her husband, Augustus, was so distraught over his wife’s death, he packed up the children and moved to Raven Rock.”
The Magistrate let out a brisk sigh. “Didn’t seem fair that we had to put up with her moaning instead of him.”
“What’d you do?” Ichabod asked.
“Someone had the good sense to suggest we find her children,” Father answered. “A couple of the townsmen rode out to Raven Rock and brought them here. They were grown by then. The daughter had a child of her own. We escorted them out to the tree where Dora had died. They each one told her not to cry – that they were well and fine, and that was it. Not a sound out of her since.”
“Which was kind of a shame,” Caspar added. “She was the best weather forecaster in the vicinity.”
The men broke into laughter, including Ichabod.
Brom didn’t join in. He sat, hunkered, face pinched, still threatening his now mutilated meal.
The Magistrate took a healthy gulp of his wine. “Shame the old Hessian doesn’t have children we could send for.”
“The Reverend paused, his eyes fixed on a thought. “Well, when you consider it, Dora was searching. The Hessian is searching too.”
“For Crane,” Father pointed out.
The Reverend looked at Ichabod, his brows furrowed. “What about Hartford? Did you bring something with you that The Horseman might be wanting to take away?”
“Besides my head?”
The Reverend faltered. “I’m just saying that sometimes evil is attracted to certain elements…like a particular sin or a black spot on your soul.”
Notary de Graff, who had stayed mum all this time, slammed his glass down, sending a splash of port over the side. “How dare you? My son was a good, sinless boy. There was no black spot on his soul. And for you to suggest otherwise…” There was a momentary lapse as he choked back a sob.
“I’m so sorry, Garth. I didn’t mean to imply that Garritt was in any way sinful.”
“But you implied that I was,” Ichabod stated. “I’ve done nothing to attract the vengeance of a demon.”
“No man is without sin,” the Reverend mumbled.
“Including you,” Ichabod tossed back.
Brom sat up straighter. “I have an idea.”
Everyone turned and looked his way.
He glared at Ichabod. “You could leave town.”
Ichabod met him eye-to-eye. “Is that you’re suggestion? Because you might keep in mind that as long as I’m marked, you aren’t prey. Nor is anyone else.” He nodded slightly toward me, sending Brom the obvious message.
Brom gripped his knife. “Who knows? If you leave, The Horseman may follow.”
Ichabod shook his head. “Doubtful. He is a ghost of the Hollow. His purpose lies here.”
And believe me, Brom, if Ichabod leaves, it is I who will follow.
Van Ripper guzzled his wine with a shaky hand. “Well I ain’t gonna lie to you, boy. Having you under my roof is making me mighty nervous. First Devenpeck. Now you.”
Casper’s face crooked into a grin. “Look out, Hans. If your tenants keep dying, folks might start blaming you.”
“Bull dung!” Van Ripper swore.
“There’s a lady present,” Father warned.
Van Ripper squinted an eye. “I just don’t want to lose my head because I happened to be standing in between Crane and that savage ghost. The Horseman could come stalkin’ ‘em at my place the way he did at de Graff’s?”
The Notary propped an elbow and placed his head in his hand. My heart broke for him. Did they really think he, of all people, could offer a solution?
“Look,” Ichabod said, “If it’s a problem, I’ll find another place to stay.”
Father waved him off. “Don’t worry about it. That port isn’t the first drink Hans has had this evening. He’s just talking out the top of his head.”
“And I hope to hang onto it to talk out of,” Van Ripper grumbled.
Ichabod turned to Father and spoke low. “I could move into the schoolhouse.”
Father’s chin tucked as his eyes grew wide. “You’ll do nothing of the sort. Now please, everyone, let’s get back to the purpose of this dinner?”
The Magistrate nodded. “We had hoped that by putting our heads together – pardon the expression – we would find a solution tonight.”
“I have a suggestion,” I said, my voice a bit shakier than I’d intended.
They all stared at me like I’d just confessed murder. Father razed me with his stare.
But Ichabod looked on me softly. “If it’ll save my life, Katrina, I’d like to hear it.”
Their eyes were all on me, waiting.
“I think he haunts the Hollow because he’s buried here. If we were to dig up his grave and –”
“What?” Reverend Bushnell erupted. “Are you mad?”
“But if we were to send his bones away.”
The Reverend shot me a look that could melt iron. “We will not desecrate a grave.”
“It wasn’t a Christian burial,” I argued.
“He’s still interred in the church cemetery,” the Magistrate reminded.
“By whom? Perhaps we could find this person – ”
Father slammed his fist to the table. “We’ve heard enough of this prattle. Disturbing his grave would only bring his wrath down on the entire Hollow. It’s neither an option or a good suggestion.”
I sat back, pretending to resume my meal.
Ichabod shrugged. “I don’t know. Any suggestion to keep me breathing sounds pretty good right now.”
“Not that one,” Father barked.
How can they know that for sure?
Ichabod looked around, his face questioning. “So what now?”
Father peered at each of them too. “Well?”
They all wore blank faces.
Father huffed a sigh. “Gentlemen, if we don’t come up with something so
on, we’ll be looking for a new schoolmaster. And considering the demise of the first two, I doubt a third would be willing to take up the position.”
“Speaking of which,” Ichabod said, “what about the children?”
The Magistrate lifted his brow. “What about them?”
“Their lessons have already been interrupted once.”
Casper jolted and turned. “Now hold up there, young man. If you think I’m going to send my sons back to you for instruction, you’re completely out of your mind. I’m not going to risk their lives.”
“I wasn’t implying that I should teach them directly. But I could prepare the lessons and someone else could teach them.”
“We’re all concerned for the children,” Father said, “but there’s no one –”
“I’ll do it,” I interrupted.
Brom’s fork screeched across his plate.
Father’s lip quivered. “Katrina –”
He was interrupted again when the Magistrate bellowed a laugh. “Dear girl, what qualifies you?”
My grip on my napkin tightened, but I pledged to remain calm. “What qualifies me? I can read and write. I have a keen aptitude for mathematics. I love children. And if Ichabod is volunteering to put together the lessons, then I volunteer to administer them.”
“Preposterous,” he scoffed. “Even if it was a good idea, there is no meeting place. The schoolhouse is out of the question.”
“What about the church?”
The Reverend popped his head up. “I don’t know, Katrina.”
“Why?” I asked. “Do you think the good Lord would object?”
Ichabod sputtered a chuckle that he quickly covered with a cough.
The men again gazed one to the other, then the Magistrate said, “It’s entirely up to you, Baltus. If you think your daughter is qualified.”
Now Father found himself in a quandary. I could see it all over his face. On the one hand, allowing me to teach would be granting me permission to leave the house. On the other hand, not allowing me would be admitting that his offspring was inferior and not up to the task. He wouldn’t want to again look weak before the Council. “She’s more than qualified. If anyone could make a success of it, it would be her. And she’d be safe in the church.” He directed a scornful glare toward me. “But someone other than Crane will deliver the lessons.”
