SEVERED (A Tale of Sleepy Hollow)

by Dax Varley

  He used the cloth to pat my tears. “Katrina, you have suffered a great shock. But right now, we need you to focus on getting well. I know it is difficult, but you must try.”

  He was asking the impossible.

  “Here, have another sip of water.” He placed the cup back to my lips.

  The next sips went down easier, though my throat still burned. I dropped my head back onto my pillow and whispered, “I have done an evil thing.”

  “Katrina,” Father said, “try not to talk.”

  But I needed to confess. Reverend Bushnell had been right. Unearthing the Hessian’s bones had set a pestilence upon the Hollow. He took Marten – and maybe others for all I know.

  “Ichabod?” I tried to sit up, but the pain crushed me.

  “He’s fine,” Father assured me. “Now try to rest.” As always with Father, it sounded more like a command.

  Ichabod. He was probably the only one safe, locked within the jail. But thank God, he was safe.

  Weakness overcame me and my body melted into the sheets. “Marten is dead because of me.”

  “No,” Doctor Goodwine said. “It was not on your account.”

  “But – ” That’s when I saw beyond them to the person standing at my door. Brom. His face was taut, yet blank. Our eyes met only for a second, then he slipped away.

  “Brom,” I uttered.

  Father craned his neck, looking back to the spot where Brom had stood. He studied the emptiness. “There’s no one there.” He placed a hand to my forehead. “Doctor, are you sure she’s out of the woods?

  The doctor gave a slight nod. “Oh, yes. But I am worried about you, Baltus. It’s time you got some rest.”

  “I’ll rest when I’m ready,” Father spat. “I need no medical advice.”

  “But you’ve been sitting with her every day with barely a wink of sleep.”

  Every day? My mind whirled. “What day is it?’

  The doctor paused as though he’d spoke out of turn, then answered, “It’s Friday.”

  “Friday?” My breath hitched, leading into a fitful cough. How can it be Friday? I had last set out in the predawn hours of Wednesday.

  “Like I told you,” the doctor said, forcing more water into me, “you have suffered a great shock. And with the fever…”

  “What time is it now?” I asked, sputtering water onto my quilt.

  He reluctantly consulted his watch. “Just after three.”

  So many hours lost.

  “Settle back,” he said. “And rest as best you can. You’ll be fine.”

  Fine? What mockery. I turned my head, shutting my eyes against my tears.

  Oh, Katrina, what have you done?

  * * *

  Though still racked with spasms, by nightfall, I managed a bit of mobility. I could not stand, but with the support of pillows, I could sit up. Simon had placed my dinner tray across me. Boiled liver, collard leaves and pickled beets – all cut into tiny bites and soaking in a mire of maroon juices. My stomach wrung at the sight of it. I used what strength I had to sip my wine. That, at least, numbed some of the ache.

  Father peeked in, then quietly brought a chair to my bedside. The weight of the farm and recent distress carried on his face. He kept his eyes on my tray as he fumbled for words. “You’re looking much better.”

  “I feel like I’ve been struck by lightning.” And even that was a mild description.

  “It’ll take some time.” He fidgeted with his unlit pipe, then he drew his eyes to mine. “Katrina, the Council has been asking me about the morning of Marten’s death. We need – I need to know what happened.”

  I shook my head, biting my lips. More tears. I turned to face the wall.

  He placed his hand on my arm. I couldn’t remember the last time he’d touched me so tenderly. “Why were you at the docks? And so early?”

  The pink wallpaper roses were a watery blur. I blinked away some tears, yet my chin still trembled. But Father needed an answer. I sniffled, then lied. “Marten was shipping out that morning with no plans to ever return. I couldn’t let him leave without saying goodbye.”

  “Dressed as you were?” His words were a little more stern than he’d probably intended. He softened them when saying, “You were wearing a simple dress and my boots. And your horse returned with one of my overcoats and a shovel.”

  I had no answer for that. I pushed the tray down, then faced him. “I was taking those things to Marten. He needed a few supplies before leaving.”

  He no more believed me than he would Henny. He examined his pipe for a moment, then said, “Very well. I’ll think of something to tell the Council.” Heaving up from the chair, he trudged toward the door.

  “Father,” I said. He turned. “Thank you.”

  He nodded his long face and walked out.

  * * *

  I awoke the next morning feeling twice the misery. Marten. I wasn’t sure which was worse, the pain within my body or that within my heart. I whimpered and sobbed, and cried myself back to sleep. It was much later when someone gently swept my hair from my cheek, rousing me from sleep. “Katrina.”

  My eyes popped wide, and I gripped his hand. “Ichabod.” I drank in the sight of him, then his lips were on mine. This was far more medicinal than the foul plasters and tonics Doctor Goodwine had prescribed. When we parted I smiled weakly and teased, “What took you so long?”

  He ran two fingers along my jaw, his eyes rimmed red. He spoke so softly, I almost didn’t hear. “Katrina…I have been to The Horseman’s grave.”

  “Oh God. Does anyone else know?”

  “Only I.” Two of his tears fell onto my cheek. “Why would you take such a risk? If anything had happened to you…” He took my face in his hands and kissed me again.

  My own tears ran as well. “I only meant to free you. But I’ve put everyone in danger instead.”

  “Sweetheart, do not think your act was selfish. Banishing him would’ve saved everyone.”

  “But I didn’t banish him.”

  “But you didn’t raise him either. He must’ve had some reason to strike Marten. You were not the cause.”

  I thought back on it. Could he have marked Marten before I dug up the bones?

  “I need you to listen,” he went on. “The Council has turned on me. Since Marten’s death, I’m no longer their safeguard. They’ve terminated my teaching agreement, and asked that I return to Connecticut.”

  “But you can’t go,” I cried, holding him close.

  “I have no other choice. They’ve agreed to give me two weeks to find employment elsewhere. That will give you time to heal, then we can leave this Godforsaken place together.” He kissed me again with urgency. Pain screamed through me, but I would never let on. Then he looked back toward the door. “Sweetheart, I must go before Baltus returns.”

  I clutched his lapel. “Will you come back?”

  “It may be too risky. Send word to me when you’re better.”

  “Send it where? Are you back at Van Ripper’s?”

  “At present, they’ve moved a cot into the filing room.

  “But surely, they’d intercept any message I sent.” If only I could get out of this bed now.

  “We will find a way, Katrina. I promise.”

  He then gave me one last kiss.

  * * *

  It was another two days before I could rise without feeling like my limbs were being ripped from my body. Though painful, it was a relief to finally move around. Ichabod had given me incentive to heal. But I slept very little. I didn’t deserve to flee my guilt so easily. And the nightmares were persistent. How many times would I have to relive Marten’s death? Over and over I saw his protruding dead eyes glaring up at me.

  I was sitting in the parlor with my tea when Father came in from town. He sat uncomfortably at the edge of the sofa. “Peter Bottoms approached me today.”

  My stomach roiled thinking of that vile creature.

  “He claims Marten gave you something that’s rightfully h
is, and he’d very much like it back.”

  My thoughts turned to the beads, tucked inside the hem. “I-I don’t know what he’s talking about. Marten never gave me anything of Peter’s.” Nothing Peter earned, anyway.

  Father’s fingers anxiously twitched. “Well, he’s causing quite a stir. I’m refusing to let him speak with you. Especially since he’s still boiling over the incident with his shoulder.”

  “If he’s so adamant, then he should come right out and say what it is he wants.” And why. They must be some kind of key to something valuable.

  Father dallied, then asked, “Would this have to do with your morning at the docks?”

  For once I could tell the truth. “Not at all.” Picking up my teacup, I added, “If Peter thinks Marten had something of his, he should be ransacking the boat, not badgering us.”

  Father rose. “Someone had already plundered it. Perhaps it was him. Anyway, the ship has been towed and sunk.”

  Towed and sunk. Marten’s dream, rotting on the ocean bed. The thought pricked my heart.

  Though he meant to walk away, but I quickly stopped him with a question of my own. “Father, will you allow me to go back to church on Sunday?”

  His eyes widened like I’d asked to wallow with the pigs. “Certainly not.”

  “I will only improve with outside stimulation. And I need to move about.”

  “I can’t risk it. You know better than anyone that The Horseman is unpredictable. It’s not safe for you to step out of this house.”

  “But don’t you think if The Horseman had had wanted my head, he would’ve left it on the ground next to Marten’s?”

  Father’s cheeks turned a ruddy orange. This was about more than The Horseman. His breath came in quick gasps. “Very well. But under no circumstances are you to leave my sight. Or speak with Henny or any of those other meddling flibbertigibbets in town. Understood?”

  I could only imagine what they were saying. “Understood.”

  * * *

  Father kept his hand protectively on my back as we entered the church. I kept a protective hand on my Bible, holding tight to what I’d hidden inside it. I’d expected the congregation to ascend upon me, batter me with questions, but I was only met with broad stares.

  They’d been forewarned.

  Elise stood across the room, her eyes filled with venom. No doubt, she blamed me for Marten’s death. I turn away so she couldn’t see the guilt on my face.

  The Magistrate and Notary de Graff approached. The Notary didn’t speak, but his face was filled with sympathy. Maybe he felt we had a common suffering.

  The Magistrate stood tall – or as tall as a pudgy man about five foot seven was able. “Good morning, Baltus.”

  “Harding” Father replied. He rarely addressed him by his title.

  Then the Magistrate’s eyes were on me – the pupils pinpricks within a circle of olive green. “I trust you’re feeling better, Katrina.”

  “Yes, sir. Much better.”

  “Good then. The Council greatly needs your help.”

  Why should I help them? “Honestly, Magistrate, I’m not sure if I can offer anything substantial.”

  He held his chin high in order to look down his nose at me. “The Council believes you can. Twice you’ve had a full encounter with The Horseman. We’d simply like to sit down with you and discuss it.”

  “Your Honor, I don’t know that I could contribute – ”

  Father held up a hand to the Magistrate. “Katrina has only just regained her strength.”

  The Magistrate sneered. “And who else will die while we wait for her recovery?”

  “Not her,” Father countered.

  They glared in silent confrontation. Over the last week, one thing had become abundantly clear. Brom had been wrong. Father did care more for me than his money, his farm, and his position on the Council..

  The Magistrate turned back to me. “Katrina, we will wait. But the fate of the Hollow could lie with you.”

  I didn’t see how.

  “Come, Katrina,” Father said, his hand again on the small of my back.

  He meant to help me to our usual pew, but when we turned, I bumped right into Ichabod. I was thrilled at the fortunate chance to touch him, but had I known he was behind me, I would’ve seized this opportunity to carry out my plan.

  “Oh dear,” he said, holding my arm to steady me. “I apologize.”

  The warmth of his hand spread through me. “No, I’m sorry, it was I who was inattentive.”

  He still held me in his grasp. “I’ve been so worried. But you’re looking well.”

  The Magistrate grumbled. He knew better than anyone that it was simply an act.

  “Thank you,” I said. “I’m feeling much better.” And better still when we can finally be together.

  Father jerked Ichabod’s hand off me. “Come along, Katrina.”

  I nodded to Ichabod, then purposely swept by so that my Bible brushed against his. I used that moment to drop the piece of paper I’d concealed inside mine. I stopped and tapped his shoulder. “Ichabod, you’ve dropped something.”

  He kept a blank face as he picked it up, opened it briefly, and closed it again. “Thank you. I tend to write down inspiring prayers and passages. It always uplifts me.”

  Smiling inside, I said, “Then I’m happy it wasn’t lost.”

  He placed it within his Bible, nodded politely, and went to take his seat.

  Father and I took ours. I kept my eyes forward, not once looking Ichabod’s way. I prayed that he could interpret the message I’d slipped to him – a single Bible passage: Corinthians 15:37. And that which thou sowest, thou sowest not that body that shall be, but bare grain. Underneath, in a much smaller hand, I’d written: Tu. 1.

  * * *

  Just before one o’clock on Tuesday, I sneaked away to Bliss. A November wind had blustered through, but I was warmed by the anticipation of Ichabod’s arrival.

  Please come. Please.

  I exhaled my relief – how long had I been holding my breath? – when I heard him enter.

  He hurried up the steps and swept me into an embrace.

  “How I’ve missed you,” he whispered as he drew my mouth to his.

  I melted into him, feeling…tasting…touching. He held me tightly, like I might flitter away. He only let go long enough to say, “Katrina, we must leave.”

  “How? When?”

  “Right now,” he urged, his hands cupping my face. “This second. We’ll simply get on our horses and go.”

  Nothing is simple. “And how far do you think we’d get before Father sent a search party? I know my Father. He would find us.”

  Ichabod sat back, his elbow resting on his knee. “Then we must come up with a plan.”

  “We can use a byway.” I told him about Marten’s arrangements for Greenburgh to Sawpit.

  He considered it, nodding. “There’s no reason we can’t do something similar.”

  “Can we?”

  He pulled me back into his arms. “I’ll leave in the morning for one of the ports in Connecticut. I should be able to buy us passage on a merchant ship.”

  My thoughts rushed like the waters of the Hudson. “To where?”

  He shrugged. “To wherever it’s sailing. Does it matter?”

  I breathed in his wonderful scent. “Not as long as you’re there.”

  I closed my eyes, reveling in these moments, but he stayed tense, his mind on the details of our arrangements. After a bit, he pulled away and held my face close to his. “We’ll meet at the school on Friday morning. Since no one ventures there, we won’t be detected.”

  “What time?” I asked.

  “Six. Before the village comes to life. Pack only what you need.” He drew me in and kissed me deeply, invigorated by our new endeavor. Then he whispered in my ear, “Just two more days, then nothing will keep us apart.”

  * * *

  Two days. Only two days to prepare.

  I had more gowns and trimmings tha
n I ever needed, but now I must choose two – one to pack and one to wear. The portmanteau I hid under the bed held so little. Any shoes, shift, stay and hairpins I brought would be the ones I wore. This was a task that required common sense. I rustled through my wardrobe to see what I could fit. Then my hand touched upon the blue gown. The beads. Should I take them with me? No. They were only valuable to Peter. And after what he’d done to Ichabod, I’d never hand them over. I dug them out of the hem and placed them into my pocket. I had a better idea. Making sure no one was watching, I crept out to the stables, then rode on to the church.

  I roamed through the cemetery, searching out Marten’s grave. There was no headstone yet, but it wasn’t hard to find. I knew it would be somewhere near Garritt’s with freshly turned sod. The second I spotted it, tears loosened and fell. And those final moments poured into my mind. I trudged forward and knelt.

  The day was bitter cold, and my breath appeared before me. “Marten, I’m so sorry.” I sat back on my heels and sobbed. “You wanted to keep me safe, and look what I’ve done to you. I hope you can find it in your soul to forgive me.”

  How different life should’ve been.

  It took several moments before I could compose myself, then I wiped my eyes and nose. “You keep these,” I whispered, removing my glove. “Better you, than Peter.” I burrowed a small hole in the soil, then one by one, placed the roses inside. “I’m sorry they’re not all here.”

  Though it was risky to linger, I stayed with him a few minutes more. Then rising, I rubbed the dirt from my fingers and wrapped my shawl tight. My heart couldn’t plunge any deeper. “Goodbye, my sweet Marten. You will always be with me.” Quickly turning, I hurried away.

  Reverend Bushnell was standing at the church doors as I approached my horse.

  “Katrina, my dear,” he called. “I couldn’t tell if that was your nose or a ripe strawberry. Come in and get warm.”

  “Thank you, Reverend, but I must be getting back. Father will be worried.”

  He motioned me forward. “Just tell him you were with me.”

  I hope to avoid encountering him completely. “I couldn’t.”

  “Girl, you’re shivering. Come in. Just for a minute or two.”

  Sigh. A minute or two.

  Stepping into the church was like nestling into a warm quilt. It would be difficult to walk back out.