“My dear Dylan,” Jason continued.
“His son,” Hadewych said, pointing at the angry headstone.
Jason frowned. He would never get through it if Hadewych kept interrupting.
“My dear Dylan, I have buried what you seek. You will not recover it. She is gone, our Agathe, and her prize rests in my hands at last. Looking upon this thing, I know I shall not keep it or use it myself. I cannot, though this be, ay, the foundation stone upon which our fortunes rest. I leave you with ample stone, my son, stone enough. You have no need of the Horseman’s treasure.”
Jason glanced up. Hadewych prodded him onward.
“I have built within the new graveyard a tomb where I shall lie with my sire, when God calls and when it shall be his mercy and pleasure to accept this poor sinner. I would take the boon into my own grave, were it not for your demanding want of the thing, which I would not satisfy. Therefore in our tomb I have buried, in service to his widow whom we [cannot] find, the body of the unfortunate Absolom [sic] Crane. I think it meet that this son of old Ichabod and I shall lie side to side for eternity. As I share Irving’s Legend with the father, I shall share a tomb with the son. It is with Absalom that the thing is buried. You shall not look upon it again, for without consent of the man’s widow he may not be raised.
“Do not long for that of which I have deprived you. My quarry you shall have, and my gold, and whatever you – ”
Jason turned the page over, frowned, and looked up from the letter.
“It cuts off. Is there more?” he said.
“That’s all we – have,” said Valerie.
“It’s two-hundred years old, Honey,” said Eliza. “We’re lucky to have that much.”
“Do you see?” whispered Hadewych.
“What’s the Horseman’s treasure?” said Jason.
“We don’t – know,” said Valerie.
Eliza bent forward. “We have some guesses. Hadewych laughs at me, but I say it’s his head.”
“I don’t think so, my dear. Irving made the Horseman up. More likely it’s a jewel, or some other item. ‘Horseman’ could be a coded reference to something we don’t know about. Who can say, two hundred years later? My family has argued this for generations. What did the letter mean, what is the Treasure, how did Crane die, what did Dylan want so badly, and why did old Brom hide it away? The bickering has gone on for two centuries. If Dylan knew, he never told anyone. He died in the Civil War, when his own son was a baby.”
Jason glanced at Dylan’s rubbing, then to Cornelius the son. Dylan’s read “died 1864.” Cornelius’s said “born 1862.”
Poor kid.
“So,” said Jason, “Brom buried this thing, whatever it is, in the Van Brunt family tomb.” He was curious despite himself.
“Yes, here in Sleepy Hollow Cemetery.”
“Then why don’t you just dig it up?”
“Ah, well…” Hadewych beamed, and looked around. The ladies leaned forward, turning to Jason. “That’s where you come in.”
“Me? Why me?”
“Think about it. Brom’s son wanted the Treasure very badly, so what does the old scoundrel do? Plays a trick. What a trick. It’s very clever. He buried the Treasure with the body of Absalom Crane. We don’t know how Absalom died, or why he was even in Sleepy Hollow. His wife was somewhere in… uh…”
“Bridgeport,” said Jason. “Her name was Annabel.”
“Good. So old Brom buried Absalom, where? In the Van Brunt tomb. Do you see what he did? How he kept the Treasure from his son? Why we have never been able to dig it up?”
“No. I’m not following.”
Hadewych turned to Eliza, ceding the stage to her.
Eliza touched Jason’s arm. “Pour me a coffee, dear.” As Jason did so, she said, “The rule that all cemeteries follow is strict. If you want permission to open a tomb, you have to be a descendant. Hadewych can prove his descent from Brom. He could go to the cemetery right now and authorize them to dig the old boy up and put him on display for Halloween. Sorry, Hadewych. I want Jason to understand. But he can’t open Absalom’s grave. Absalom’s not a Van Brunt. And you can’t do it either, because the tomb doesn’t belong to your family.”
“Brom’s last trick.” Hadewych lit a cigarette. “In order to open the tomb, and to find this thing, whatever it is, two people have to request the disinterment. The descendant of the tomb’s occupant, and the descendant of the tomb’s owner. They have to collaborate.”
He blew smoke.
“And that means you… and me.”
9 the crush
“Forget it!”
Jason gaped at the others.
“I’m not digging up anybody,” he said.
“You don’t have to,” said Eliza.
“All you have to do is sign a few papers,” said Hadewych.
“I’m sorry, but no.”
“Honey,” said Eliza, “we’ve worked on this so long.”
“We need you,” said Valerie.
“Without your signature it won’t happen,” said Hadewych. “You and I have to go in together. Believe me, I’ve tried. I met with the head of the cemetery. I showed him the tomb, I explained who I am. But he told me flat out that if the name on the slab says Crane, a Crane has to request it.”
“We went looking – for you,” said Valerie.
“Valerie said we should try. I didn’t think it was possible,” said Hadewych. “I mean, it was silly to even hope. A direct descendant of Ichabod? If such a person existed, I thought they’d have made themselves known. The Legend is big business. As short as it is, only a few dozen pages, it’s spawned a huge industry. Movies, books, adaptations on television every Halloween. This whole town bubbles with Legend events. They recite it aloud in the Old Dutch Church, the annual Haunted House is called Horseman’s Hollow. The football team is the Horsemen. Did you see the name of the place where we ate this morning?”
Jason shook his head.
“The Horseman restaurant! This town has an Ichabod Street, a Van Tassel street. Crane Avenue, Irving Lane. The only character that doesn’t have at least one stretch of asphalt named after him is my ancestor. He’s the villain, you see. There’s no Van Brunt Avenue. No Bones Boulevard. They’ll name a shopping center after Gunpowder the plough horse before they name one after Brom. Anyway, with all this, what are the chances that Ichabod’s descendant is still around? Wouldn’t he make himself known? The Van Brunts have never put themselves forward, but surely someone descended from Ichabod would. But, no. The line vanished. Far as we could tell. We thought your branch of the Cranes died out or, if we found you, we wouldn’t be able to prove your descent. But then we met Eliza.”
“And I put the pieces together. I’d done half the research already.”
Hadewych spun to the opposite side of the room, pointing at the other banner of rubbings.
“William Crane. Soldier. Died 1792. Ichabod Crane, 1775 to 1849.”
“I found him on Staten Island,” Eliza said.
Ichabod’s epitaph was drawn in small square letters:
Sacred to the memory of Hon. Ichabod Crane.
“Absalom, Ichabod’s son, is here in Sleepy Hollow. Then we have Absalom’s son Jesse, Jesse’s son Jack, Jack’s son Adam, then Andrew Crane.” The rubbings fluttered as Hadewych gestured to each. Finally, he put his hand on the arm of Jason’s armchair. “And Andrew’s son, Jason. What do you say?”
The adults waited for his answer. He tried to think, but he was looking at the last rubbing in the sequence. He had never seen his father’s grave. He felt guilty for that, and he couldn’t drag his eyes from the letters.
ANDREW CRANE
Beloved Husband and Father.
“Jason,” whispered Eliza. “Say something.”
He pushed his hair out of his eyes.
“Can I think about it?”
“How long – do you need?” said Valerie.
“I don’t know. It’s a lot to… take in.”
“That’s fine. We’re no
t going anywhere,” said Hadewych, looking disappointed. “But we can’t put this off too long. If we decide to request the disinterment, if, it should be before winter whips in.”
“I’m not saying I’ll do anything. I just think Eliza and I should talk first. Alone.”
“Of course.”
#
Hadewych drove them home in the silver Mercedes. At the door, he kissed Eliza on the cheek and handed her the car keys.
“I’ll walk home. I shouldn’t get used to driving it,” he said. “Goodnight, young Mister Crane. I hope you say yes. I think we could have some fun. Whatever you decide is fine.”
Charley yipped and scratched the door. Eliza went in.
“Shush, you little monster,” she cackled.
Hadewych and Jason shook hands.
“I’ll give you a call,” said Jason.
Hadewych nodded. He turned and ambled down the hill, his head down, hands in pockets. A waning gibbous moon hung over the Hudson.
#
Jason helped Eliza undress, draping the blue cardigan over a chair as she slipped under the covers. He shucked his dress shoes (was he getting a blister?) and climbed onto the pink bedspread. He sat cross-legged, his back against the wall. He hugged a pillow across his chest and sighed.
“So you brought me on a treasure hunt.”
“Tell the truth. You’re excited, aren’t you?”
Jason broke a smile, immediately suppressed it.
“You can’t fool me, Jason Crane. I know you too well.” She patted his hand. “I know you too, too well…” She looked sad. She squeezed his fingers. “What happens to you when I’m gone, Jason? You’re so young. Too young to be out on your own. I… I want you to have… oh, a purpose. A path. Every one of us has a path, Honey. And we need somebody else, sometimes, to put our feet on it. To drag us there, kicking and screaming, and… anyway. What do you want to be, my love?”
Jason ran his thumb across the back of her hand. It was spotted, thin, but strong. He wanted to weep, for no damn good reason.
“I don’t know,” he said.
“Yes, you do. You just won’t admit it. What do you think I want to hear? Hmm? Doctor, lawyer, Indian chief? No, not for my Jason.” Her hand left his and pushed the hair out of his eyes. It laid back, smooth, for once. “My Jason is better. He’s a hero, this one. I want you to have a heroic life. Like me.” She grinned. “Oh, I may not look it. Old lady. Can’t see, can’t walk, can’t dress herself. But I was a hero. Heroine, whatever you call it, once. I flew airplanes when I was twenty, and girls just didn’t back then. When I was hungry, I made nets out of window screens and fished in Reed Creek. I’ve had seven husbands, seven honeymoons, six divorces, one true love… I raised your mother. I made money and traveled, and did things. And I want that for you. All that life, without the heartbreak of course, though that’s part of it.”
Charley whined from the floor next to the bed. Eliza glanced down.
“Help her up?”
Jason laid his belly across the old woman’s legs and hoisted the dog. It scrambled over him, nails scratching his shoulder. It turned a circle next to Eliza before settling in.
“But what will Jason be? I’ve wondered. What would be big enough for my boy? Where will he belong?” She scratched the poodle’s black head.
Jason sighed. “I guess I’ll go off to college and study… history.”
“And then? Be a teacher?”
“No. I’m not the schoolmaster type. That’s Ichabod.” He grinned. So did Eliza.
“True. Then, what?”
He hugged the pillow again, shrugged.
“When you were a little boy, I used to take you to Pennywhistle Park, remember? You loved the rides, my word. Those danged bumper cars. You’d go back and forth and round and round and barf your insides out and go again. I’d buy you ice cream and you’d point and say ‘Grandma, who’s that there on the horse?’ You’d point at some general, some statue there. ‘Oh, Grandma, I think that is an adventurer.’ You said it so cute. ‘What did he do?’ ‘Why is he here?’ ‘Why, why, why?’”
Jason remembered Eliza bringing out the Encyclopedia Britannica. How he lay on the floor with her, looking at pictures.
“And when you were, oh, eleven-twelve. You wanted to buy that book of magic. Out of the back of a comic book? ‘Cast a spell on your enemies!’ All that rubbish. I put an end to that. Twenty-four-ninety-nine plus shipping? Lord. Oh, you may like your science books now, but you loved your spooky stuff once. The things I’d catch you reading. Varney the Vampire and the Feast of Blood.”
Jason smiled, remembered the cover, a pen and ink drawing of the bloodthirsty fiend rising from his grave.
“Old horror comics,” Eliza scoffed. “But I never could get you to read Sleepy Hollow. I loved that story. And, when I was a little girl… oh, maybe this is just an old woman being silly.”
“What?”
“I had a crush. Such a crush. Mister Walt Disney made a movie out of my favorite. This was 1949. Ichabod and Mister Toad. The ‘Toad’ part was dreadful. I used to duck out when it started. But I went back and back again to see the Headless Horseman.”
“You had a crush on the Headless Horseman?”
“No,” she said, giggling and covering her face with her hands. “On Brom.”
“Oh, God.”
“Brom Bones, the cartoon Brom. Black-haired and lantern-jawed and all muscled up. Woo, baby!”
“I don’t need to hear this.”
They laughed, easily, for the first time since they’d moved to the Hollow.
“I hated that Katrina. So fickle and la-de-da. I thought oh, you little bitch. If I had a man like that I’d show him a time.”
“Not listening,” Jason put the pillow over his head.
“That was my first big crush. Brom Bones standing in front of that fireplace singing about the Headless Horseman. In that deep, bass voice that just made my little girl toes curl up. I love a man’s voice. I can’t listen to the women singers. None of my husbands had a voice like Brom, I’ll tell you that. Except for Arthur. All the rest of them, there wasn’t a man I couldn’t have snapped into little pieces and picked my teeth with. Maybe there aren’t any real Broms anymore. Maybe I never settled for less…”
Jason listened intently now. She so rarely talked about such things. Eliza was never big on self-analysis.
“And so, I meet the great-great-great-great-grandson of the real Brom and, oh sue me. I got carried away. I know the real one was nothing like the cartoon. And I’m not angling for husband number eight, if that’s what you’re thinking. Hadewych is half my age. But… I do like his voice. I can’t say I care for Valerie’s – ”
They laughed.
“What happened to her?” Jason said, his hand straying to his throat.
“Oh, that’s a sad story. Her mother attacked her. Don’t ask her about it. That’s why she’s got all those locks and guns. Poor thing is a bit paranoid. Hadewych is such a good man to love a woman as disadvantaged as that. So I kept an open mind and… they’ve got me believing.”
“In what?”
“Magic.”
“Oh, come on. You know that’s a pile of… bunk.”
“Maybe. But what if? What if we find something… magical? What if?”
Charley whined a little, concerned.
“I have a lot of friends, old people like me. They’re all finding religion. They go to church, they pray, they make life hell for us poor sinners. I hardly recognize them anymore. They’re all getting ready for their judgment. ‘Cramming for the final,’ I call it. But I’m not like that. What I want is one last gasp of… life. Magic. Don’t look so sad. This is good. Look at us. In Sleepy Hollow, just like when I was a little girl in a movie theater. It’s real. We’re part of it. It’s fate. My daughter married a descendant of old Ichabod. And I never knew. What a trick or treat. But I don’t have many adventures left, Jason. I thought we could have this one, together. It may be our last, you know.”
>
“Are you okay?”
She hesitated, and put a hand on his knee. “Honey, I am way past my expiration date. I’ve got my pills, and my hands are better. But I can’t do stairs like I used to. I can’t see good. And, you know, bits of me are gonna start falling off any day. But that’s fine. It’s human. I’ve had my time. And it was a damn good time. Don’t look so puny. It’s a fact of life. So we got to face it. Why do you think I’ve been leaving you on your own so much? Because I don’t love you? I miss you every minute I’m gone. But you’ll have to be an adult sooner than other young people. So you’ve got to learn. And start early. This will be your house when I go. And Charley’ll be your puppy dog. You take care of her.”
Jason nodded and scratched the poodle behind her ears. Charley growled.
“You’ll have plenty of money, I’m not worried about that,” she said.
“Let’s talk about something else…”
“Shush. But I am worried that you don’t have people, Honey. I’m worried about you being all alone. Now, Hadewych’s son is your third cousin. His great-grandfather and yours were brothers.”
Jason made a face. “That’s nothing. That’s – ”
“He’s all you’ve got, Honey. The only family I could find you in this whole world. Try to make friends here. Put down roots. Let me go to my grave – ”
He took her right hand in both of his. She patted them with her left.
“Let me go to my grave knowing you’ve got a home.”
Her eyes had grown fierce. His throat had tightened. He nodded, and she looked satisfied.
“So you want to spend your last… however long… digging up a body?” said Jason.
“Solving a mystery. My last adventure. And your first. Don’t say no. I think you’re made to be an explorer, like the King Tut fellow on your mirror.”
“Howard Carter.”
“That’s the one. That’s what you want to be. I know it. I’ve always known it. My little explorer. I want you to have a heroic life, like me. I won’t let you turn into a bore, young man. I’m going to drag you to where your path begins, kicking and screaming if I have to.”
Sleepy Hollow: Rise Headless and Ride Page 7
