Beauty and the Horseman's Head

by Holly Kelly

  “But there’s only three,” she said, and regretted her words immediately. It was too early in her employment to criticize.

  Dr. Porter simply chuckled. “That is exactly what I told the mayor. I will see if I can talk him into bringing in a few more to add some variety to the lessons.”

  “I would appreciate it,” Hope said. “I also have some books that can help. Still, they are treasures to me, and I am not fond of the possibilities of what might happen to my books in the hands of children.”

  “I completely understand,” Dr. Porter said, holding her gaze for a bit longer than she was comfortable with.

  Oh, please. I really don’t want another eager suitor.

  “I would be only so happy to petition the mayor for more books,” he said. “Then you can keep yours at home where they can be safe.

  “Thank you.”

  “By the way,” he said, “where do you live? You do know it’s customary for teachers to board with their students.”

  She shook her head. “That is not necessary. I am currently staying in a cabin in Sleepy Hollow. It’s owned by Mr. Smith. His wife has graciously offered it to me.”

  Dr. Porter paled. “You are living in Sleepy Hollow?”

  “Yes,” she answered, lifting her chin. The man made it sound as if she were living in the gutters. “It’s a fine, sturdy building and more than adequate.”

  “Most of our residents would be afraid to reside in Sleepy Hollow. There are strange happenings there. Are you sure you would not rather lodge with the students’ families?”

  “I am certain,” she answered.

  “Well,” he said, shaking his head and then sighing. “If you are committed. I would feel better accompanying you home.”

  “That is really not necessary.”

  “I insist. I will be by after school today to walk you home.”

  “I really appreciate the offer, but—"

  “I cannot have anything happen to our new teacher. Now, the children are not expecting a full day of learning, seeing as it’s your first day and you haven’t had time to go over your lessons.”

  “That is not a problem,” she said. “I am always prepared with lessons to give.”

  He nodded. “Alright, then you are welcome to give them. I do have to warn you: the mayor may stop by to observe what you are teaching these children. In fact, I would expect him to. I am afraid he is of the mind that you exaggerated your abilities.”

  “But I did not—”

  “I know,” he interrupted. “I have the utmost confidence in you. I just wanted to warn you.”

  “Thank you,” she said. She had her work cut out for her with the mayor.

  A moment later, Dr. Porter left and she was alone in the schoolhouse. She lifted the flap off her bag and looked down at Conall’s face.

  “I will be calling the children inside in a moment,” she said. “I just want to go over the rules once again.”

  “You call yourself Mrs. Jones?” he asked.

  Oh shoot! She forgot about that.

  “It’s just a name. An alias, if you must know.”

  “But you call me Mr. Jones. Should I be reading something into that?”

  “No,” she whispered harshly. “You absolutely should not.” She chanced a glance at him. He was smirking at her. With a huff, she threw the flap back over his face. “I need to start class.”

  Placing the bag inside the hollow of the podium, she went to call the children.

  They wandered in, one by one. Only a few smiled at her. Something was seriously amiss.

  “Hello, children,” she greeted from the front of the class. “My name is Mrs. Jones. I will be your teacher for the rest of the school year.”

  The children eyed her curiously. She was happy to see students with a variety of backgrounds. These were not just children born of rich parents; several wearing simple attire sat alongside those with more expensive clothing. Even better, there were nearly as many girls as there were boys. Still, their countenances were sad.

  Hope explained a little bit of her background—her role as a nurse in the War for Independence, her teaching experience, and her love of needlework. The children seemed only mildly interested. She then asked them to state their names and two things about themselves. They gave simple answers, but none of them smiled.

  Hope stopped talking and paused. When all the children’s eyes were all on her, she asked, “I have to say, I have never seen a group of youngsters who seemed so melancholy. Would someone like to fill me in on what happened?”

  Eyes widened, but no one spoke. Finally, the small hand of a young girl in a baby-blue dress rose in the air.

  “Yes, Martha,” Hope said.

  “Mr. Crane was murdered.”

  Hope’s heart went out to them. “That is simply terrible. Did you all know Mr. Crane?”

  “He was our last teacher,” an older boy snapped, as if her not knowing was an offense.

  Hope suppressed her shock. Why hadn’t anyone told her? “I am sorry, William, but Dr. Porter and the mayor did not tell me, and I am afraid I'm not from around here. Have they caught the perpetrator?”

  A small boy with sandy hair raised his hand and asked, “What’s a perpetrator?”

  “It’s the person who committed the crime,”

  “They’ll never catch him,” an older boy said.

  “I don’t think you have enough faith in the sheriff,” Hope said.

  “You don’t understand,” the boy continued. “He was murdered by a ghost.”

  “It was the headless horseman,” a girl with red hair and freckles said.

  Hope’s heart pounded in a mixture of excitement and fear. “The headless horseman?” she breathed. “Are you saying there is a man riding a horse without his head?”

  “A ghost,” the older boy supplied, eyeing her curiously. “He was a Hessen soldier who had his head blown off by a cannon during the war. Every night he rides the road in Sleepy Hollow, searching for his head. At daybreak, he returns to the churchyard, where his body is buried. If you are unlucky enough to be on the road at night, he will cut off your head.”

  “That is what happened to Mr. Crane,” the redhead girl supplied.

  A deep, “Hmph,” came from under the pulpit.

  Hope gave Conall a kick. He grunted at the impact. She searched the faces of the children. No one seemed to notice, thank heavens. This was her first day of teaching, and she was determined to do an excellent job. Besides, she could do nothing about the headless horseman during the day. From what the children were saying, he only rode at night.

  “I am very sorry about what happened to your former teacher,” she said. “But do you think he would want you to neglect your studies?”

  The students mumbled and shook their heads.

  “Then in his honor, I think it would be best to show him what wonderful students he had and how much you have learned from him. So, I want you to tell me what you’ve learned so far this year. And please, no more speaking out of turn. I expect you each to raise your hand and be called on before speaking, is that clear?”

  The students nodded as one little boy raised his hand.

  “Yes, Abraham?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, what, sweetie?”

  “Yes, it’s clear.”

  Hope smiled and held back a laugh. “Excellent.”

  An hour into the day, the door opened and the mayor walked in. She smiled at him and he sneered at her. How did such an unpleasant man get to be the mayor?

  She returned her attention to the students. “Mr. Crane has certainly set your feet on the proper path of learning. Now before I explain where we will go from here, I want to hear what you would like to learn this year.”

  An eager hand shot up.

  “Yes, is it Lizzy?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Jones. I want to learn about the natives. They seem so savage, but they are part of God’s creations, so they cannot be all bad, right?”

  “I suppose you are
right. Do any of you know any of the natives in this area?”

  “There are no more natives here,” the mayor said.

  Hope turned to the mayor. She hadn’t expected him to participate in her class.

  “Oh, they’ve moved on?” Hope asked.

  “You could say that.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Hope said, and immediately regretted her words. She was trying to get on the mayor’s good side.

  They’re dead. And good riddance to them all.”

  Hope’s stomach soured. She wanted to ask how they died, but she knew the sad stories of the demise of many native tribes. She did not want the mayor to give these children details that would give them nightmares—or even worse, harden their hearts.

  “Does anyone else have something they want to learn?”

  Several more children gave suggestions, and Hope assured them they would cover those subjects. When class was over, the mayor lingered as the last of the students wandered out. And then he lumbered over to her.

  “Well, you’ve lived up to my expectation of you.”

  “I see,” Hope said, gathering her things. She pulled her bag against her chest and squeezed her fingers into the fabric, trying to hide the fact that her hands were trembling.

  “You asked the children what they wanted to learn? You are the teacher, are you not? You dictate what will be taught. Not the students.”

  “That is true to a point, but there is always room to cover the things that interest them.”

  “You don’t understand. Then again, you are a woman, and thus have a weaker mind.”

  Hope’s anger rose at the unfairness of his words.

  “You are not just teaching facts, Mrs. Jones, you are shaping future citizens. They need to learn obedience and conformity. They must learn not to question authority. If you continue with your teaching methods, chaos will result in our little community.”

  “Obedience and conformity?” Hope said. “That is not what this nation is built on, Mayor. If the founders of this nation had been obedient and conforming, we would even now be under British rule. Our nation is what it is because we were open to new ideas, to the idea of liberty and the courage and sacrifice it took to get there. The kind of teaching you are proposing for me is un-American, Mayor, and I will not bend in my methods, and not you or anyone else will ever convince me otherwise. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have more important things to attend to.”

  “Well, I never. . . ,” he said as Hope strode past him.

  Her heart was pounding when she stepped out the door and nearly ran Dr. Porter over.

  “Mrs. Jones!” Dr. Porter exclaimed as he rushed to keep up with her. “Is something the matter?”

  “Dr. Porter,” the mayor shouted at his back. “I need a word with you.”

  “Oh um,” Dr. Porter stammered as he looked back and forth between them, “if you could just wait a moment, Mrs. Jones. I would like to see you home.”

  “That is not necessary.”

  “Dr. Porter,” the mayor shouted once again.

  “I am coming,” he said, and rushed to the irate man.

  Minutes later, her pounding heart slowed and her spirits sank. “Well, that job did not last long.”

  “Don’t discount it so quickly,” Conall said from inside the bag. “That man was a bully, and you put him in his place. I know his kind. He may grumble, but you’ve gained his respect.”

  “I highly doubt that. Besides, earning the respect of a man like that is the last thing I want to do.”

  “All right,” Conall said, “then how about earning my gratitude? We’ve found my body, and I need you to retrieve it for me.”

  “That, Mr. Jones, is a fine idea.”

  Chapter 12

  Hope put her needle and thread into her purse, along with a carved wooden cross. What do you take to protect you from a witch and her headless henchman?

  “I don’t like this,” Conall said.

  “What?” Hope turned her eyes on his worried face. “You are the one who has been hounding me about going after your body.”

  “That was before I had a chance to think about things. The witch has added murder to her long list of offenses. I just don’t want you to be her next victim.”

  Hope shook her head. “I am not going to be. Do you know how many times I have had someone out to get me?”

  “Twice.”

  “N—Well, yes, you are right. And I survived both those times. I will survive this time too.”

  “Do you have any thyme?”

  “I have got all the time in the world.”

  “No, thyme, as in the herb.”

  “Oh,” Hope said. “Yes, I do.”

  “I need you to make a tea from it and drink it.”

  “Why should I do such a thing?”

  “It allows you to see past glamour and magical illusions.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  Hope went to the cupboard and pulled out a jar of thyme and sprinkled a tablespoon in a small pouch. “You know, once you get your body back, we’d make an excellent team for hunting down witches.”

  “Not all witches are evil,” Conall said. “In fact, most are not.”

  Hope shook her head. “That cannot be right. All witches are inherently wicked.”

  “That is a narrow-minded way of looking at things. Doesn’t your Bible say that all who do good are of God?”

  Hope frowned at him. “I thought you did not believe in the Bible.”

  “I don’t,” he answered, “but I cannot help but hear. Not only do you talk out loud, you read out loud, too.”

  Hope poured some hot water over the thyme in her mug and let it steep. “You are speaking of Third John verse eleven. The scriptures also say that we should seek God for guidance, and not the guidance of mediums, fortunetellers, or witchcraft.”

  “And by that reasoning,” Conall said, “it’s better to consult a physician when you are sick, but it doesn’t mean your mother who might also attempt to treat your illness is inherently evil and should be stoned for it. Does that sound right?”

  “Hmm,” Hope said, not wanting Conall to know he had her stumped. Was there something to what he was saying? Hope sipped the hot tea, and it warmed her. The taste was appealing too—a rich, earthy tea with mint undertones. She turned to Conall, intent on telling him how good the tea tasted when she took in a quick, astonished breath and began to cough.

  “You can see it, can you not?” he said.

  Hope looked at him again and nodded. Lights danced and sparkled around him as his head glowed. At the base of his neck, the air around him shimmered—brimming with magical energy. And his ears . . . they were most definitely pointed.

  “I told you the thyme would work.”

  “If you are to come with me—”

  “I am coming with you,” he said firmly. “As desperate as I am to have my body returned, I don’t like that you have to confront it. There’s no way I will let you go alone.”

  “Alright, but you’ll need to stay in the bag.”

  “No,” he said.

  “No?”

  “I think we should go with the assumption that the boy in school is right. My body is in search of me. Let’s let him find me.”

  “But what about the witch?”

  “She may not even be around. Why would she let him ride about Sleepy Hollow every night? It doesn’t make sense. It looks she may not have total control over him. Besides, my magical glow can light your way.”

  “I do have lanterns for that.”

  “You don’t want to use them. Someone might see you. It’s highly unlikely that any other traveler has consumed thyme tea this evening. No one else will see the glow of the witch’s magical energy—which gives you the advantage. But still, you should wear your cloak, the dark one, and keep your hood up. So even if someone were to see you, they’d be less likely to identify you.”

  “I don’t like this plan,” she said.

  “
I am not thrilled about it either. If I could, I would leave you here where you are safe and go after my body myself. But I cannot, can I?”

  “No.”

  Hope stepped out of the cabin and searched the wooded area around her. The moon was but a sliver and did little to help her. “I can barely see where I am going,” she whispered to Conall, tucked under her cloak.

  “That is good,” he answered. “Others will have a hard time seeing you too.”

  “How soon before I can uncover you?”

  “I would wait until we are far away from the cabin. So even if they do see you walking on the road, they won’t figure out who you are and where you live.”

  “Right,” Hope said and then stumbled over a branch, nearly falling down before finding her footing.

  “Be careful!” Conall said.

  “I am being careful. You try and make your way through the woods in complete darkness.”

  “I am never in complete darkness.”

  “Well, some of us don’t have elven eyes to guide us. Us lowly humans simply have to deal with darkness.”

  “Stop complaining and tell me when you reach the road.”

  “What happens then?”

  “You are going to walk along the road and wait for the headless horseman to show up. When he does, I want you to lift me up for him to see.”

  “Wait,” Hope said. “How is he going to see you? He has no eyes.”

  Conall sighed. “He’s guided by magic, Hope. Otherwise he’d be driving his horse into trees, homes, and other obstacles, right?”

  “Oh, right.”

  Hope kept the North Star in her sights as she moved. Without it to guide her, she could easily get lost out here.

  After stumbling through the woods for a long time, her feet finally found the compacted surface of the dirt road. “Alright, I found it,” she whispered.

  “Just remember our plan,” Conall said.

  Hope nodded and then realized he could not see her. Oh, well. He knew she heard him.

  She wandered up and down the road for what seemed an eternity. The darkness was oppressive, and she could imagine all sorts of creatures inhabiting its depths. Hope concentrated on breathing while her father’s favorite hymn played in her mind.

  I sing the wisdom that ordained