SEVERED (A Tale of Sleepy Hollow) (10 page)

“But there has to
be something.”

“Enough, Katrina.
I’m weary of talking about it.”

“But what of –”

“Enough!”

I sat back,
collecting my thoughts. None of it made sense. Nikolass was a God-fearing man.
As was Garritt. Why would God turn a blind eye to them? And what of Ichabod?
He’d only just arrived. What could he have done to attract the wrath of The
Horseman?

A chill swept over
me.
If someone
is
controlling The Horseman, had the conjuror also
sent him to my window that night?

I placed my napkin
on the table. “I’ve no appetite. May I be excused?”

He tapped his fork
against my plate. “You haven’t eaten.”

“I’m not hungry.”

He paused, huffed,
then nodded.

Springing up from
my chair, I hurried to my room, locked myself inside, then sat, staring out the
window. For how long, I could not say. I waited and watched until my eyes would
no longer stay open.

It was well after
midnight when I was awakened by the sound of Brom’s horse, thundering back to
his cabin. I could only assume that after Ichabod’s safe return, he had spent
the rest of the evening at the River Song.

I relaxed upon my
pillow knowing that for tonight both of them were safe.

* *
*

I wrote a note to Ichabod, then
tore it up. An hour later I wrote another. I destroyed it too. After the third,
I was questioning my own sanity, as well as The Horseman’s purpose.

I sought out Brom,
but he was doing everything in his nature to avoid me. It’s a little game he
plays when he knows I’m anxious for something from him. With him, it’s always
about control.

On Friday, I tried
to tempt him by having Leta deliver a basket of apple muffins. I did sincerely
want to thank him for his selfless act.

Leta soon returned
to the house. “Mr. Brom said he wanted to know why you didn’t deliver ‘em
yoreself – or was you afraid he might bite you back?”

I wish I’d bitten
him harder. “When next you see Mr. Van Brunt,” I said, “tell him that I
would’ve delivered them myself had I known where he was. He has not kept me
apprised of his work schedule.”

Obviously Leta had
easier access to Brom because she reported back immediately.

“Mr. Brom said if
you’d look out the back window sometime instead of the front, you’d know that
his schedule changes with the seasons. And being that you’re gonna inherit this
farm someday it might do you some good to stop being a dreamer and pick up a
hoe.”

Humph!
If I
picked up a hoe, it would collide with his skull.

“When next you see
Mr. Van Brunt, tell him that when I inherit this farm, I intend to sell it and
travel far from the vicinity. And where will he be then?”

It wasn’t long
till Leta was back on our doorstep. “Mr. Brom said he’d most likely be booking
passage with you, and for you not to lose your pretty little head over it. Then
he told me not to bring him no more messages.”

“Ahhhh!” I stamped
my foot, my blood rising.

Leta looked at me
with wide eyes. “Please don’t make me bring any more, cause last time he was
holding a pitchfork.”

“I hope he falls
on it!”

I took a deep
breath to tamp down my ire. After all, once Marten’s ship was ready to sail, it
was I who’d have the last say. “Thank you, Leta. There will be no more
messages.”

I poured her a cup
of cider, then went about my day.

* *
*

Father was gone the next morning.
Some business in town. I had business of my own – telling Ichabod about
spotting The Horseman.

Around noon, I
chanced harnessing Dewdrop to my cabriolet and riding to the schoolhouse.
Ichabod would there with Isaiah, building the cellar floor. I also brought
along a hamper of food, knowing that working men sometimes forget to eat.

I had to hitch
Dewdrop to a tree limb because Gunpowder had lay claim to the rail. He stood,
nodding, and pacing side to side – most likely a trick to loosen the reins. But
it seemed Ichabod had grown wise to it, taking great care to wind and secure
them. I doubt his students are as contrary as his horse.

I strolled around
to where he and Isaiah were working, pausing briefly to watch Ichabod as he
sawed a wooden plank. It rested on two trestles, and he steadied it with his
knee. Perspiration beaded his forehead, curling the tips of his ebony hair. The
top buttons of his white cambric shirt were unfastened, affording me a view of
his glistening chest. I could barely pry my eyes from him as I admired his
slender frame. Elise’s devilish word immediately sprang to mind.
Delicious.

His face opened in
surprise when he spotted me. “Katrina.”

I put on a smile
as I carried the hamper forward.
I must tell him.

He laid down his
saw and wiped his face with his sleeve. “What have we here?”

“You’ll both need
to keep up your strength.” – I set the hamper on a block of wood – “so…” – I
snapped back the cloth covering it – “I brought sausages and beer.”

Isaiah paused.
They both beamed.

“Watch out,
Isaiah,” Ichabod said. “She just might spoil us.”

Isaiah wiped his
hands on a rag. “Miss Katrina is too kind.”

We moved away from
the splinters and wood shavings and found comfortable spots on the grass. I
took out the sausages, along with three tankards and a jug. I poured out the
frothy brew. “Enjoy.”

They both drank
politely, taking moderate sips. I, preoccupied with how to tell Ichabod of The
Horseman, tilted my mug to my lips and took two generous gulps –to loosen my
nerves a bit.

Ichabod cocked a
brow. “Isaiah, remind me to never challenge her to a drinking contest.”

Isaiah’s face
split into a grin. They both drank heartily.

I cut into a
sausage, without taking a bite. I had no appetite…and no idea how Ichabod would
react when I relayed to him what I’d seen. He’d said he believed me when I
pleaded The Horseman’s existence. But had he really?

He watched me,
curiously, sensing something was wrong. “No appetite?”

Not since
Wednesday.
I forced a smile. “After guzzling my beer, I thought I should
show some restraint.”

“Ha! Around me?
Prim and proper makes me terribly uncomfortable.”

I gripped my mug
firmly. “I’ll try not to extend my pinky.”

The sky had turned
an iron gray and the air smelled damp and heavy. I glanced over at the timber,
then cast my eyes upward. “How do you plan to protect all this wood from the
rain?”

He feigned panic,
pressing a finger to his lips. “Shhhhhhhhh! Don’t say that word.”

I couldn’t help
but smile. “Honestly, Ichabod, I’d have never figured you as the superstitious
type.”

He wavered a
finger. “I never take chances when it comes to rousing the Devil.”

Isaiah discreetly
spit three times on the ground.

Ichabod spread his
arms. “You see? I’m not the only superstitious one.”

“Especially around
here,” I said. “The Hollow thrives on superstition. There isn’t a person in the
village who doesn’t put his coat on right sleeve first.”

“The right sleeve
is the right sleeve, and the left sleeve is the wrong sleeve,” he joked.

That drew a
chuckle from Isaiah. I wished I could feel as lighthearted.

I pointed to the
sky. “Yes, but about the…”

He wilted like a
wet rag. “You might as well say it now.”

“Rain,” I whispered.

“Should the” – He
pointed upward – “
inevitable
happen, we’ll load the timber into the
wagon and cover it with oilcloth. But I predict there will only be a thin
afternoon drizzle.”

“Are your
predictions always correct?”

He held up his
mug. “Don’t place any wagers.”

“Can’t you simply
store the wood in the cellar?”

He took a sip,
foam lingering on his lips. “There is more preparation to be done inside.
Carrying the planks in and out would just be added work.”

“Then have Isaiah
bring it back this afternoon,” I said. “We’ll store it in our barn.”

“Oh, no. I’ve
imposed enough already.”

“Believe me,
Ichabod, a corner of our barn is not an imposition. And besides, we’re all
anxious to see you succeed.”

He slanted his
head, looking genuinely touched. “With this type of generosity, how can I
fail?”

Isaiah shook the
last drops of beer from his tankard. “Miss Katrina, would you like me to rinse
these dishes for you?”

“No, leave it.
I’ll take care of it.”

“Then I better get
back to the chore,” he said, rising. “Beat the...” He grinned wide and pointed
up to the sky. “Thank you kindly for the meal.”

“You’re welcome,
Isaiah.”

Once he was out of
earshot, Ichabod blurted, “Tell me what’s wrong. Why have you really come?”

“I saw The
Horseman again.”

He pushed aside the
plates and moved next to me. “Where?”

“At the farm, just
after you left. I was terrified he’d go after y–”

We both started
when a crow swooped down and perched upon the hamper, inches away. Its black
beady eyes observed us, and it cocked its head like someone listening with
intent. My heart rose to my throat.

Ichabod waved his
hand toward it. “Shoo!”

It remained there,
challenging. Then the first sprinkles of rain fell.

“Come,” Ichabod
said, wrapping his arm around me and helping me into the dank cellar.

“Watch your step.
Some of the stones are loose.”

He lit a candle
and set it on an old three-legged table. “Tell me what happened.”

I relayed
everything – spotting The Horseman, sending Brom, Father’s speculations, and
added, “The Council believes The Horseman does not rise on his own.”

“Do you believe
that?” he asked, his face masked with worry.

I peered into his
gentle eyes. “I don’t know what to believe. But I’m frightened for all of us.”

“That much I can
see.” He swept back some strands of my dampened hair, his fingers lightly
brushing my neck. It sent a new tremor through me.

“Ichabod, what
should we do?”

He held my gaze,
his eyes expressing trust. “I’ll speak with Van Ripper. Perhaps he can tell me
something.”

“The Council is
very secretive. Even with matters of civil concern.” I pulled my shawl tighter
around me. “And you’re not even supposed to know about The Horseman.”

He shook his head,
thinking it absurd. “How could I not? The town empties at dusk. The villagers
shut themselves away. And most every door has a cross or hex sign painted on
it.”

“Perhaps you
should put one on the school.”

“No,” he asserted.
“I’m here to teach the children, not frighten them.”

“So you do intend
to stay?” I thought surely this would drive him back home.

“Katrina, there is
danger everywhere. You can only run from it for so long.” We’d moved so near,
his breath brushed my cheeks.

I considered his
words, realizing it was not just the bustle of Hartford that he’d wished to
escape.

We stood close and
quiet as the rain tapped the earth above us. His whole presence enveloped me.
He smelled of woods and nature and sweat and spice, and I could practically
taste it.

“I promise you,”
he whispered, “I will not leave.”

He leaned ever
closer.

I did not move.

I did not breathe.

I closed my eyes.

And just as his
lips touched mine…

“Katrina,” a voice
called down.

We parted quickly,
composing ourselves.

“Katrina.”

It was Brom.
Oh
God, I’ve been caught. What will he tell Father?
I stepped out of the
shadows so he could see me.

He was wearing his
tricorn instead of his fox cap, and his coat was beaded with mist. His face was
sallow and lax as he descended at a leaden pace.

Had he seen?

“Brom,” Ichabod
greeted.

Brom held up a
hand to silence him. “I’ve come for Katrina.” His eyes, clouded and copper,
gazed at me like never before. If he were capable, I thought he might cry.

“Brom…what’s
wrong?”

“It’s Garritt,” he
said. “He’s dead.”

* *
*

The room blurred and my knees gave
way. Brom placed his arms around me. “Come. Let’s get you home.” He carefully
led me up the steps.

If Ichabod said
anything, I don’t remember. I don’t even recall looking back at him. All I
could see was Garritt’s face before me – his expression of torment.

Brom tethered
Daredevil to the back of my cabriolet, and together we rode back to the farm.

We sat in silence,
hearing only the metrical clapping of the horses’ gait. Chills traveled through
my cold and clammy skin. I could barely swallow or catch my breath. It wasn’t
until we crossed the church bridge that I found my voice. And though I already
knew the answer, I still had to ask, “How did it happen?”

Brom seemed
reluctant at first, then explained. “The Notary woke this morning to find
Garritt gone. He’d left him a note saying he was leaving. When de Graff went
looking for him, he saw smolder in the distance. Instinct led him. He found
Garritt’s body lying in a circle of charred grass.”

My stomach
knotted. “When you say ‘he found his body’…?”

Brom eyes cut to
mine. “His body. Not his head.”

I leaned forward
and buried my face in my hands.

Why Garritt?
Why him?

Once we’d reached
home, I went straight to my room and silently shed my tears. Garritt, my sweet
friend…dead
.
God only knew who the next victim would be.

* *
*

I spent the next few days, stewing,
wondering. The Horseman’s mark upon Garritt’s window was evidence that he did
not kill at random. But how
did
he choose his victims? What had each one
done to invoke his wrath? These questions continually haunted me. Though I
imagine the Council was as flustered as I.