SEVERED (A Tale of Sleepy Hollow) (15 page)

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 glowered 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 soon, 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?”