SEVERED (A Tale of Sleepy Hollow) (25 page)

I had no other
choice.
Had someone dropped an anchor on my chest?
I moaned again.

He tilted my head
and placed a cup to my lips. I gulped the cool water, choking it down.

Once my eyes
cleared, he came into view. “Welcome back.”

From where?

Father stood just
behind him, looking haggard and gray, yet there was a wash of relief upon his
face.

The doctor placed
a wet cloth to my forehead. “You’ve suffered a bad fever.”

A fever?
My
thoughts churned, turning over and over. Then the fog parted, and it all came
tumbling back. “Marten.”

“No, no,” the
doctor said. “Relax, now. Try not to upset yourself.”

Try not to upset
myself? All I could see was Marten’s severed head at my feet. The silent scream
upon his face. How could I ever erase that?

“The Horseman,” I
whimpered.

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 his, 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.”