SEVERED (A Tale of Sleepy Hollow) (3 page)

My bed curtain
rustled against me, and though I didn’t fully awake, I jumped as if one of the
insects had made its way out of his coffin – out of my dream – and scuttled up
my arm. Wrestling with sleep, I was powerless to fling it off. It writhed its
way under my skin, and I could do nothing but lie motionless and suppressed. A
silent shriek engulfed me, yet I could not expel it. I burned from my struggle
to scream. The bed curtains closed in, and I became trapped in a coffin of my
own. I fought for breath, inhaling leeches and snails and other manner of grave
dwellers.
Wake up! Wake up!
But the paralysis kept its hold.

Beyond this, I
heard him…The Horseman, whipping toward our farm.

Dear God! I
will not come. I will not.

The Horseman only
rose at night. At dawn, he returned to his grave, his cell, with only the
maggots and mites for company.
Would he take me there with him? Would this
nightmare become my reality?

As he drew nearer
my senses heightened, and I woke up gasping for air. But just as quickly, I
froze. My dream had vanished, but The Horseman had not. He rode close by,
hooves beating against the heavy clay of the road leading to our farm.
Perspiration covered me. My nightdress clung to my skin. Yet a chill washed over
me like a rippling tide.

I will not go.

He journeyed
closer. Had my dream mystically drawn him, or had he purposely waited till now
for my capture?

Curiosity ate at
me like the insects in my dream. I gathered the courage to slip from my bed and
take the tiniest glance through my window. I strained to see, but he rode in
shadow. Still, he approached. I waited and watched, my mouth parched, my heart
banging against my chest. Moments later, the black clouds parted and the
moonlight shown upon him. I exhaled for the first time in what seemed like an
eternity. It was only Brom, riding past our farm to his cabin. I didn’t know
the hour, but could sense it was late…or early rather. Far past midnight.

And he’d said
he was done with carousing and foolish games.

I eased back onto
my bed, my nerves a shattered mess. The Horseman had not come, yet I could feel
his cold breath upon me.

* *
*

Over the next week, Sleepy Hollow
became ghostly and withdrawn. While there were no credible sightings of The
Horseman, rumors of witchcraft spread like the Tappan Zee. The slaves took
precautions, wearing all manner of crude charms and enchantments. Simon, our
house servant, carved a protective talisman for me from a black willow root –
an oblong pendant with a spiraling eye. I discreetly wore it tucked into my
bodice. Of course, with Father insisting I remain inside, I had nothing to
dread. Other than being imprisoned in my own home.

Twice I sent
messages to the dock, hoping to reach Marten, but he sometimes spent a week or
more on the water.
What had he wanted to tell me?
Just when I thought I
might literally burst, he finally showed up.

“Marten, I’ve been
so worried,” I whispered, stepping onto the piazza.

He placed a finger
to his lips and led me away from the door. “Katrina, I’ve done it.”

I searched his
eyes. “Done…what?” This was Marten, the boy who always reached for the
impossible, yet never came close.

“I have arranged
for the purchase of a ship.”

I stood,
thunderstruck. No wonder he’d burst in at the funeral.

He bent his knees
to see eye level with me. “Did you hear me?”

“Yes,” I said,
blinking away my shock. He’d always talked of owning his own vessel, but on his
wages? I never dreamed it’d be a reality. “But…how?”

He scratched his
head, looking away.

Gripping his chin,
I turned his gaze back to mine. “Where did you get the money?”

He waved it off.
“Don’t worry. It’s taken care of.”

“I worry, Marten.
I always worry. And even more so since we’re whispering.”

He placed his
hands on my arms and lowered us onto one of the wooden benches.

“Marten,” I urged,
“Why so secretive?”

“Because,” he
said, “when it arrives, I’m leaving the Hollow for good. And I want you to come
with me.”

Though Marten and
I were only close friends, we’d always sworn that one day we’d leave Sleepy
Hollow and sail off to exotic ports unknown. I never thought it’d actually come
to pass. Was this my escape? Had my “someday” finally arrived?

My heartbeat
quickened and a thousand thoughts flickered through my mind. “When?”

“Not for a few
weeks.”

“
Weeks?
” He
offers a chance at escape, then tells me this?

He rubbed his
hands together, fidgeting. “No one’s more frustrated than I. But it’s currently
sailing up from the West Indies. And it’ll need some repairs and preparations.”

I didn’t hide my
disappointment. “A lot can happen in a few weeks.”

“Or in the blink
of an eye.” His ominous tone was reflected on his face. “Keep in mind, there
are
other
arrangements to be made.”

“What other
arrangements?”

His expression
flattened as he leaned close. “Katrina, think. Your father would spare no
expense to hunt us down and bring you back. And with his wealth and power…”

Father would
definitely find a way. Not to mention the unspeakable things Brom would do to
Marten if we were caught.

“But don’t worry,”
he assured me. “I’ll work it out.” He nudged me and winked. “I’m clever that
way.”

I couldn’t keep
the smile from my face. “Yes, you certainly are.”

“In the meantime,”
he said, “don’t breathe a word to anyone. Only you and the necessary parties
know I’ve purchased this ship. If you’re to go with me, it must remain secret.”

I nodded. The only
person I’d even consider telling was Elise, but I’d never risk it.

“I must go,” he
said, rising, “but I’ll return soon with more news.”

I walked him to
the steps. “Marten.” He turned his soft blue eyes to mine. “Thank you.”

He gave me a warm
smile, then left.

* *
*

I had only seen Garritt, the
notary’s son, once in all that time, and that was at Sunday service. I gasped
at the sight of him. A walking death. His eyes were red veins and his pallor like
sour milk. I tried to speak with him, but he kept evading me…and everyone else
for that matter.

Rumor was, when he
wasn’t working for his father, he was hiding behind a glass of rum. So it was
quite unexpected to see him at the town meeting that evening, sitting next to
his father and squirming like a schoolboy. His russet hair hung stringy and
unkempt, though he’d occasionally rake his trembling fingers through it. He had
always been so witty and full of laughter. I had to find out what had set him
on edge.

Due to the late
hour, the meeting was not well attended. The church, serving as our town hall,
was only half-filled. Magistrate Harding, along with the other Councilmen –
Father, Notary de Graff, Hans Van Ripper, Reverend Bushnell and Caspar Jansen
(Elise’s father) were present. The topic of news was the arrival of the new
schoolmaster, expected within the next few days. Since Father was the one who
hired him, he presided, standing over the seated members.

“His name is
Ichabod Crane,” he announced. “And he’ll be coming to us from Connecticut. His
references are reputable and his credentials impressive.”

Ichabod
?
What a ridiculous name. No doubt he’ll be old and dumpy with a bald pate shiny
as a polished kettle.

Father placed a hand
on Van Ripper’s shoulder. “Of course he’ll be lodging at the Van Ripper farm,
just as Nikolass had. But being the hospitable community that we are, I expect
Mr. Crane will be a dinner guest for many of us over time. Keep in mind, we are
extremely lucky to have him take over the position of schoolmaster.”

But is it lucky
for Mr. Crane?

 “So as not to
jinx our good fortune,” he went on, “I propose that we keep the circumstances
of his predecessor’s death to ourselves.”

That sparked some
mumbling among the gathering. The Notary’s head snapped to Father. “You’d have
us lie to him?”

Garritt slumped,
his face winced in pain.

The Magistrate
rose, his mouth puckered in a scowl. I’d never seen the man when he didn’t look
like someone had cheated him at cards. “We’re not asking anyone to condemn
their soul. But in the interest of the Hollow, maybe we can avoid a direct
answer to that question should Mr. Crane ask.”

“Besides,” Father
said, “I addressed it in my letter to him. I admit I wasn’t truthful, stating
that Mr. Devenpeck had died of natural causes. But do you think he would’ve
agreed to come otherwise?”

How would you
explain that in a letter?

Dear Mr. Crane,
we are gratified with your decision to accept our offer of employment as
schoolmaster of Sleepy Hollow. We’re confident that you’ll find our community
both amiable and enriching, with the exception of our headless ghost who
unfortunately took a disliking to our former teacher and sliced off his head.
Sincerely, etc.

But there was one
thing I didn’t understand, and I risked voicing it. “Won’t having him to dinner
be putting him in danger? That would be after nightfall.”

Half of the
Council bristled, while Father bore a hole through me with his glare.

Hans Van Ripper’s
face twisted into a grimace – a look he never wore well. “I’m providin’ his
shelter, but I can’t be responsible for all his meals.”

Father held up a
hand to calm him. When he spoke, he addressed the assembly, not me. “It’s been
discussed. The Council sees no reason that The Horseman would be a threat to
Mr. Crane.”

This brought a
stilled hush over the room.

The Notary lowered
his quill. “Though I doubt the secret of Devenpeck’s death will stay secret for
long.”

No doubt at all.
Henny Van Wart would probably break out in hives trying to hold it in.

Father tapped his
knuckles on the table. “It is the education of our children at stake here.” He
threw another glare at me. “We’ll carry on in our
usual
manner.”

Usual, in this
case, meaning I stay quiet. Seeing as how I was lucky to be out of the house, I
pledged to keep my mouth shut.

As he continued
with more tidbits about welcoming Mr. Crane, I noticed Garritt glance back
toward the church doors. Curious, I looked too. Brom stood there like a sentry
guarding a palace. He must have just slipped in. I turned back toward the
altar, aware of how safe I felt inside the church. I held on to that security,
knowing that once the meeting was over I’d be in my father’s carriage, exposed
to the mysticism of the night and all the perils of darkness. There would be no
window separating me from the beckoning Horseman.

After further town
business, Reverend Bushnell led us in prayer. We adjourned to a draw of coffee
and pie. Garritt still sat, staring at the floor. I picked up a cup of coffee,
intending to take it to him. As I crossed the room, Brom slinked over and
plucked the cup from its saucer.

“Will you stop
doing that?” I scolded. “I’m not serving you.”

He cocked a brow.
“You will.”

I was two breaths
away from knocking that scalding coffee all over him.

“The Harvest party
is nearing,” he said with a confident smile. “The perfect time and place to
announce our engagement.”

The man was
hopeless.

I patted his
chest. “That sounds wonderful, Brom. I hope you and your delusions live happily
ever after.”

He simply
snickered.

Paying no further
attention to him, I crossed over to where Garritt sat. He looked to be holding
back tears. I settled beside him. “Garritt, what’s wrong?”

“Katrina…” he
whispered. I waited for him to continue, but he only held my gaze.

“Please, tell me.
Is there anything I can do? Is there anything you need?”

“Katrina,” he
repeated. This time I thought he might pour out his soul. But his demeanor went
from anxious to cautious as he looked over my head at someone standing behind
me.

“Yes,” Brom
boomed. “
Need
anything? A coffee perhaps?” He held up the cup he’d just
snatched from me.

Garritt turned
back, arms folded. “I need nothing from you.”

“Ah, come on,”
Brom egged. “Have some pie.”

I turned to Brom,
firing my anger. “Would you stop?”

My words rolled
off him like water on a stone wall. “I’m only trying to help.”

“You can help by
leaving.”

Garritt closed his
eyes and placed his hands over his ears. What in the world was causing this
torment?

“Garritt,” I tried
again. “Please. I do want to help you.”

He tossed a look
at Brom, then me. Then he rocked forward and glared like a madman. Chills
scuttled down my spine. “I saw him.”

Brom set aside his
coffee and knelt eye-level to him. “Saw who?”

Garritt didn’t
hesitate. “The Horseman.”

Dear God.
“You saw him?”

Brom merely shook
his head. How could he have so little compassion?

“Yes,” Garritt
answered. “Last night. I’d been penning some contracts for Father. I stepped
outside for a moment…” His face pinched. “The Horseman was there, waiting. He
charged me.” Garritt’s hands quaked as perspiration beaded his brow. “God, it
was like nothing I’d ever seen. His horse snorted smoke and its hooves fired
white sparks like flint on steel.” He paused for composure, yet his body still
shook. “But unlike the legend, he didn’t carry a sword.” Here, he gave Brom a
stern, beleaguered look. “It was a scythe. And he meant to have my head.”

Brom still showed
no shock or sympathy. “Obviously you escaped unharmed.”

“Unharmed?” I
blurted. “Can’t you see he’s tormented?

Garritt rubbed his
face so hard I thought he might peel away skin.