SEVERED (A Tale of Sleepy Hollow) (13 page)

His rubbed his
head where I’d tugged. “Yes, I keep forgetting that you’re no ordinary woman.”

I patted down the
lock of hair. “Just don’t let it happen again.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He
pulled me into another long delicious kiss, then said, “Let’s get to work.”

We packed away the
remains of the meal and went to the cellar. Several lamps were lit, the flames
bringing life to the room. Along the right-hand wall, flagstones were fitted
about eighteen inches off the dirt floor – a drum of mortar beside them.

I noted how the
stones were cut and assembled to conform. “Your own mosaic.”

“You might say
that. Only mine will be hidden by wooden planks.”

I ran my fingers
across the rugged rock. “I’ll know it’s there.”

I helped Isaiah
carry down more. After a while my palms reddened and stung. Of course I’d never
let on to Ichabod.

He stayed fixed,
working the trowel. Occasionally he’d raise his arm to wipe his face with his
sleeve. I found that I lingered more and more just to watch him work. He took
his time, fitting each stone just so.

After a bit,
Isaiah stopped. “We’ve unloaded ‘em all. I’m going up to chisel more.”

Ichabod finally
rose.

Once Isaiah had
gone, I reached for him, wanting another kiss.

He took a step
back, palms raised. “I’m filthy.”

“That won’t stop
me.” I put my arms around his neck, and our lips met in a sultry kiss.

After a few more,
I leaned back and cocked my head. “I’m keeping you from your work.”

He pulled me in
and whispered, “An enticing distraction.”

It was then that
we heard the gallop of an approaching horse.

Ichabod looked up.
“Who could that be?”

Please don’t be
Father. Or worse, Brom, looking for trouble.

As the horse
neared, an eerie chill shrouded me. That foul breath rolled down the back of my
neck. “Ichabod!”

I’d barely spoken
his name when a strong searing wind shot through, slamming the cellar doors and
extinguishing the lamps. We were instantly thrown into darkness.

My heart drummed
as I clutched Ichabod close.

“Careful,” he
said, his voice soft and soothing. “It’s only the wind. I’ll help you out of
here.”

He led me through
the blackness till we reached the cellar stairs. Just as we’d managed two of
the steps, we heard it – the grinding sound of metal scraping wood. We both
stumbled back down as the heat of burning kindle struck us.

“Someone’s burning
the doors,” I said, quivering.

Ichabod held me.
“Shhhhhh. Stay still.”

Then the grating
stopped, leaving only the severe odor of fiery embers.

Are we trapped?

Shadows passed
over the doors, and ribbons of smoke curled through the cracks.

My heart rose to
my throat. “Ichabod.”

He lay his fingers
on my lips, staying perfectly still.

The sound of the
horse’s hooves – heavy on the earth – faded, leaving us in that blackened void.

“Let’s go,”
Ichabod urged, hurrying me up the steps.

We burst through
the cellar doors into the cool air. I held him close as we surveyed the area.
Tendrils of smoke rose where the hooves had branded the grass. Several small
fires remained. The wall of the school had been burned as well.

Ichabod let go and
went to the doors. He closed one then the other, revealing a long black slash
seared into the wood. I recognized it immediately.

“Oh my God!” It
was the same as the mark scored into Garritt’s window.

Ichabod studied it
for a moment then turned, panicked. “Isaiah.”

We dashed around
to where he’d been working.

“Isaiah!” I
screamed, when I saw the work area empty. “Isaiah!”
Please let him be safe.

Then we heard
rustling within the woods. He approached, eyes wide, lit with fear. The chisel
was still gripped in his hand. “I’m here.”

“Did you see him?”
Ichabod asked.

Isaiah trembled.
“Yes sir. It was like the devil himself rode in – all dressed in black,
swinging that sickle. I hid in those trees.”

Ichabod exhaled
relief. “Thank God you weren’t harmed.”

Isaiah rested the
chisel on one of the stones. “What brought ‘im here? He never rides in broad
daylight.”

“He’s right,” I
said to Ichabod, my skin crawling like ants. “The Horseman’s never been seen
during the day.”

Ichabod’s eyes
searched as though looking for an answer. Or maybe he was trying to rationalize
what had happened. Until this moment, he’d only heard rumors of the ghost. This
was proof that The Horseman was real.

He placed a shaky
hand on Isaiah’s shoulder. “Let’s assess the damage.”

Cautiously, we
went back to the cellar. The small fires had died, leaving patches of withered
grass. It looked as though The Horseman had circled twice or more before
finally riding away. And the blackened gash he’d sliced into the doors extended
right to left, moving upward. His scythe had also connected with the
schoolhouse wall, leaving a scoring there as well.

My hand flew to my
mouth as realization struck. “Ichabod, he has marked you.”

His face paled as
his eyes coursed over the slash. “Isaiah, take Katrina home.”

“What? No! I won’t
leave you here all alone!”

“Take her,” he
ordered, his gaze trained on mark.

“I won’t go.”

Isaiah, looked
conflicted, then he faced me. “Come, Miss Katrina. Mr. Van Tassel will have my
hide if I let you come to harm.”

“Come with us,
Ichabod,” I cried. “Do not stay here.”

He gently reached
out and pulled me into a hug. “I’ll leave shortly for Van Ripper’s.”

I buried my face
on his shoulder. “Promise me you’ll stay safe. Please.”

“I promise. Now
go.”

Reluctantly, I
left him and returned to the farm.

* *
*

Father rose from his chair when he
saw the state of my condition. “What’s happened?”

“The Horseman,” I
said, still quivering fear. “He’s laid claim to Ichabod.”

“What?” His eyes
cut to Isaiah.

Isaiah nodded.
“Yes sir. What she’s telling is true.”

“And you saw the
monster?”

Isaiah nodded
again.

“Father, it’s
Ichabod he’s after. He marked the school in the same manner he’d marked
Garritt’s window.” I continued on, blurting the entire story of helping Ichabod
in the cellar. His face reddened with outrage as I relayed the event. If the
situation weren’t so dire, I’d be facing retribution.

“I’ll assemble the
Council.” He pointed a rigid finger in my face. “And
you
will stay inside.”

“But I must go to
Ichabod. I have to know that he’s safe.”

“Have you lost
your mind?” he thundered. “You’ll do nothing of the sort!”

“He’s in danger!”

“And now so are
you. I forbid you to leave this house.” He pushed around me and rushed out the
backdoor. Minutes later, he rode off.

I flinched as
Isaiah reached to help me remove my cloak. His hand popped back like he’d
touched fire. We were both on edge.

“I’m sorry,” I
said, realizing what I’d done. Poor Isaiah had seen the demon up close. “How
are you feeling? Will you be all right?”

Distress still
outlined his face. “That’s a sight I won’t ever forget.”

I unwrapped the
cloak myself and draped it over my arm. “And one I hope you’ll never have to
see again.”

“Either of us,” he
said.

After that he hesitated,
not sure what to do.

“Thank you for
everything, Isaiah. Now go find your children and give them a hug.”

His face softened.
“Yes, ma’am.” He started to turn, then said, “Miss Katrina, don’t worry too
much about Mr. Crane. He’s a right smart man.”

“I know.”
But
could he outsmart a brutal ghost?

* *
*

Hours later, Father still hadn’t
returned. In that time, I’d paced a hole in the floor, bitten all my nails, and
was close to banging my head against the wall. I sat at the dinner table,
slashing marks into my yams.

Simon refilled the
one sip of water I’d taken from my glass. “Eat something, Miss Katrina.
Starving yourself won’t do no good.”

“I can’t.” I
glanced at the clock. “Why is Father not back yet?”

“I’m sure he’ll be
here soon. And he’ll have answers.”

As much as I
wanted to believe that, I knew it wasn’t true.

The slashes I
scored in my yams grew deeper. I was seconds away from risking a ride out to
Van Ripper’s myself. Then I heard Father’s horse on the road. I scraped back my
chair and rushed to meet him at the door. I was still holding my fork, crusted
with yam bits.

“What’d you
learn?” I spouted before he could step inside.

I hadn’t realized
I was aiming my fork at him until he reached out and pushed it away. “I should
be the one asking the questions.”

He will not do
this to me
. I wanted answers. “What of Ichabod?”

Father’s nostrils
flared as he countered my question with his own. “Why in God’s name were you at
the schoolhouse today? And alone with him in the cellar?”

“Is that really
more important than Ichabod’s head?”

“To me. Yes.” He
bore around me, removing his coat. “The whole blasted village knows of this
now. Our good name will be ruined.”

Not as long as
our money fills the veins of this town.

I followed him
into the dining room, my fork clenched tight in my fist.

He whipped back
his chair and took his usual seat at the head of the table.

“Father, how is
Ichabod?”

“Safe at Van
Ripper’s for now. We’re keeping a watch over him. Though he’s not agreeable to
being kept under guard. The young fool.”

I quietly sighed
relief, knowing he was being looked after. But he must loathe every second of
it. Even though I was on shaky ground, I sat down and continued to badger.
“What will the Council do now? Did they work out a plan? Maybe it’s time to
make a list of suspicious citizens who might be controlling The Horse –”

His rigid finger
was again in my face. “Maybe it’s time for you to stay quiet and consider your
defiant behavior.” Then he glared down at the empty space before him. “Where
the hell is my dinner?” Instead of waiting on Simon, he reached over and
snatched my plate of uneaten food. He didn’t seem to mind the rutted yams as he
jabbed his fork into them and ate.

* *
*

The next morning parishioners
packed the church. Father was right. The whole village knew of yesterday’s
incident. I wanted so badly to speak with Ichabod, but didn’t dare. And
besides, he was surrounded by grim-faced men who were nodding their heads and
stroking their chins. Our eyes met briefly and his widened in a “help me!”
plea. If I’d had a way to rescue him from the old codgers, I would’ve.

I’d barely taken
three steps toward the pews when Henny, and a throng of other women stopped me.
They must have been lying in wait.

“Horrendous,”
Henny boomed, taking my hand. “You must have been one scared little duckling.”

I had no wish to
discuss this with her, but she was accompanied by most every busybody in the
village, so I couldn’t resist filling their ears. “It was terribly
frightening.” I fanned my face like recalling it might cause me to swoon.

“There, there,”
Henny said. “You are safe here in church.”

I’d have felt
safer if I weren’t being suffocated by these prattlepusses.

She patted my hand
like I was a small child. “We have been going round and round with this and cannot
come up with a reasonable explanation as to why Ichabod has made an enemy of
The Horseman.”

Everyone gawked,
eyes immense.

I cocked my head,
tossing her a questioning look. “And you think
I
would know?”

“Of course not,”
Henny said in a tsk, tsk manner. “But you were there with him at the time.”

I breathed in,
lifting my chin. “Yes, I was. But that doesn’t mean I’d know why The Horseman
appeared.”

“I understand, my
dear,” Henny patronized. “You were probably too preoccupied in that cellar to
even give it a thought.”

Sheer delight
crossed the ladies’ faces.

“Yes,” I said,
pulling my hand away. “Those doors weren’t the only things smoldering.”

A dozen jaws
dropped.

I smiled sweetly.
“Now if you’ll excuse me.” I proudly pushed through them to where Father sat.

Reverend Bushnell
took to the pulpit. He led us in an opening prayer, asking God not only for an
end to this unholy affliction, but to also keep safe our beloved schoolmaster,
who especially needed His benevolent hand. I didn’t know where Ichabod sat, but
I imagine he wanted to crawl under the pew.

The Reverend
continued, preaching a sermon on enticing evil. He read to us from Psalm 59:
Deliver
me from mine enemies, O my God: defend me from them that rise up against me.

Only when we bowed
our heads did I not feel judgmental eyes on me. But I read the scriptures and
sang the hymns as though it were any other Sunday. I listened for Ichabod’s
voice, but could not hear it. He must’ve felt it best not to drown out Mrs.
Twiggs on this particular morning.

Service finally
ended, and I was able to turn and look. That’s when I saw Elise. Knowing how
she felt about Ichabod, I had to explain.

I caught up to
her. “Elise, I’m sorry.”

“No need to
apologize.” She stood stiff and straight and spat the words like they were
poison.

“Please, I want
you to understand.”

“I do,” she said,
her eyes narrowed. “You’re Katrina Van Tassel. The daughter of the wealthiest
man in Sleepy Hollow. You always get what you want. You always have.”

“You know that’s
not true.”

“Isn’t it?” Her
mouth curled into a false smile. “Perhaps I should loan you that book of
Persian tales. There’s an intriguing story of a man named Ali Baba. A fable
filled with theft and deceit. I’m sure you’d enjoy it very much.”