Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Emeline
There’s a ringing in my ears. It grows in pitch, needling into my brain like a hot iron as Leed guides me back home.
Our fire is still out, depriving me of the most basic comfort in these confusing moments. The cold darkness of our house hides within it a great many eyes. Look what you’ve done, something whispers. This is your fault.
Leed tends to the fire. The flames chase away the darkness, but not my guilt. The accusatory voices move from the shadows of the room and into the darkness of my own mind. Stupid girl. Blind girl. Careless with the truth.
“Em?” I’m still standing in the entryway. Leed’s hand is firm against my back as he moves me to the couch.
I was introduced to Leed by Reverend Statton.
Most of the town’s matches are made at church.
Leed is handsome and strong with long chestnut hair that’s always neatly tied at the nape of his neck.
A respected hunter. The embodiment of masculinity.
We’ve always been told, “A woman without a protector is a woman at risk of sin.” So of course, when the relationship was suggested, I agreed.
Leed has a great many hobbies. His hunting trips can take him away for days at a time. He spends most evenings with friends at the meadery in town. I have many hours a day to myself.
Would I prefer to have someone who spent more time with me? My loneliness in the quiet moments in our home makes me think I would. But I don’t have anything to compare to. Leed was my first boyfriend, now-fiancé. Maybe I’m just feeling sorry for myself.
Some months ago, all the town’s pairings were encouraged to move in together. Even those who were not married. God told Reverend Statton that our town had special permission to protect its people by allowing couples to live together before marriage. Was that Itrimort’s doing?
“Dry those tears, sweet Em.” Leed gives me a smile.
“Sorry.” I do my best to wipe away the tears that won’t seem to stop flowing.
His fingers brush against my chin. “Would you like a cup of tea?”
Tea is a small comfort, but anything that can chase away the cold dread infiltrating my chest is welcome right now. “That would be lovely. Thank you.”
“I’ll start the kettle before I leave.”
I look up, suddenly snapped from my stupor. “Leave? But—”
“The boys are waiting. After much excitement tonight, they’ll be eager to share discussion.”
I am at a loss for words yet again. Leed puts the kettle on. It hasn’t reached a boil before he’s left. I sit here, unable to move even after the first shrill whistle indicating the water is ready. I let it whine, the sound fighting against my thoughts until they’re near to spilling from my ears.
When I’m unable to take it anymore, I move the kettle off the heat, but don’t bother to pour tea. Tea feels like a luxury, a comfort I don’t deserve right now.
As soon as it’s quiet, my thoughts are consumed by Alesia.
He’s a demon.
She told me and I doubted her. Even with his marks visible upon her skin.
I chose not to believe her. It was too much to bear the thought that what she spoke could be the truth.
Haven’t you ever caught the moment his eyes shift ?
The yellow gleam in those once-trusted eyes has shaken me to my core.
He found that book and everything changed.
Alesia said he’d been studying it. Trying different spells until he found one that worked.
What if everything she told me was true? It would mean our most trusted leader, the highest ranking and most influential person in Sleepy Hollow, is a demon. He’s claiming it’s an angel who has visited him. But those markings on Alesia were no angel’s touch.
I’m still awake, staring at the ceiling of our bedroom and pondering the disturbing events of the evening, when Leed stumbles in.
I can tell from his heavy, unsteady footsteps that he’s drunk.
He bumps into the dresser on his way into our room, knocking off the small carving he gifted me when he asked me to be his wife.
The wooden songbird clatters loudly to the floor. He doesn’t bother to retrieve it.
Kicking his boots off, he crawls into bed. “Beautiful, Em.” His words are slurred. He slides beneath the covers and rolls on top of me.
“I am not in the mood.” Sex outside of marriage is usually a sin.
But Sleepy Hollow was granted that special permission after Reverend Statton received his divine message.
When the acts are done with the intention of strengthening the future marriage, it does not fall under the same sinful category.
Now that I’ve thought on it, that does not feel like the decree an angel would make. It’s taken me an awfully long time to notice all the special accommodations Sleepy Hollow has received from the “Lord Himself”.
Itrimort’s name claws at my thoughts.
“It will do us both good.” Leed’s breath is hot against my ear. He smells of sour mead and roasted meat.
We women aren’t supposed to say no. We’re barely allowed to move during the act. “Fine.”
Leed shifts my knees so that they’re just wide enough to accommodate his hips.
My arms stay pinned to my sides, my body remaining still in the way I’ve been instructed to lay each time.
Why do people even bother doing this if not to make children?
Sex sounded mysterious and exciting to me before.
I’d witnessed drunken couples taking to the act in the woods or against the meadery’s outer wall.
Of course, I’d quickly looked away. But I couldn’t block out what I heard.
They’d been making sounds of great revelry.
Perhaps they were doing something different than what Leed does with me.
I’m barely present as we join in body. My eyes are turned to the window. Even as Leed grunts above me, the sounds of Alesia’s cries replay in my mind.
I feel so detached from my body. How will I ever sleep again? Alesia’s face as the noose pulled taut is burned behind my eyelids.
In a matter of hours, everything about my life and beliefs has been turned upside down. We’ve always been taught not to question things.
Here in the darkness, beneath the weight of Leed’s body, my thoughts are nothing but questions, spinning. How did this happen? Why didn’t I do something to stop it? What am I going to do now?
We’re out of eggs. It feels so trite. Shopping for groceries like it’s a normal day would be laughable if it weren’t so tragic.
One of my closest friends was tortured and hanged mere hours ago.
And with the news of our town’s new religious savior still fresh on everyone’s minds, the air is alight with excitement.
A crowd has formed in the town square when I finish at the market. Voices boom from the group of ten or so men gathered on the platform.
“Open your eyes. What happened last night was the devil’s work.” I recognize Alesia’s cousin, Elijah. “Alesia was no witch. She was innocent. Reverend Statton murdered her. He must pay for what he’s done!”
The other men on the platform repeat his words.
“Innocent!”
“Murderer!”
“Hang him for his crime!”
Their remarks grow quiet as Reverend Statton himself approaches. The crowd parts for him. An unnatural silence falls over the town square.
The men’s bravado evaporates as he ascends the platform. They take anxious steps back. Can they sense the thing inside him? The demon Alesia spoke of? His so-called “angel”?
Reverend Statton turns his back on them, addressing the larger crowd that has gathered. “Temptation can worm its way into the hearts of even the most faithful, leading them like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, away from the safety of the flock. Who in my flock will help to keep the others safe?”
Murmurs ripple through the group.
“Itrimort calls you forward. All who are loyal to their faith. Arrest these men. Lock them away so they may pray in solitude until the path back to the flock is illuminated to them once more. In Itrimort’s name!”
“In Itrimort’s name!” many call back. Men rush the stage, subduing the protesters. They’re rough as the group is disbanded and dragged from the platform. Those around me cheer, praising Itrimort as the newly imprisoned men pass.
A hand wraps around my wrist. I duck my head down to find Mary. Her face is pale and frightened. Was that her husband I saw on the platform?
Mary’s voice is a whisper as she grips my wrist so hard, my bones protest. “Return home. Stay out of sight. Meet us at Anna’s when nightfall comes. We must do something.”
She releases me, then disappears into the throng of bodies shoving away from the town square and toward the prison.
Look at them all. Mindlessly following to watch those men get locked up. And for what? Calling out the crimes of Reverend Statton? Advocating for the innocent woman whose life was stolen?
A new pattern is emerging. Those who speak out against Reverend Statton will suffer for it. Am I willing to risk being caught to do what is right?
My gaze is fixed to the window as I knit, my fingers working from pure muscle memory as my thoughts are consumed by the uncertainty of what this eve will hold. The sunset seems slower this evening than usual. When the last of its golden rays vanishes, I wrap up in my shawl and head for the door.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Leed’s voice startles me. I turn, finding him leaned against our bedroom doorway. I thought he had fallen asleep while reading.
“I’m just off to spend a bit of time with the girls.”
Leed’s gaze presses in around me. “At this hour? Who?”
“You would question my visitations?”
His stoic stare triggers unease in me. He waits in heavy silence, forcing me to speak again.
“Several friends are meeting up to support one another during this tragic time. We need not mourn Alesia’s death in isolation.”
“She was a witch, Emeline. She need not be mourned at all.”
My jaw clenches. “Even if that were true, it wouldn’t erase the ache of loss many of us feel from watching the death of one of our closest friends.”