Chapter 4
After a lunch of tomato soup and homemade crusty bread prepared by Meredith, I decide I’ve explored the house enough and should check out the town next. Meredith offers to call Ben back so he can drive me in, but after travelling through the night, I could do with stretching my legs.
As I step outside, a chill hits me. Although the air was warm and mild when I arrived just a few hours ago, with the sun shining high in the clear blue sky, it seems to have quickly turned.
Now the cold air nips at my hands and face.
I wish I’d put a jacket on over my hoodie, but I can’t be bothered to turn back now.
The imposing gates are still open, so I head down the driveway, my Docs crunching beneath me as I go, and head out onto the leafy, tree-lined road.
As I suspected, the walk doesn’t take long and about a quarter of an hour later, I reach the edge of town. It will be interesting to see if anything has changed since I was little, given that the house hasn’t at all.
I wander along the cobbled streets, taking in the picturesque shop fronts, with their wooden framed windows and hand-painted signage.
Quaint and old-fashioned. Yep, that’s Sleepy Hollow, all right.
As it’s getting towards the end of October, it’s no surprise to see pumpkins sitting proudly on some of the doorsteps, garish expressions carved into their plump orange bodies.
The wind blows sharply, and I pull the cuffs of my hoodie over my hands and cross my arms over my chest.
I come to a stop just outside the old doctor’s surgery.
The posters in the windows are faded by sunlight and time, the glass is obscured with grime.
I remember the antiseptic scent and sharp scratch of a needle from the times my mother had brought me here.
She had squeezed my hand and promised it would only hurt for a moment, that the doctors would make me better again. God, I’d hated going in there.
I’m about to carry on, when the front door to the surgery bursts open, and closes again with just as much force. A man in a crumpled tweed suit stumbles out onto the path, clutching a briefcase tightly with both hands. His knuckles are white and he glances nervously up and down the street.
Before I have time to move, he barges past me, slamming into my shoulder and jolting me back a step.
“Hey —” I start, but he doesn’t stop.
He offers no apology. In fact, he doesn’t seem to register me at all. I catch a glimpse of his wild-eyed expression before he darts down the street. Rubbing my shoulder, I watch him disappear around the corner. A crow caws loudly behind me, and I turn to spot it perched on the surgery sign.
Rude.
Down a side street to my right is a warm-looking café, which I definitely remember from before.
It looks like it’s been here forever, the black paint peeling away from the wooden windows.
Orange, inviting light spills out through its shopfront.
Even with the door closed, I can smell the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the buttery sweet scent of just-baked pastries enticing me in.
I head inside, where most of the wooden tables are empty, their surfaces worn and weathered with use.
There are mismatched chairs around the tables and large, squishy leather armchairs by the fire and in the corners of the room.
The girl behind the counter jumps up as I walk in, brushing her long, curly black hair out of her face.
The chalkboard behind her shows a handwritten menu, indicating which cakes and pastries they have on offer today and an extensive choice of coffees.
I decide to go for a pumpkin spice latte, as it seems the most appropriate for this time of year. And it will warm my hands up.
Drink in hand, I pull the door open to leave and turn my head to call out a final thanks to the girl behind the counter. I turn back at the same time as I take a step forward into the chilled air and immediately bump into someone coming in the other way. Not again. We both jump a step back.
“Sorry, my fault. Sorry.”
“No, no, sorry. After you.”
We both apologise, talking over each other, laughing as we both step to go the same way again. Chuckling, he takes a big step backwards and extends his arm.
“Ladies first. I insist,” he says, inclining his head in mock chivalry.
“Why thank you, sir. Most kind.” I keep up the pretence, nodding as I step past him.
“I’m Brom, by the way. I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before,” he says, smiling.
“Ah yeah, I’ve just moved in. Well, I guess moved back. I did live here before, years ago. I’m up at the Van Tassel Manor…” I trail off, a little bit embarrassed about staying in such a large house, and referring to it as a manor.
He squints, looking at me a bit more closely.
“Wait, Kat? Kat Van Tassel? Is it actually you?” he says in surprise.
I must give him a blank look, because he carries on.
“It’s Brom.” He points to himself. “Brom Bones. We went to primary school together!”
I take in his black skinny jeans, red and black checked shirt, and leather boots. His dark brown, almost black hair, flops over his eyes. Now that I look again, he does look familiar. “Oh my god, yes, Brom! I do remember! How have you been?”
We hug, and I awkwardly try not to spill coffee down his back.
“Yeah, not bad, not bad. I work for my dad now, you know, still in the baking business.” He points inside. “These guys are one of our customers. How about you? How come you’re back?”
I hesitate slightly, not really wanting to get into it all while stood on the street.
“Oh, I’ve come back to stay with my dad for a bit. Not sure how long, though. There doesn’t seem to be much around here.”
“Ha, yeah, I get that. It is a quiet town, but it does have its upsides, you know. Look I’ve got to run, but here’s my number, if you do stick around for a bit and fancy catching up properly?”
He pulls an old receipt out of his pocket and tears it in half. Scribbling his number down on one half, he hands me the pen to do the same on the other. We exchange the scraps of paper, and promise to meet again, before he hurries inside the café.
Unsurprisingly, the town doesn’t have much to offer, so I start to walk back towards the house. Along the cobbled streets, past the ancient bandstand and up the tree-lined road.
Back in my room, I kick my boots off and flop down on the bed. God, this town is dull. I roll onto my stomach and notice the KVT diary I had tossed there earlier. Curious about what life would have been like all those years ago, I pull it towards me and flick to the first page.
October 8, 1819
Dearest diary, how perfectly splendid you are, with your smooth leather binding and brushed brass corners. And my initials embossed on the cover! Father does pay such close attention to every detail. Every birthday, he bestows me with a gift better than the last year.
He says he has given me this diary as a gift for my sixteenth birthday, with hopes that I shall take up writing.
I fear he expects far too much of me. I have never been one to sit with a quill for long, nor to fill pages with my thoughts.
But perhaps I shall try, if only to please him.
Perhaps this will become my newest pastime.
Today has been a most glorious day, not only for my birthday, but because tonight is the autumn ball.
I have waited all year and finally, the event of the season is here again.
I can hardly contain my excitement. The air is crisp with the scent of fallen leaves, and the trees glow red and gold in the afternoon sun. It is the perfect night for dancing.
Father is hosting here, at the Van Tassel Manor, and I do so enjoy a dance.
Mother has been overseeing the catering all morning, and I’m sure it will be a feast the town is unlikely to forget.
She frets over every dish, every arrangement of fruit and meats, as though the success of the evening rests solely upon the dinner table.
I should like to tell her that no one truly cares for such things — not when there is music and laughter and the chance to waltz beneath the candelabras.
I must cut my first entry short. Lucy will soon be here, to help me bathe and braid my hair. I have seen my dress for tonight and goodness, it is beautiful. I do, however, wonder how I shall breathe in a corset as tight as this one.
October 9, 1819
Well, dearest diary, who would have thought I would be back to write in you so soon! But my, what a tale I have to tell. I must write it down before I forget any detail of the magical night.
This year’s autumn ball has been the best I have experienced yet. It was everything I had dreamed it would be and more. The music, the candlelight, the swirling gowns and polished boots upon the floor — it was as though I had stepped into a dream.
The house had been adorned with foliage from the woods, with ivy wrapped around the staircase, russet wreaths upon the doors and centrepieces of wood and ferns on the tables.
The Sleepy Hollow townspeople turned out in their finest garments, the ladies sporting the latest fashions from London.
The fire in the hearth had been built up all afternoon and was roaring by dusk fall.
But the most interesting thing of all was that the ball had hardly started when a troop of soldiers stopped in. I learned that they had been marching by and were drawn by the light and the warmth and the laughter.
As it so happened, they were Hessian soldiers from one of the German auxiliaries. And of course, Father welcomed them in with a drink each and invited them to stay for the festivities.
I have to say, the soldiers caused quite the stir amongst the ladies as we enjoyed our new dance partners for the evening. One in particular, tall and handsome in his uniform, asked me to dance early in the night. My, how quick on his feet he was!
His eyes sparkled the most unusual shade of amber in the candlelight.
Dear diary, I know it is proper for a lady to make sure she dances with all the suitors at such an event, but I found myself quite taken with him, and he with I. We spent most of the night out in the middle of the dance floor together.
I fear Father was not happy with my choice, as he made sure to tell me to save a dance for the eldest O’Neil son. I know he plans to marry me off to one of his fellow wealthy landowners, and the O’Neils would be the obvious choice. Not my choice, of course.
But there was something about this soldier. We danced and danced, and drank wine by the crackling fire.
As the party came to a close, the sergeant came around, rallying his men. I stood in the entryway, watching them disappear into the distance. My soldier and his bannermen rode off into the night, and I cannot be sure if I will see him again.