Chapter 13
The crisp morning air carries the scent of damp earth and fallen leaves as Brom and I stroll through the woods. Gold and rust foliage crunches underfoot, and the skeletal branches overhead reach up to scratch the pale autumn sky.
It’s peaceful here, away from the ominous presence of Van Tassel Manor and the whispering tension of the town. I feel lighter, as though the trees themselves breathe new life into me, chasing away thoughts of ghostly figures and chilling stories.
Brom is easy company, his broad-shouldered frame cutting a steady path beside me.
I’m glad we reconnected when I moved back to town.
Although technically we haven’t known each other for long, there’s still a familiarity in his presence that makes me feel safe, and he reminds me that my childhood here wasn’t all that bad.
“So,” I say, nudging a small pile of leaves with the toe of my boot, “tell me something good that’s going on in your world. Something normal.”
He laughs. “Normal? In Sleepy Hollow? Well, that’s a tall order.”
I laugh with him. Nothing has been normal since I arrived here. The weirdly cold manor house, the deaths in town, my immediate connection to Ichabod.
But then I notice Brom glancing at me sideways, his expression darkening.
“Actually, there’s something I wanted to ask you,” he says after a pause. “Have you noticed anything… off, about the music professor?”
I blink at him. “Off? What do you mean?”
He exhales through his nose, choosing his words carefully. “Yeah, you said he comes up to the house to give Toby music lessons. If you’ve spent any more time with him, I was wondering if you’ve seen anything unusual?”
“Um, yeah, we’ve spent some time together. Why?”
“It’s just there’s been some talk around the town, ever since the lawyer was found dead.”
I stop walking. “Talk? What kind of talk?” I don’t like where this is going.
Brom hesitates before answering. “Well, that Ichabod Crane might… have something to do with the deaths.”
The words hit me like a gust of icy wind. I stare at him, stunned. “What? Why?”
“I don’t know,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “It’s just what I’ve heard people saying. I wondered if you’d noticed anything, seeing as he’s at your house so often.”
“That’s ridiculous.” I shake my head, heart pounding. Where has this come from? Why would anyone think Ichabod was behind this?
“I’m just saying what I’ve heard.” Brom shrugs.
“Ichabod wouldn’t hurt anyone,” I say, although as the words leave my mouth, I think back to my father last night, telling me that I didn’t know him.
“What makes you so sure?” Brom studies me, his expression unreadable.
“I just know.” I cross my arms, suddenly feeling defensive. “Ichabod wouldn’t be involved in anything like that,” I say, more firmly than I feel.
“Okay, but Kat…” He pauses. “You’ve only known him, what? A few days? How can you be so certain?”
I want to snap at him and tell him the whole thing is absurd. But he’s only voicing what I’m thinking. How well do I really know Ichabod? I want to believe that he wouldn’t have anything to do with this. But I guess we have only known each other a few days, although it seems longer.
Perhaps it wasn’t a coincidence that he turned up just as I tripped. What had he been doing that night in the dark? Just out for a walk, like me?
And, of course, I can’t overlook his insistence that the Headless Horseman legend is real, and that he’s returned to stalk the streets of Sleepy Hollow.
I press my lips together, shoving the thought away.
“I just do, okay? I trust him,” I say finally.
Brom exhales, clearly unconvinced. But he doesn’t argue.
“Just be careful around him, all right?” he says, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.
We resume walking, both of us lost in our own thoughts, the comfortable ease of the morning replaced by something heavier.
Despite my denial, I can’t help but feel horrified. A feeling of unease settles deep in my stomach. What if I’m wrong?
I know Ichabod will be at work until the evening, and with no-one else I can talk to about the rumours, I’ll send myself mad if I sit here and think about it all day.
At least I have the original Katrina Van Tassel to keep me company, and I can lose myself in her story for a while — where her life seems to be going much better than mine.
October 25, 1819
Dear diary,
This morning, my soldier sent word that he wished to see me again, and my heart nearly burst from my chest. We rode together through the forest, just the two of us, and it was the most carefree I’ve felt in a long time.
The air was cool, and the scent of pine and damp earth surrounded us as our horses carried us deeper into the woods.
We stopped at a quiet clearing, where the sunlight filtered through the trees in golden beams. There, he took my hands in his, his touch warm despite the chill of the afternoon. My breath caught as he leaned in, his eyes searching mine. He kissed me long and hard.
I have never known such tenderness. The world seemed to still around us, the only sound our quiet breaths and the distant whisper of the wind. When he pulled away, I found myself wishing he would kiss me again.
But instead, slowly, he lowered himself to his knees.
I admit, I wondered if he had a question to ask me and found myself disappointed when he did not.
Instead, he lifted my skirts to my waist, holding them there with one hand and kissing me again, somewhere quite different this time.
My disappointment did not last long. Diary, can I even confess to partaking in such a scandalous act? This man surprises me every day.
I do not know what will come of this, only that I am in too deep now and I know my heart belongs to him. I ache for the time we can spend together, those stolen, happy moments.
October 26, 1819
My world has shattered.
Father summoned me to his study this morning, his expression one of pride. He spoke of duty, of family honour, and of securing the Van Tassel future. And then he told me — I am to be married. Betrothed to a man I scarcely know, the son of another landowner from the other side of town.
I could hardly breathe as he told me how it had all been arranged.
My hands trembled in my lap, but I could not show him my distress.
I nodded when expected, swallowed down my protests, and listened as he detailed when it was all to take place.
My betrothed is from a wealthy family, well-respected in the community, and apparently eager to wed.
It has all been decided without me.
My future was sealed most likely in that very study by my father and his companions, surrounded by clouds of pipe smoke, and I was not consulted.
I sat before my father calm and compliant, but inside, my heart screamed in defiance.
I do not want him. Him or any other man.
I cannot love him. My heart belongs to another — a man my father would never approve of.
If he knew of my soldier, of the moments we steal together in the forest, of the way my heart beats only for him, he would disown me.
He would forbid me from ever leaving the house again.
I know I must be cautious now. I must hide my feelings, my love, my dreams of being with my soldier and of another life.
But I cannot think clearly. My heart is heavy with sorrow. I must find a way to see him, to tell him what has happened. But what can we do? If my father ever learns the truth, all will be lost.
October 28, 1819
Diary, my world has tipped upside down. I can hardly bring myself to write these words. My hands shake, for I dare not believe it, but perhaps putting it down on paper will help me make sense of it all.
I am with child.
The thought struck me this morning and once it did, I could not escape it. The stirrings I felt, physically and mentally, that I had experienced now for weeks. The bleeding that I have missed and fluttering like wings in my stomach. I cannot deny it. My soldier, his child grows within me.
Fear and joy battle inside me. My heart lifts at the thought of carrying a piece of him within me, binding us together, the two of us creating life that will be half of him and half of me.
But now I live in terror of my father finding out.
If he discovers what I have done, he will surely cast me out.
And what now of my marriage arrangement?
I cannot go through with it. By the time of the wedding, I will certainly be showing, unable to hide the truth and he will not want me. Just as I do not want him.
October 30, 1819
I could not keep this new truth to myself. I had to see my soldier. I sent word through Lucy, imploring him to leave his duties just a short while. We met at the bandstand in town, that had stood at the centre of that wonderful market all those weeks ago.
He was overjoyed when I told him what I knew, lifting me and twirling me right there on the spot. I felt hope that all would be well.
But his eyes darkened with worry when I asked how we could be together with our child. He took my hands in his, kissed my knuckles, and whispered words of comfort. "We must leave this town," he said. "We shall build a new life, far from here.”
I confess I had never considered this an option. I have spent my whole life in Sleepy Hollow, and my whole life is mapped out here before me. How could I consider leaving all that I know? But as soon as he said it, I knew it was the right thing to do.
We cannot be together in Sleepy Hollow.
I feel light, as if a whole new life has opened in front of me. It is madness, but what choice do we have? My soldier promised he will make the arrangements, find a way for us to flee together before my father realises the truth.
Tomorrow, we will meet again under the cover of night. If all goes to plan, we will never return. The thought of leaving my home, my family, everything I have ever known is terrifying. But for love, for the life within me, I must be brave.
Diary, I must close this entry with a prayer.
May fate be kind to us.
I close the diary, reeling from the sudden turn in events.
Perhaps I don’t envy my ancestor as much as I originally thought.
There seem to be some odd parallels between us, though, connecting us despite more than two hundred years between us.
Although where her life changing events are pushing her out of Sleepy Hollow, mine have pulled me further in.