3. Chapter 3
Chapter three
“Miss Van Tassel?” a familiar voice asked.
The roar of Katrina’s pulse in her ears slowed as moonlight revealed a lanky man sitting atop a large horse. Never had she been as relieved to see Ichabod Crane as she was at this moment.
Katrina placed a hand over her sputtering heart. “Oh, Mister Crane, it’s just you.” Chuckling under her breath, she chided herself for allowing her fears to get the best of her.
Gunpowder, Farmer Van Ripper’s horse, snorted, his breath visible in the cold.
The old, gray gelding had an exhausted droop in his eyes, the strain of a lifetime filled with labor etched in his frame.
Gunpowder took a weary step, chewing at his bit.
Ichabod must have traded something with the farmer in exchange for using the horse tonight.
Ichabod peered down over his nose, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “What are you doing here?”
“I—” she started, flustered by the new shift of nerves settling over her. Now that the threat of ghosts was gone, she had a new predicament. If she didn’t offer a justifiable excuse, she would be unable to maintain her upstanding appearance in society.
Katrina smiled, hoping it would distract the schoolmaster. “I could ask you the same. What is a schoolmaster like yourself wandering around in the middle of the night? Isn’t your home the opposite way?”
Ichabod’s nose twitched at her inquisition. “I was returning home, but Gunpowder was spooked by something and took a wrong turn. Why are you here? I thought you were going to the privy?”
“You didn’t wait very long for me, did you?” she teased.
His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. It was then that she noticed the water dripping from his coat. Perhaps Brom had spilled something on him on purpose to force him home.
“I had a mishap with a pint of beer,” he said sourly, confirming her suspicions. “Though that doesn’t explain why you’re here.”
Her eyes darted to the dark silhouette of the church and the shadowy graves beyond the bridge behind her.
“I had lost one of my mother’s brooches near here.
I forgot about it until she asked for it this evening.
I couldn’t bear to tell her I had misplaced it, so I snuck out, hoping to retrieve it before the party ended,” she said, the lie slipping behind her teeth.
“I hardly expected your charming company here.”
Ichabod’s face lit up as he awkwardly dismounted.
One of his feet caught on the stirrups, and his arms pinwheeled before he fell flat on his rear on the road.
Katrina raised a hand to her lips to hide the muffled chuckles bouncing in her chest. Quickly, he composed himself, all gangly limbs straightening before her.
“I see. Well, this is most serendipitous,” he announced all too eagerly.
Before she could react, he approached. His long, bony fingers ensnared her hands, and his cold touch rendered her speechless.
“I’ve been patiently seeking an opportunity like this,” he said, his lips curling into a grin. “To finally catch you alone so I might profess my feelings in private.”
Katrina forced a pleasant expression and gently released herself from his grip. She retreated, clasping her hands behind her back lest he be tempted to grab them again.
“Oh? Since moving here, Mister Crane, I thought you had confessed your feelings quite clearly. What more could your heart profess?” she asked, daring another step back.
Her mind raced for a way to escape this precarious situation.
She still hadn’t decided which suitor to bind herself to in holy matrimony.
How could she determine who she’d tolerate more when she wanted nothing to do with them?
Katrina’s voice cracked as she continued, “If you wish to speak more on the matter, let us return to the estate, and we can—”
“No, this is perfect,” he declared, advancing on her.
With each step he took, she took two more backward.
Her silk-heeled slippers clicked against the bridge’s wooden planks before she was backed into one of the posts.
He towered over her with a crooked smile.
She knew his intentions were not malicious, but she couldn’t risk being seen with him alone.
People would whisper, and her father would most likely force her to marry him to save her reputation.
Despite her lack of feelings for Ichabod and Brom, she wished to at least have a choice in the matter.
“What is perfect?” she asked carefully. “I insist that we discuss this in the warmth of my home. I’m getting cold—”
“Miss Katrina Van Tassel,” he began with a low bow.
She grimaced at the dramatic display and leaned her weight away from him. The railing groaned, but she couldn’t help but keep as much distance as possible.
“Yes?” she asked warily.
“I have been struck senseless by your beauty since I laid eyes on you. Your golden hair, the color of the sun, and the blue of your robin egg eyes have enchanted me.”
Katrina cringed at his uninspired compliments. Another creak groaned as she leaned further away, placing her hands to brace herself on the railing. Half her back extended out over the bridge to escape him.
“You cannot imagine the torture my heart has endured by not being by your side. I wish to ask you with all the tenderness of my heart…”
“Please, Mister Crane—” she pleaded, placing more weight against the bridge.
“Would you do me the honor,” he began and bent on one knee. Her heart beat erratically beneath her ribs. “Of becoming Mrs. Katrina Cran—”
A loud crack splintered beneath her. The bridge railing gave out, and suddenly, there was nothing to stabilize her.
With a scream, she fell, her arms flailing desperately to balance herself.
The waters lapped beneath her, the wind whistling in her ears, and she clawed at the air.
The breath fled her throat when her fingers found purchase on the bridge ledge.
Her fingernails bit into the wood as she stared at a frantic Ichabod.
“Oh!” he screeched. “Miss Katrina! Should I call for help?” he cried, his hands flying to his mouth.
“Help me!” she screamed.
“Ah, yes, yes,” he stuttered but froze.
“Mister Crane!” Katrina pleaded as her arms groaned in pain from holding her dangling weight.
He stood motionless, his head tilted as if to listen to something. Katrina’s patience grew thin, and she was about to yell at the useless man again until she heard the sound.
A low and steady drumbeat of hooves echoed louder, advancing with terrifying speed. The bridge reverberated beneath her fingers as each impact shuddered through the ground like an eerie omen.
Katrina’s fingers slipped over the wood, and her eyes darted to the river beneath her.
The waters splashed at her slippers, eager to swallow her up.
Although the river wasn’t too deep here, the cold would shock her senseless, and she’d risk drowning under the weight of her skirts.
The wind’s chill swept through her cloak, numbing her fingers.
Splinters bit into her flesh as she groaned to pull her weight.
The pulsing tremors echoed in her ears. The sound of hooves grew louder and louder.
She closed her eyes in concentration as fear stole through her strained breaths.
Clattering struck against the wood, and then Ichabod’s high-pitched shriek jolted through her body.
Her hands slipped, and her eyes flashed open to a gaping Ichabod as the air rushed around her.
An iron-clad hand gripped her wrist.
A chill seized her heart, and she inhaled sharply. Moonlight silhouetted the figure, dressed in a dark, threadbare coat, looming over her like a shadow. A scream froze in her throat as she stared into the black void where his head should have been. No neck or flesh remained, only a void.
Then, the specter hauled her up. His strong arm wrapped around her torso to steady her before gently setting her on the wooden planks. Katrina’s knees trembled. She blinked up at the emptiness between his upturned collar.
Ichabod stumbled back, his eyes wide with terror. “The-the Horseman!” he yelped. Turning on his heel, he scurried from the bridge, leaving her alone and vulnerable to the ghost standing before her. A frightened neigh sounded, and then the thundering of hooves bounded away.
Katrina hardly registered Ichabod’s retreat. Her eyes remained glued to the ghost plaguing Sleepy Hollow for over a decade. He’d been no more than a legend—a figment of overactive imaginations, yet the gloved hand steadying her by her elbow felt all too real.
Thoughts fled with fear, keeping her immobilized by his touch. Her heart thundered so loudly that she was sure the specter could hear it thump against her ribs.
Yet nothing happened. He did not move to strike her. Instead, his touch lingered. The longer the silence stretched through the night, the more a strange feeling settled over her—one of awe and… curiosity.
She sensed invisible eyes regarding her and imagined him tilting his head with equal curiosity. Then, his touch vanished. Turning on his heel, he strode toward his towering black horse and mounted it with impressive agility before urging the animal into a gallop.
Echoes of pounding hooves swam around her confused thoughts.
She debated whether she had gone mad or slipped into a strange dream.
But as she watched him disappear into the darkness of night, her fingers brushed against her wrist and the elbow he’d steadied moments before—the truth of what happened finally settled in her mind.
He had saved her, and somehow, she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something protective about his touch.
Perhaps the Headless Horseman wasn’t the frightening legend Sleepy Hollow believed—maybe he was something much stranger.