Chapter six
Katrina yawned, mindlessly stirring sugar in her tea as she looked beyond the window. She wondered if the Headless Horseman was still waiting in the darkness.
The idea did not disturb her as it should’ve.
Instead, she felt comforted by the idea of having a dark guardian angel—perhaps one Johannes had sent to watch over her.
The memories of the Horseman’s endearing pumpkin face had been less terrifying than the tales had portrayed him.
He was unlike anyone she had ever met. Something about his shy, lonely soul drew her to him like a moth to a flame.
“Katrina, dear, did you sleep well, or did Brom’s ghost stories from the other evening keep you up?” her father inquired from across from her, a wisp of smoke burned from his pipe. It had a slightly sweet, citrus note in the heady, earthy scent—a smell that had been nostalgic since childhood.
“No, Father, I slept well,” she answered. “Though the tales do stir the imagination.”
Her mother sat beside her, delicately sipping her tea. She sat upright in her chair, quiet and serene as always. Katrina wished she could emulate her mother’s grace, intelligence, and strength to run the household she would one day inherit.
“Indeed, they do! It is a tale of caution to keep innocent souls inside lest they meet trouble in the middle of the night,” he said with a pleasant hum. A sudden cough racked through him, but he composed himself and took another puff of his pipe after a moment.
Katrina frowned at the concerning cough but raised her teacup to her lips. If only Father knew. She had snuck back into the manor no less than one in the morning before she wrapped her covers around herself and fell soundly asleep. She attempted to hide another long yawn behind her teacup.
“I heard Brom and Ichabod wanted a word with you the other night,” Father said casually.
“They were searching for you,” Mother added.
“Yes… They were,” Katrina started, frowning. This was not the conversation she wished to be discussing, but how long could she keep procrastinating the inevitable? “But unfortunately, we did not get to those conversations.”
“Daughter,” Father said in a firm tone. “I thought you would be an engaged woman by now.”
“The opportunity did not strike as we had hoped,” she said lightly, hoping to defuse the tension.
“Brom will be wanting a word with you soon, then,” Father said. “I believe Ichabod may no longer be an option for you, dear. They found his hat near the old bridge by the church. No one has seen him since All Hallows’ Eve. We fear he may have left town, but no one knows why.”
Katrina swallowed. She knew the truth of Ichabod’s disappearance, how the Headless Horseman frightened him away—perhaps forever.
The thought sent a pang of guilt through her, but she immediately squashed it.
It wasn’t as if the Horseman had harmed the man.
Ichabod had abandoned her to fend for herself.
But that meant she couldn’t continue to play to the men’s vying attention and keep them distracted. There was only one suitor left with no other man to challenge him. She was running out of time.
“Brom is a fine young man,” Mother said as she cut into her breakfast. “He’s been patient and would be a wonderful match to inherit your father’s business. You are nearing twenty-five next month. You may not have much time before you are no longer of marriageable age.”
Katrina nodded, but her mind was far from the conversation about suitors and the reminder of her impending age. More pressing matters were at hand, like discovering the memories of a dead man, so the topic of marriage would have to be delayed.
Dust motes speckled the air, dancing in the light as Katrina pored over the records Reverend Visser had given her. The elderly man, with kind eyes and a weathered face etched with years of compassionate service, hovered behind her, curious about her requests.
“Is that all you need, my dear?” he asked, his voice soft as candlelight.
“Yes, Reverend, that’s all,” she said, “thank you.”
“If you need anything else, let me know, child.”
With a wave, he left her to her devices, and she proceeded to scan through the list of fallen soldiers who had volunteered to serve in the Continental Army. Ten of the twenty-five men who served had fallen in action.
Katrina copied those names in her journal, and her heart skipped a beat when she reached her brother’s name. Her quill hovered over the page, and sadness prickled in her heart before she moved on to the rest.
With her research finished, she bustled out of the church and thanked the Reverend.
On her way out, Greta, one of her maids who stood outside the church to wait for her, followed close behind.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” Greta asked. The young woman was twenty-seven years old, two years Katrina’s senior, with a curious glint in her chocolate brown eyes.
“I’m not quite sure,” Katrina admitted, not wanting to give too much away. Greta might report to her mother if she wasn’t too careful.
Her maid glanced at the journal she brought. “You said you were looking for names. What do you need them for, anyhow?”
Katrina had prepared the lie ahead of time, and she adopted a sincere, grim tone. “I wanted to pay my respects to all who passed in the war. Visiting my brother’s grave inspired me.”
“I see. That is quite admirable of you, miss,” Greta said approvingly. Katrina exhaled a quiet breath of relief that her maid bought her lie.
It wasn’t uncommon for those to leave garlands of flowers for the fallen soldiers. However, she would have to find time to make the garlands to keep up her charade.
On her way out, the barber, Cornelis, who went by Cees, tipped his hat to her as he trimmed the butcher’s beard.
Lijsbeth, the seamstress, waved from her window as she patched a jacket.
The townsfolk bustled around her, greeting her by name as she passed, and she offered them a smile of her own.
As a Van Tassel, her family accumulated wealth over the generations, and she couldn’t go anywhere in town without recognition.
However, she enjoyed the kindness of the small community.
Her pleasant morning was interrupted when she spotted Brom across the road speaking with some of his acquaintances, known as the Sleepy Hollow Riders, by the Ye Olde Sleepy Shoppe. Shielding her face, she pivoted on her heel.
Footsteps hurried behind her. “Katrina!”
Katrina stiffened at the sound of her name. Greta raised her brows suggestively, tilting her head toward the man striding in their direction. Katrina held in a groan, composed herself, and turned to greet him.
“Mister Van Brunt,” she said.
Brom raised his hat and bowed his head in greeting. “There is no need for formalities; you may call me Brom,” he said with a brilliant smile.
“Yes, of course,” she said, still not wanting to use his given name to encourage him.
His large frame blocked the rare sunlight that peeked through the autumn sky.
Dark, tousled curls escaped the tie at the nape of his neck, hovering over his mischievous chestnut eyes.
His brown coat sat snug on his muscled arms, the buttons at his chest pulling with strain by his large pectorals.
By all accounts, Brom was quite attractive.
As her mother mentioned, he was a strapping young man she should want as a husband, but she couldn’t see past his pride and arrogance.
Maybe he would make a fine husband for someone else, but not for her.
Unfortunately, since Brom had scared off all the other suitors in town, she had no choice but to consider him for marriage.
“You’ve been scarce since All Hallows’ Eve,” he stated casually, but suspicion glinted in his eyes. “I’ve been wanting a word with you.”
“I apologize,” she said gently, “My mind has been occupied. Reflecting on the past at this time of year is difficult for me.”
“Yes, your brother,” he acknowledged with a frown. “You are truly a devoted sister to honor him each year. However, I would also think you should consider the future. You’re not getting any younger.”
Katrina held back a scowl as she forced a smile. “In due time. I believe I am owed my moment of grief during this difficult season.”
“I see. I was starting to believe you were avoiding me,” he said with a light chuckle.
“I’ve been needing time to pay my respects,” she said, hoping her emphasis on her grief would provide her some distance. “I’m also honoring those who have fallen in the war here in town.”
“And how long will you be needing this period of grief?” he asked, inching closer to her despite Greta being on the other side. The man seemed to care little about chaperones watching—why would he if his engagement to her was nearly secure?
Sweat dotted her brow, realizing she must do whatever it took to delay him.
“Just a little longer… Brom,” Katrina said sweetly. Raising a finger to her lips, she tapped against the dimple at the corner of her mouth in a teasing manner. “Once you’ve given me time to grieve, I will be eager to consider our future.”
Brom’s face lit up, a smile curving on his lips. He stepped even closer, reaching for her hands and cupping them in his large ones.
“Yes, of course,” he said gently. “I would not wish to rush you. I will be here, waiting for you as your faithful admirer.” Raising her hand, he pressed a kiss to the back of her fingers.
She wished butterflies could storm through her like a love-struck fool, but she felt nothing but indifference at his touch.
“Thank you. I know what I ask isn’t easy…” she began sadly, her gaze drifting to the ground at her satin shoes.
“Think nothing of it,” Brom said, “I can exercise a little more patience.” He winked, and she glanced up at him shyly. Inwardly, she celebrated how successfully her charm swayed him.
“Oi, Brom!” one of his friends shouted across the road. Katrina silently thanked the heavens for his interruption.
The rest of the Sleepy Hollow Riders hooted and whistled teasingly before another hollered, “You’ve had enough time with your lady love. Come finish this so we can make our wagers!”
Irritation flashed over Brom’s features before he tilted his hat in farewell. “My lady,” he said, “I will be waiting.”
With that, he turned and joined his rowdy clan. Relief expelled from her lips as she watched him go.
“Oh, what a fine man he is,” Greta said beside her, her eyes glimmering with admiration. “You’re a very lucky lady, Miss Katrina. Though he seems so eager! I doubt he’ll be able to wait too long to propose.”
Katrina bit back a grimace. Greta was right.
Brom would become impatient again, and keeping him waiting would become more difficult.
With determination fueling her steps, she strode to the graveyard to write as much information as she could from the list of fallen soldiers.
Greta struggled to keep up with her, but she couldn’t slow down. The sands of time raced against her.