Chapter eight
As Katrina ambled downstairs, the steady rhythm of rain beat upon the awning. Silver, foggy air clouded the windowpane and muted the early morning light. She caught a glimpse of the forest beyond the orchards and paused in her descent.
The Horseman’s request to see her every night lingered in her mind. Until then, Katrina hadn’t thought of the Horseman as human, but the quiet hesitancy in his demeanor made her believe he was human beneath the ghostly visage.
A shiver of an unfamiliar thrill ran through her at the idea of the specter who wished to spend time with her. The quiet ache of his loneliness tugged at her heartstrings, and she found she couldn’t deny him. But it wasn’t out of pity alone; his cautious but candid nature endeared her to him.
Greta quietly swept the parlor, and the heavy footsteps of her father’s boots were absent this morning. Father must have gone to the shipyard early.
Katrina found her mother reading at the table, brows furrowed, and her mouth was a thin line of worry. When Katrina entered the dining room, her mother quickly folded the paper and covered it with other documents.
“Good morning, dear,” Mother said before she took notice of Katrina’s day dress. “You’re dressed for errands, I see.”
Katrina nodded, smoothing the brown wool overskirt laid over a cream petticoat. “I thought I could buy some more ingredients at the market for pie.”
Mother’s rosy mouth, which Katrina inherited, quirked into a hint of a smile. “And have you consulted Marta about making these pies?”
“I will, as soon as I have gathered the spices,” Katrina said with a wink.
“Very well, don’t be out too long. I need your assistance in inspecting which draperies need mending.”
“I’ll be back before noon,” she said.
“Good, I want you home before your father returns.”
“Father has been gone earlier these mornings, hasn’t he?” Katrina inquired.
Mother’s smile faltered. “He’s been called in earlier these days.”
“But he’s been coming home earlier than usual, too.”
“You know how shipments can be,” Mother said nonchalantly. “Now, hurry and get those ingredients before the rain starts again.”
Katrina nodded and fetched Greta to accompany her.
Outside, her boots squelched with mud as the basket in her arm swung in time with her steps. Her thoughts strayed once more to the mysterious, headless man and all the secrets he held. She wondered if she would discover any more answers today.
Despite the drizzle of rain, the market was still buzzing. Greta went to buy something in the Ye Olde Sleepy shop, and Katrina took her time inspecting various goods offered for sale until a conversation made her ears perk.
“I haven’t seen Mister Crane in a few days, sir,” Farmer Van Ripper said, scratching at his balding head. “Gunpowder came running in my fields without him in sight.”
“I fear the worst may have happened,” the Reverend said solemnly. His kind eyes drooped with concern. “I could only locate his hat near the church.”
Katrina paused at a stall of squash, scanning the lumpy shapes while straining to listen in on their conversation.
“It’s not like him to disappear without a word, not when the children rely on him,” the Reverend continued.
Farmer Van Ripper nodded in agreement. “Aye, my boy was supposed to start school this morning, but Mister Crane hasn’t shown up.”
“I thought I saw a glimpse of Ichabod on the road on All Hallows’ Eve,” Jane Jansen’s shrill voice cut in. Katrina froze, hoping that she hadn’t also been discovered that night. The elderly widow was a known gossip with more than enough time on her hands to spin stories.
More people crowded around the Reverend and Farmer Van Ripper.
“He’d taken the long route instead of going straight home,” one person said.
“Do you think spirits could have been involved?” another chimed in.
The Reverend raised his hands. “Now, now, let us not be hasty. I cannot say if it is a specter we are dealing with, but I shall have to warn the constable, regardless.”
“Should we search for Mister Crane?” Farmer Van Ripper suggested.
“After I speak with the constable, I’m sure he’ll gather a search party,” the Reverend said in reassurance. He quietly left to return to the church, but the villagers continued their hushed whispers.
Katrina’s hands clenched over the basket. What would happen if the Horseman were discovered? Would her parents lock her inside the house until she married Brom? Would the Horseman disappear forever?
She must do something about these rumors. Steeling herself, Katrina inhaled a deep breath before casually passing by Mrs. Jansen.
The old woman with tiny spectacles dangling on her hooked nose spoke in a heated whisper to Mister Van Ripper. “I think that Brom Bones was right. That evil spirit probably snatched Crane up.”
“Mister Crane is missing?” Katrina asked innocently.
Mrs. Jansen glanced at her and waved, inviting her into the conversation. “Yes, child. And a spirit might have claimed him.”
Katrina feigned a gasp. “Truly? You think a ghost had something to do with it?”
“It’s what everyone has been saying,” Mrs. Jansen said, eager to share the news. “Though Reverend Visser advised us not to jump to conclusions, I believe there are ghosts about.”
Katrina expelled a dramatic sigh, averting her eyes.
“What is it, child? Do you know something?” Mrs. Jansen asked, reaching a wrinkled hand to grasp Katrina’s hand.
“It’s just,” she said, contorting her lips into a frown. “I fear I may be to blame.”
Farmer Ripper’s brows rose high on his forehead. “What do you mean, Miss?”
“You cannot blame yourself, dear,” Mrs. Jansen said, patting Katrina’s hand.
“I think perhaps Mister Crane was more heartbroken than I thought,” Katrina said sadly. “My rejection of his proposal may have driven him away.”
Mister Van Ripper nodded in understanding, and Mrs. Jansen squeezed her hand.
“Oh, child,” Mrs. Jansen said, her shrill voice lowering sympathetically. “It is no fault of your own. You cannot blame your heart if you do not love him in return. Mister Crane had a sensitive soul, so it would not surprise me if he could not handle your rejection.”
“I suppose that might solve our mystery, then,” Mister Van Ripper said. “Better than the poor chap being snatched by a ghost.”
“I sure hope so. But I cannot help but wonder. Who do you suppose this specter is?” Katrina couldn’t help but ask. Perhaps people in the village may have more knowledge than she would on the subject.
“Don’t you remember Brom’s story?” Mrs. Jansen asked, “It was one of those dreadful Hessian soldiers.”
“But that’s not all he could be,” Farmer Van Ripper added. “Some say he was a lad from this here, Sleepy Hollow.”
Katrina’s head snapped in surprise. “Truly?” she asked, sounding as frightened as she could muster. “Who do you suppose it could be?”
Van Ripper shrugged. “That’s the thing. No one really knows. It could be any folk that served in the war, the few from here who passed, that is, God rest their souls.” Van Ripper took his cap off and put it to his chest in solemn respect.
Mrs. Jansen’s lips pursed. “It wouldn’t be any of those innocent souls,” she scolded. She gave Katrina a meaningful look, and Katrina shifted uncomfortably. “Your brother was a wonderful man, Miss.”
Van Ripper stuttered, “N-no, of course not! I didn’t mean to imply the ghost could be him. I meant no disrespect.”
“Do not fret; no offense was taken,” Katrina said lightly, despite her heart clenching at the reminder.
“You shouldn’t trouble yourself, child,” Mrs. Jansen said. “Just be sure to open your Bible every night and light a candle by the window, and the ghost will surely leave you be.”
“Thank you,” Katrina said gravely, and to sound more convincing, she added, “though I cannot help but fear traveling near the forest now.”
Mrs. Jansen’s wrinkled hand squeezed hers again. “Now, now, dear. There’s nothing to worry about. Nothing at all. Like I said, the Lord’s words will protect you. Keep to the road and don’t go too deep into the woods. There are more than just spirits that live there.”
Katrina’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”
Fear gleamed in Van Ripper’s eyes before he tipped his hat. “I apologize. I ought to be going now, ladies,” he said, tipping his hat before leaving.
“And I have some knitting to finish,” Mrs. Jansen said, releasing her hand. “Stay safe now, dear.”
Katrina nodded but couldn’t help but wonder what else Mrs. Jansen was referring to regarding the other strange things lurking in the forest. What else could be as frightening as the Headless Horseman?