I went rigid, my tongue locked inside my teeth. I couldn’t scream, or breathe, or cry out a warning to anyone else. They wouldn’t have noticed me in any case, because Brom was trying to grab Diederick—I think he wanted to calm the other man down—and Sem Bakker had started babbling about something. The creature could have reached down from the tree and taken me away without them seeing a thing.
A shadow seemed to drift down from the branch, a shadow shaped something like an arm, a hand. It swept almost lazily through the clearing, slid over the backs of my legs, up my spine, closed its fingers around my neck. Except it wasn’t really touching me. It was the exertion of the thing’s will, a charm to pull me to its grasp.
There was nothing I could do. I was caught there, in its eyes, and I remembered the way it had stared at me from across the field, the way it tried to catch me before.
I thought I heard music, something very faint and old-fashioned, and the music made my footsteps move toward the tree as I was pushed—almost gently—in the direction of my doom.
Ben.
The voice drifted from somewhere deep in the woods.
Ben.
Then, in a different tone: Ben is not for you.
The shadow-hand at my neck seemed to release its pressure for a moment, as if the creature were listening, and thinking.
Ben is not for you, he said again, and the implication was very clear—He’s for me.
A shudder went through me, and I didn’t know if it was because I was scared the Horseman would come for me, or if it was because deep down a part of me wanted him to come. There was something about the Horseman, some connection there that I didn’t understand and wasn’t sure I was ready to understand.
The creature’s hand squeezed tighter then, more insistent than before, staking its claim on its prey.
Far away, I heard the whinny of the horses we’d left behind with Henrik Janssen.
As if in answer, the hoofbeats sounded deep in the woods, and my blood beat in time with their pounding.
I forced my frozen lips open, made them shape the words as I stared at the monster Schuler de Jaager called the Kludde.
“He’s . . . coming . . . for . . . you.”
The pressure on my neck increased, as if in anger. Then it abruptly disappeared, and a moment later the shadow was gone, slipped into the darkness.
The hoofbeats faded back into the woods, and my heart slowed. I swayed on the spot, stars shooting in front of my eyes, and took great gasping breaths.
The three men were face-to-face, arguing about how to bring Justus back to the village. While the monster had tried to take me away, the question of whether or not it was actually Justus appeared to have been settled.
Nobody, not even Brom, took any notice of me. I put my back against a tree and sank down until my head was between my knees. I swiped at the back of my neck, trying to get rid of the feeling of the shadow-hand on my skin, those fingers cold as death.
I took several deep breaths. I was safe from the creature—for now, anyway. Whatever the Kludde really was—and I was not convinced by anything Schuler de Jaager had told me about it being a nightmare from the old country—it seemed to be scared of the Horseman.
And the Horseman wanted me for himself.
It’s not a pleasant sensation, to feel that you are hunted. People are accustomed to being the hunters, to feel they have control over the beasts of the wild, that there is nothing superior to a human.
But the woods near Sleepy Hollow were not the same as other woods. There were places deep and dark that no one dared go. No one dared go there because it was known that those places were the haunts of creatures not of this earth. To go there was to invite their notice, and these were not things that you wanted to notice you.
I’d always thought of myself as tough and strong and larger than life, just like my grandfather. But at that moment I felt like a very small person, and very young. I was only fourteen, after all. But these were problems and worries much bigger than any child was meant to contemplate.
I fell asleep there, my head resting on my knees. The next thing I remember is Brom lifting me up in his arms so my head rested against his chest and carrying me back to the horses. I remained half-asleep throughout this, listening to the deep rumble of his voice without paying attention to the words he spoke to the other men. He waited for the others to mount and ride away, and then he carefully placed me on my wobbly legs so he could mount Donar.
“Can you stand here a minute, Ben?”
I squinted up at him sleepily. “Only a minute.”
He swung into the saddle and then pulled me up behind him. He set Donar at a slow walk home.
“What did they do about Justus?” I asked.
“Smit is going to return for him tomorrow. Though I don’t know what will be left of him by then. When I went out to look at the dead sheep before breakfast this morning all that was left of the skeleton was a few bones. It was as if it had melted into the earth.”
I had never asked Brom what he’d done about the sheep. I sat up a little straighter, more awake now.
“Why do you think that happened, Opa?”
He didn’t answer my question, but asked one of his own. “Just what did you see out in the woods today, Ben?”
My arms tightened around him. “I don’t know if we should talk about it here.”
He patted my hands, folded under his ribs, so I would relax. “It’s all right. You’re safe. You don’t need to crush me.”
I knew he was only joking to try to make me feel better, because I could never crush him. But it didn’t make me feel better. It made me want to cling harder to him, because I wasn’t safe. The monster had tried to take me from right underneath Brom’s nose. There wasn’t anywhere I was safe from it.
Except maybe on the back of the Horseman’s saddle.
I shuddered, because while I might be safe from the creature there, it still wasn’t a safe place.
“It’s all right, Ben. You can tell me.”
I’d always intended to tell Brom, but I felt a sudden reluctance. Brom wouldn’t understand. Brom wouldn’t understand because he didn’t believe in the haunts that lived in the woods. He’d always said they were nonsense. But Katrina . . . Katrina had seen the creature, too. I was sure of it. I could tell Katrina. She would understand. For the first time in my life I was certain she would understand.
“I don’t want to talk about it right now, Opa.”
“All right,” Brom said.
He shifted restlessly in the saddle, and I felt his tension. He wanted to fix the problem, even though he wasn’t entirely sure what the problem was. He wanted to run at it and beat it into submission, because that’s what Brom always did. But this wasn’t the kind of problem you could punch. I didn’t even know if it was the kind of problem that would submit. What could anyone possibly do to make the Kludde stop?
I’d started using Schuler de Jaager’s name—the Kludde—for the creature for lack of anything better to call it, and thinking of Schuler de Jaager reminded me of something else he’d said.
“Opa,” I said. “Did you really pretend to be the Headless Horseman to scare away Ichabod Crane?”
He started, then said, “Who told you that?”
“Schuler de Jaager. Is it true?”
Brom muttered something that sounded like “damned interfering old bastard” before saying, in his normal voice, “There is no Horseman.”
“That’s not what I asked you, Opa.”
Brom laughed, his laugh ringing out on the silent road. “You sound just like your grandmother, ready to scold me.”
Even a few hours before I would have bristled at the idea that there was anything like Katrina inside me, but I didn’t now. Some understanding had sprung up between us while we waited at the door for Brom earlier. I couldn’t fool myself that it would be easy from now on, but at least we would try not to be so hard on each other.
“Well?” I prompted, when Brom didn’t seem inclined to go on.
He heaved a great sigh, one that seemed to come up from the bottom of his toes.
“I don’t think your grandmother would have married him. Crane, I mean. Not really. She was only trying to make me jealous, and it worked.
“I’d been courting Katrina long before that schoolmaster came to the village, you know. Her father approved of the match. My father was a farmer, like him, and I’d be a good steward for the land. Baltus Van Tassel knew that, and encouraged me in his daughter’s direction, but Katrina wouldn’t say she’d marry me. I think she thought things came too easily to me, and that I should have to work to earn her love. I did love her, you know. I always had. I still do, more than anything in the world.
“The first time I saw her it was like a lightning bolt went through me, and I decided then and there that I would marry her someday. You know how old we were when I decided that?”
“No,” I said. I’d never heard Brom speak like this before, with so much tenderness.
“I was six years old, and she was four,” he said, and he laughed. “Our family was invited to a party at the home of the great Van Tassel. My mother made me put on my best clothes, and I remember fussing and arguing and finally being forced into a horribly itchy suit. I acted a lot like you when your grandmother tries to stuff you into a dress.
“We rode to the Van Tassel place, and I complained the whole way about my collar and my coat, but when I saw the house I stopped. I’d never seen such a grand house before. And there, waiting on the porch to greet their guests, were Baltus and his wife.
“My parents said hello and then pushed me forward, introducing me. And then Baltus called for someone, and a little girl peeked her head around the open door frame. All I saw of her was the top of her head and her eyes—those blue, blue eyes. Then she disappeared again. She was shy, if you can believe it.”
I couldn’t really believe it. I couldn’t imagine Katrina ever being shy.
“Her father called her again, but she wouldn’t come. I wanted more than anything to see those eyes again, so I shook off my mother’s hand and ran into the house without waiting to be invited.”
I could imagine what happened then—the chagrin of Brom’s parents, the laughing dismissal of the Van Tassels, Brom’s mother calling his name while Brom ignored her.
“She was just inside the door, trying to hide behind the coats hung on the wall. She was about the tiniest thing you ever saw—you know how small she is, even now—and she looked like a fairy just sprung from beneath a mushroom. And I was so big, even when I was a young boy I was big for my age, just like you. I felt like a big clumsy bear blundering into her house. Her eyes were so, so big and blue, and when she saw me there she just froze. I didn’t want her to be scared of me. I never wanted her to be scared of anything. From that moment I wanted to keep her safe from everything in the world. So I held out my hand just like I’d seen my father do and told her my name. She didn’t say anything for a long time, and I could see that she was working out whether or not to trust me.”
I could almost see them there—six-year-old Brom, wearing a suit that was too tight, his wild dark hair cleaned and flattened to his head in an attempt to make him look civilized; and the tiny porcelain doll that was Katrina—all blue eyes and golden hair, wearing some dress covered in ruffles and lace and her tiny feet encased in tiny slippers.
“Finally she said, in such a little voice, ‘My name is Katrina Van Tassel. I’m very pleased to meet you.’ And she said it in that way that meant she’d been practicing, you know—like her mother had made her repeat it over breakfast so she would say it right.
“She held out her hand to me, and I was going to shake it just like I’d planned, but then I kissed it instead. I’d seen grown men do this sometimes when they met ladies. I felt sort of a fool, but I couldn’t help it. Her eyes got even bigger, and for a minute I thought I’d done something really wrong and that she wouldn’t speak to me again. But then she smiled at me, the sweetest smile I ever saw, and I knew then I’d move heaven and earth for her.
“We were inseparable after that for a long time. We played together every chance we got. She used to be a little wild, your grandmother—she’d run in the woods with the boys and climb trees and come home muddy just like you. And my heart was always happiest when I was with her. I can’t really explain it. It was just a sense that things were right when we were together, that all was just as it was meant to be. But everything changed when we got older. Her mother wouldn’t let her run wild anymore, and I could only see her if we sat in the parlor and talked about things I couldn’t care less about—art or poetry, things like that.”
I couldn’t imagine Katrina as a wild child, running free like Brom. But he’d said it, so it must be true. I felt sorry for little Katrina, made to give up the sky and the trees and the grass under her feet so she could sit quietly in the parlor and do her needlework.
She’s trying to tame you the way she was tamed, because it’s the only thing she knows, because she thinks it’s right.
“And it was never just me and her anymore. There were other boys—though we thought we were men—and there were a lot of them. Your grandmother was a pretty little girl, but she was a very beautiful young woman. All those boys wanted that beauty for their own, wanted her big blue eyes and, of course, her father’s money. I never cared about the money, and if I loved her eyes, I loved her spirit more. And only I knew that spirit. I was the only one who saw the real Katrina, underneath. She’d never have been satisfied with one of those pudding-faced fools.
“I cleared the field of suitors, one by one. I made it obvious that I was the only one for her. Her father agreed. And she wanted me—she really did. But she didn’t like that I’d gotten rid of all my rivals so easily. She thought I should have to fight for her. She didn’t realize I’d been fighting for her my whole life, that I’d been courting her from the first day, that there was never anyone for me but her. Only Katrina, always. I never even looked at another woman. I couldn’t even see them. I only saw her.
“And then Ichabod Crane came to town.”
Brom’s voice changed. He’d been speaking almost dreamily of himself and Katrina, but when he said Crane’s name I heard the iron underneath.
“He was a fool if there ever was a fool, for all that he was the schoolmaster and supposed to be smart. Looked like a jerking puppet on a string when he walked—too much arm and too much leg, and it was like his body was so long he didn’t know where anything was. Ate like a horse, too, and was skinnier than a broomstick. And he was poor as a church mouse. Schoolmasters don’t make any money to speak of, and he had less than most, but he liked money. Oh, yes, he did. He liked it very much, liked the idea of being a rich man if he could only see his way to becoming one. Then he saw Katrina.
“She was beautiful, but more importantly, she was rich. Crane locked on to her like a hunting dog after a fox. And he was so determined that he didn’t even see me standing in his way. Thought he could woo her and win her and become master of the Van Tassel land. As if he’d know what to do with a farm that size. He’d have run it into the ground. And he would have made Katrina miserable, I have no doubt of that.
“Now, I don’t think she really meant to have Crane, but I couldn’t see that at the time. She didn’t want everything in her life to be inevitable, I think. And there wasn’t much she could do. Girls were supposed to be quiet and biddable, to do as their fathers said. Though Baltus spoiled her utterly—if he approved a match and she didn’t want it he would have taken his consent back in an instant. But he liked me, and he wanted me as his son-in-law, and he knew Katrina liked me, too. Baltus didn’t think much of Crane, but he kept his opinions to himself. He was good that way. He was a good man.”
Brom sighed, and I knew he was missing his father-in-law. They had, by all accounts, gotten along famously despite their differences in temperament—the boisterous Brom and the reserved Baltus. I didn’t really remember Katrina’s father—he’d died when I was quite young—but I remembered Brom’s sadness after.
“So Katrina encouraged Crane, and every time I saw him offer her his arm or have a turn dancing with her, I got madder and madder. Somewhere deep down I knew what she was doing, I think, but I couldn’t stop feeling angry. He didn’t deserve her. He didn’t deserve to walk next to her, never mind marry her.”
Brom was growing angry about it while he talked. My ear was pressed against his back and I heard his heart speed up, heard the gentle rumble of his voice turn into the growling of a bear.
Crane must have been a fool, I thought. How could a man like that think he compared to Brom, and how could he not be terrified at the sight of a furious Brom, anyway?
“I started to think that the only way I’d ever be rid of Crane was if he left the village. Threatening him the usual way wouldn’t work.”
I gave a little start at that phrase. Brom did so much threatening that there was a “usual way”? I imagined that it involved the promise of Brom’s fist in the other person’s face, but it seemed, from the way Brom talked, that Crane was impervious to those kinds of threats.
“Now, you know the people around here are the most superstitious lot you’ve ever seen. They believe anything and everything they hear. Crane was even more credulous. If it had to do with curses and spooks and magic, he believed in it. And I started thinking that the best way to get rid of him was to scare him out of town. There had always been a story in the village about a horseman that lived in the woods, a nightmare made of shadow that brought death. I just, well, embellished it a bit. Started talking about the Headless Horseman who rode every night looking for a new head to take. And it caught fire—every person in the village told the story to someone else, who told it to someone else, who told it to someone else. In no time at all the story of the Headless Horseman was part of the fabric of Sleepy Hollow. Everyone believed it, and most importantly, Crane believed it.
“One night Katrina’s father had a big party to celebrate the harvest. Now that I think on it, the Van Tassels must have been having their harvest celebration the day I first met Katrina. They used to do it every year. Katrina and I would, too, until . . .”
I didn’t need him to say why they’d stopped the tradition. Everyone knew part of Brom’s heart died on the same day that Bendix died.
Brom cleared his throat. “People got to telling stories that night, and I admit I encouraged it. And with every story that was told Crane’s eyes got wider and wider and his hands shook more and more. One of the last stories told before everything broke up was the story of the Headless Horseman. It was the perfect time to put my plan into action.
“I waited near the road just past Wiley’s swamp. I’d made a kind of rig for myself with a coat and wire, and cut out small holes to see through—I knew Crane would never notice these. It looked, when I sat on my horse, like I was a figure without a head. That day I’d carved up a pumpkin so it looked like it had a face, and in the dark I held it in my lap, so it looked like I was holding a head. Half the work had been done before Crane ever saw me there in the road—he’d been so spooked by the stories we told that he was ready to believe in anything.
“Well, I didn’t speak when he called out to me, and then when he tried to go past I started trotting alongside, just out of sight. When he walked his horse, I walked mine, and when he galloped, I galloped. I could see that he was more terrified by the minute, and I had such a time holding in my laughter, I’ll tell you.”
I could see it all—see the terrified schoolmaster on his horse and Brom barely containing his mirth, and I thought suddenly that it was a cruel trick Brom had pulled. I know he said that Crane was after Katrina, and I’d heard the saying that all was fair in love and war, but still—this was more than just a prank. Crane might have been seriously hurt. Perhaps that was why Katrina’s eyes flashed whenever the subject of the Horseman came up.
“After a while the damned fool panicked and kicked his old horse into a run—or what passed for a run, anyway. He’d borrowed some old farm horse of his landlord’s. He was making for the bridge near the church, because I’d said in the story that if he crossed the bridge the Horseman would disappear in a puff of smoke, unable to cross. Of course I’d told it that way, because I knew he had to cross that bridge to get back to the place where he was staying.”
I’d seen that very bridge earlier, when I’d looked out the window of Schuler de Jaager’s cottage. It was just past the church and it ran over a little brook that eventually found its way into the woods—the very brook where Sander and I liked to play.
“I let him gain the bridge, knowing that the fool would turn back once he reached the other side, wanting to see the Headless Horseman disappear in a flash of fire and brimstone. As soon as he did I threw the pumpkin at his head, and it struck true. Crane tumbled off his horse—taking the saddle with him—and passed out. I took Crane’s hat and threw it on the bank of the brook, and trampled over the saddle. Then I led the old horse home and took the bridle off him, knowing that everyone would wonder how the horse got there without a saddle and bridle.”
We were nearly home now. I saw the glow of light in the windows. Katrina must be waiting up for us. Brom seemed to be walking Donar much slower than usual. I think he wanted to finish telling me his story without interruption.
“I went back for Crane, thinking to frighten him some more, but he wasn’t where I’d left him. He disappeared that night, never to be seen again.”
“Opa,” I said. “You don’t think he . . .”
I couldn’t finish my thought. It was too terrible.
“No,” he said. “I don’t think he died. That was what other folk thought later, that he’d fallen into the brook and drowned. But they never found his body. I think he woke up while I was gone and just ran. He ran so far and so long that no one ever heard from him again.”
Brom laughed then, and it was not his usual laughter. It was something more derisive, and it seemed to be directed at himself.
“I could have saved myself the trouble, anyway. Katrina told me later that Crane asked her to marry him that very night, and she told him no. She’d always meant to marry me.”
I didn’t know what to think. Brom had been triumphant, and to my mind that was how it always ought to be. But it was a sad story for Crane, however awful he might have been.
“I’m not proud of myself,” Brom said, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking. “I know it was beyond the pale, even for me. And I was old enough by then to know better. I just couldn’t bear the thought of Katrina with anyone else, and I think it made me a little mad.”
Brom led Donar up the drive that circled in front of the house.
“But, Opa—if you did this and nobody helped you, how did Schuler de Jaager know about it?”
Brom snorted. “He saw me when I rode back looking for Crane. His cottage is within sight of the bridge, you know. He’d heard the horses and the fuss and come out to see what happened.”
“So he knows what happened to Crane?”
“He says that by the time he came out, Crane was gone,” Brom said slowly. “Although I’ve always suspected that he knew more about what happened to Crane than he let on.”
Brom rode past the house, directly to the stables. He dismounted and then reached up to help me off Donar’s back.
“But why would he never say anything about Crane’s fate, then? And why would he keep your secret?”
Brom said, “I don’t know why he kept it at the time. Schuler de Jaager has always had reasons of his own for everything his does. But I know why he kept it later. His daughter, Fenna, was your mother. She married Bendix.”
I stared at Brom. “So he’s—”
“Yes,” Brom said, and there was a deep-rooted fury in his voice. “He’s also your grandfather. And the reason you’ve never talked to him alone before today is because he’s the reason Bendix died.”