Our whole walk back to the farmhouse, I continued to try to persuade Ichabod not to take part in the duel. His replies were limited to a few words here and there, and as we exited the woods he stopped responding altogether. When we reached the front door of the house, he embraced me swiftly, even though anyone could have seen us. “I have to do this,” he whispered against my hair. “I am sorry, Katrina. I am sorry to upset you. But I must see this through.”
With that, he left and did not look back. If he had, he would have seen the silent tears streaming down my face.
* * *
I flew up to my chambers, and gathered up a nightgown and a set of clean clothes to put into a satchel. Nox, who had been lazing sleepily in the sunshine on the portico, burst into my bedchamber behind me. I paused in my frantic preparations and sank to my knees beside him, burying my face in his fur. He whined softly and nuzzled me, licking at the tears that were silently trickling down my face.
If I could not stop the duel, I at least would witness it. I would not wait quietly at home, hoping idle gossip might make its way to me to allay my fears—or, heaven forbid, confirm them.
“Come, Nox.” We went down the stairs, my satchel in hand. “Mother,” I called, trying my best to keep the urgency from my voice.
She emerged from the parlor. “Yes, my dear?” she said, eyeing the satchel in my hand. “Where are you off to?”
“Charlotte’s,” I said, hoping my tone sounded sufficiently casual. “I forgot to tell you that she invited me for dinner, and to spend the night. I will be back tomorrow morning, if that is all right with you, and I shall take Nox with me.”
My mother waved a careless hand, already turning back to the kitchen. “Yes, of course, dear. And do give Dame Jansen my best.”
I was out the door and toward the road almost before she had finished speaking.
Charlotte lived a great deal closer to the dueling ground than I. If I was to make it in time, better to start from her house. And, with any luck, I could persuade her to accompany me: so that I need not witness this travesty alone, and also—though it made my heart quake in my breast to even form the thought—so there was a healer present, if need be.
Once I reached the village, I knocked on the door of the Jansen cottage. I pinned a false smile to my face in case Mevrouw Jansen should answer, then nearly crumpled with relief when the door opened to reveal Charlotte. “Oh, Charlotte,” was all I could muster, as she stepped back to let me in.
“What has happened?” she demanded, shutting the door behind me. “What is the matter?”
I cast my gaze furtively about the small front room. “Where is your mother?” I asked in a low voice.
“Out. Tending to a patient.” She drew me over to the daybed and pressed me down, taking my hand as she sat beside me. Nox lay down atop my feet. “Whatever has happened, Katrina? Tell me. You look as though you’ve seen the dead arisen.”
I flinched at her choice of words. “Something terrible has happened,” I said, “and will happen still. I had to come right away…”
She moved closer and rubbed a soothing circle into the back of my hand with her fingers. “Tell me.”
I related the day’s events as best I could without weeping, watching her face grow more dismayed as I spoke.
“I tried my best to talk him out of it,” I said, “But Ichabod is intent on meeting him at dawn tomorrow. And so the fools are going to duel.”
Charlotte clasped her hand over her mouth in horror. “Oh, Katrina.”
I nodded. “And I cannot persuade Ichabod of the folly of it, no matter what I say. So I…” I trailed off as tears sprang to my eyes again.
“So what will you do?” she asked.
“I came here hoping I could spend the night. The dueling ground is not far from here, and I must go. I could not bear waiting for news, not when I cannot even openly ask about it.”
She nodded. “Yes. It may well be a horrifying sight, but I think you must go.” She squeezed my hand. “I shall go with you.”
I gave her a grateful smile. “I must confess I had hoped for that, too.”
“And I shall bring some bandages,” she said, thinking aloud, “and some herbs and poultices.” She glanced at me. “If, God forbid, we should need them.”
Despite our distressing topic, my smile widened. “You seem to be reading my very thoughts.”
She laughed. “Sometimes I think that so long as the two of us are in accord, all will be well.”
“I sometimes think so, too,” I said. “I do not know how much that will help on the dueling ground, though.”
Our smiles faded. “Oh, Katrina,” Charlotte whispered. “What if Brom actually shoots him? What if he…” She hesitated. “What if he kills Ichabod?”
I shook my head, to ward off that awful possibility. “I asked Ichabod that,” I said softly. “I asked what he would do if Brom sees this as a chance to eliminate him as a rival, and doesn’t discharge his pistol in the air, as Ichabod expects. He…” I bit my lip. “Ichabod said that he cannot kill another man. But he doesn’t expect Brom to shoot him.”
“He does not know Brom as we do,” Charlotte said, a hard note in her voice. “Brom would shoot him. He may do. And there is not a soul in Sleepy Hollow that would hold him to account.”
“I know,” I whispered, shutting my eyes. “I know, but I do not know what else I can do. He will not listen to me.”
“Men are fools,” Charlotte said succinctly. She bent down to scratch Nox’s ears. “Even the intelligent ones are completely impervious to reason where their stupid honor is concerned. Aren’t they, Nox? You are smarter than the lot of them, you good dog, you.”
“Honor,” I said bitterly. “What good will that do him—or me—if he’s dead?”
* * *
It was still dark when Charlotte and I rose, dressing silently in the dark so as not to wake her mother. Outside, the air was chilly and damp, and the first frost was clearly not long in coming. We wrapped ourselves in our cloaks, hoods up, bracing ourselves for the two-mile walk out of the village, Nox padding alongside us.
Still rubbing the sleep from our eyes, we didn’t talk much, still unaccustomed to the strange reality of this morning. My heart seemed to pound faster as we drew closer to the dueling ground. I found myself wishing that I could stop time before the duel ever happened, so that I would never need to deal with the consequences.
When we reached the appointed place, no one was there yet. The sky was only just beginning to lighten as the sun arose from its slumber.
“Where should we go?” Charlotte asked in a hushed voice.
I cast my gaze around and noticed a clump of trees a ways off. “There,” I said, pointing. “We’ll hide there. I do not want them to see us.”
Charlotte hesitated. “Might it not be worth announcing yourself, and trying to persuade them again to call a halt to the whole business?”
“No. They will not be dissuaded, not at this late date. Believe me, I have tried every line of reason there is. And the last thing I want is for Ichabod to be distracted by my presence.”
Charlotte did not reply, but she followed me across the field to the copse of trees.
We huddled silently behind the tree trunks, waiting. Nox hunkered down on his belly beside us. He had a happy look on his face, as if this was all a game we were playing.
I had never considered myself a woman of particularly strong faith—though I went to church every Sunday, of course—but in those fraught, cold moments I prayed as I never had before. I prayed that all would be well, no one would be hurt, and that we could move on from this folly as if it had never been.
As the sun crept higher in the sky, we heard voices approach. Brom came into the field, followed by a member of his loud-mouthed gang, Pieter Van Horn. The two were joking loudly, like they were about to spend the day picking apples for the harvest, not engaging in a duel. Nox’s ears pricked at the sound, but I grabbed the scruff of his neck, forcing him to stay where he was.
“Where is he, then?” Pieter asked Brom.
“Perhaps the schoolmaster has lost his nerve!” Brom declared, laughing.
I nearly snarled in my rage, clutching the bark of the tree so hard it dug into my palms. Oh, I wish that Ichabod would shoot him, I thought, in one bloodthirsty moment.
Not a minute later, Ichabod emerged onto the field as well, followed by a thin young man of similar height whom I did not know.
“Ah, you showed after all!” Brom crowed, almost sounding a bit disappointed. “The woman did not succeed in talking you out of it?”
Ichabod leveled a cool look at Brom. “I am here as we agreed, Van Brunt,” he said. “To business, if you please.”
Brom shrugged and turned to Pieter, who brought out a gleaming pistol. Brom took it, hefting its weight, aiming it into the sky and sighting along the barrel.
Nervously I looked at Ichabod. He, too, had a pistol in his hand now, though a sight more tarnished than Brom’s. That doesn’t mean anything, I told myself sternly. And, if what Ichabod had told me was true, no one would be shooting anyone.
I simply couldn’t bear it, that there was to be a ritual of violence between these two men because of me. I tensed my body forward, preparing to race out onto the field and stand between them until they desisted. As though sensing what I was thinking, Charlotte reached out and gripped my arm. “No,” she murmured to me. “They will not thank you for intervening now, Katrina. We can only watch and wait.”
I gritted my teeth, but I stayed where I was.
“All right, Crane?” Brom called, swaggering toward the center of the field. “Let’s go. If you’re still man enough, that is.”
Nox growled again beside me. Even when Nox was a puppy, when Brom and Charlotte and I had all been friends, he had been wary of Brom. That should have been all I needed to know, back then. I hushed him again, my fingers tightening in his fur, and he snorted slightly but stayed put. Not for the first time I was immensely grateful he was so well trained.
Ichabod refused to respond to Brom’s taunts, and pride swelled in my heart. How could anyone, seeing the two of them, ever doubt Ichabod was the better man?
The seconds—Pieter and the man I didn’t know—walked to the center of the field and spoke briefly, the customary last chance to negotiate a way out of the duel. Pieter made a dismissive gesture; there were no true negotiations this day.
My fingers dug harder into Nox’s fur as Ichabod and Brom crossed the field and bowed to each other, Ichabod’s a stiffly elegant gesture, while Brom’s was exaggerated and mocking. Then they turned their backs to each other, their shoulders almost touching, and began to walk in the opposite direction.
Ten paces. Charlotte and I counted together, under our breath, eyes fixed on the two men.
“… eight … nine … ten…”
I inhaled sharply as both men whirled. It all happened in an instant, though as I watched it unfold it seemed to take place painfully slowly. For a split second, Ichabod appeared to hesitate before he raised his pistol and fired harmlessly into the sky.
Brom hesitated as well—a heartbeat, a blink—and, to my horror, leveled his gun at Ichabod.
“No!” I screamed, unable to stop myself.
The gun went off with a boom, and Ichabod crumpled to the ground.
“No!” I shrieked, launching myself out from behind the trees and running toward him, Nox barking at my side, Charlotte on our heels.
Brom whirled to look at me, bewildered. “Katrina?” he asked. His eyes narrowed on Charlotte. “And the witch. What are you two doing here?”
I barely heard him. I flung myself onto the ground beside Ichabod. “Ichabod!” I screamed, lifting his head into my lap.
He opened his eyes. “Katrina?” he asked dazedly. “Where did you come from? What are you doing here?”
In my panicked, hysterical state, I was slow to realize he was clutching his shoulder, blood seeping between his fingers. “You were hit in your arm,” I exclaimed. “Oh, thank God, thank God. I thought he killed you. I thought you were dead.”
Ichabod gritted his teeth and raised himself slightly into a sitting position.
Charlotte knelt on the ground beside us. “He may yet be, if the wound takes an infection,” she warned. “Move, Katrina. Now.”
I scooted out of the way as she opened the bag of bandages and remedies she had brought. Using a pair of shears, she cut away the sleeve of his shirt so she could fully see and assess the wound.
After examining it quickly, she pulled a flask of whiskey out of the bag as well. “Here,” she said, offering him a sip. “This will hurt.”
He obediently took a swig and handed the flask back to her. “Go on,” he said, weakly.
She poured some of the whiskey onto the wound, and a moan of pain escaped him as the alcohol scoured his raw flesh.
“I am sorry,” she said, her tone businesslike as she bent her head over the wound to inspect it more closely. “But it must be done.”
Ichabod nodded, eyes closed as he rode out the pain.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Brom moving toward me, but Nox planted himself between us and snarled, showing Brom all his teeth. Brom wisely came no further. “You should not have come here, Katrina,” Brom said. “This is men’s business.”
“Men!” I cried. “Oh, yes, what a man you are, to shoot a defenseless opponent, to shoot someone who had already thrown away his shot!”
Fury ignited in his eyes. “How dare you speak to me so,” he said. “I have won, and he has lost. He must give you up.”
I laughed cruelly at him. “He will do no such thing! I will never let him! And I will tell you this, Brom Van Brunt,” I swore, “This changes nothing. I would as soon shoot you myself as marry you!”
“Damn it, Katrina—”
“Leave! Now! Or I will have Nox tear out your throat!”
Brom cast a quick fearful look at the still-snarling dog, then quickly composed his face into its mask of disdain as he turned away.
“Katrina,” Charlotte said, lifting her head to look at me, “the bullet is lodged in his shoulder. It will need to be removed.”
“So remove it!”
“I do not have the tools here,” she said, her voice low and calm, the voice of an experienced healer. “We will have to get him back to my cottage. I can remove it there. I will bandage it in the meantime, to try to slow the blood flow.” She glanced down at Ichabod’s pain-ravaged face. “Two miles is a long way in your condition,” she said. “Can you make it?”
Ichabod grunted. “I have no desire to die in this field at the hands of Brom Van Brunt, so I suppose I will have to.”
“There’s a good man,” Charlotte said. She began wrapping a bandage about his shoulder.
The unfamiliar man who had served as Ichabod’s second spoke up. “I can help you get him back to the village,” he volunteered.
I cast a brief look at him. “Who are you?”
“My cousin,” Ichabod said through clenched teeth. “Giles Carpenter. He lives in White Plains.”
Giles smiled quickly at me. “At your service,” he said. “I suppose you are Miss Van Tassel, though I wish we could have met under better circumstances.” His smile widened slightly. “A wedding, perhaps.”
Ichabod’s hand sought mine and squeezed it tightly. “Let us pray God that Miss Jansen here is successful,” he said, as Charlotte completed the bandaging, “and we can all meet again at my and Katrina’s wedding, and forget this ever took place.”
“Amen,” I said.
“Very well,” Charlotte said. “You’re going to need to stand now. Here, Mr. Carpenter, assist him. Steady, now. Don’t rise too quickly.”
With his cousin on one side of him and me on the other, Ichabod slowly got to his feet. He swayed violently before finding his balance under our solid hold.
“All right?” Charlotte asked. “Can you walk? Or should we return with a cart for you?”
Ichabod shook his head. “I can walk.”
“Good man,” Charlotte said again. “I’d rather not waste time.”
We began to make our sluggish way back to the road and to the village, Nox following.
I had my arm wrapped around Ichabod’s waist on the side that bore the wound, and Charlotte walked closely beside me, keeping an eye on it. Blood soon began to soak through the bandages she had wrapped around it, and I noticed her bite her lower lip with concern.
“How are you doing?” she asked, after we had gone perhaps a mile. Halfway there. Halfway still to go.
There was a sheen of sweat on Ichabod’s face. “As well as can be expected, I suppose,” he said.
Charlotte nodded. “Good. Is there any way we can move a little faster?”
“Charlotte, I think he is doing as much as—” I began.
She shot me a hard look. “If he loses too much blood, he will become light-headed, and it will be even more difficult for him to walk. We must get him to my cottage before that happens.”
Ichabod nodded, his pale face set with determination. “I think I can.”
We increased our pace, and perhaps three quarters of an hour later—though it felt much longer—the church came into view. I could have wept with relief.
Luckily, it was still early enough that not many people were up and about. It was best if we did not have to explain the circumstances of Ichabod’s injury. Dueling, despite being a matter of course in terms of settling disputes, was illegal, and Ichabod was an outsider. He would be thought less of were it known he had engaged in a duel—though he would have been thought less of if he had refused to duel and that had gotten out. I shook my head, thinking of the folly of it all.
Even so, we saw a few passers-by on our way. Charlotte and I did our best to hide Ichabod’s wound. We attracted a couple curious looks, but no one approached us to inquire.
Finally, we reached Charlotte’s cottage—and not a moment too soon. Ichabod had started sweating profusely, his face gone waxy and his movements more pained.
“Here we are,” Charlotte said soothingly. “Into the examination room, please.”
I guided Ichabod and Giles into the room Charlotte and her mother used to examine patients. We helped Ichabod onto the cot within, and he immediately closed his eyes in relief and weariness.
“Charlotte?” I heard Mevrouw Jansen call. “What is happening?”
Charlotte spun around and went out. I could hear their low voices as they rapidly conversed, but I could not make out what explanation Charlotte gave to her mother—the truth, most likely. I did not care. Not so long as Ichabod emerged from this well and whole.
Charlotte returned and closed the door behind her, shutting Nox out. He whined in protest, but we ignored him. She grabbed an apron off a hook by the door and put it on, then swiftly tied back her long hair. “If either of you does not have a strong stomach, I suggest you leave now,” she warned us.
Giles looked a bit green, hovering indecisively near the door. “I … I shall stay,” he said in an uncertain tone.
“I will be fine,” I said. If I had not been able to bear waiting at home for news of the duel, then I could hardly wait outside this room for word of how Charlotte’s efforts had gone.
“Very well,” she said, turning her attention to Ichabod. “But keep back, both of you. I can’t have you in my light.”
She moved about the room, working quickly and efficiently. She drew back the curtains from the high window, and lit all the lamps in the room. After washing her hands, she pulled out another bottle of whiskey. Charlotte poured a glass and handed it to Ichabod; he drank it as she assembled her tools: a pair of metal forceps, a bowl, more bandages. She motioned for me to take the glass once Ichabod had drained it, which I did, and set it on the sideboard. She drew up a chair beside the cot, as well as a small table holding her supplies, and began to unwind the now crimson-soaked bandages from the wound.
Despite her warning to stay back, I crept closer to get a better look at the wound. It was still bleeding, the edges where the bullet had gone in ragged and torn. My heart lurched at the thought of the pain Ichabod must be in, and began to pound faster with fresh anger at Brom.
Ichabod closed his eyes and Charlotte poured some more whiskey on the wound to clean it. She wiped away the liquor and blood with a soft cloth, then picked up her forceps. “I am sorry,” she said briefly to Ichabod before beginning. “This will hurt a great deal.” With that, she carefully inserted the instrument into the wound, to begin digging for the bullet.
Ichabod grimaced in pain, his body twitching slightly, yet it seemed the whiskey he had consumed was having some dulling effect, at least. His face contorted as Charlotte continued to probe. She grunted a few times in frustration before making a small noise of triumph, withdrawing a bit of metal. “Got it,” she said, sounding suddenly weary. She dropped the bullet into the bowl on the table beside her, and immediately set to cleaning the wound again.
Ichabod’s body relaxed slightly as she rubbed an herbal paste on the wound. “Witch hazel, yarrow, and comfrey, to clean it and help it heal,” she explained briefly before tightly winding a clean bandage about his arm. Rising, she washed her hands again. “I will be right back,” she told me and Giles. “Make sure he doesn’t fall asleep. I’m making him an herb drink that will help prevent fever from setting in. He’ll need to drink it right away.”
She left the room, removing her apron—now flecked with blood—as she went.
I moved to her vacated chair, taking Ichabod’s hand in mine. “You must stay awake, my love,” I said.
He opened his eyes slowly and took me in. “Katrina,” he murmured. “You’re still here. I wasn’t sure.”
I brushed his sweat-soaked hair off of his forehead. “And where else would I be?”
His lips twitched into the beginning of a smile. “I don’t deserve you,” he said.
“Of course you do,” I whispered. “Why would you say such a thing?” But before he could answer, Charlotte returned.
“Can you help him to sit up?” she asked me. “It’ll be just for a moment, Mr. Crane. Drink this, and I will help you to another room where you can sleep.”
I helped him into a sitting position. Taking the cup from Charlotte, I put it to his lips, and he obediently drank it down. He made a face. “Not the best-tasting stuff,” he remarked.
“No, but it will have the desired effect,” Charlotte said. “All right, now. If you can stand—slowly—we will get you into the next room, where you can sleep. Mr. Carpenter, perhaps you can assist.”
Giles Carpenter obliged and helped Ichabod to his feet, and the two men followed Charlotte into the adjoining room, furnished with a bed for patients to recover. Giles helped him into bed and drew up the covers over him, Ichabod’s eyes already closed.
I moved to sit beside him, but Charlotte put a hand on my arm. “Let him rest,” she said. “He should be perfectly well given some time to recover. You hovering will do neither of you any good.”
Reluctantly I obeyed, and we left the examination room, causing Nox to bark joyfully at the sight of us, as though we had been gone for days. “What did you give him?” I asked.
“A tea of cinnamon, yarrow, and wormwood,” she said. “It helps to cool the body and prevent a fever.” She studied me carefully. “Perhaps you should rest, too,” she said. “You are welcome to sleep for a bit in my room upstairs if you like. This whole ordeal has not been easy for you, either.”
I realized that sleep was just what I needed right then. “Thank you,” I told her, hoping my tone conveyed the depth of my gratitude, which was more than words could ever say.
“Of course,” she said. And no more words were needed between us than that.