It was midday by the time I awoke. Nox’s tail began to wag as I stirred. I had fallen into a deep sleep the moment my body touched the mattress, the stress and fear of the day—and the sleepless night before—finally earning their victory over me.
I went downstairs looking for Charlotte, and a bit nervous that I might run into Mevrouw Jansen. I did not see her, but Charlotte was in the stillroom, at work making tinctures and potions.
“You’re awake,” she said brightly when she saw me. “Well rested, I hope?”
“Very,” I said. “How is Ichabod? Is he—”
“He is still sleeping,” Charlotte said soothingly. “I have been checking on him. He has no fever, and his color is returning to normal. Rest is the best thing for him now, so I must insist you let him sleep.”
I may not have liked Charlotte’s admonition, but I knew she was right. And if she assured me Ichabod was well, then I could be sure it was the truth.
“You must be hungry,” Charlotte said, wiping her hands on her apron. “I have some porridge and bread, if you like. We can go out into the garden.”
I helped Charlotte carry the food out into the garden, and she spread a sheet over the grass, as though this were one of our carefree picnics. Nox settled in the grass beside us, sticking close. “Where is Ichabod’s cousin?” I asked, once we were seated. “Mr. Carpenter?”
“He’s gone back to White Plains,” Charlotte informed me. “He waited a bit after you went to sleep to make sure Ichabod seemed to be well and wasn’t taking a fever, then he had to return home.”
I nodded. Giles had seemed an amiable sort, and no doubt he would not betray the events of the day to anyone.
“So what now?” Charlotte asked, handing me a hunk of bread.
“I must go home soon,” I said. “I should like to see Ichabod before then, but if he is not awake in time—”
“No,” Charlotte said, a touch of impatience in her voice. “I mean, what will you and Ichabod do now?”
I frowned, not understanding her question. “We will do exactly what we’ve been doing, what we plan to do,” I said. “This changes nothing.”
“Katrina.” Charlotte sighed in frustration. “It changes everything. Brom knows about you two. The duel has not erased his knowledge, nor has it likely settled anything for him. Not when you and Ichabod are still lovers.”
“He does not know that we are lovers, technically,” I said quickly.
“That you are courting, then,” Charlotte said, exasperated, “though he no doubt guessed at more than that.”
“But he said if Ichabod took part in the duel, he would not tell my father,” I said, my stomach sinking even as I spoke the words. “And Ichabod did, obviously. It must be settled now. That is the point of the duel.”
“Surely you cannot be that naïve,” Charlotte said. “Brom does not have what he wants: he does not have you. He will tell your father. He may wait, and choose his moment, but he will tell him.”
“But Ichabod—”
“This is Brom we are talking about,” Charlotte said. “He may bray about duels as a matter of honor, but the truth is he has none. The duel itself proved that.”
I stayed silent, worry eating at me. “I do not know what else I can do,” I said at last. “We can no longer meet in the woods, that is true; not now that Brom knows we have met there. But we had a plan, Ichabod and I, and we must execute it and pray that it works.”
“What is this plan?” Charlotte asked.
“Ichabod is going to ask my father for my hand,” I said. “On the night of the All Hallows’ Eve feast. He will be in high spirits then, and more likely to say yes. We cannot wait any longer, especially with the weather growing colder so that we cannot meet outdoors…” I trailed off, looking away from Charlotte’s thoughtful gaze. “And we cannot bear being apart anymore. We wish to live as husband and wife. It is time to face what comes next, whatever that may be.”
Charlotte did not say anything for a long while. “I shall hope it all works out well, then,” she said at last. “I have always hoped so. I will hope that I am wrong, for, oh, Katrina…” She took my hands, clutching them tightly. “I have a feeling that something yet stands in your way. I cannot help but feel Brom is not done with you.”
“I am sure he is not,” I said lightly, my tone belying the apprehension I could not seem to dismiss. “I must simply hope he can do no further damage.”
* * *
Ichabod was still sleeping as I prepared to take my leave. He would likely stay at the cottage for a few days, so that Charlotte might oversee his recovery. She would send word as soon as I could see him.
I was just heading out when Mevrouw Jansen came in. “Ah, Katrina,” she said. “Returning home?”
“Yes,” I said, swallowing down my foolish nervousness. “I must thank you yet again for your hospitality.”
“You know you are welcome here anytime.” Yet after she spoke, she studied me for a moment. “Charlotte told me what passed this morning,” she said suddenly, and I flinched as though she had shouted at me. “I know we have young Mr. Ichabod Crane, the schoolteacher, recovering in our house. From a gunshot wound.”
I stood there awkwardly, my hand on the latch of the door behind me. “Yes,” I said cautiously.
“My daughter told me only what I needed to know to explain our patient’s presence,” she said. “I know no more than that. I certainly do not know enough to tell anything of import to your mother.”
I squirmed uncomfortably.
“But, Katrina,” she continued, “take care. You are a young woman, and there is much about the world and those who inhabit it that you do not know. Not everyone is as they seem.”
I bristled at this. At least she would keep my secret, as much of it as she knew, anyway; which, given her second sight, was much more than she was letting on. “Thank you for the warning,” I said, somewhat stiffly. “And … thank you.”
“Of course, my dear. Get home safely, now. And give my greetings to your mother.”
I left quickly after that.