The next day, my parents, it seemed, felt I’d had more than enough time to wallow in my despair. I could not fault them, for they did not know the true extent of it, yet still I could not entirely forgive my mother for summoning me downstairs. “Katrina,” she said, standing in the doorway of my bedchamber, “we have a visitor. Get dressed and come down, please.” She stepped aside so Nancy could help me dress.
Perhaps playing hostess for an hour or two would not be the worst thing in the world. At the very least it would take my mind off of my incessant worrying.
Once dressed and my hair hastily pinned back, I went downstairs to the parlor. I stopped dead in the doorway when Brom Van Brunt rose to his feet upon seeing me. “Oh,” I said, coldly. “It’s you.”
He bowed slightly. “I heard you have been unwell, and wanted to see how you fared,” he said, his tone perfectly courteous. “I am glad to see you up and about.”
Without another word, I turned to leave.
“Now, Katrina,” my father’s voice said, stopping me. Slowly I turned back into the room. “There is no need for such rudeness. Mr. Van Brunt is only asking after your health, after all.”
I did not have the strength to make a battle out of this. Not today. “I thank you for your concern, Mr. Van Brunt,” I said tonelessly. “I am well.”
Brom smiled. “It is a fine day out,” he said. “Rather warm for November. I thought you might indulge me in a stroll?”
“Very well,” I said, noting the warning glance from my father. I fetched my cloak, brushed past Brom, headed out the front door and toward the river.
Brom jogged slightly to catch up. “You are moving so quickly that you must be quite recovered from your illness,” he said.
I was not reassured by his courteous tone; quite the opposite, in fact. No doubt he had some fresh torment for me hidden up his sleeve. “What do you want?” I asked finally. “Why are you here?”
He looked surprised. “What do you mean?” he asked, taking my hand and threading it through the crook of his elbow. “I told you. I heard you were unwell and came to see—”
“I did not realize my health was the talk of the village,” I interrupted.
“It is not,” he conceded. “But I had not seen you about much, and I figured that you were upset by…” His gaze hardened slightly. “By the disappearance of the schoolmaster.”
I wrenched away from him. “Do not you dare speak to me of him,” I spat. “Do not act as though you have any sympathy for what I am going through.”
He stood, motionless, watching me. “I imagine you must be in a great deal of pain,” he went on, as though I had not spoken. “I know what he was to you, and for him to abandon you like that…”
I almost slapped him. “That is not what he has done,” I retorted.
“Then what do you think has happened?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious.
I whirled away from him, unwilling to let my uncertainty show. “It could be anything,” I said. “In any case, you can have no proof he abandoned me, so before you continue with such slander—”
“Oh?” Brom said, storming forward, his anger finally rising. “No? Well, the rumor in the village is he asked Baltus Van Tassel for your hand and was refused. And so he disappeared rather than face the disappointment and shame.”
This time I did slap him. “Is that so?” I hissed. “My health may not be the talk of the village, but my marriage proposals are?”
“You have just confirmed it yourself,” Brom said, raising a hand to where I’d struck him. “You must accept the truth, Katrina: Ichabod Crane was only after your inheritance. And when he saw he would never get his hands on it, he simply left to try his luck elsewhere.”
I went to slap him again, but he grabbed my wrist. “How dare you,” I said, fighting not to let Brom see me cry. “You know him not at all; you know nothing of what was between us.”
“And what do you think happened, Katrina?” he asked. “I suppose the Headless Horseman came and carried poor innocent Ichabod away?” He chuckled mirthlessly and tossed my arm aside. “Believe that, then, if it makes you feel better.”
“Why are you here?” I asked him again. “Did you expect now that Ichabod has vanished, I would fling myself into your arms?”
He shook his head and stepped closer to me, taking one of my hands in his. “No. Of course not. This has not gone at all how I wanted.” He squeezed my hand gently. “My offer still stands, of course. I have not formally spoken to your father, but you need only say the word and I will make you my wife.”
With a glare, I whirled around and stalked back up to the farmhouse. I did not know if he followed me, and I did not care.
* * *
The next day, Charlotte came to visit. “I heard Brom was here yesterday,” she said, once we were alone in my room.
“Good Lord, is everything that happens here the talk of the village?”
Charlotte cast me an impatient look. “In any case,” she said, “what did he have to say?”
“What you would expect,” I said. “He acted as if he was full of concern for me, then informed me that Ichabod had surely left me, but he was still most willing to take me as his wife.”
Charlotte shook her head in disgust.
“And yet,” I said to myself, realization suddenly dawning now, “he does have a point.”
“About what?” Charlotte demanded, looking alarmed. “Not that you should marry him, surely?”
“Of course not,” I said. “But … I could get married. To someone.”
Charlotte waited in shocked silence for me to explain.
“It could be my way out,” I said. “My only way out. If Ichabod never returns…” My breath caught in my throat as I spoke the words aloud, but I soldiered on, “If he never returns, then I must protect my child, as you said. If I married soon, then everyone will assume the child is my husband’s.”
“Katrina … you cannot be serious.”
“What other choice do I have?” I demanded, my voice rising sharply. “What would you have me do?”
“I already told you my suggestion,” she said. “But you dismissed it out of hand.”
I closed my eyes. I had considered doing as she advised, but only for a moment.
But I loved this child already, had loved it since I learned of its existence. And now, this child—son or daughter—was all I had left of Ichabod. I could not simply rid myself of it.
“I cannot, Charlotte,” I said. “Do not ask me to.”
“I think you are making a mistake,” she said. “You would not be the first woman in the village to do so, you know. Nor would you be the last.”
“I don’t care. I won’t.”
She sighed. “And so where will you find an acceptable suitor to wed in a matter of weeks? Has any man but Brom approached your father?”
“I do not know, in truth,” I said. “But I will speak to my father, and tell him I am ready to wed as he sees fit. He told me he would not force me to marry Brom against my will, so surely he must have someone else in mind.”
“I do not know about this, Katrina,” Charlotte said. “But you must do as you think is best, I suppose.”
I took that as a sign she could not hear the sound of my heart breaking.