Once Charlotte left, I went to see my father in his study, before I lost my nerve. After all, was I really ready to commit to marriage with a man I would barely know, if indeed I knew him at all?
And what if I did marry and then Ichabod returned for me?
That was a chance I had to take. For my child. Wasn’t it?
I knocked on the door to my father’s study and he called for me to come in. I entered and sat in one of the chairs before his desk. “I wanted to speak to you, Papa,” I said.
“Of course, my dear,” he said, setting aside the ledger he’d been examining.
I took a deep breath. “I am ready to marry, I think. And as you have said you will not force me to marry Brom if I do not choose to, I assume you have some other suitors in mind.”
My father looked somewhat startled. “Why, Katrina,” he said. “I knew not that you were in such a hurry.”
“Not a hurry, per se,” I said carefully. “I just feel it is time.”
“Well, perhaps we should think on this more,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “After all, you were quite disappointed at my refusal of young Mr. Crane’s suit.” He gave a harrumph of derision. “Of course, seeing as how he vanished into thin air right after said refusal—leaving his duties at the schoolhouse behind without a thought, I might add—I made the right decision, as you now no doubt agree.”
I said nothing.
“But you may need a bit more time, my dear. There is no rush. You can marry when you are ready, and a suitable suitor has been found.”
“But I am ready,” I said, trying not to sound impatient. “And so I wondered if you had anyone else in mind.”
“Well, no. I cannot say I had anyone in particular in mind, nor has any man approached me, save for young Mr. Van Brunt, of course. But if you are certain you are ready, I can begin to make inquiries over the coming months. I am sure we shall have no shortage of candidates, what with your fine dowry.”
Yet your perception that Ichabod was interested in my dowry was what prompted you to refuse him, I thought with a spark of anger. Honestly, what sense did any of these rules make? It was to be expected when they were created by men, I supposed. “I see,” I said. “No one else has approached you—no one at all?”
“No, though as I said, I will be happy to make inquiries, if you are certain that this is what you want. Yes,” he said, warming to the idea, “yes, we may be able to see you married by next year at this time.”
My heart sank. By this time next year? No, no, that would never do. “All right, then,” I managed, rising from my seat. “Thank you, Papa.”
“Of course, my dear. Whatever will make you happy.”
It would have made me most happy if you had allowed me to marry Ichabod, I raged inwardly, even as I gave him a dutiful peck on the cheek.
Woodenly, I left his study and walked up to my room. I needed a husband, within the month, if there was to be any hope of my child being accepted as legitimate. My father went on about what a sought-after prize I was, that he knew of many potential and acceptable suitors. But apparently not. Apparently all along there had only been Brom and Ichabod.
Of course, if I did truly need a husband, any husband, in a matter of weeks …
No. That was not an option. Even for my child, I could never consider it.
Gingerly, I pressed my hands against my still-flat belly. But truly, I wondered, is there anything I can afford not to consider?
* * *
The next day, I went to visit Charlotte, to tell her of my conversation with my father. She listened in silence, then shook her head when I finished. “It does seem surprising, based on things your father has said. But…” She bit her lip.
“What?” I asked.
“It … in a way, it does not surprise me,” she said. “For there is talk…” She looked as though she wished she had not brought this up, whatever it was.
“Talk about what?” I demanded.
She sighed and gave in. “There is talk in the village—”
“Not more silly village gossip,” I interrupted. “There is nothing they do not talk of in this village, it seems. It is a wonder the crops get planted and the market can run, for it seems no one in Sleepy Hollow does anything but talk.”
“If you do not wish to hear such talk, I will not tell you,” she said. “Indeed, it may be that you would rather not know.”
That stopped me. “Very well, then, tell me.”
“I mean it, Katrina. I do not say that to entice you further.”
Now I had to know, in that contrary way that humans have. “Tell me, Charlotte, please.”
“Very well. If you are sure.” She paused before. “There is talk that Brom may have had something to do with Ichabod’s disappearance. They say he learned of Ichabod’s proposal and did something to scare him away, to make sure he left you and Sleepy Hollow behind and never came back. To ensure Brom had no rivals for your hand.”
Somehow, I had never considered this. “And you believe this, do you?”
She shrugged. “Not particularly, no. Ichabod was—is—not a man so easily cowed, not where you are concerned. And he knew you would not marry Brom no matter what, so I do not see how Brom could have convinced him.”
But it would not have surprised me in the least if Brom had tried. “And so?” I said. “Is that all? News I could have eventually put together for myself?”
“Think about what it means, Katrina,” Charlotte said. “It does not matter whether we believe it, only that others do. And they are already saying it: no man will dare court Katrina Van Tassel now, for fear of crossing Brom Bones.”
“But this is nonsense,” I said, trying to push back a wave of despair and frustration. “Brom does not have such power. He cannot be that intimidating, surely?”
“It seems he is,” she said. “Anyway, I am only telling you what people are saying. And, unfortunately, many of them are saying it.”
* * *
I rode home in a daze. There was too much information to be absorbed, too many choices to make, yet not enough of them.
What was I going to do?
There was always Charlotte’s option. I could rid myself of the child, and wait as my father made his inquiries, wait until he found a suitor I liked and maybe could grow to love, just as I would have done if I had never met Ichabod.
Or I could not marry and still have the child, try to carry on as best I could in the face of the scandal that would erupt. I could wait as long as I wanted—forever, if need be—for Ichabod to return.
Yet I knew that this was not a choice, not really. If I were to be found with child and unmarried, my parents would never let me keep it. The best I could hope for would be to be sent away to some secluded place to give birth, then the child sent to another family or, worse, to an orphanage.
Or they might send me away in my shame, and cut me off completely. I did not truly think they would—my parents loved me too much for that—but it was a possibility, I supposed. No one would fault them for it. And how would I support a child on my own when I had no way of supporting or even of caring for myself? I could cook, and mend, and run a house, of course, but I had never lived without servants to assist me with even the most basic of tasks.
One thing was certain: I would not be able to raise this child in any kind of comfort without a husband. And that left me with only one option.
I stabled Starlight when I returned home, but instead of going into the house I went out into the woods. I walked the familiar path alone, to Ichabod’s and my favorite spot on the banks of the stream. Save for my brief visit after All Hallows’ Eve to see if Ichabod awaited me, I had not been there in weeks; not since the day Brom had discovered us and challenged Ichabod to the duel. It had become spoiled, tainted, for me after that. Yet I could not bear to be anywhere else just then.
When I arrived, the clearing was so undisturbed that it seemed as if no one had set foot there since Ichabod and I had last been here—and likely no one had.
I fell to my knees on the damp ground and wept loudly in this place where no one could hear me.
* * *
That night I dreamed again, of the Horseman. It was the same as before: he stood in the fabled clearing far off in the forest, and I could glimpse Ichabod standing behind him. I started to run toward him, heedless of the Horseman’s presence, words of love and relief on my lips: You are back! I have found you! You are here!
Yet unlike before, the Horseman did not move to block my view of Ichabod. This time, the specter allowed me to run right past him toward my lover—even as my dream-self shivered at coming so close to the Hessian. Yet then Ichabod was gone, had simply disappeared. He had not turned and run, nor faded into the shadows; he was simply there one moment and gone the next. I tore through the forest, shoving branches out of my way, calling his name all the while. Yet I never saw another trace of him.
Far off now, I heard the loud whinny of a horse.
Then I awoke.
I lay still, unable to move, letting the tears course down my face. For I was now certain I would never see Ichabod again.