I had not forgotten about my vow to discover the truth about Ichabod’s disappearance. And once I was comfortable in my new house—if not in my marriage—and had made the announcement that I was with child, I felt myself ready to turn my mind fully to the task.
In late January, I brought up the topic with Charlotte again. “I have thought of a place where we might start our … project.”
“I was wondering when you would want to begin,” she said. “But I knew you would bring it up when you were ready.”
Warmth washed over me, at having a friend who understood me so very well. “I am ready now,” I said.
She nodded. “So where shall we begin?”
“I thought we might check the roads, or the forest, to see if there are clues that we missed.” The stream where Ichabod’s hat had been found had been searched, as well as the burial ground and woods immediately surrounding the area, but no further evidence had ever been found.
“Perhaps,” she said slowly. “But have you considered whatever clues there might have been may well be gone by now? It has been a few months, after all.”
I nodded. “I have,” I said. “But it is worth a look. It is a place to start. And if we need … other means, we can use those as well.”
Charlotte nodded at this.
In truth, I did not expect to find much in the woods or elsewhere. But it would be foolish not to look, at least. And what was more, I was hesitant to call upon Charlotte’s other gifts. I could not forget the terrifying vision I had experienced when she read the cards for me, nor could I forget their horrible prediction—one that certainly seemed to have come true, however it had come about.
Can it be I do not truly wish to know? I wondered. Can it be that I avoid the means by which I am most likely to find the answer because I am afraid of what I may find? But whatever it was could not be as awful, as unbearable as not knowing.
“The weather is not too harsh today,” I commented. The sun was shining, and the temperature was above freezing, a rare treat. “Perhaps we might venture into the woods today.”
“Are you sure that is wise, in your condition?”
I rolled my eyes. “I am with child, not an invalid,” I said. “And I am in need of some exercise. My mother and Brom do nothing but extort me to rest. I am quite tired of resting.”
“I do not speak of the exercise overtaxing you,” she said slowly. “For as you say, it will be good for you. But rather…” She hesitated. “What if we discover something that upsets you? That would not be good for the child.”
I had not thought of this. After everything I had done for the child, I could not endanger her now. Yet I refused to be dissuaded. I feared if I did not start at that very moment, I might not want to start again. “As you said, we likely will not find anything,” I said at last. “I just want to look, so I know we at least tried.”
“If you are sure,” Charlotte said. “But if at any point you begin to feel unwell, or upset, you’ll tell me, won’t you? You’ll tell me and I’ll bring you right back home.”
“Of course,” I said, already rising to get my cloak.
Dressing ourselves warmly against the cold, we left the cottage and began to walk toward the church, Nox trotting at our side. We made our way through the burial ground and into the woods behind the church, the portion of the forest nearest where the only traces of Ichabod had been found.
“Gunpowder was never found, either, was he?” Charlotte asked from behind me as we made our way single file along the narrow paths through the trees. Her voice sounded unnaturally loud in the hushed silence of the winter woods.
“No,” I said. “So that would support the likelihood that Ichabod simply left.”
Charlotte did not respond, and I knew that we were likely thinking the same thing: or the Horseman had spirited Ichabod and Gunpowder both away to the netherworld.
“Have you heard of the new schoolmaster?” Charlotte asked as we walked on, eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary: more shards of a pumpkin, or hoof prints, or fabric caught in the branches.
“Smith is his name, is it not?” I asked. Ichabod’s replacement had arrived in Sleepy Hollow a month after his disappearance. Occupied with my upcoming wedding to Brom, I had scarcely paid the talk of the new schoolmaster any attention. “He has been here for some time already. What of it?”
“He is moving the schoolhouse,” she said.
I stopped and turned to face her. “What? Moving it? What do you mean?”
“Not physically moving it, of course,” Charlotte said. “But the old schoolhouse—the one Ichabod taught in—is to be abandoned, and lessons will henceforth be taught in a new building nearer the Albany Post Road.”
This news disturbed me more than it ought, for reasons I could not quite identify. “But why?”
Charlotte looked away uncomfortably. “They—Master Smith, the children, and some of the villagers—they say the schoolhouse is haunted.”
“Haunted?” I demanded. A chill breeze swirled around us, whistling through the bare tree branches. “By whom? Surely Sleepy Hollow has more than enough ghosts to be getting on with.”
“By … well, by the ghost of Ichabod Crane.”
I spun away from her so that she might not see the look on my face and continued walking. “I thought you did not wish me to be upset,” I said.
“I am sorry,” she said. “I should not have brought it up. I thought you must have heard.”
“I had not,” I said. I sighed. “Though I suppose better that I hear it from you.”
“Yes, well,” Charlotte said, still sounding sheepish. “As you know, the commonly accepted explanation in the village for Ichabod’s disappearance is that the Headless Horseman carried him off.” A shiver went down my spine. “And so they say his ghost has returned to haunt the schoolhouse. Supposedly they hear him whistling, as he did when he would walk along the road. Other times they hear him singing.”
It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be. For surely if Ichabod was dead, if he had gone over to the other side and was capable of haunting the schoolhouse, why would he not haunt me? Why would he not bring me some message from beyond the veil?
“Anyway,” Charlotte said, “that is what they say.”
“Indeed,” I said. “They say a great many things in the village.”
Just then, Nox barked suddenly and ran ahead down the path.
“Nox, come back!” I called. We hastened after him until we arrived at the edge of a large, round clearing in the trees.
My breath caught in my throat. This was it. The fabled, haunted clearing where the Hessian rider was said to have met his end. Beside me, Nox growled low in his throat.
I shivered again, more violently this time. Had this been where I’d intended to go all along? Or had some other force compelled me to this Godforsaken place?
Glancing upward, I saw that dark clouds now obscured the sun. Had not the sky been clear when we’d set out from Charlotte’s cottage? Surely not. I must have been mistaken. Even in winter, clouds could not come up this quickly.
I glanced over at Charlotte, who was studying the clearing with apprehension. “So this is it,” she said softly, as though wary of disturbing whoever—or whatever—might be lingering here.
“Have you been here before?” I asked.
“Once,” she said. “As a girl. I was wandering the woods and got lost. Then as now, I…” She shuddered. “I do not know if the stories are true, but something evil happened here. I can feel it. There is a power, an energy, in the ground, the very air.”
Nox growled again.
“I … I think I know what you mean,” I said uneasily.
We stayed poised uncertainly at the edge of the clearing for a moment longer before Charlotte took a step forward. “Well, now that we are here, we may as well have a look around.”
“Is it safe, do you think?” I asked.
“Safe enough, I should think,” she said vaguely.
I was not at all reassured by that answer, but I stepped into the clearing nonetheless. Nox followed us most reluctantly.
If I was expecting some magical wind to rise up and sweep us into its vortex as soon as we set foot into the clearing, though, I was mistaken. We wandered the perimeter, searching the ground and trees for clues, but we did not see or hear anything. There was only that same, continuous, oppressive feeling of weight, as though the air here was somehow heavier. There were no birds in the nearby trees, nor squirrels nor rabbits nor any other kind of wildlife. Many of them were no doubt hibernating for the winter, but not to hear any sort of animal at all was … eerie.
The ground was hard from the recent frost, and it looked disturbed, churned up in places, frozen into tiny peaks and valleys. This did not necessarily mean anything; only that a herd of deer had passed through, or a horse had ridden across the clearing. I shuddered at the thought of a horse and rider.
It felt as though we scoured every inch of the clearing but aside from the disturbed ground, did not find anything out of the ordinary. And signs of Ichabod’s flight—or mishap—might be found anywhere in the woods surrounding Sleepy Hollow. Charlotte and I could not possibly search it all.
This was fruitless. As hopeful and optimistic as I was when we’d left Charlotte’s cottage, so glad to be taking action, I now felt defeated. What had I expected? The apparition of the Headless Horseman himself, waiting patiently so I might inquire of him? Excuse me, demonic specter, but did you spirit away my lover to the underworld? Of course, I understand that you cannot speak, being not possessed of a head; simply incline your torso for yes, if you would be so kind. A peal of near hysterical laughter escaped me at the thought.
“We should go, Charlotte,” I said, my voice ringing out loudly in the silence. “There is nothing for us to find here.” When she didn’t answer, I turned to face her. “Charlotte?”
She stood toward the center of the clearing, staring off into the empty air above her as if looking at a picture I could not see. And maybe she was. “Charlotte?” I called a little bit louder. Still she did not turn. I approached her slowly, fearfully, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Charlotte?”
She jumped. “Katrina!” she gasped, pressing a hand to her breast. “I … you startled me.”
“I was calling your name,” I said. “Are you all right, Charlotte? Did you … did you see something?”
“See something?” she repeated. “I … no. I was lost in thought, is all. I apologize.” She shivered and drew her cloak more tightly around herself.
I studied her for a moment. She had appeared to be in the trancelike state I had witnessed before, when she was seeing some vision of the future. Yet surely if she had seen anything of relevance, she would tell me. Besides, it was not the future I was interested in now, but the past that had yet to reveal itself to me. But perhaps she was telling the truth. This strange clearing certainly seemed capable of casting a spell over any who dared linger. “Let’s go,” I said. “There is nothing to find here, and I am cold. Nox!” I called. He was at the edge of the clearing, sniffing determinedly around a tree trunk—no doubt in pursuit of some animal that had lately been there. “Nox, come away from there! Let’s go.”
He obeyed, and Charlotte followed me back to the path from which we had come. “I am not so certain there is nothing to find,” I thought I heard her say, but when I glanced back, she merely eyed me inquisitively. I faced forward again, certain that I had imagined it and not heard any such thing at all.