54

Warmth

Anneke’s first birthday came and went, and soon she was speaking. Her first word was “Mama,” and next was “Nancy,” much to that noble lady’s delight, and her third was “Papa.” A close fourth was “Charla,” which her godmother knew undoubtedly was meant for her. Soon she had a whole slew of words at her command, both English and Dutch. Sometimes I gazed at my happy little girl with her blond ringlets and bright green eyes and couldn’t believe it had been a year already since I’d borne her. At other times it seemed as if I could see the woman she would grow into one day, as full of light and hope as I’d once been, and I did not know if this was second sight or just a mother’s wish.

Spring wore into summer, and Brom found more excuses to stay home with us, cutting down on his time in New York. And I found I did not mind. I had begun to like having him home; I laughed as he capered about the house on all fours with Anneke on his back and blinked back tears of tender affection as he sat beside her until she fell asleep. I even enjoyed when he would give me a quick kiss as we passed each other in the house, or before he left on some errand for the day. He carved little dolls and toys for Anneke to play with, and I found myself remembering how, even as a boy, he had been skilled enough to make such things for Charlotte and me.

I hovered much over Anneke, concerned always with her health as summer wore on—three years ago now had seen a horrible epidemic of yellow fever in many of the cities, and I scanned the news sheets from New York as often as I could for any new mention of disease. But there were none, and Anneke continued to be hale and healthy. The news was all of politics—of George Washington’s decision not to seek another term as president, and what that would mean for our young nation. Debate raged even in our sleepy hamlet. How could the country go on without him, the only leader it had ever known? Who could fill his shoes? No one, it was concluded. And so everyone in the village was in one of two minds—the country would forge ahead without him, or it would crumble. There seemed to be no middle ground, or at least none anyone was willing to entertain. For myself, and for my daughter, I prayed this idealistic yet flawed nation would endure for centuries.

*   *   *

One night, Brom had Nancy make us up a picnic to take out into the garden, where he spread a sheet over the ground and brought out the food: chicken and bread and cheese, along with some ale. Nothing elaborate, but a lovely meal all the same. We enjoyed our food in the warm summer evening air as Anneke raced around the garden, chasing Nox, and babbling importantly to him and to her dolls.

Brom caught my eye and grinned. “Do you think she is telling them stories?”

I returned the smile, admiring his fine features—he was a most handsome man, after all. “Perhaps. Even at her age, she has a great deal to say.”

“Just like her mother,” Brom said. “You remember, do you not, how when we were children you used to make up such wonderful stories to tell us? You had no shortage of them.”

In truth, I had forgotten. Long before I had learned well the folktales of the Hudson River Valley, I had made up my own, just as I had been thinking of doing again. “I have not thought about that in a long time,” I said. I laughed. “Some of them were quite chilling, were they not? The air must be very haunted here in Sleepy Hollow indeed, for me to have come up with such tales as a child.”

Brom shuddered. “I never told you this, but I was always terrified by your tales. Often enough I would lie awake at night after you’d told one, dreading the appearance of some specter at my window.”

I laughed again, surprised. “Truly?”

“Truly. But I could not admit to being afraid, could I?” He paused, eyes filled with the truth behind what he had said: his father had never brooked any fear or weakness from his son, so Brom had never been able to confess fear to anyone. For a moment my mind flickered to Charlotte’s prediction, and Brom’s reaction. Perhaps the only way that he knew how to admit his fear then was to accuse her of something others would fear as well, so he would not be alone in his terror. I frowned, feeling sympathy toward him where before there had only been anger and disdain. It did not excuse what he had done to Charlotte, but it explained it.

“No,” I said at last. “Though most people would believe you incapable of fear, Brom Van Brunt.”

He reached out and cupped my chin in his hand. “They are wrong,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “There is so much I fear.” With his other hand, he gestured at Anneke, the garden, the house. “I fear losing you, and Anneke. All of this. I fear losing everything we have, everything I have wanted for so long.”

This time it was I who leaned forward and kissed him—and only because I wanted to. He kissed me back, and I felt more at peace than I had in many, many months.

We were interrupted by Anneke dashing over to stand before us. “Look!” She held out her dolls for our inspection, as though we had not seen them before.

Brom drew her onto his lap and kissed her golden curls. Our eyes met over the top of her head, and suddenly I was afraid of losing all we had built together, too.

*   *   *

That night, with Anneke fast asleep, Brom and I undressed one another, and I climbed eagerly into bed, pulling him down atop me. I ran my fingers down his muscled chest, kissing him back deeply, feeling desire and happy to feel it.

He ran his hands over my body, and I sighed with the feel of it. I wrapped my legs around his waist, urging him on.

Yet nothing happened. He froze, his body tight above me, and groaned with frustration. “Damn it. Damn it.

“Not again,” I said. I was surprised—in a way, I had begun to think his difficulty stemmed from my reluctance to engage in the marital act. Surely now that I was eager, and freely returning his kisses and caresses, he should be more successful.

But that did not seem to be the case. “Damn it,” he muttered again through gritted teeth.

I reached down and took him in my hand, stroking him lightly, trying to help. But he remained limp.

He shook his head, and I withdrew my hand, crestfallen. “It is no use,” he murmured. He sighed again. “I am sorry, Katrina. So sorry.”

I was about to ask how I could help, but instead he turned his attention to pleasing me with his hands, and I decided to let the matter drop.

*   *   *

In late August, Charlotte burst into the garden as I was helping Anneke toddle about. “Katrina!” she cried. “Oh, Katrina!”

Anneke stopped mid-stride where she had been running after Nox and clapped her hands. “Charla!” she cried.

I scooped her up in my arms. “That’s Tante Charla to you,” I told her fondly. “What is it, Tante Charla?”

Charlotte positively radiated happiness. “Giles,” she breathed, almost unable to speak in her excitement. “He has proposed! And what’s more, he is moving to Sleepy Hollow!”

My mouth dropped open, and I set Anneke down again so I could properly hug Charlotte. “Oh, this is the best news! Why did he finally decide to move here? What has happened?”

“He has been trying to convince me to move to White Plains, but I have been hesitant, as you know. To be honest, I likely would have given in soon. But now, he is going in on a venture with some other men to open a new tavern here, and he will be selling his in White Plains. Apparently, he has been working on this for a while, but everything is finally official. He did not wish to say anything before in case it did not work out, but it has! It has, and it is done, and he is moving here, and we are going to be married!” Charlotte clapped her hands and jumped up and down like a girl, more carefree than I had seen her in years.

“Oh, Charlotte!” I drew her into a tight embrace again. Tears pricked my eyes. “I am so, so happy for you,” I said. “Happier than I can say. You have everything you want now!”

She beamed. “I do, everything that I have wanted and thought I would never have. We will not be able to marry for a time, of course,” she said. “He will need to finalize his affairs in White Plains and get his business started here, then find a house for us. So it will be some time yet, but my mother has agreed, and his parents, and we are to be married in the church here as soon as he is settled!”

“I almost cannot believe it,” I said. “It is perfect; other than the delay in the nuptials, of course.”

“I almost cannot believe it, either!” she cried. “It will be worth waiting for, I know it, and worth all this time and indecision.”

“Of course it will,” I said. “Giles is a lucky man, and you a lucky woman, to have him. It is not any man who will leave his business and move to his wife’s hometown.”

“He is more rare and precious than a fine jewel,” Charlotte agreed. “I can only hope to deserve him.”

“Deserve who?”

“Papa!”

The two of us looked up as Brom entered the garden, Anneke running to him. He had been in New York again and I had been expecting him back that day or the next.

In spite of the new warmth and accord between us, I was still cautious at him and Charlotte being in one another’s presence. “Charlotte has just brought me the news that she is betrothed,” I said, my voice even. “To Mr. Giles Carpenter, of White Plains.”

“Giles Carpenter,” Brom repeated slowly. “Now, why do I know that name?” I prayed he would not remember, that he would just leave us alone to our happiness. “Ha!” he laughed mockingly. “Was that not Crane’s second at the duel? His … cousin, or some such thing?”

“Yes,” Charlotte said, her voice neutral. “It was then that we met.”

Brom smirked. “Then it seems you ought to be thanking me, Charlotte. This Giles perhaps not, though. What did you do, cast a spell on the poor man?”

“Brom,” I said in warning, as Charlotte’s face went white with rage.

“I did not,” she said, her voice tight. “Nor do I have the power to do such a thing. He fell in love with me of his own accord, and I with him. I needed nothing more than that to win him. Not that you would understand such a thing.”

“And what does that mean?” Brom demanded.

“Just that I would not expect you to know anything about winning the object of your affections through honest means.”

“Charlotte,” I hissed, wondering what she was referring to, what she might inadvertently reveal to him in her anger.

A strange mixture of fear and disbelief crossed Brom’s face briefly before his bravado returned. “Oh, no?” he said. He looped an arm possessively around my waist and drew me against him. “And yet I am married to the object of my affections, while you, it seems, are not.”

“Not yet.”

“Brom, they are betrothed,” I said, willing him to calm himself.

“And does he know the truth about you, Crane’s cousin?” Brom demanded. “This Giles Carpenter?”

“He knows the vile rumors you spread about me, yes,” Charlotte said calmly. “He knows, and thinks more of me and less of you for it.”

“You besmirch me to a stranger, you witch?” he shouted.

“I speak only the truth.”

“Why, I’ll have you—”

“Enough!” I cried, stepping between them. “Not in front of Anneke. And not in front of me, preferably.” I scooped my daughter up again and made to carry her inside. “Charlotte, will you help me put her down for a nap? Brom,” I added over my shoulder as Charlotte followed me inside, “please act the gentleman before a guest, won’t you?”

Brom looked abashed and regretful, and followed us. “Charlotte,” he said, his tone subdued, “I am sorry. I should not speak to you in such a way.”

She looked surprised. “I had liked to think you might change with age, Brom Van Brunt.”

“Perhaps I may yet,” he said. I could still see a hint of fear in his eyes as he beheld her, but I could not believe the civility and sincerity in his voice.

She smiled, but I could tell it was forced. “You should,” she said. “For what, in truth, have I ever done to you?”

He had no answer, and with that she left.