“Damn it. God damn you, Katrina. God damn you!”
I wrenched myself away from Brom. Once more, he found himself unable to perform the marriage act, his member slack against his legs, and no amount of vigorous stroking on his part or mine could rouse it to action. “You blame me for this?” I burst out. That was new.
“You and that witch have cursed me,” he growled. “I know it. You must have. I have never had this problem before, not with any other woman. Only you.”
“How dare you.” I was truly hurt. After the tenderness that had sprung up between us of late, he would now seek to blame me? “You have done a fine enough job on your own with drink this evening, I think. I have no idea how to do such a thing, nor does Charlotte.” A lie well told. “You have long accused my best friend of being a witch; now you accuse me, too? Your wife?” I demanded.
“How else to explain this?” he asked, gesturing down. “You must have cursed me, or poisoned me, or ill-wished me. Or she did. Or you both together.”
I leapt from the bed, angrily grabbing my shift from the floor, where Brom has tossed it in the hope that tearing my clothes from my body would suitably arouse him. “You are a fool,” I said. “And if you ever repeat such vile accusations in anyone else’s hearing, about either me or Charlotte, being unmanned will be the least of your problems, that I can promise you.” With that I left to sleep in the guest room.
“Katrina, wait … I am sorry, of course it is not your fault. I am frustrated, that is all…”
I slammed the door behind me.
* * *
The rest of the summer passed, and Charlotte continued to live in a blissful haze over her upcoming nuptials, though a date had yet to be set. Giles was still finalizing the sale of his tavern, and was unfortunately faced with the prospect that he would likely need to build his own home for himself and Charlotte, further delaying the wedding. But none of this dampened Charlotte’s good spirits, though she longed to make wedding plans, and every once in a while her frustration showed.
I continued to warm to Brom further, though we still argued at times. It was to be expected when we had been at loggerheads for so long. Besides, we had the rest of our lives to continue smoothing out our relationship—a prospect that once made me despair, yet now brought me a feeling of contentment.
But I was not content with everything. Soon it was time for the harvest again. Two years had passed since Ichabod’s disappearance, and I had let his fate remain a mystery. I was ashamed of my failure in a way I could not have explained to anyone else. Though I was happier in my life than I had been, it was still not the one I would have chosen. My visions all continued to be of the clearing in the forest—nothing more and nothing less. But why? Why on earth had Ichabod been there? Why had he been riding through the forest at all? After two years I still only had some of the pieces, but not enough to put it all together, the whole shattered picture.
The clearing was the key, though I had not known it on that winter day when Charlotte, Nox, and I trekked through the snow and frost to get there.
My desperation to know the truth grew to a height only matched by those days immediately following Ichabod’s disappearance. Again the flighty birds of my thoughts returned, relentlessly hopping from one branch to the next and giving me no peace, except in sleep. Every time I looked at Anneke I saw reproach in her face, that I did not yet know what had happened to her true father. It was all in my head, of course, but it did not stop the feelings of anguish and guilt.
And so I decided what I must do, in the days leading up to All Hallows’ Eve, when the veil between this world and the next is the thinnest.
* * *
October 30th dawned bright and warm, the latter perfect for what I had in mind. I kept an eye on the Jansen cottage all morning. After noon, I saw Charlotte leave the house, and after waiting to make sure she was not coming back, I acted.
I went up to the cottage and knocked. Mevrouw Jansen answered, as I had anticipated. “Katrina,” she said warmly. “How nice to see you.”
“Good day,” I said pleasantly. “Is Charlotte home?”
“No, she just went off to see Mr. Carpenter,” Mevrouw Jansen said. “I’m sure you know he is in town.”
“Yes, indeed. Well, I believe she left some herbs for me in the stillroom. She said if she was out I could pop in and grab them.”
Mevrouw Jansen studied me for a beat too long, then stepped aside. “Very well, then,” she said. “Do you need any help?”
“No, thank you,” I said, moving toward the stillroom door. “She told me what I need to know.”
Once I was certain Mevrouw Jansen had no plans to follow me, I acted quickly. Pulling a scrap of paper from my pocket, I read it quickly, then pulled the appropriate jars from the shelves. I took just a bit more of each than what Charlotte had given me the last time. I placed them in a small glass bottle I’d brought with me and stuffed both the bottle and the paper deep into the pocket of my cloak. Please forgive me, Charlotte, I thought. She would find out what I had done eventually, and I could only hope that she would understand.
I went home, tossing the scrap of paper into the kitchen fire when Nancy was not looking, and went and locked the bottle of herbs into the same drawer as my notebook. Now all I needed was for night to fall.
Then I would have my answers, once and for all.