Chapter Text
The world moves for love. It kneels before it in awe.
~Edward Walker, The Village
XXX
Before Ichabod Crane came into her life, Katrina Van Tassel thought she would never marry.
Brom Van Brunt had proposed to her several times, of course, and then there were all the other young men in Sleepy Hollow who admired her beauty. Katrina knew from the gossip in the village that she was considered the most beautiful female in town. Coupled with her being a member of the second-wealthiest family after the Van Garretts, this made her a highly desirable match in the marriage market. It irked her, to be reduced to a mere ornament, a prize to be won. Not a single man in Sleepy Hollow saw her as anything more than that.
Of course, she performed the role of sweet and docile maid in public because that’s what was expected of her. And she played the part to perfection. Mother always told her it was safest not to be odd or disliked. Women who were outcasts were deemed, rightly or wrongly, as witches.
Given that Katrina was a witch, it was imperative that no one suspected this of her. It did not matter if witches were no longer persecuted the way they were in days of yore. A wisewoman could still be shunned or even hanged if an ill person under her care died; if there was a famine, storm, or epidemic; or even if someone’s cow ran dry. Fearful townspeople were always of a mind to find someone to blame for calamity and misfortune, and a woman that no one liked was always the most convenient scapegoat.
It was especially important, in these dark and uncertain times, to remain above suspicion or reproach. Though Katrina did not fear the Horseman would come for her, she knew that she would be in real danger if anyone conflated her sacred craft with black magic.
Katrina also knew that unless she married Brom Van Brunt, as everyone in Sleepy Hollow expected to happen, she would one day end up just as isolated, feared, and misunderstood as the Witch of the Western Woods. The only people she truly trusted to care for her regardless of what beauty and wealth she may possess were her father and her favorite aunt.
But even with Father and Aunty, Katrina was forced to conceal certain aspects of her character. Her father could not know of her hallowed heritage or the powers it bestowed upon her. Her aunt was an accomplished white witch, but where she was once witty and blithe, she had become prickly and withdrawn. The only person with whom she could be her truest and most unreserved self – her mother – was dead.
Still, her most beloved kin kept Katrina tethered to society. When she finally lost them, there would be nothing stopping her from becoming a spinster hermit.
Unless she left Sleepy Hollow.
The idea made Katrina positively giddy to contemplate. But where would she go? There was nowhere in the world she knew of that would welcome a witch. And she loved her woods. More than that, Father needed her, especially after Mother’s death. So she never seriously entertained the idea of leaving Sleepy Hollow.
Not until Constable Crane came to town.
She discovered he was different before she even saw him. When her hands captured him during the Pickety Witch game, she knew he was a stranger not from the shape of his face, but the scent of him. All of the men in Sleepy Hollow smelled of horses and loam and the sweat of hard work. It was not an unpleasant aroma, but it was decidedly country in nature. This man smelled of old books, the leather of fine chairs much like the ones her father had in his study, and the cleanliness of frequent bathing.
Katrina had been an avid reader from the time she learned her letters, and she found the bouquet of this stranger to be the most appealing she had ever breathed in. It was exactly the scent she always imagined would cling to a learned, cultured, and well-read man. He must have been from the city.
And so she played the coquette, guessing he was Theodore – the first name that came to mind other than Brom’s. Though they were thrown much together, she would not lead Brom on, nor would she give him the satisfaction of believing she thought of him.
When the stranger awkwardly begged her pardon, Katrina felt a stirring in the pit of her stomach that no masculine voice had ever aroused within her. She wanted nothing more than to kiss him. Daringly, she did. When her lips touched his cheek, the disconcerting but wonderful sensation in her stomach deepened, and her heart beat in a feverish way it never had before.
Is this how it feels, to fall in love? Katrina wondered with a shiver of excitement. Mother said she would begin to understand the meaning of love when she perceived such stirrings in a man’s presence.
Removing her blindfold, Katrina discovered the most stunning set of mahogany brown eyes gazing at her. She froze where she stood and, in a most unladylike manner, stared back into them. She simply could not help herself. Never in her life had she seen such eyes. They were the color of the rich coffee her father imported when he could get it – a luxury she was rarely afforded to drink, despite her family’s wealth. They were also perceptive eyes, keenly intelligent, and full of sorrow. This man, whoever he was and wherever he came from, was deeply lonely. And just like her, he knew the excruciating pain of loss.
He was clearly smitten with her. And Katrina was just as captivated by him. She could feel Brom glowering at their silent exchange in the periphery, but she paid him no mind. Still, her hotheaded would-be suitor would have to ruin this moment, goading the stranger to fight! And to her disappointment, this man either did not know or did not care that a soft answer turneth away wrath. He refused to reveal his name, which further provoked Brom’s ire. It was left to her and Father to intervene before a brawl could occur.
Thankfully, the stranger had the sense to divulge both his name and his purpose for coming to Sleepy Hollow when faced with Baltus Van Tassel’s inquiry as to his presence in their home. He was Constable Ichabod Crane, sent to them from New York with authority to investigate murder in Sleepy Hollow. To Katrina’s chagrin, Constable Crane was whisked away by her father before she could learn anything more about him. She was drawn to this stranger – her stomach fluttered whenever she recalled those stunning eyes – yet from what she observed of his deportment, he struck her as rather oafish despite his trim figure and appealing hygiene.
Mother had warned her it was possible to be attracted to a man’s physical form alone, and to take care that she selects a mate who also stirred her heart and mind. She could not know whether Ichabod Crane was a man she might love unless she spoke further to him, to ascertain his heart and mind.
For the rest of the evening, Katrina only half-heartedly participated in the festivities, her thoughts wholly occupied with contriving a scheme to converse with the constable without arousing untoward speculation throughout the village as to her intentions.
XXX
Katrina’s opportunity came that very night, when she was in her room preparing for bed. Lady Van Tassel was with her, brushing her hair and chatting as they did each evening. The men’s voices floated up to her chamber from the main parlor, and while Katrina could not hear what they were saying, she was delighted by the reason and compassion she heard in the constable’s tone.
When the servant girl Sarah entered the room to inform Lady Van Tassel that Constable Crane was seeking the family Bible, Katrina seized the opportunity to bring it to him. She gave her stepmother, who was now smiling slyly at her, the excuse that she was merely looking to see if his city talk fit him as ill as his clothes.
In truth, his clothes fit him well enough, despite them being a regrettably plain shade of black. But Katrina did not wish to prompt her stepmother’s teasing. She liked her stepmother well enough, but like everyone else in Sleepy Hollow, Lady Van Tassel was firmly convinced that she would wed Brom one day.
Katrina’s heart and stomach fluttered with anticipation as she approached Constable Crane’s room with the heavy Bible. When she knocked at the door, he called out, “Yes, yes, come in!”
His tone was annoyed, impatient. Clearly, he had been kept waiting. Stepmother often despaired of Sarah’s indolence. Perhaps she was not wrong.
Katrina entered the room quietly, not wishing to irritate their guest further. She was a bit irked when he didn’t bother to turn around from his seat at the desk as he said, “Thank you. Just leave it on the reading stand. That will be all.”
Perhaps Brom was not entirely incorrect in his assertion that Constable Crane could use some manners. Katrina placed the Bible as directed and was indeed about to leave the room, but then the man turned to face her. “Wait. Tell me about that big brute who seems to be Miss Katrina’s – ”
When he realized to whom he was speaking, the way he shot up out of his chair was comical, especially given that his hip knocked against the desk and sent his papers cascading to the floor. “Forgive me!” he stammered, looking thoroughly embarrassed. “I asked Sarah to bring me – ”
Katrina was charmed by his awkwardness. It was a refreshing change from the lordly boasting she had to endure from the young men endlessly trying to impress her. She could not resist the urge to tease this uneasy constable. Perhaps she could tempt a smile into his grave countenance, or a twinkle into his eloquent eyes. “So, your clever books have failed you,” she said with an amused smile, “and you turn to the Bible after all.”
The constable immediately stiffened. “I see I am talked about downstairs.”
Despite his obvious interest in her, he was as poor at flirting as he was at social graces. Katrina hid her disappointment with a nonchalant shrug. “In passing only. We have many things to talk about, even in this backward place.”
His face reddened. “I am sorry. Please excuse my manner. I am not used to – ”
Katrina once again could not help but be charmed by his utter lack of pretense. Oaf or not, he was adorable. Her rejoinder was both coquettish and remonstrative: “Female company?”
“Society,” the constable shot back.
Katrina’s smile broadened. Now here was the wit and gumption she was hoping he possessed! “How can you avoid society in New York? How I should love the opera and theaters – to go dancing! Is it wonderful?”
She saw him fighting the urge to boast, to continue this barbed flirtation with her. But he was a man of honor, for he answered truthfully, “I have never been.”
“But there is an art museum? A concert hall?” she persisted.
The constable looked even more pained as he admitted, “I don’t know.”
Katrina was truly disenchanted. “Then you have nothing to teach me.”
The constable’s shoulders slumped, as if he had completely given up on the notion of impressing her. But then an intriguing spark entered his dark brown eyes. “Perhaps I have. Do you believe the Van Garretts and the Widow Winship were murdered by a Headless Horseman?”
Pleased that he rallied, Katrina responded, “Not everyone here believes it is the Horseman.”
“Good!” he said approvingly.
She gave him an impish smile. “Some say it is the Witch of the Western Woods who has made a pact with Lucifer.”
Now he looked irritated as well as disillusioned, as if he expected something more of her. “There are no witches or galloping ghosts either! Is everyone in this village in thrall to superstition?”
Katrina wondered at his vehemence, which to her seemed borne of terror rather than skepticism. “Why are you so afraid of magic? Not all magic is black. There are ancient truths in these woods which have been forgotten in your city parks.”
“If they are truth, they are not magic; if magic, not truth,” Constable Crane retorted.
Katrina tried not to sigh. Now that she had gotten the measure of this man, she ought to retire. There was no benefit to continuing this conversation. Yet she could not help herself. Though it was unwise, something about his prickly denial of magic’s existence stung her into defense: “You are foolish. When there is fever in the house, it is well known that willow herb roots and a crow’s foot must be boiled in the milk of a pure white goat with special charms uttered over the fire – and the fever abates.”
While she was not done with their discussion, he unfortunately was. “Next time try the herb without the rest. And now I must ask you to excuse me.”
Katrina’s smile disappeared. It was such a poor note upon which to end their talk. But he was no longer interested in her or what she had to say. And even if she was still interested in him, he had dismissed her, so there was nothing she could do but go.
“Gladly. I should not have interrupted our town’s savior. Good night.” As she walked to the door, she could not resist getting one last barb in. “And as to your first question, that big brute you were asking about has proposed to me.”
She was gratified to hear that perhaps he was not so indifferent to her as she surmised. “I – I – I’m happy that – ”
Katrina glanced coyly at him over her shoulder. “He’s proposed to me… several times.”
After pausing for a moment to enjoy the stunned look in his beautiful eyes, she departed.
XXX
After their discouraging conversation, Katrina kept her distance from Constable Crane.
Yet she could not stop thinking about him. But why should that be? Undeniably, he was one of the most handsome men she had ever met, but he was indeed an oaf. While she was not enamored of the obstinate confidence that Brom Van Brunt and the other young men in Sleepy Hollow commonly displayed, she had expected to fall in love with a man who possessed at least a modicum of courtesy and grace. And while she admired Ichabod’s ability to see straight to the heart of things in a way that few people were capable of doing, he was utterly dismissive of any truths outside of the scientific or rational.
Katrina respected those truths, but she knew they weren’t the only ones to exist in this world. And if Ichabod was unable or unwilling to see this, then how could they be true companions? She could not be like her mother, binding herself to a man who was willfully blind to who she truly was.
And so she would never marry.