SleepyHollow2BookBundle (28 page)

John forced himself to maintain eye contact with Mr. Jansen, even as his face heated. This was easily the most the man had ever spoken to him in a day since he’d taken up residence in the Jansen household nearly eight months ago. “I understand that, Mr. Jansen. I’ve been doing my best to give your boys a well-rounded education, even—”
 

“A well-rounded education includes more than just your ghost stories and the latest gossip.”

John’s face flushed red-hot in earnest now, not just with shame, but indignation. “You know I’ve done my best to avoid speaking about matters of the headless horseman with the boys. And I’m certainly no gossip.”

Mr. Jansen frowned more fiercely, reaching inside his waistcoat and pulling something out, throwing it down onto the table as if it were too hot to touch. “Then what’s this?”

The sight of the object Mr. Jansen had deposited on the tabletop gave John a jolt.

“Now that the harvest is over, we expect our boys to apply themselves to their studies. Instead, Joshua has been wasting his days making these.” Mr. Jansen cast the little wooden crucifix a disgusted look. “He says
you
told him that they’re effective charms against evil.”

“I didn’t say that, exactly. Joshua made me one when I first began patrolling the roads at night with Mr. Van Brunt, and—”

“I don’t want to hear your nonsense about some headless horseman. My boy’s frittering away his time thanks to you filling his head with nonsense. This morning I caught him in the stable trying to pull hair from Gunpowder’s tail. He’s lucky the horse didn’t bash his skull in with a kick!”

John’s insides gave a guilty squirm. How was he supposed to have known that Joshua had been busily manufacturing more of the crucifixes? He didn’t like the idea of the six year old boy in the same stall as the nefarious nag anymore than Mr. Jansen did. “I’m sorry to hear it. I never meant for him to put himself in harm’s way. But I certainly haven’t fabricated the existence or exaggerated the danger of the headless horseman.” John resisted the urge to rub his bruised neck. “If you won’t take my word that it’s more than mere nonsense, perhaps you’ll trust Mr. Van Brunt’s.” He held Mr. Jansen’s stare for several long moments, refusing to look away. People might scoff at him, the admittedly superstitious schoolmaster, but Brom was a well-respected – admired, even – member of the community who had never been known to jump at shadows, and was therefore more difficult to dismiss. Of course, that hadn’t stopped some from doing just that.

Mr. Jansen jerked his head to the side, breaking eye contact, and snorted, standing abruptly and sending his chair skidding across the floorboards. “Take care what you say to my boys in the future, Mr. Crane. If your influence continues to be a source of strife, you’ll no longer be welcome in our home.” He turned and headed for the door, disappearing outside and leaving John alone with the crucifix lying on the table. Acting on impulse, he took it and shoved it deep inside his waistcoat before striding out of the kitchen. Encountering Mr. Jansen again outdoors would be awkward, so he made for the stairs instead – for now, he still had a room, and at least he could find escape there with a book.

Mrs. Jansen was in the hall, standing quietly around the corner. The look in her eyes said that she’d heard everything. “I’m sorry, John.” She laid a hand on his arm, giving him a look of combined sympathy and embarrassment. “I know you haven’t been encouraging the boys to do anything they oughtn’t.”
 

John stood immobile for a moment, as if frozen by her touch. The last person who’d patted his arm like that had been his mother, and the kind gesture made him feel unpleasantly childish, which was the last thing he wanted after his argument with Mr. Jansen.

“Shall I make you a cup of tea?” she offered.

“No, thank you. I have some studying of my own I must see to.” He drifted to the stairs, resisting the urge to hurry up them in a clatter like one of the boys. It was a comfort to know that Mrs. Jansen didn’t think him a liar – if only her husband shared her opinion.

In his room, John grabbed a large book from his desk and sank onto the bed with it, flipping through the same pages he’d read a dozen times already over the past few days. Up until the trouble with the headless horseman had started, the book had been a source of entertainment and curiosity. Now, John poured over its contents studiously, searching for some undiscovered tidbit of information that might be helpful. He’d read it all before, of course, and nothing new jumped out at him. The book was a sort of encyclopedia of paranormal legends, common troubles and possible remedies. He usually kept it hidden beneath stacks of his other more practical tomes, lest anyone like Mr. Jansen catch sight of it and scoff at him. It was kept at the surface of the pile now though, ready for study whenever John had a spare moment. Unfortunately, there was only one page that mentioned the specters of headless horsemen, and its address of the subject was brief.

Headless riders, it seemed, had made appearances around the world, and were thought to mean various things in various places. In Sleepy Hollow, many of the villagers thought the horseman to be the vengeful ghost of a Hessian soldier, a casualty of war. In other locations, some believed that its appearance foretold a death, which occurred when the horseman stopped riding.
 

John pressed a hand to his throat, where the shadow of the horseman’s hand still lingered. It was all too easy to remember the feeling of his bones creaking, about to snap and effectively end his life. Could the horseman be a sort of malevolent undertaker, one who plucked his victims from the prime of their lives instead of waiting for them to expire naturally? The implications of that theory were dire. Thank God he’d given Katrina his crucifix. Reaching into his waistcoat, he pulled out the one he’d taken from the table. Better that it went to protect someone than to waste. Perhaps he could convince Brom to wear it later. For now, he’d wear it. Draping the little cross around his neck was only marginally comforting – there were still the rest of the villagers, most unprotected. What could possibly be done for them?

John had approached the local minister about the matter already, but the man had been anything but eager to help. He’d concluded an unsatisfying conversation by implying that the horseman’s presence could possibly be retribution for the trespasses of the citizens of Sleepy Hollow. His best advice had been for the villagers to turn away from their sins and pray for deliverance. And to stay indoors at night, of course. John still wasn’t sure whether the man even believed in the existence of the headless horseman or not. Either way, it seemed that the burden of determining a way to rid Sleepy Hollow of the horseman fell squarely on John. After all, Brom would be getting married in a couple days, and would have quite enough on his plate. John, on the other hand, would find himself with a sudden excess of free time. With that dour thought, he continued flipping through his book, searching vainly for guidance.

* * * * *

Sunday morning dawned brisk and bright, and John groomed himself for church with more care than usual. Today Brom and Katrina would attend service for the first time as a married couple – an occasion that rivaled the importance of the wedding itself, which had occurred two days ago. John had been present, as promised. The ceremony had invoked dual emotions of a friend’s happiness and an outsider’s longing – both were still with him, ever-present in his heart and the back of his mind. He did his best to focus only on the happiness, hoping that it would blossom into true joy, untainted by his own selfishness. But it was difficult. He hadn’t seen the newlywed couple since Friday, and today he’d see them at church, and at the celebration to be held afterward at Mr. Van Tassel’s residence.

As he tied his freshly combed hair back with his nicest ribbon, he fought to suppress the wave of nerves that assailed him at the thought of facing Brom and Katrina. How was it that he dreaded seeing his closest friends – his proven lover, and the woman who claimed to love him? The wedding had changed everything, though John hadn’t been able to comprehend the fact fully yet. When he saw them today, together after two nights as man and wife, surely the fact would settle in.
That
was what he feared – the sudden, crippling revelation that his relationships with both of them had been irrevocably altered.
 

Brom had claimed that wouldn’t be the case, that he and John would continue on as they had been for the past eight months, but deep down, John knew they couldn’t. At the same time, it was impossible to imagine how they
wouldn’t
. His horror at the idea of betraying Katrina vied with the irrepressible urge to be with Brom, threatening to rend him in half. The two desires were irreconcilable. He’d known that ever since Brom and Katrina’s engagement had been announced, which was why he’d attempted to take his life. To live would be to betray someone he loved – either Katrina, by stealing her husband’s love, or Brom, by denying him his own. And yet, he was alive, preparing to go to church, burdened by the crushing weight of guilt that no prayer could relieve. He pulled on his waistcoat and made for the door – he’d leave before the Jansens – maybe the solitary walk would give him some time to cool his head and sort through his wayward thoughts.

Once outside the farmhouse, John felt a little better. The solitary walk was a welcome change from the atmosphere in the Jansens’ home. Here, the silence was natural and peaceable. At the farmhouse… Mr. Jansen had resumed his usual habit of saying little, though he punctuated the quiet with pointed, glaring looks in John’s direction. As a result, John felt constantly as if he were walking on egg shells, spiraling toward an unpleasant confrontation despite his carefulness. How much longer would he be welcome at the Jansen residence? It would be a relief to leave, if only he had another place to go. He sorted through a mental list of his pupils and their families’ situations, trying to determine which, if any of them, might welcome him into their home. He hardly noticed when he stepped into the shadows that marked the edge of the wood. When he looked up, he was surrounded by trees, nearly halfway down the forest passage.

What a different place it was by day – nothing like the dark trap it seemed at night. The early morning light filtered through the trees, illuminating every bony branch, rendering them incapable of casting anything more than faint shadows. Any specter foolish enough to make an appearance would surely dissolve in the sunshine. The thought put a spring in John’s step – it was a relief to be out from under the burden of constant gloom and fear of the headless horseman’s return. Here, alone in the wood, there was no one to tell him of the latest rumors of sightings, or of the unexplained hoofbeats and horse screams that were heard nightly by restless sleepers throughout Sleepy Hollow. But there was still the pressing problem of the fact that the sun would eventually set, as it did every day, beginning the reign of fear again.
 

John and Brom had tried to caution the villagers adequately without inciting undue panic, but the sight of the hand-shaped bruise on John’s neck had had a greater effect than their words. Those who didn’t think he’d been strangled by Brom had been left doubly-terrified of the headless horseman.

If only Brom
had
strangled him, or hit him, or lashed out at him in some way after learning that he’d kissed Katrina. If Brom had been angry, perhaps they could have ended their relationship with a fight, and bitter feelings that would have effectively divided them. It would have been preferable to walk away from Brom with bruises and broken bones than with the terrible longing that was always with John. It had been three days since he’d last touched Brom, and he felt every moment of deprivation deeply. Try as he might, he couldn’t stop craving Brom. The man was legally pledged to someone else, but John still felt a sense of longing, of possession, that knew no sense of right or wrong.
 

By the time John reached the church, he’d managed to work himself into a state that rivaled his pre-walk misery. He was early, and one of the first to arrive. Once inside the grey stone church, he settled into a pew toward the rear of the building and committed his thoughts to the dull but safe activity of watching other congregants file in. The pews filled more quickly than usual, and everyone had taken care to see that their Sunday best did indeed look its best. They were all looking forward to seeing the new couple, and – most importantly, of course – the festivities afterward at the Van Tassel farmhouse. Mr. Van Tassel had never been one to err on the cheap side when hosting a celebration, and his daughter’s wedding festivities would surely be an occasion for extra generosity.
 

Many of the churchgoers looked back as they filtered into the building, nodding at John in acknowledgement, offering smiles, quick greetings, or – in some cases – simply giving him long, cold looks as they whisked past. More than a few people touched their throats as they went by, glancing sidelong at his fading bruise. It wasn’t difficult to tell who thought him brave for having faced the headless horseman and who thought the entire story a fabrication designed in hopes of gaining some personal glory or covering up a violent confrontation with Brom.

 
When the Jansens arrived, all of the boys with their faces scrubbed pink and hair neatly combed, the pew John had chosen was already full. Judging by the look of relief on Mr. Jansen’s face, this was a welcome development. Mrs. Jansen herded her boys into a pew that was only half full, and the entire family managed to squeeze into it.

Brom and Katrina arrived later than most of the congregants, but didn’t need to worry about finding a pew – there was one up front, reserved for them. As they entered the building, John felt their gazes settle on him, as jolting as arrows, though their expressions were pleasant. John stared back as they passed, helpless to look away. Katrina looked lovely in a pristine gown, her cornsilk hair tucked demurely beneath a dainty cap. Beside her, Brom stood in rugged contrast, and was all the more appealing for it. John ached with longing at the sight of them, as different as summer and winter, but both equally appealing. He met their eyes for half a moment, felt his heart stop, and then they were gone, gliding up the aisle and to their designated seats.