The Lady From Sleepy Hollow

Ichabod

Without another breath, I am rushing down the stairs, taking brief notice of how daylight has just barely begun to break through the dusk.

Young Masbath makes haste to follow me, but I quickly turn to stop him in the middle of our descent on the stairwell. "Stay here, and protect Mary. I need you to do that for me."

He stops, and judging by the stern look I must've given him, he nods in defeat, returning to stand at post outside of Mary's quarters. The truth is, I didn't want the young boy to join me on this venture. Not when I've already led him out so late in the night. He needs more rest at his age than I do at mine.

In less than a minute, I am riding Gunpowder, my instinct telling me exactly who has taken the documents. And where she has taken them. And why.

Katrina, why must you be so naïve, I think to myself as I kick Gunpowder into a full gallop.

________________

I reach the ruined cottage with the conclusion I feared to have be true. There, I find Katrina crouched over the hearthstone in a supposedly peaceful state, as if nothing is wrong in the world. I take note of her horse grazing amongst the tall grass as I dismount my own steed in one swift movement, my dark hair falling in front of my eyes as I land on my feet. I immediately flick my gaze to Katrina, almost angry with her as she had made a small fire—possibly performing her "magic" as she so firmly believes in such nonsense.

She finally meets my gaze, and I freeze. Tear stains are streamed down her rosy cheeks, her eyes puffy with recent crying. My anger fades, but my disappointment stands in its place. "Katrina..."

She stands up and faces me completely, her anger shining through her dark eyes. I stop in my advance, any angered residue fleeting from my stance. I sigh, and continue softly, "You took the evidence and burned it."

Fresh tears form in her eyes as she speaks, her voice cold and clear like the air around us. "So you would not have it to accuse my father."

I shake my head and step toward her left, cautiously taking calculated footing. I know that she feels greatly offended with my notes that she found in the ledger, and I don't want her to leave me without hearing me out. She has to understand!

My gut tells me to continue approaching her, but I can't bring myself to stand less than a couple feet away. Choosing my next words carefully in order to tell her the truth, I say in a collected and sympathetic manner, "I accuse no one. But if there is guilt I cannot alter it no matter how much it grieves me."

I glance at the remains of the furnace, where the evidence's ashes have settled with the dirt. I purse my lips upon this, adding bitterly while meeting her eyes once more, "And no spells of yours can alter it, either. Your father has the motive. It is he who stands to profit from these murders."

​Katrina sneers at me with my verbal conclusion, and I know that I've only angered her more with the likely truth I've discovered. "If you knew him, you would not have such harsh thoughts about him."

The point strikes me cold, and I realize now how heartless and careless I must've seemed with such blunt skepticisms I've made of her father. I part my lips, unsure of what to say. She adds without a second beat, "No, nor if you felt anything for me, or my sister."

​​Her words sting my heart, for they are not true to me at all! If she knew how much I cared for her sister... and for her... they would possibly understand my reasoning! I shake my head in torment, exasperatedly gesturing to the direction I'd come from. "I am pinioned by a chain of reasoning! Why else did his four friends conspire to conceal—"

​"You are the Constable, not I. So
​find another chain of reasoning and
​let me be," she interrupts, a somber tone lacing her voice and words, looking at Gunpowder in her collected seething.

My remorse for her hurt and sense of betrayal swells, and I feel guilt-ridden more than I could handle. I keep my gaze on her pristine face, hoping to reach her heart and comfort her. "I cannot. Nor the one or the other. And I am heartsick with it."

​She doesn't dare return my gaze, coldness returning to her stature. "I think you have no heart."

With her poisonous jab of words, I feel my blood run cold, and the wind leave my lungs in a painful gasp. She shifts her eyes to me again, and I see the tears form once more in her eyes. "And I had a mind once to give you mine."

​​I open my mouth to answer, but my words get lodged in my throat. I nod and step toward her, feeling confident with her confirmed affections for me. Confident that I can get her to understand that I do not wish the worst upon her father or family at all. That I just want to solve this mystery and be done with the murders.

I think back to when she and Mary were in the woods, daring to find me despite any dangers they'd face. "Yes, I think you loved me that day when you and Mary followed me into the Western Woods to have braved such peril."

​​She shakes her head and begins to scornfully storm toward her own steed, mocking me of my possible conclusion. "What peril was there for us if it was our own father who controlled the Headless Horseman?"

Katrina mounts her horse with confident agility, her eyes ablaze with the anger and tears of betrayal. For a moment, she pauses, observing the mane of her steed thoughtfully. In that split second I can see all of the pain she had held back from me, and all the love, too. Which only breaks my heart more. Guilt hangs upon my shoulders like a blanket of stone.

She finally focuses on me, and I feel my attempts of reaching her—trying to make her understand—inevitably crumble each second.

I know I have failed to make her see my reasoning. And she will never see it.

"Goodbye, Ichabod Crane. I curse the day you came to Sleepy Hollow!" she sneers at me. I frown, allowing my pain to display on my face.

I failed her. And Mary, if Katrina tells her of this.

Her horse rears up upon her demand to gallop away from the ruined cottage. And for a moment, she flares like a female warrior, leaving me awestruck and feeling weak as I stand there in the middle of the ruins.

I watch her gallop away until she is out of sight, my pain reaching my heart and head. "Oh, what have I done. What damage have I done..."

Torn between two women and this grueling case, I am utterly powerless. I am torn between my own heart and mind. Torn between truth and ignorance. Even now, I wonder if what I believe could be true is in fact the truth at all. Could it be? Could the one in control of the Headless Horseman really be her father? Or someone else?

I walk to Gunpowder, tears brimming. As if the horse felt what I am feeling, he saunters over to meet me halfway, and allows me to hide my anguished face for comfort in his neck.

"Oh, I hope she can forgive me..."