SEVERED (A Tale of Sleepy Hollow) (27 page)

Father strode
forward and ripped the warrant from the Magistrate’s hand. “You have the
audacity to come here with these ravings of madness! You’ve all seen The
Horseman. You were here when he ravaged my home. How can you stand there and
accuse my daughter of crimes most assuredly committed by this ruthless ghost?”

Harding turned on
Father, spittle flying from his lips. “Baltus, she is a witch!”

“How dare you?”
Father struck the Magistrate with the back of his hand. With the quickness of
wild hares, Peter and Caspar lunged at Father, restraining him.

The Reverend
bustled forward in panic. “Gentleman, let’s keep our wits. This does not need
to end in a physical altercation.”

“Keep your wits?”
I cried, no longer able to stand by. “You’ve obviously lost yours long before
you came here. On what grounds are you accusing me?”

The Magistrate
scowled, his cheek flaming red. “Oh Katrina,” – A vicious smile spread across
his face – “you tend to leave an untidy trail.”

“So I’m to assume
you have some false evidence to present?” I was sure he could hear the banging
of my heart.

He put his hand to
the sting of his cheek. “Not false.” Then he turned to the Notary and motioned
him forward.

De Graff raised
his weary eyes, then dangled Simon’s talisman from his fingers.

How could he betray
me this way?

The Magistrate
tapped his staff. “Did you not give this to the de Graff boy before he was
killed?”

I struggled to
control my labored breathing. “It was intended as protection.”

His beady eyes
flattened. “And yet it provided none.”

“So you’re
accusing me of murder because a small charm failed to work?”

The Magistrate
scoffed. “Do you think we’re so ignorant that we’d arrest you on that alone?”
He nodded to Peter.

Peter loosened his
grip on Father, then opened his fist. “I believe this belongs to you?”

In the center of
his palm was something resembling a burnt seed.

“The other rose.
Where did you find it?”

“Inside the hearth
at the schoolhouse,” the Magistrate said. “It was buried under a mass of stiff
and stinking birds. Some ritual of yours, I presume.”

“That was not me.”

“Then who? Who
else would create such desecration?”

I dared not betray
Elise. Would they even believe me if I did?

Father shrugged
away from Caspar and rushed forward. The Magistrate held up his staff to
prevent being struck again.

“You’re all raving
mad!” Father spat. “How can intelligent men such as yourselves possibly believe
these trinkets are harbingers of magic?”

The Reverend
intervened, holding up his Bible as though it would calm the room. “Katrina,
there is more to this than magical charms and dead birds. It was you who ran
that sword into The Horseman’s grave.”

“For the greater
good.”

The Magistrate
blast a sharp laugh. “The greater good? It was a selfish act to fool us into
releasing Crane.” His lip twitched. “I should no doubt add fornication to your
list of offenses.”

Father lunged, but
Peter and Caspar clutched his coat and dragged him away from Harding’s throat.

“You know it was
not witchcraft,” I argued. “I only meant to seal the ghost in.”

“There is more,”
the Reverend said. “A witness saw you defile the grave.”

A chill coursed
through me, but I did not waver. “Who?”

The Reverend shook
his head. “For his own safety we won’t reveal it. But he intends to testify. He
watched you shatter and pick at every bone. And he claims you did it with calm
determination.”

It could only
have been the cemetery caretaker.

“You don’t
understand,” I defended.

“Katrina,” Father
barked. “Say nothing more.”

The Magistrate
raised a hand. “It doesn’t matter. We saw the condition of the grave. Even before
Crane tried to cover it for you.”

“He tried to cover
it?”
He had not told me.

“Katrina!” Father
ordered. “They’re spinning lies.”

They weren’t. My
head swam as the seriousness of my situation overcame me.

Peter rolled my
tiny rose between his fingers. “It’s easy to control The Horseman when you have
his bones. Bring him up from Hell to murder Marten.”

Father slapped the
rose from Peter’s hand. “Why would she do that? She cared for the boy. She
wished him no harm.”

“Unless…” Peter
said, dragging the word. “It was the only way she could see fit to release her
lover.”

“Peter, please,”
the Reverend warned.

But the tavern
owner gritted his teeth. “You’d sacrifice anyone to be with the schoolmaster. I
bet you’d serve up the bones of your dead mother.”

When Father
pounced again, Harding struck him with the staff. Then he pounded it twice upon
the floor. “We’ve said enough. Come along, Katrina. Don’t force us to bind
you.”

“You’ll have to
kill me first,” Father said.

Caspar withdrew a
small pistol and leveled it at Father’s nose. “If need be.”

I flung myself
forward. “No! I’ll go! Please don’t hurt him.”

Father’s breath
was quick and ragged. “Do not take her.”

“She did what she
did,” Peter snarled. “Now she has to face the consequences.” He clasped my
arms, pulling me away.

“I’m riding in,”
Father said. “You’ll all pay for this.”

The Magistrate
raised his staff. “Do not attempt to interfere, Baltus. If you want to help
your daughter, you’ll have to seek other means.”

“I intend to.”
Father pointed a threatening finger. “When this trial proceeds, she’ll be
represented by the best lawyer in New York.”

“She going to need
him,” the Magistrate said. He pounded his staff to the floor again. “Let’s
hasten.”

Even though I
didn’t resist, Peter shoved me out the door. A black carriage waited. He
waggled an eyebrow and flashed his tiny teeth. “I’ll ride inside with the
prisoner.”

“No, please,” I
begged, clutching the Reverend.

Reverend Bushnell
handed me his Bible. “I’ll ride with her. She is in much need of prayer.”

Peter narrowed his
eyes. “Then perhaps I can comfort her once she’s in her cell.”

I swayed with
fear.

All that is
Holy, what will become of me now?

* *
*

The Reverend did pray as we rode to
the jail. Silently with his head down. His inability to meet my eye reeked of
guilt and shame.

I should’ve been
filled with dread, but we were going to the courthouse. I remembered…

Ichabod resides
in the file room. Surely he’s returned by now.

When the carriage
finally came to a stop, the Reverend took one arm while de Graff took the
other, guiding me inside. Peter and Caspar followed. As did the Magistrate,
prodding me with his staff. He wore an air of superiority, probably from
smelling my fear.

We pushed through
the doors, into the sullen courtroom. Fallon waited by the jail, grinning like
a bridegroom.

I then lashed out,
fighting against them.

“Ichabod!”
Is
he back? Can he hear me?

“Ichabod!”

The Magistrate
rammed the staff hard into my back, knocking the wind out of me. “Stop your
screeching.”

Peter strode up
and grabbed my bodice, clutching it so his hand rubbed against my breast. “I’ve
got her.”

My flesh crawled
with repulsion.

He tugged,
practically dragging me out of the men’s holds.

Do something.
Quickly.
I suddenly went limp, wilting within his arms.

“Get up,” he spat.
When he jerked me upward, I pounced, sinking my teeth into his wounded
shoulder.

He yelped like a
sick dog, prying me off. “You filthy wench!”

He reached for my
throat, but the Magistrate struck him with the staff. “You’re no longer needed
here, Peter. Go tend to your tavern.”

Peter leered at
me, his eyes brewing with hate. “I’ll go gather some sturdy rope.” He held his
hand to his shoulder as he loped off.

The Magistrate
handed me over to Fallon. “Lock her up.”

“Ichabod!
Ichabod!”

“He ain’t here,”
Fallon said, grabbing my arm and twisting it behind my back. I hissed in pain,
feeling that it may pop off like a cork.

“Have you seen him
at all today?” I moaned between winces.

Fallon tossed me
into the cell. “I hadn’t seen him in a while.” His mouth screwed into a brassy
smirk. “I’ll wager he’s got a mistress somewhere.”

He hasn’t
returned?

“But don’t worry.
I’m sure he’ll turn up after he’s done with her.” The click of the lock echoed
through the chamber, dashing my hopes of escape.

Fallon placed his
taut face to the bars. “Mealtime’s passed. I’ll bring you some bread and water
in the morning.” Then he paused, his eyes lighting. “Or maybe not. A witch like
you could conjure up a hearty feast, I bet.”

I curled my lip at
him. “If I were a witch, I’d boil up a poison inside your weak bladder, and
you’d burn from the inside out.”

He sneered like a
hungry hound. “Watch yourself, girl, or I’ll have Peter serve your meals
instead.”

He cut away,
slinking out of the jail room, locking the door behind him.

I sank back,
observing my surroundings. Ichabod’s cozy furniture had been removed and I was
left with little comfort. The cell held a rickety blue chair, stippled with the
wax of guttered candles - the only usable candle left lay on its side, next to
a tinderbox. In a corner sat an empty pitcher, veined with gray cracks. Beside
it, a tainted chamber pot. And should I tire, I was provided a cornhusk
mattress, along with a coarse green blanket, blotched with oily stains.

I was shut off
from all heat, and even in summer the crusty barred window would allow no
sunshine. The coming night would be brutal. I balance myself on the wobbly
chair and pulled up the window pane. The narrow alley was barely wide enough
for a cart and was canopied by overhanging walnut trees. The view stopped some
twelve feet away, blocked by the crumbling wall of the butcher’s shop, who’d
pitched his carrion there for scavengers to feed. Though most of the meat was
picked clean, much of the rot remained, leaving an odor that twisted the gut. I
had no doubt it bred rats, which I hoped would not make their way through the
cracks in these walls.

I quickly closed
the window and sat down on the craggy chair, rubbing my face with my hands.

Ichabod, where
are you?

Even if he were
here, would he be permitted to enter? Had the Council locked him away as well?
My heart bled with fear.

Tears parched my
mouth and throat, but the only water was the shallow copper pool at the bottom
of the chamber pot. My bleak night would stretch into an eternity.

After a while, the
cold seeped into my bones. I had no choice but to wrap myself in the filthy
blanket. It reeked of sweat and urine. But after a while, in spite of my chill,
my body gave in. I stretched out on the mattress, my head resting against the
wall. I fixed my gaze on an ivory chip in the pitcher’s handle, and lost myself
to the nothingness around me. I don’t know how long I was in that daze, but I
snapped to when I heard voices just outside the jail room. A moment later a key
turned and someone slipped in.

“Father!” I
hurried to the bars.

His face opened
with shock when he saw my living conditions. “Dear God, this is an outrage.”

I reached for him.
“Father, help me, please.”

“I intend to,” he
said, “But keep your voice low. The Council doesn’t know I’m here and I had to
pay that mongrel Fallon a nice sum to let me in.”

“Are you sure
he’ll stay quiet?”

“If he wants the
rest of the money I’ve promised, he will. Now listen to me.” He held up a
satchel as he spoke. “I leave tonight for the city, and will not return without
the best lawyer there.” From inside the satchel he removed a napkin. The
glorious smell of sweet bread sifted from it.

“I’m too thirsty
to eat.”

He took out a
flask of cider.

I wanted to gulp
it all down at once. “Can you get me some water to keep here?”

“I’ll try. If we
fill Fallon’s pockets too deep, he’ll not have incentive to turn a blind eye.”

He threw a
cautious look at the door, then opened a hidden compartment in the satchel.
From there, he pulled out a sheaf of paper and a pencil. “Hide these under your
mattress.” He nodded toward the window above me. “Leta will come every day at
noon. She can take any written messages to Doctor Goodwine. He is on our side.”

“Doctor Goodwine? What
can he do?”

“Whatever you
correspond, he’ll keep as record. And he’ll try to supply medicine if needed.”
He fastened the satchel. “Now I must go.”

Before he could
leave, I quickly asked, “Father, have you seen Ichabod?”

He would not meet
my eye. “I believe he’s gone back to Connecticut.”

I was helpless to
hold in tears.

Father then looked
up. “Do not worry, Katrina. You will be freed.” He hurried out, leaving me
heartsick and alone.

* *
*

Where is Ichabod?

I sat down in the
chair, rubbing my arms against the cold.
He’ll come. He’ll find a way to
rescue me.

My hopes soared
when I heard whispers. I rushed to the bars. But the door swung slowly, and
Peter Bottoms peeked around.

I stumbled back
into the shadows.
Does he have a key?

He sauntered
closer, a loathsome sneer on his lips. “My beautiful Katrina. I’m going to eat
your flesh like it was Sunday dinner.” He clicked his teeth.

My heart rose to
my throat.

“But not yet,” he
continued. “Not till you give me what’s rightfully mine.”

“I-I don’t know
what you mean,” I lied, cowering against the wall.