Page 2 of Horsemen and Hot Chocolate

“Unfortunately,” Katrina said with a frown. “He would celebrate any man as my husband as long as his line is secured, and the farm passed on to a male.”

Yet, no man in town had piqued her interest. Her gaze drifted to the window and the forest beyond the orchards. She wondered what lay beyond the shadows and the hills past Sleepy Hollow. What if the man she sought lay beyond her sight? What would she find if she could leave this town behind and venture into the unknown?

Marta hummed sympathetically. “He’s become more restless, that’s for certain.”

“At this point, I’m afraid Father will arrange my marriage if I don’t choose for myself.”

Marta reached over and patted her hand. “There, there, child. Perhaps there’s someone you’ve overlooked or haven’t met yet.”

Katrina scoffed. They lived in a small town, and she knew every man. It was unlikely that she’d missed anyone. “If they’re anything like Ichabod or Brom, I hope I never meet them.”

“As you should,” Marta said, giving her another pat. “You have every right to find someone who values you for the wonderful woman you are and not for your father’s fortune!”

“I doubt I’ll find any such man,” Katrina said, bringing the teacup to her lips. “These men are so… predictable. Whenever a suitor learns what he’ll inherit if he marries me, I become nothing more than a prized game for the hunt. I want something more—someone unlike anyone I’ve ever met. Someone more…”

“Extraordinary?” Marta supplied.

“Yes, but… perhaps unconventional. Someone with whom I might connect.”

“You’re not too unusual, dear.”

“Others may disagree,” Katrina said wryly. “I know some townsfolk wonder why I haven’t married—that I’m reaching old maidenhood if I don’t settle down. And lately, I’ve been wishing Johannes hadn’t died… I wish I hadn’t said—”

The words lodged in her throat as an old wound pricked at her heart. Her fingers tightened around the delicate porcelain cup. The woman knew all too well what Katrina could not bring herself to say. Marta’s face softened, and she placed a comforting hand on Katrina’s shoulder.

“I know, child. I know… It’s not fair. We all still grieve your brother. He died a hero for our country,” Marta murmured. “But you can’t change what’s been done… or said. You can’t carry that burden in your heart forever.”

Katrina sniffed, swallowing back tears. She had been eleven when her sixteen-year-old brother left to join the Patriot army. Johannes had been eager to stand beside their father on the battlefield, but she hadn’t understood why he, too, would willingly leave her.

After several months had passed, the memory of her mother’s weeping and her father’s hollow expression when he returned from the war, alone, still haunted Katrina’s dreams. They had never recovered Johannes’s body, leaving them without a proper funeral. All they received was a single letter informing them that he had perished at the Battle of White Plains; nothing more.

Fourteen years had passed, but memories of her brother clung to her dreams like an ever-present shadow.

Although the anniversary of Johannes’s death had been just three days prior, her father never missed the chance to host the All Hallows’ Eve party. It seemed he wished to drown his sorrows in cheerful merrymaking and bury the past. But Katrina could not bury the past or drown her sorrows. Her parents refused to entertain thoughts about visiting White Plains, arguing that battlefields were no place for a young lady.

“You do not need to see the horrors of war, my dear,” her father had said.

Yet in her heart, Katrina knew she would never be able to lay her brother to rest until she saw the place where he had fallen.

Katrina finished her hot chocolate and set it on the table. “I suppose I’ve lingered here long enough.”

“You are welcome to stay longer,” Marta said.

“Thank you. But Father has ordered that I entertain my suitors. I believe both men might try to propose to me, and Father will expect me to say yes to at least one.”

“You don’t have to, my dear.”

Katrina shook her head. Had Johannes survived, he would have been thirty years old—a grown man prepared to take on the ancestral estate and her father’s Shipyard Master tasks. Now, the task lay burdened on her shoulders.

“It seems I have little choice,” she said.

Marta gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze before letting her go. With a steady breath, Katrina walked out of the kitchens to face the men she never wished to see again.

Chapter two

The fireplace crackled as Brom stood like an imposing giant before the crowd. Shadows stretched across the room, light flickering against eager faces waiting for his ghostly tale.

“Now, listen well,” Brom started, his voice lowering ominously. “On All Hallows’ Eve, there lurks a ghastly figure cloaked in black that rides under the gleaming moonlight. They say he is forever searching for the one thing lost to him…” he paused dramatically and locked eyes with Ichabod. “His head.”