Page 3 of Horsemen and Hot Chocolate

Gasps echoed in the room. Ichabod sat beside Katrina with his plate stacked high with sweets, his brow glistening with sweat as he stuffed his face with fidgeting fingers. Katrina figured the man could eat an entire horse and still be famished.

Something soft brushed against her leg, distracting her from the man’s open mouth chewing. Katrina glanced down at the sleek black cat winding around her chair, his bright orange eyes pleading for attention. Not one to deny him, she picked up her beloved cat, Smudge, and cradled him in her lap.

Ichabod flinched, and she raised her brow. He stared at Smudge before his eyes darted to his plate and muttered a prayer.

Katrina suppressed a chuckle. Perhaps Smudge might chivvy the superstitious man away after all. Her cat peered up at her, and she scratched under his chin.

“Of all the ghosts to haunt this night, the Headless Horseman is the most cursed of all,” Brom continued. “For no spirit can match the deadly figure who seeks to replace the head he’s lost. Once a Hessian soldier, a cannonball cleared his noggin not far from here. Upon the White Plains, he rode, vicious and powerful, but cursed to wander these lands far from home.”

Katrina perked up in her seat. She’d heard different renditions of this tale—of travelers glimpsing a headless rider in the forest—but this was the first time she learned of the Horseman’s origin. Either Brom was a clever storyteller, or there was more to the myth she thought she knew.

Did the Headless Horseman ride upon the same battlefield where her brother had fallen?

“Now, he tires of the flaming pumpkin resting upon his ghostly neck.” Brom’s voice shook her from her thoughts. “He’ll take any head… one large, small, or even one with a ratty wig.” He chuckled darkly and glanced at Ichabod.

The schoolmaster swallowed beside her, a tremor running down his arms. Katrina pursed her lips, casting an unamused scowl toward Brom. Although she didn’t care for Ichabod’s attention, Brom deliberately attempted to scare the schoolmaster witless. A cat in her lap was one thing, but terrifying Ichabod with silly ghost stories was another.

“So, I warn, take care out on the roads tonight,” Brom began in a whisper, his voice steadily growing more sinister. “For you might encounter the Headless Horseman at midnight. But cross the bridge and seek sanctuary at the church, and you’ll be safe from his far-reaching curse.”

Ichabod’s hands shook, his plate rattling, causing Katrina to frown.

“It’s just an old tale, Mister Crane,” she whispered to him, attempting to put the nervous man at ease. “One we from Sleepy Hollow have heard for over a decade.”

Ichabod gulped before he straightened in his seat. Sniffing, he wiped the sweat from his brow. “Well, of course, it’s an imaginary story. Any child could discern that,” he replied with an upturned nose.

Katrina sighed under her breath, so much for trying to help him.

The guests cheered for Brom, who bowed dramatically, extending the ends of his coat like an imitation of a dress. Father rose to clap him on the shoulder.

“Excellent tale, Mister Van Brunt,” Father said jovially. “I think that one will be hard to top. Now, who’s next?”

Another stood to recite another tale, but Katrina couldn’t give audience to the storyteller. Her fingers mindlessly stroked Smudge as her thoughts strayed to Brom’s story and the Hessian soldier who died on the same plains her brother did. For a fleeting moment, she considered the idea of ghosts haunting the woods.

Could she speak to her brother from beyond the grave through these unfortunate spirits if the tales were true?

The high notes of a fiddle startled Katrina from her thoughts. Music rose in the air as guests began to eat and mingle. She must have sat through the rest of the haunted tales without hearing a single word of them. Nudging Smudge from her lap, she rose, but Ichabod quickly stood before her.

“Miss Van Tassel,” he said. “I was wondering if I might have a word with you in private.”

Katrina swallowed a lump that had formed in her throat. She had avoided this moment for weeks, but the imminent proposal loomed over her like a cloud of doom.

“Actually,” Brom cut in, taking her hand and pressing his lips to the back of it. She suppressed a shudder as he stepped to block Ichabod from her view. “The lady promised a moment of privacy with me first.”

Katrina opened her mouth to retort before she spied her father’s expectant stare boring into her from across the room. Puffs of white smoke haloed around his head as he nodded, encouraging her to cater to her suitors. She couldn’t reject them outright, not here and now.

“Perhaps tomorrow, gentlemen. I grow tired.” She yawned dramatically, covering her mouth for emphasis.

“It won’t take long,” Ichabod persisted.

“Just a moment of your time,” Brom said just as eagerly.

“Gentlemen…” she said with an easy, practiced smile. Fluttering her lashes, she tilted her head in a coy manner. Both men softened at her display. She could escape the night without a single uttered proposal if she played her cards right. “I beg your forgiveness,” she continued, “but I must excuse myself to the privy.”

“Will you answer then?” Ichabod asked.

“Yes,” she said sweetly. However, she had no intention of returning.

With hurried steps, Katrina fled, nodding and smiling at those along the way, even stopping to say hello to the pastor on her way toward the kitchens. However, when she drew close, she took a hard left down the hall. Grabbing her cloak off the hook, she donned it quickly, and the warm wool rippled around her striped silk dress.