Crane (5 page)

Ireland’s mouth opened and shut, however the only words
flashing through her mind were of the four letter variety. It was taking every ounce of willpower she had not to let those fly out.

“So,” Mason said with a victorious smile
, “what should we talk about for the rest of our time?”

The awkward silence was broken by the buzz of the intercom. “Miss Crane, Mason’s step-mother is here.”

“Send her in,” Ireland requested with a telling amount of insistence.

Ireland
rose to her feet, expecting
Versace
and
Jimmy Choo’s
to come flouncing through her door. Instead, she was met by a fresh-faced blonde rocking jeans, a hoodie, and a warm smile.

“Hope you don’t think this means I’m buying you lunch, kid.”
His step-mother smiled and attempted to ruffle Mason’s hair.

The surly teen pulled away, a look of disgust souring his face.

If she noticed, she feigned oblivious as she extended her hand to Ireland. “Hi, I’m Ana Van Brunt, Mason’s step-mom.”

“You aren’t my step
anything
!” Mason snapped, springing from his chair with enough force that it rocked back on two legs. “You have a
piece of paper
! That doesn’t make you a Van Brunt. It makes you another toy my dad
owns
!”

Mason forced past her, his shoulder slamming into hers, as he stomped from the room.

Awkward silence filled the air as Ireland and
Ana watched his stormy exit.

“They’re so sweet at that age,”
Ireland mused with syrupy sweetness.

Ana indulged herself in a giggle at her step-son’s expense.
“He’s had a tough time coping with his parent’s divorce, and his dad and I getting married.”  

“That can be tough on a kid.” Ireland nodded. “How long has it been?”

“Since he was five.”

“
Oh, so it’s still a fresh change, then.” Ireland chuckled.

Ana nodded, her ponytail bobbing against the back of her neck. “We’re still in the adjustment period. Any day now it’s going to get better. Anyway, I’m sorry about his behavior. I’ll encourage his father to have a talk with him. If you want me to have him call you, I can give him the message.”

“Yeah, that would be great.”

“Well, I better get out there before he keys ‘whore’ onto the side of my car … again.” Even while Ana’s smile held firm, Ireland could sense the sadness in her; a deep melancholy that longed for repair.

“Ana?” she called after her.

Sunlight shone through the lone office window as Ana glanced back, revealing a light dusting of freckles that peppered the tops of her cheeks. She paused with one hand on the door frame, her eyebrows raised in expectation.

“I’ll help with Mason any way I can
,” Ireland promised. “I give you my word.”

Ana didn’t offer an agreement of any sort, but let her gaze fall to the floor. When she glanced back up
, her eyes glimmered with unshed tears. “Welcome to Sleepy Hollow, Miss Crane,” she muttered through a tight smile, then strode off without another glance back.

6

Ichabod

“Wait until you see the spectacle going on in town!” Leaning against the side of the school, Rip launched off of his perch as soon as Ichabod stepped outside. The unexpected surprise nearly caused the skittish teacher to drop the stack of books and papers he was taking home to complete the class marks.

“How long have you
been lingering out here?” Ichabod skittered side to side, struggling to adjust the weight of the books before they went tumbling to the ground.

With an exasperated roll of his eyes, Rip caught and st
eadied the pile. “Perhaps an hour or so? Your school days are
frightfully
long.”

“Give up on seeking gainful employment altogether, did you?” While Irv had found employment as a file clerk at the courthouse—a position he was grossly over
-qualified for—Rip seemed content to live off the good nature of his friends. However, the generosity of both men was quickly running thin.

“Ichabod,” Rip seized
his friend by his narrow shoulder and leaned in as if to impart his own special brand of wisdom. “Do you have any idea how many ladies in this town are currently in need of comfort? It would be a disservice to them all, and downright cruel, for me to seek other vocations during such a volatile time!”

Shaking his head, Ichabod shrugged out from under Rip’s touch and clomped down the school house stairs with his cargo in tow. “You truly are a hero to the people.”

Rip either missed Ichabod’s blatant sarcasm or purposely chose to ignore it. “And it is right time the people realized it!” He beamed as he matched strides with Ichabod. “Now, I suggest you brace yourself, sir. The Hollow is attempting to ward off ghouls with a display, the likes of which, I guarantee you have never seen!”

Heavy
clouds hung low in the sky, smothering any of the sun’s hopeful rays before they could attempt to penetrate this ominous world of grey. As they strode further into town, Ichabod and Rip were assaulted by the powerful aroma of rosemary and sandalwood.

“The entire village smells of a funeral procession
,” Ichabod said, covering his nose and mouth with the cuff of his sleeve.

“That would be the good Reverend
.” Rip nodded to a modest cottage situated next to the fork in the road, which split the drives leading to the ostentatious Van Brunt and Van Tassel estates. Dressed in robes normally reserved for his Sunday sermons, the Reverend waved a smoking roll of potent herbs in front of the doors and windows. “He plans to do every home in the Hollow, to prevent the Hessian from entering.”

Shu
tters were already drawn for the night. Any window not fortunate enough to have them was covered by sheets. “As if a simple piece of cloth could hide them from their fabled monster,” Ichabod muttered under his breath.

On either side of the cobblestone road
, men drove waist-high stakes into the ground with sledge hammers. The sorrowful hush of the skittish town was shattered by each strike that resonated with a haunting echo. The door to the Hollow Inn opened. Five of the local women filed out, led by Mama Rosa with her arms full of as many carved jack-o’-lanterns as she could carry. The three ladies behind her held the same cargo. Madame Lancaster trailed them, heaving a large basket overflowing with long, thick candles. The likes of which were normally used to ward off night’s smothering embrace.

Rip
gasped and recoiled. Ichabod followed his gaze and gave a shudder all his own. Rosa’s mother, Eleanora as they’d come to know her, rounded the corner from the back of the inn. The word ‘witch’ was often tossed around in reference to her, yet fear prevented
any
from ever uttering such a claim in her presence. Cradled in her bony embrace, she held a large drum mixing pot with a ladle hooked along the side.

“What do you suppose?” Rip’s chestnut brow furrowed as the women busied themselves setting a jack-o
’-lantern in front of each stake.

Madame Lancaster plucked the stem top from one
, and stood back to allow Eleanora access. The old woman hauled the pot forward with remarkable agility for someone that appeared to have missed their own wake. Eleanora set the pot down and gave the contents a quick stir, a bit of frothy crimson sloshing over the edge.

“Is that … goat’s blood?” Ichabod gulped
. What little color he had in his alabaster complexion drained chalk white.

“I sincerely hope so
.” Rip grimaced. “Perhaps they figure its properties are multi-useful? Can ward off plagues and a murderous ghost?”

Eleanor
a dipped the ladle in and scooped up a spoonful. Leaning in, she sniffed the brew and expelled an appreciative moan.

“I fear I must warn you, if that ladle finds its way to her lips
, we will be revisited by my lunch,” Ichabod stated without the slightest hint of a jest.

“
And mine will provide it company,” Rip seconded.

Instead of tasting
the bloody cocktail, Eleanora slopped it inside the waiting jack-o’-lantern. A few drips splashed against the rind and streaked down like bloody tears. She took careful attention, catching them with her thumb then wiping them off on her apron. Her wide, toothless smile resembled that of the jack-o’-lantern whose stem she replaced before rising to her feet with the pumpkin in tow. Holding it out before her, face to gruesome carved face, she cradled it between her palms like a cherished lover.

“Line the streets with ghoulish treats,” Eleanora began in a sing-song rasp that sent shivers prickling down Ichabod’s spine, “else the horseman ye shall meet.”

Slowly, she raised the pumpkin high above her head
, offering it to the not yet present moon, before plunging it straight down onto a waiting stake. Blood spurt from its carved eyes and mouth, coating the post that impaled it with splatter and pumpkin matter. Madame Lancaster plucked the core out once more to drop a candle into the holed core and light it with a long wooden match. Grisly shadows danced across the gore splashed ground with each flicker of the flame.

Ichabod wanted to avert his eyes
from this garishly barbaric demonstration, yet before he could tear his gaze from the pooling blood, Eleanora stepped through his line of sight. Her sunken stare caught his and held firm.

“Offer blood to
thine who rides.” The usual ominous melody left Eleanora’s cadence. Moving on to the next stake, she spoke the eerie message as pointed instruction meant specifically for him. “Or the next to die may be
your
bride.”

“Good thing you aren’t married, aye
, chap?” Rip said with a nervous laugh that snapped Ichabod from his trance.

Ichabod forced a tight smile despite the knot of fear that settled into his gut
, spreading its venom through his veins. “Yes, good thing indeed.”

Despite only having met
her once, his thoughts immediately turned to Katrina. He was well aware of his station in life and knew she would never be his. Even so, he vowed to himself, as long as a threat remained in the Hollow, he
would
keep her safe. He had to.

The pair
found themselves so engrossed in Eleanora’s show that they failed to notice Abraham “Brom” Van Brunt crossing the street and stomping their way. With the heel of his hand, the formidable Brom shoved Ichabod’s shoulder, sending him stumbling back to keep his feet under him.

“Pardon, sir!” Rip snapped
. His tone one of accusation, not apology, as he grasped Ichabod’s arm to steady him.

Ichabod
tipped his head back, then back some more, to take in all of the barge-sized man before him.

“The hens that cluck with gossip and rumors claim you were graced by the company of Katrina Van Tassel this day
,” Brom growled through his clenched, square jaw. “You are aware that we are to be wed, are you not?”

Ichabod had encountered many men like
Brom, especially in the military. Giant, bruiser types that used their size to intimidate and purposely targeted those they dubbed as weak. Men such as these used to make Ichabod’s knees knock … until he fought alongside those so-called roughens in the war. They had trembled, suffered, and wept just like all the others. Therefore, breaking the spell their intimidation once cast. Still, this being a new town and fresh start, Ichabod figured it best to keep the peace.

The
schoolmaster pulled himself up to full height. Unfortunately, that still didn’t make a dent in the size difference between them. “Rest assured, Mr. Van Brunt, Miss Van Tassel was there to comfort the children after yesterday’s ordeal. Nothing more.”

Brom’s
copper-weaved coat, inlayed with elaborate gold-threaded embroidery, pulled taut across his barrel chest as he folded his hands behind his back. “Then you have seen that the beauty of her heart rivals that of her pleasing exterior?”

Ichabod chose his words carefully, keeping his tone calm and steady.
“That may be true, sir. But rest assured, if that same heart belongs to you, it is quite safe. I mean your courtship no threat.”

“As if you could.”
One corner of Brom’s thick lips tugged back in a haughty sneer. “Her
heart
is of little consequence to me. Her father and I are in talks to join our families. Our union is imminent. The joining of the Van Tassel and Van Brunt houses will be beneficial for all involved. The birth of an empire.”

Rip stepped forward
, positioning himself between his friend and the glowering Brom. “And how does the lady feel being used as a bargaining chip?”

Brom
ground his teeth together, glaring down at Rip as if he were a bug that needed to be squashed under foot. “I would not ask a woman for her opinion any more than I would ask which of my steer would like to be this weekend’s roast.”

“Clearly
, his new age thinking is what drew Katrina to him,” Rip muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

“Our union is a smart match.”
Brom raised one eyebrow in a show of superiority. Ichabod doubted Brom had heard Rip’s barb. He wasn’t the type of man that would disregard such a blatant show of disrespect. “She will come around when her father explains it to her as such.”

Ichabod
gently pushed Rip out of the way to offer Brom his hand and a smile. “Then, let me be the first to congratulate you. I am sure the bride’s longing for romance will be quenched by your keen business savvy and negotiating skills.”

Confusion flickered across
Brom’s face, yet the respectful nature of Ichabod’s physical gesture allowed him to shake off the thoughts of possible insult and accept the offered hand. “Yes … well, thank you.”

Ichabod responded with a brief nod a
nd retracted his hand from Brom’s sweaty mit.

“You men should seek shelter. Leave these matters to those of us prepared to deal with them.”
Brom made those his parting words before turning on his boot heel and striding off to rejoin the work crew.

As Ichabod watched
Brom’s broad back shrink into the distance, moisture sprinkled down on his shoe and pant leg. His face folded into a cringe at the red dots that stained the fabric from the pumpkin Eleanora drove down onto a spike not three feet from him. The decrepit old woman giggled mischievously at the mess she’d caused. Her cracked and blistered lips pulled back in a wicked grin. The wink she granted him caused shivers to quake in the very marrow of his bones.