Finding Ever After

by Adrienne

He is as innocent in sleep as he is in wakefulness, perhaps even more so. I cradle him against myself as though he was a child, kissing his cheek as the dawn breaks over the city. He stirs faintly at the touch of my lips, nestling closer in my embrace. I watch a sliver of light stealing through the barely parted curtains glint in his endearingly tousled raven hair. I fight off tears in remembrance of the night when I had nearly lost him. The book that saved his life sits on the table beside the bed, its fraying bullet wound a somber testament to the otherworldly battle gladly put behind us.

I close my eyes and bury my face against his hair. I am glad that it is Sunday, that he does not have to work. His fellows in the police department have been anything but kind since our return from Sleepy Hollow.

The terrifying weeks spent chasing a vengeful ghost in my native town have left him even more nightmare-prone than before. We arrived in New York City early Wednesday afternoon, at last safe from the God-forsaken place whence we had come. He awoke shortly before dawn that night, trembling and screaming my name. Distressed that some horror had managed to invade our newfound peace, I tried frantically to soothe him.

"Hush! Oh, hush, Ichabod; I'm here," I whispered, rocking him and stroking his pale brow. "What is it?"

"Exploding windmills.... s-slashed palms..." Ichabod stammered faintly. He hid his face in the curve of my neck. "Shall we ever be free of them, Katrina?"

"In time, Ichabod, in time," I comforted him a bit more bravely than I actually felt. "Traumatic... incidents are not frightened away as easily as that, I fear, my love," I murmured hesitantly, all too conscious of his disturbed childhood lingering ever-present beneath the surface. "But I swear," I whispered fiercely, clinging to him with all my strength, "I will die before I let anyone- anyone- harm you. Even a ghost, so help me God!"

For three nights this happened. Last night is a hopeful sign, I pray, for thus far, he has not so much as cried out. I stretch myself lazily, wondering if Young Masbath is yet wakeful. I listen carefully, at last sensing a faint rustle of pages in the next room above the rhythm of Ichabod's slow, steady breath. The boy is uncannily bright for his mere ten years of age. He is awake after all, browsing eagerly through Ichabod's strange library, as has been his habit since the first day he and I set foot in our new home.

That day will remain forever etched in my memory. Ichabod's modest, two-story brick home was a ten-minute walk from where the coach left us off. As the three of us walked arm in arm, Young Masbath's delighted eyes went wide as saucers, rapidly absorbing the bustling sights and sounds of New York. Ichabod and I exchanged smiling glances. We could tell the boy could not wait to go exploring. Young Masbath was brimming with questions and had no idea where to begin- much the same as I. But I kept my contented silence, so filled with joy to be by Ichabod's side that other matters seemed inconsequential. I would learn about my new environment in time.

"Here we are," Ichabod announced. His home stood before us, a somewhat crumbling but noble structure. I noticed that one second-story window was exceptionally curious, large and circular in shape with thick panes of glass separated by curves of wrought iron which formed a sort of filigree pattern.

"It's perfectly charming," I said, giving Ichabod's hand a gentle squeeze. "So, tell me," I said good-naturedly, "however did you come to own it? I seem to recall that during our very first conversation you said your circumstances were quite humble."

"Well, they are," he faltered, slightly abashed. "I started out as a tenant on the second floor when an elderly widow owned the house. She was quite kind. She understood that I could not pay much and accepted much less than the standard monthly rent in this city, as she did not need much to live on herself. She fretted so constantly over my hard, late hours with the constabulary. She even cooked for me on occasion." Ichabod paused, trying vainly to hide the glint of a tear in his eye. I was suddenly remorseful for having teased him.

"Mrs. Barton died a year and a half ago," he continued quietly, "safe and silent by her hearth. I could not have been more surprised when her attorney came out of the woodwork a few days later and informed me that she had left the entire house to me. She had no living kin who lived near enough to care." Ichabod smiled wistfully, regaining his composure.

"And that, dear Katrina, is how this magnificent residence came to be mine," he concluded, vanquishing a stray tear with his sleeve. "Ah, forgive me."

"No," I said reassuringly," forgive me. I should have thought before I even made the jibe."

We stood gazing at each other meaningfully for a long moment. I found that I had taken both his hands in mine and pressed them to my lips. I wanted nothing more than to kiss him apologetically in that instant, but Young Masbath's voice broke our reverie.

"Pardon my intrusion again," he said sheepishly, "but it's rather cold out here. Shall we go in?"

"Er, yes... No pardon necessary, young man. You are quite right," Ichabod said lightly, slipping an arm firmly about my waist. "Right this way!"

That simple, sweetly possessive gesture sent a warm lightheadedness spinning through me. As we climbed the front steps followed by Van Ripper with the rest of our luggage (I don't know how he managed to catch up with our brisk pace), some nameless emotion coiled itself into a spring at the very center of my being. Was it my imagination, or did I feel it in the trembling of Ichabod's hand against my side as he unlocked the front door?

Once inside, the four of us deposited the bags in a careless heap. I stared at the entry hall's rugless wooden floor and bare white walls. A wooden-handled brass bell stood on a small table in the corner, accompanied by an inkwell and a few random sheets of paper adorned by Ichabod's exquisite calligraphy. He noticed me studying them.

"I find it necessary to leave notes for myself," he explained. "Lord knows, you saw as much when you read my ledger," he said bemusedly, trying to hide his embarrassment. I abruptly laced my fingers with his to keep myself from pulling him close.

"That's it," announced a tired but satisfied Van Ripper. He thrust a gruffly amicable hand at Ichabod, who let go of mine slowly to accept it. The two men shook hands respectfully. "It's been an honor knowing you, Constable. Saved our lives before that monster damn near killed us all."

"Please," Ichabod said quietly, overcome. "I accomplished what I was sent to do, notwithstanding the... complications." Van Ripper clapped him heartily on the back, nearly knocking him over.

"Thanks all the same! Now," he said, eyeing me with a grin, "you take good care of her for old Baltus, do you hear?"

"Gladly. With all my heart," Ichabod promised with a conviction that all but melted my composure.

"And you, Katrina," continued Van Ripper, "keep an eye on these boys. Especially this one," he said, indicating Ichabod. "Teach him to loosen up a little."

"I will do nothing less," I said, unable to keep myself from glowing at Ichabod and Young Masbath. I embraced Van Ripper briefly. "Remember me to Sleepy Hollow," I said reverently.

"And I," piped Young Masbath.

"Likewise," said Ichabod. "I shall never forget. I... I owe Sleepy Hollow my life."

"What a fine mess you three are," Van Ripper said affectionately. "You're fit for each other. God keep you all." Before I could tell if it was a tear sliding down his stubbly cheek or merely a trick of the light, Van Ripper had tipped his hat and was gone.

"He is a fine man," Ichabod said. He bent down and placed a hand on Young Masbath's shoulder. "Let's get you settled in, shall we?"

The door at the end of the hall led us into a small, sparsely furnished living room. Books and a small clock occupied the mantelpiece above the hearth. Two dark blue velvet stuffed chairs faced the fireplace, a small wooden table between them. Like the one in the hall, it was littered with Ichabod's handiwork- notes obviously pertaining to investigations, random thoughts, and breathtakingly detailed sketches. A dusty teacup and saucer sat amidst the papers. A thin but finely embroidered throw rug afforded the bare floor scant modesty.

"I shall see to getting us some firewood," Ichabod said thoughtfully as we passed into a small kitchen, equally as plain as the rooms preceding it, save for the table and four chairs, which were beautifully carved.

"These will serve you well now," I said, running my fingers over the scrollwork gracing the backs of the chairs.

"Yes," Ichabod agreed, placing his bags on the floor before relieving me of mine and doing the same with them. "And you and Young Masbath as well. I rather hope that between the three of us cooking will be less of a disaster than what culinary delights I am accustomed to concocting for myself."

How many times had we seen that disdainful cringe, Ichabod's dark eyebrows drawn upward in a boyish pout? Young Masbath and I couldn't keep ourselves from laughing.

"Enough of that!" Ichabod chided lightly.

Ichabod smiled, seeming more relaxed that I'd ever seen him. He took Young Masbath's leather satchel in hand and led us to the door in the far corner of the kitchen, which opened to reveal a small staircase. We followed to the top with anticipation.

"Your very own room, Young Masbath!" Ichabod announced with pleasure.

The chamber had obviously once been used to lodge hired help, but it was unusually large as servants' quarters go. A small four-poster bed stood in one corner beneath a window, and a steamer trunk sat at the foot of the bed. A short desk and chair were the only other pieces of furniture. Young Masbath was ecstatic.

"Thank you, sir!" the boy exclaimed, throwing his arms around Ichabod, who had not expected such a response and was nearly thrown off-balance a second time. He staggered a moment before returning Young Masbath's embrace, staring at me in disbelief. I put my arms around them both and whispered against Ichabod's ear, "Be proud, my love. You have done more for him than anyone else in Sleepy Hollow would have dreamed of doing."

"Do you honestly think so?" he asked, taking me in his arms and resting his chin on top of my head as Young Masbath scampered off to investigate the contents of the trunk.

"I know so," I reassured Ichabod. "This room is quite dusty, but it is nothing that I cannot fix before nightfall."

"You are an angel," Ichabod whispered, kissing my forehead. I leaned closer as his arms tightened around me, but his acutely nervous perception sensed Young Masbath's knowing eyes upon us.

Ichabod cleared his throat and asked with sudden interest, "Would anyone like to see the laboratory?" He flashed me a weak smile and I returned it, pressing my fingers against his arm to say wordlessly, "I understand."

I led the way down the stairs and heard Young Masbath whisper encouragingly to Ichabod, "Don't be afraid to love her on my account." I bit my tongue, pretending I had not heard.

Having retrieved our bags, Ichabod led us back through the living room and up the main staircase. What met our eyes at the top was mesmerizing. My jaw dropped at the sight.

Light poured into the vast attic space through the circular window I had seen from the street. One wall was filled from floor to ceiling with books. A large table sat parallel to the bookshelf-wall. Every inch of it was occupied by glass bottles filled with every color and form of chemical imaginable, microscopes, magnifying glasses, medical volumes, and instruments of such fantastical design that I could not have placed them had I not come in prior contact with Ichabod's use for them in Sleepy Hollow. A human torso dummy with organs exposed perched atop another small shelf, also full of books. The brick walls were lined with glass lanterns, each containing a candle. A teapot sat upon the stove in one corner. My heart leapt at the sight of an empty, globe-like revolving birdcage near the window.

"This is where I work- when I am not at work," Ichabod said with a rueful smile. Young Masbath was too amazed to move. I started slowly toward the cage and the window.

"Here, let me show you," Ichabod said, accompanying me. He pressed firmly on the glass and the window spun open on its horizontal axis, admitting a blast of snow-filled air.

"It's enchanting!" I said breathlessly, staring out across the city streets. I heard a creaking to our right and found that Young Masbath had joined us. He opened and shut the birdcage several times.

"Did you keep birds once, Sir?" he asked Ichabod.

"In fact, I did," Ichabod said sadly, "but I had to free her before I left for Sleepy Hollow." I searched his eyes questioningly and found the answer there. Ichabod's sorrow told me all that I needed to know.

"Katrina, perhaps if I find another cardinal's nest...?" he ventured, trying his best to brighten.

"If you find a nest, I would like that," I admitted. "But please, do not exhaust yourself trying to catch one right away."

"Is shall see what I can do," Ichabod said resolutely, taking my hand. "Come, one last thing to show you." Ichabod led me to a door in the far corner of the room that I had not noticed, leaving Young Masbath to contentedly leaf through the contents of the books sitting on the table. Ichabod opened the door.

"Hopefully my tortured dreams cannot touch me here," he said wearily.

It was a small room, barely half the size of Young Masbath's. The bed seemed almost disproportionately large in comparison to everything else, even though it was only medium-size. It sat beneath a lace-curtained window. A small wardrobe stood in the opposite corner, flanked by an even smaller bookshelf. A tiny table stood within reach of the bed. The objects upon it were compelling: a timepiece which kept the month and seasons in addition to the hour, a small framed painting of a strikingly pale woman with dark hair and eyes, and a yellowing handkerchief embroidered with the sentiment, E.C. 1775~ to my beloved on this day of rejoicing. I picked it up with fingers shaking so badly I almost dropped it.

"Ichabod, this-"

"Belonged to my mother. Yes," Ichabod said bitterly. "My father gave it to her on... on..." Ichabod turned abruptly and braced himself against the wall. He began to weep quietly.

I took him by the shoulders and steered him to the bed, urging him to sit down beside me. "He gave it to her when?" I asked gently, rocking him.

"On the day I was born!"

"Be still, love... What day is that?" I realized that I did not know his birthday.

"O-October third," he sniffled. I realized that had been only a couple of weeks before his arrival in Sleepy Hollow. I would have to see about getting him a present.

"What a hypocrite he was, Katrina! I could tell you dozens-"

"-Of stories that would only make you more upset. Shhh. Gladly, I will listen to them when we are alone, but you must calm yourself for now," I soothed him, reminding him of Young Masbath's presence in the adjoining room with a flick of my eyes. Ichabod nodded but buried his face against my shoulder. I pressed him close, suddenly unable to stop the flow of my own wounded heart. Through a haze of tears, I spotted Young Masbath peering in timidly from behind the door. Ichabod was too distraught to notice. I dried my eyes on my black and white striped sleeve and motioned to Young Masbath that we'd be along shortly. The worried youth retreated obediently.

"Hush, now. Look at me." Ichabod's piercing dark eyes were as bleary as when the fever had set in after the Horseman maimed him.

"Yes," he choked, breathing hard as I wiped away his tears with both hands.

"There is a boy downstairs who needs us. He will be expecting supper soon, a warm fire and a clean room. We shall have the rest of our lives to share and cope with our sorrows. For now, let's work on giving happiness a chance."

"Well said, Katrina," Ichabod said wearily, pulling us both to our feet rather unexpectedly.

"I have quite a lot of shopping to do. Would you like to come-?" he blurted before the contradiction that passed through his eyes had the chance to manifest itself. As much as I wanted to go, I had thought of the same thing. Someone had to stay with Young Masbath.

"I would love to, but you are right; someone needs to stay here with Masbath," I said evenly. Ichabod was impressed that my thoughts had mirrored his exactly... or almost exactly. Something else lingered, an excited quickening like the birth of an idea I had so often witnessed in his gaze. I was instantly curious but again found it necessary to bite my tongue.

"I'll clean his room," I decided. "You go on and get our firewood... and supper... Dear me, it will cost you more than usual." I reached for one of my valises. I had salvaged the cache of coins that Father had always kept in his study. Handling the rest of the fortune that I had untimely inherited was a matter I almost did not want to face. I had not even begun to think about choosing a bank to carry out the hefty transaction. I would depend heavily upon Ichabod’s judgement, as I could not yet make heads or tails of who I could trust to transfer such a sum to New York City.

"Do you need- would it help-"

"No, please," he whispered gently, stroking my cheek. "Do not worry about that, not tonight-"

The kiss which had been latent since Young Masbath's first interruption in the Western Woods caught us up as unexpectedly as the gusts of snow had that morning. Dear God, I was drowning, clinging to the intense, uncertain press of his lips as though my life depended on it. He had never been kissed as surely as I had never been, stuck full force by the tender yet terrifying revelation. I reciprocated with every fiber of my being- to hell with inexperience! When at last we drew apart, I thought the separation meant certain death for us both.

"Like I said before," I whispered tremulously. "You can do magic." Ichabod looked as though his legs might give out on him, and to be truthful, I wasn't so certain of mine, either. He held me closer for support, his wondering eyes misted over.

"If... if..." he managed hoarsely, "... you change that to we, then I certainly will not contest it... Katrina, I..." How rare and precious, that smile, so like a child's, awe struck with discovery. I rested my head against his heart, closing my eyes on tears. Oh, let it come!

Ichabod whispered, "I love you-

"-You, too."

It had passed my lips at nearly the same moment as it had passed his.

The second kiss was hasty, driven by the memory of what we should have been doing. "Well, then," Ichabod said with awkward reluctance, "I should be off."

We eased apart. "Yes, and I should be dusting." The strangest thing happened then. I laughed. Perhaps it was in obedience to Van Ripper's last request of me. I caught his face in my hands and said playfully, "Perhaps you can get a kiss or two from her, but can you catch the Pickety Witch?" And I ran. It took Ichabod a few shocked seconds to catch on to the game, but he finally gave chase.

"If I can catch a galloping Hessian, certainly!" he cried, his outstretched arms narrowly missing me in front of the grand window, which he pushed shut hastily as he dashed by. Ichabod caught up to me at the bottom of the staircase, managing to trip us both on my gown. We went flying down the last three steps and landed in a shaken but otherwise unhurt tangle. I did not believe I had ever heard him laugh before then.

"I think we are a finer mess than Van Ripper realized," I gasped, laughing and trying to catch my breath by turns. I fussed with Ichabod's hair affectionately.

"Is that my only prize for catching the Pickety Witch?" he pouted.

"Perhaps not-" I started, but Young Masbath came dashing into the room, struggling to mark his place in the heavy book under his arm.

"What's going on in here?" he demanded.

"I raced Ichabod down the stairs. Challenge him when he gets back," I teased as Ichabod scrambled to his feet. He bent to help me up.

"When he gets back?" echoed Young Masbath. "Where is he going?"

"To town," I said. "For firewood and something for dinn-"

"Town?" the boy repeated eagerly.

Ichabod gave me a helpless look. I brushed it aside.

"Take him with you," I urged. "I'll be fine here. There's plenty to do."

"Katrina, are you sure?" Again, that excited turmoil and indecision.

"Absolutely." Relief flashed across his gaze and I was more intrigued than ever. "Run along, you two. Remember your coats. I do not look forward to treating either of you for colds this early in the winter!"

"What, are you crazy?" asked Young Masbath. "Brrr!" The boy was bundled up and halfway out the door before Ichabod even reached for his long black overcoat. It still amused me that it seemed a bit too large for him, his hands well hidden by the sleeves, which made it necessary to constantly push them up. Images from the day of the elder Masbath's funeral came rushing back.

Ichabod stepped close and embraced me briefly. "We will not be long," he murmured, "but it will seem an eternity to me."

I waved them out the door with Ichabod's words still ringing in my ears.

I worked in a daze. I found rags under a cabinet in the kitchen, but water was more of a problem. I found it necessary to go outside and walk the periphery of the house until I found the pump, upon the discovery of which I was also rewarded with a pail hanging from its handle.

What began as a venture to clean Young Masbath's room ended up a three-room tidying. After shaking out Masbath's bedclothes and dusting the desk, the kitchen and living room also fell prey to my attention. I washed the teacup and saucer and found the proper cupboard to place them in, put Ichabod's papers in some semblance of order. Ichabod was not a terrible housekeeper, but certainly having so large a house to himself was reason enough to suffer massive plagues of dust.

What I had assumed to be a closet in the kitchen turned out to be the bathroom. By the time I was finished giving myself a once-over to wash the long hours of travel away, I glanced at the clock and found it was nearly six o'clock. They had been gone over two hours. I returned to Ichabod's room where my bags had been left and brushed out my hair slowly. I looked at the handkerchief again, wondering what the letter E stood for. I picked up the little oval painting and knew without a doubt who it was: Ichabod resembled her quite eerily. Her beauty had not been lost, but lived on in her son's tragically handsome face. I turned the frame over in my hands. In copperplate writing that I did not recognize, it read: Lady Elisabeth, 1773.

Elisabeth.

Elizabeth.

Save for the difference of one letter, our mothers shared the same name. I replaced the picture. Our pasts were so uncannily similar that I no longer questioned fate. Que sera, sera. My mother had been fond of the expression, even though a heavy Dutch accent had prevented her French from ever becoming excellent. I trailed downstairs and collapsed in one of the armchairs. I fell asleep waiting.

The sound of a page turning caused me to wake with a start. Young Masbath sat in the other chair, leafing intently through the book. He looked up and smiled.

"Oh, Katrina! Good. You're awake."

"What? When did you- what time is- where is Ichabod?" I blurted in confusion. My eyes flew to the clock. It was six thirty. Had I slept that long?

"We got back twenty minutes ago, nearly," said Young Masbath. "Ichabod didn't have the heart to wake you. He's in the kitchen."

I became slowly aware of the changes around me. The room was pleasantly warm on account of a blazing fire in the hearth. I heard dishes rattling... and the unmistakable aroma of roasted chicken.

I pointed in the direction of the kitchen with wide eyes. "Is he...?"

"Cooking? Yes, disaster though he claims it is whenever he wears a chef's hat," confirmed Young Masbath.

I got up hastily. "I'll go and help him-"

"No," said Young Masbath, dropping the book and standing in my way. "He told me not to let you. He said it would be fine. I think he wants to surprise you..." Young Masbath was stalling, grasping for words. "Oh, you should have seen the parcels we came home with!" he exclaimed, suddenly thinking the better of it. "And all the shops! The butcher's, the bookseller, the- !" He stopped himself before he could blurt the last location. I sat down in indulgent resignation, the same curiosity gnawing at my patience.

"You two are definitely up to something," I said, grinning warily.

"What... what makes you say that?" Young Masbath gulped

"Never mind for now. I'm game, besides. I like surprises." I thought for a minute and ventured, "What is the side dish?"

"I can't tell you that either. I can't tell you anything beyond what you guess for yourself." Young Masbath's apprehension was gone. He was enjoying himself.

"I see," I said, raising an eyebrow. "I will find out sooner than later. What are you reading about?" I asked with interest.

"Anatomy," he said matter-of-factly, losing himself in the text once more.

A few moments later, the sound of a bell tore Young Masbath from his studies. He got up and gallantly offered me his arm. "Come," he said, "that's us." I knew I had forfeited the right to ask questions.

"Welcome to Crane's!"

The boy led me into the kitchen, which I barely recognized. The table had been covered with a lace-edged linen cloth, set with plain china and silverware, and illuminated by two tall candles. Ichabod stood in front of the stove, busy with last minute fussing over the contents of three covered pots.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, spinning on his heel and pulling out the nearest chair. "Have a seat, my dear Miss Van Tassel." He took my hands and guided me to my place. I returned his eager, expectant smile tenfold.

"Ichabod, this is overwhelming," I said incredulously. Young Masbath took the seat across from me, grinning proudly. "Thank you, too," I said gratefully. "What kind of a housekeeper am I? Asleep on the job..." I reproached myself.

"I shall hear none of that," Ichabod said with mock sternness. "You worked all afternoon. That rest was well deserved. And now," he said apprehensively, sweeping my plate away, "let us see if I have outdone my usual cooking for better or for worse."

The plate returned filled with a golden-skinned chicken breast, a heap of steaming rice, and seasoned red potatoes. Tears stung my eyes for all of his thoughtful effort.

"It is as plain as everything else around here, I fear," Ichabod said, serving Young Masbath and then himself. I noticed he put very little on his own plate, but then again, I had never known him to be a prodigious eater during his time in Sleepy Hollow. It seemed he could live on tea, bread, and peeled apples alone.

Young Masbath started hungrily on a drumstick, but I waited until Ichabod took is seat beside me to taste it. I took a bite of each to please him, aware that he was watching nervously out of the corner of his eye though he pretended to be occupied by a spoonful of rice. Needless to say, the chicken was a bit dry, but the rice and potatoes were done just right. I leaned over and kissed Ichabod on the cheek. He nearly dropped his spoon.

"You are too hard on yourself. There is nothing wrong with this dinner. It's wonderful."

Young Masbath nodded in agreement, mouth full.

"What seasoning did you use on the potatoes?" I asked. Their flavor was delicate, barely spiced by basil and some other herb that I had a hard time admitting to myself that I could not identify.

"Rosemary, basil, salt, pepper, butter. Not much," he shrugged it off as commonplace, but I was ecstatic.

"Rosemary!" I exclaimed. "You have no idea how many times I needed-" I halted momentarily, wondering if talk of my spell work would disconcert Young Masbath- "some and it was never available in such a remote place. Do you know about rosemary?" I asked Ichabod. He shook his head in the negative, chewing some chicken, which I could tell by the expression on his face that he knew he had cooked a little too long.

"'There's rosemary, that's for remembrance,'" I quoted. "Shakespeare's Hamlet. It's one of Ophelia's last lines, speaking to Laertes not long before she drowns. Poor, crazy girl," I said softly. "I do so love that play. Ichabod, have you read it?"

He had put down his fork and was staring at me with an expression of utter coincidence. "Yes, I have," he said slowly. "In fact, I have it upstairs... and Macbeth and Twelfth Night... Are you fond of the sonnets?"

"As much as I have heard about them, I have not had the pleasure of reading them."

Ichabod's hand grasped mine under the table.

"Well, now you shall."

Dinner concluded pleasantly with every plate cleared. We were all much hungrier from the two days' journey than we had realized. We finished it off with a pitcher full of excellent (but very watered down) white wine. Ichabod explained rather hesitantly that he did not have the stomach for straight alcohol, at which I only smiled because I was not shocked in the least. Despite the wine's diluted state, it had Young Masbath's head drooping to the table before he'd even finished his only glass.

At length, the boy stifled a huge yawn and retired from conversation. "I don't know about you, but I'm..." He yawned again. "Exhausted. Good night, Katrina... Ichabod..."

As he drifted vaguely in the direction of his room, Ichabod leaned over and said quietly, "See him to bed. I shall take care of what's left to be done here."

I nodded and followed Young Masbath up the steps while Ichabod rattled plates and glasses away from the table. The boy sat down on the bed, looking around with a dazed expression. I knelt and pulled his boots off.

"It has been a long day, hasn't it?"

He yawned in reply. "Mmm-hmm... Katrina?"

"Yes?" I looked up in concern.

"Will Ichabod be all right?"

"Will he be...?"

"He was crying earlier. You know.""

"Oh, that," I sighed. "His past haunts him terribly... as mine begins to and yours surely might, although it may be easier for you. I am beginning to believe that the older you are, the harder it is to let go."

"How old are you?" he asked curiously.

"Two years younger than Ichabod."

"How old is he?" Sleepy though Young Masbath was, his quick mind dearly loved a game.

"Six times four," I said mysteriously, pulling a nightshirt from the trunk over his head.

"Twenty-four," Young Masbath said instantly. "That means you're twenty-two... I don't think that's old. Neither of you are. I think it'll take... a while, but you'll both be... just... fine."

I lowered him to the pillow as he fell asleep in my arms, pulling the covers up over him. I ruffled his perpetually disarrayed short, dark hair.

"Good night," I said gently, wondering if I had experienced even a glimmer of the joy of being a mother. Already the boy looked up to me, sought comfort from me in times of distress. The responsibility was great, but I welcomed it.

Ichabod sat waiting at the kitchen table, studying his hands folded in front of him, deep in thought. He rose to meet me.

"How is he?"

"Fast asleep before he even hit the pillow," I said with a smile.

"Good," Ichabod sighed. "I wish him sleep free of nightmares."

"That he shall have, there is no doubt in my mind," I said with quiet certainty. "Ichabod, he has found in us already what all three of us have so untimely lost. He comes to me with his grief and worships the very ground you walk on." I shook my head in wonder. "He will follow your footsteps if they take him to the ends of the earth."

"Actually, that is precisely what has been on my mind... in a way... yes and no...sort of..." Ichabod struggled with his thoughts. He breathed hard as though he was about to jump a thousand-foot chasm and had no idea what lay on the other side.

"Katrina, come," he said bravely, offering me his arm. I accepted it, sensing the odd anticipation of earlier. I had nearly forgotten my impatience to discover the secret over dinner.

He escorted me into the living room. The fire now burned comfortably low, casting about us a languid shadow play. I was rendered a willing puppet in Ichabod's arms; the spell he cast was so subtle he was not even aware of it. Ichabod seated me in one of the armchairs and turned to the mantelpiece. He drew a small object from behind the clock, staring down at it a few seconds. When he looked up, his eyes were filled with such joy and fear entwined that I could not stand it any longer.

"Ichabod, you come," I whispered, extending my arms to him. He fell on his knees before me. I pressed a hand to his cheek. "Tell me."

He held up the object. It was a small black velvet box tied with a white ribbon. I gasped, touched beyond words. Everything finally made sense. No wonder he had not wanted me to accompany him to town.

"I, um... bought you something for staying behind and doing the house work," Ichabod said awkwardly. He placed the box into my hand. Something cold was secured to the bottom by the ribbon. I untied it with unusually clumsy fingers. The ribbon and whatever anchored it fell into my lap. Ichabod retrieved it, dangling it before me in the firelight.

"Ichabod," I breathed, "Where on earth did you find it?"

The pewter charm hanging from the ribbon swung back and forth, its outstretched wings making it seem as though it were in flight. The cardinal's eye was a bright, tiny garnet set in the exquisitely cast metal.

"In a nest along the way," he murmured before my lips overtook his fervently. At the same time, I reached back and untied the star pendant I usually wear. I broke our kiss and set the star aside on the table. Ichabod's hand, still clutching the cardinal, rested in my lap.

"Will you do the honors?" I asked.

Ichabod ceremoniously swept my hair aside and tied the new pendant around my neck. He traced the outline of my cheek in the air.

"That is… not all," he said, again placing the black box in my hand. I would have forgotten it.

"Of course not," I said gently, penitent for having been so enchanted by what was obviously only the prelude.

"Before you open it," he said, "I should like to say... that is... Oh, Katrina!" Ichabod's frustration tore at my very soul. "Why is it that you who elicited so many inspired words from my tongue suddenly render me devoid of them?"

"Speak from your heart freely and without fear," I said with conviction. "I have not known you to be capable of anything less when it matters."

Ichabod breathed deeply, a frightened diver atop a perilous cliff once more. He took my hand in his.

"Do you remember earlier... when you said that we'll have the rest of our lives to cope with our sorrows? I have something I would like to add to that. A few things, actually," he continued, tears shining in his eyes. "Not only that, but we shall have the rest of our lives to give happiness a chance- you said that, too- and to create new memories, to watch Young Masbath grow." His hands shook as he molded them around mine, using them to open the box slowly.

"From this moment, I will make that promise come true!"

I clapped a hand over my mouth, struggling to breathe through disbelieving tears. The ring was unlike anything I had ever seen wrought in gold. Composed of simple band with a smooth, delicate disk at its center, it was a piece of esoteric magnificence. Stamped in the disk was a detailed hieroglyph of three robed figures, one standing between the others with outstretched arms. The Greek inscription below them read, HOMONOIA.

Ichabod gingerly removed it from the box. He pulled my left hand away from my mouth and slipped it on my ring finger.

"Byzantine, an early Christian relic," he said, adopting a mild scholarly tone. "The figures represent a bride and groom being joined in holy matrimony by the Lord. Homonoia," he said quietly, his voice cracking with sheer emotion. "Do you know what that means?"

"Homonoia," I repeated easily, remembering my childhood lessons in Greek and Latin. "Harmony, concord, union. A bond that never breaks. Not on this side of eternity, or on the other... Ichabod...?"

"It is always the modern age, but ancient ones endure. You have taught me that much, and you know so much more, Katrina. Teach me," he whispered brokenly.

I embraced him as though I never meant to let go- and I didn't.

"Yes," I sobbed, feeling him shudder and succumb to his own onslaught of joyous tears. "Yes, I will marry you, Ichabod Crane. The name you penned in your ledger during some wistful daydream did not die in the flames!"

I sank to the floor beside him. For the longest time, we simply held each other. The leap was completed in safety, the gaping chasm closed behind us.

"You shall live happy in this ill world. I promised you once, and I promise you again."

"I am glad to hear it, dearest love," Ichabod said, rising slowly, bringing me to my feet with exceptional care.

"It is getting late," he sighed, shifting my hands in his nervously. He met my searching gaze and held it fast. Ichabod swallowed hard.

"Your things... your bags are..."

It had to be said. One of us had to say it, pitiful beginners that we were.

"Where I intend to sleep. Tonight and for the rest of my life."

Ichabod's breath escaped in a rush that conveyed both relief and agitation. He turned away abruptly, wringing his trembling hands. His glance was both yearning and miserable.

"I am so afraid, Katrina."

"Do you think that I'm not?" I replied gently, embracing him from behind. Ichabod stiffened.

"N-no. It's just that... Lord, have mercy! I've never..."

"And neither have I," I said desperately, spinning him to face me with all my strength. "But no pain or anxiety on this earth will keep me from loving you!"

Ichabod's response was a wordless, stifled cry as he folded me in a passionate embrace.

"Then have patience with me," he said in a terrified whisper. He took my hand resolutely and led me up the stairs. He stopped in the laboratory, just before his bedroom door.

"Wait a moment," Ichabod said tensely, entering the room alone. I heard the sliding of a drawer and the striking of a match. He emerged a few minutes later. He had removed his frock coat and boots. Ichabod led me with both hands into the candle lit room. I remembered how vulnerable he had seemed the night I watched over him until the fever broke... how unutterably beautiful he looked in the candlelight. I glanced over Ichabod's shoulder. He had turned down the covers of his bed.

"I think I loved you the moment I first saw you," I breathed. I slipped my arms around Ichabod, stroking his back to soothe his fractious nerves. He shook so badly I thought he might swoon. A quaver emerged in my own voice. I whispered, "Time has done nothing to change that, save make it stronger."

Ichabod removed the combs from my hair slowly, losing his fingers in its curling length. He gazed down at me in amazement, blinking back tears.

"Welcome home, Mrs. Katrina Crane."

And blessed was that night, without sense or reason! Where Ichabod and I had dreaded we would find distress and inadequacy, we discovered only tenderness and devotion.

Aside from Ichabod's nightmare, the night passed in a state of bliss that I thanked the stars we were doomed to repeat indefinitely. Ichabod woke me with a kiss the next morning.

"Today I report back to work, I am afraid," he whispered dismally into the tangle of my hair. "But I shall try my best to convince them that I need another half a day off. You have not even had the grand tour yet!"

We were so tranquilly comfortable curled up together beneath the warm covers that neither of us wanted to move.

"Do they know that you are back yet?" I asked.

Ichabod caught my drift. "I had not thought of that. They do not as long as Green and Witherspoon did not catch a glimpse of Young Masbath and I yesterday."

"Green and Witherspoon?"

"Constables like myself. Or unlike myself," Ichabod said with disdain. "They do not give a second thought to the absolutely medieval procedures we are required to execute."

"Well, it's your chance to prove to New York that there is exceptional merit to your methods," I encouraged him, brushing stray hair away from his eyes. "You have more than proved that to me and the rest of Sleepy Hollow." My thoughts turned back to the problem at hand.

"Did you see either Green or Witherspoon while you were out yesterday?"

"No," he realized with obvious relief. "That would cut down on the chances of either one having seen me. Thank God I was not in uniform. You can spot those blasted silver buttons from a mile off." He relaxed with a sigh and indulged in a leisurely kiss.

"For now," he announced, " I am not going anywhere."

"Glad to hear it," I replied contentedly.

We did not drag ourselves out of bed until shortly after ten o'clock. Thoughts of getting Young Masbath some breakfast loomed guiltily on my conscience. A shivering Ichabod pulled out a clean set of clothes from his wardrobe while I cleared the floor of what garments we had discarded so carelessly the night before. Chilled, I slipped Ichabod's white shirt on and tried to organize what I had been able to bring with me from Sleepy Hollow.

"It's f-freezing," Ichabod muttered, shrugging into a shirt identical to the one I had on. "I should have lit the stove last night."

"You did quite a nice job of making up for not having done so," I said earnestly, abandoning what I was doing to help button up his shirt. In response to my adoring smile, a faint blush crawled up his white cheeks.

I chose a gown that Ichabod agreed would be practical yet stylish enough for a day on the town. Once presentable, we descended into the living room to find Young Masbath seated in an armchair with another book in his lap, a blazing new fire crackling in the hearth. A bowl of half eaten leftover rice sat on the table beside him. He looked up brightly.

"I wondered when you sleepyheads would come around," he greeted us. Ichabod blushed again almost instantly, trying to mask it with a wide-eyed, aloof pleasantry that receded with great relief when Young Masbath continued innocently, "I slept rather late myself. Oh, and your breakfast's on the table."

We exchanged good mornings with the boy and left him to his reading. I noticed the sparkle in Young Masbath's eye when he caught sight of what adorned my ring finger. Two bowls of rice set neatly with spoons and glasses of water waited on the kitchen table. Ichabod was deeply moved.

"You are right, Katrina," Ichabod said with feeling as we began to eat. "He is absolutely devoted."

"Indeed. How lucky I am to have two gentlemen so adept in the kitchen," I said merrily. "Not a bad turnout for me!"

Ichabod took my hand and pressed it to his cheek, intent upon studying the engagement ring. I gazed at it proudly, too, until something of deep concern occurred to me. My hand flew to the cardinal resting against my throat.

"However did you pay for... without... I mean- I hardly meant to drive you broke!" There was no delicate way to express my genuine worry. I felt tactless and ashamed, but Ichabod shook his head in absolute reassurance.

"Believe it or not, I did not pay a cent for the pendant," he said gently, a sad smile playing at the corners of his lips. "It is worth much more than that. It belonged to my mother."

Again, his knack for the appropriate rendered me speechless.

"And as for the ring," Ichabod assured me with ardent emotion, "I could not have spent the better part of my savings on anything less. Besides, what I am due to be paid for my recent adventure will certainly help make up for it. The only thing we have to worry about," he said firmly, "is setting a wedding date."

"A wedding date," I echoed, finding peace on financial matters at last. "Does as soon as possible sound all right to you?"

"I could not agree more."

We left the house with Young Masbath shortly after breakfast. The snow had ceased falling to resolve itself into a thin, even blanket on the ground. I held tight to Ichabod's arm as we went down the front steps to keep from slipping. Young Masbath was a few steps ahead, eager to show Ichabod that he remembered the exact route they had taken the day before. Indeed, Ichabod confirmed as we followed, our young guide knew every step of the way.

I had never seen so many people in my life. I was so caught up in scrutinizing faces and fashions that I nearly forgot that I had my own small errands to run.

"Do you like to watch the crowds go by?" I asked him in wonder.

"It is not a matter of liking to," he said with a shrug. "It is my job. My eye is so accustomed to catching the smallest actions of passers-by that I need not think twice about it."

I remembered another snippet of our first real conversation then, when I had embarrassed him into admitting he wasn't accustomed to "society." I realized that he really had no choice, considering his profession and disposition combined. To be in but not of the world, all-seeing and all-knowing in prevention of danger... I gave him another kiss on account just for that.

"This is the place I wanted to show you," he said, leading us into the shelter of a shop's low-hanging roof. "I do believe you will find what you need here, Katrina. I certainly did."

Young Masbath hung back as Ichabod held the door for me. "I'll wait here again, if you don't mind," he said to Ichabod, who nodded and followed me inside.

The place was full of little wonders that reminded me of home and Ichabod of long ago. Herbs hung from the ceiling to dry, and yet others sat in neatly labeled glass jars on dusty shelves. Adjacent were rows and rows of books reminiscent of the one my mother had given me, which I in turn had given Ichabod. A glass case protected a dazzling array of amulets, jewelry, and ageless artifacts from far-off lands. I held Ichabod's hand and closed my eyes. The atmosphere of the shop filled me with warmth and security. Only white magic here. I sighed with relief and turned to Ichabod.

"You feel it, too, my love," I said.

"Yes, but it still frightens Young Masbath quite a lot. I couldn't get him to cross the threshold yesterday. That, too, will come in time." He urged me forward. "My dear, have a look."

As I scanned the rows of herb jars, someone emerged from the curtained room behind the counter.

"Good day, Ma'am," Ichabod said politely, nodding to the woman, who recognized him with a smile.

She was perhaps fifty years old, the very picture of aristocratic perfection. Her salt and pepper hair was swept up elegantly to reveal pearl-drop earrings. The woman's expression was kind and motherly, her burgundy gown the height of London fashion. I knew because my stepmother had worn such things...

"Oh, young man, let me see her!" exclaimed the woman, coming toward me with outstretched arms. I stepped back, slightly shaken. Ichabod realized my aversion with sudden distress and placed an arm around my waist protectively.

"Lady Carraway," Ichabod continued calmly, "this is Katrina."

There was no malice in her welcoming embrace. I stepped forward and accepted it without further reservation. The sense of security was even stronger in her arms. The impression of one mother figure was instantly obliterated by another in my mind. Lady Carraway took my left hand in hers, studying first the palm and then the ring with instant approval.

"He knows your soul as well as he knows his own, Katrina," she said, bestowing the blessing of her touch upon my cheek. "I knew that was no ordinary ring. When should I listen for wedding bells?"

Ichabod stared at her, agape. His expression told me that he had not revealed to her that the ring was intended for use as an engagement ring. I found the courage to smile at Lady Carraway. She joined my hand with Ichabod's and held them in her own, which were strong yet full of gentleness.

"You have come a long way, and there awaits you some journey yet," she said in a tone full of wisdom beyond mortal comprehension. "But you are blessed, my children, and ever shall you be. I am proud of you, Mr. Crane."

Baffled, Ichabod took leave of us politely after a few moments more of conversation to check on Young Masbath. Lady Carraway was extravagantly helpful with my purchases. She wrapped the betony, eyebright, lavender, rosemary, rue, vervain, and other herbs that I had chosen with the utmost care. Before closing the bag, she drew something wrapped in the same brown tissue paper as the herbs from under the counter.

"What is it?" I asked curiously.

"Something you forgot but that is my gift to you, dear girl," Lady Carraway said kindly. She unwrapped the tiny parcel to reveal four pieces of chalk, two pink and two white. She wrapped them up again carefully and placed them in the bag, which she handed to me.

"Thank you," I whispered, awe struck.

"Please come again, both of you," Lady Carraway said and was gone behind the curtain once more. I stepped outside to find Ichabod and Young Masbath engaged in conversation over what Young Masbath was reading in his latest book. Forensic chemistry, apparently. Ichabod looked up with a smile and offered me his arm. The three of us continued on our way. I held my precious package tightly.

"How long have you known her? Who is she?" I whispered to Ichabod in a hush.

"That's what is so amazing about it," he replied, mystified. "I never knew her before yesterday. I stumbled across her establishment quite by accident. But once I saw it, I was drawn inside for a reason unknown until now," he said, fingering the Byzantine relic. " I learned her name and that she has owned the shop and resided behind it for fifteen years. She told me to come again any time. I felt so completely... welcome."

"So did I," I agreed. "It is as if... as if she knows mankind's every grief and what might be done to cure each. Does that make sense?"

"My dear, you voiced the impression rather better than I!"

"You say the lady there is kind?" Young Masbath asked thoughtfully.

"Yes. You would like her very much, in fact," I told him.

"Then perhaps it was rude of me not to have gone in," he said, crestfallen.

"There will be another day to introduce you," Ichabod said to cheer him up. "Let's show Katrina the waterfront."

A brisk wind met us on the docks of the Hudson. I had never seen anything quite like it. Few boats were on the water that day, but the few we observed were for the purpose of cargo transportation or fishing. The dark water was calm and low due to an end-of-autumn draught, lapping peacefully at the wooden planks. I noticed Ichabod's eyes scanning the river with familiar apprehension.

"You seem very familiar with this part of town," I commented."

"Yes. Too familiar," he agreed. "This is the principal area that I am in charge of patrolling on night watch."

"Night watch?" I asked. I did not like the sound of it.

"Every Monday and Wednesday evening with Green and Witherspoon," he replied.

"Until what time?" asked Young Masbath with interest.

"One AM, if there is not any trouble."

"And if there is?"

"Then I well could end up arguing procedure with the Burgomaster until dawn."

"They truly do not listen to a word of what you have to say, do they?" I inquired with sincere pity.

"I should say the fact that they sent me to Sleepy Hollow is proof enough of that. Katrina. I doubt that they expected me to return! I never explained everything, did I?"

"No," I responded with anticipation. Young Masbath and I were all ears.

"It was because of my opinions on how investigations ought to be run that the High Constable assigned me to Sleepy Hollow in the first place. They were tired of my so-called rebellion. We pulled a drowned man from this very river one night, and I was not permitted to examine the body to see if he had been murdered prior to ending up in the water. My protests on that account were the last straw. Either I agreed to investigate a string of beheadings or ended up in a prison cell until my thoughts turned straight."

"How unfair!" I exclaimed, my cheeks hot with anger. "Have they no courtesy at all? No room for the consideration of new ideas?"

"My dear Katrina," Ichabod sighed, "I would endure it a hundred times over all for your sake. It was a blessing in disguise."

The three of us stood in silence on the dock, gazing out across the Hudson's vast expanse. By the time Young Masbath turned his head in alarm at the sound of footsteps, it was too late.

"A blessing in disguise you say, Crane? Well, what have we here?"

If I had not been holding on to Ichabod, I am certain he would have fallen into the river. The man's voice rang from behind us, a loudly sarcastic tone.

"Constable Aaron," Ichabod croaked, barely regaining his composure. "A pleasure to see you again."

"Come, come, Crane, enough of your droll formalities," mocked Aaron. "Aren't you going to introduce me?"

He was a large bearded man with wicked blue eyes. I disliked him instantly. The lascivious appraisal his stare cast in my direction made my flesh crawl.

"Certainly," Ichabod said hastily, cowardice kicking in. "This is Young Masbath, my new assistant." The boy glared at Aaron, defiantly proud. "And this is Katrina Van Tassel, my fiancé. We have just returned."

Constable Aaron whistled, feigning an impressed air. "Well, if you didn't find yourself a nice little Dutch girl on your holiday up north," he leered, making a grab for my hand. I pulled away in revulsion, and Ichabod stepped between us defensively.

"Charmed, Miss," Aaron said icily.

"Pleasure's all mine," I spat.

Disconcerted, Ichabod urged Young Masbath and I in the opposite direction. "We shall not keep you from your duty any longer," Ichabod said coldly. "Farewell."

"And I will be sure to tell the High Constable that you have returned- head and all- and that he should expect you first thing tomorrow morning," Constable Aaron retorted. "Good riddance, you faint-hearted excuse for a..."

Aaron's words faded as we hurried away. Ichabod quickened his pace in silent fury. We slowed again once we reached the streets. Ichabod stopped on a secluded corner, leaning against the brick wall of a building and rubbing his temples. I eased his hands away and took over the job for him.

"What a damned fool, that man," I said vehemently, furious that anyone could be so heartless as to fluster someone like Ichabod- especially if they knew him! "Are you ever on duty at the same time as that beastly lout?"

"Thankfully no," Ichabod said, hugging Young Masbath and me suddenly. "How dare he," Ichabod repeated disgustedly over and over, "How dare he!"

The walk home was blessedly uneventful. Ichabod and Young Masbath made two stops, one at the apothecary and the other at the bookseller's. While they browsed through medical case studies, a vendor's cart passing outside the shop caught my attention. I exited the shop and hailed the man who pulled the rickety contraption.

"I would have a look, if you don't mind," I said politely. I glanced at the cart's contents and confirmed that I had indeed seen what I thought I had seen.

The man shrugged and said in some thick foreign accent, "Be my guest."

He was a stationer, for his wares included inks, pens, colored writing paper, and journals. I picked up a black leather-bound book and flipped through its blank pages. They were smooth and unlined, of a good grain for the fluid strokes of a quill.

"How much is this one?" I asked.

The vendor told me.

"Very well." I paid him quickly and hid the journal inside my bag. I returned to the bookseller's and found my companions each engrossed in a text. Ichabod snapped his shut and replaced it on the shelf. He offered his arm.

"Shall we go?"

"Yes. Young Masbath!" I called.

"Coming, Katrina." He abandoned the book with great reluctance.

We picked up some fresh loaves of bread and a sausage for dinner on the way home to add some variety to what was left over. After we ate, Ichabod relented to Young Masbath's persistent questions and agreed to spend an hour or so clarifying the chemistry material he was reading.

While the two of them sat in heated discussion at the kitchen table, I used the chance to do something I had been meaning to do since visiting Lady Carraway's shop that morning. I went upstairs to Ichabod's room- our room, I thought with tender pride- and budged the bed away from the wall until I had enough space to work with. I took two of the pieces of chalk Lady Carraway had given me, one pink and one white, and retrieved my mother's old book of magic from the bedside table. Thankfully, the gunshot had not damaged the one page I needed to refer to. I glanced at it quickly and put it back on the table. I had known the design by heart after all.

With deft familiarity, I drew the eye and pentagram that I had drawn twice for Ichabod's sake in Sleepy Hollow- for the protection of a loved one against evil spirits. I took care in crafting the smaller symbols inside the circle, murmuring softly in Latin as I worked, "Let him be free of these evil dreams."

The spell I worked beneath the first was one whose artistry I had only ever studied on the page hour after hour, wondering if the day would ever come when at last my yearning fingers would sketch its beauty. This one, too, was enclosed in a circle, which I overlapped slightly with the first at intuition's bidding. I shaped the ancient symbol for heart within, weaving about it with loving reverence both the required characters and ones which my heart meant especially for Ichabod. I sat back and studied my rendition of the long-awaited mosaic: a spell for the blessing of new lovers.

I pushed the bed back into place with a sense of peace and accomplishment. I returned to the kitchen to find Young Masbath seated at the table with his book, firing off questions while Ichabod deposited dishes in the wash basin. I pushed up my sleeves and whipped the dishtowel out of Ichabod's hand from behind.

"Leave this to me," I said.

Once Young Masbath was asleep, Ichabod and I sat snuggled beneath an old quilt in front of the fire, leaning against one of the armchairs. I ran my fingers lightly over the rows of pinpoint scars on Ichabod's palms.

"They have not pained you or bled again since...?"

"No," he assured me. "It was the strangest thing, just that one night."

"And your shoulder?" I asked, unbuttoning his vest and shirt to check the miraculously well healed weal left where the Hessian had impaled him. "Forgive me for not asking about it last night. That was wicked of me."

"It aches a little, but not enough to worry about- aah!" he winced as I pressed a little harder.

"I should not have dismissed it as soon as I did," I said gravely, bestowing a remorseful kiss on Ichabod's forehead. "Wait a minute," I said, getting up. "I will fix you something for the pain."

The infusion took little time to prepare, and Ichabod drank it without protest but made a slight face as he did so. I took the teacup and set it on the table, settling back down in his embrace. I wanted the evening to last as long as possible.

"So you go back tomorrow," I said uneasily. "Ichabod, what will they say? What do they expect of you?"

"Well... I suppose I shall have to give the High Constable a full report of what transpired... and he will probably think that I am stark raving mad," Ichabod replied candidly. "And then it's back to work as usual, unheeded and insulted. Do you realize that I have no proof except for our three eyewitness accounts? How likely are my superiors to believe a tale of conspiracy seeped in ghosts and witchery? What a fool I was! To have burned my ledger... to have doubted you..." He bowed his head miserably.

"That is behind us now," I comforted him. "And as for facing up to the facts, that is where your logic comes in! Tell them something that they can believe in without straying from the truth. Remember, a mere mortal was behind the horror, just as you suspected in the first place."

Ichabod's eyes lit up, suddenly bright with hope. "Katrina, you are brilliant!" He embraced me fiercely. "This 'deduction' business becomes you well. I can reconstruct the entire affair so that it bears some semblance of credibility with no trouble at all."

"Still, I wish I could be there to back you up," I admitted softly, "in case something goes wrong." Ichabod was thoughtful for a second.

"Perhaps you can."

"I know of at least one fix I can remedy," I said, reaching behind us to slide the new ledger book out from under the chair. I put it in Ichabod’s hands. He stared at it in shocked gratitude.

"Happy Birthday," I said, "even though it is a bit late."

He smiled dully, feigning regret. "How shall I ever remember everything I had drawn and written in the other? I fear I shall need reminding…"

"Why, that’s the other half of your present, of course…"

Ichabod set the book carefully aside. Letting the quilt slide away, I sank into his open arms, secure in the knowledge of where midnight’s hushed anticipation would find us.

In the morning, Ichabod was still shaken from his latest nightmare. It had been the crone's cave, this time, not the Hessian. I was sullen at heart because the protection spell seemed to be ineffectual against bad dreams, but I was cheerful for Ichabod's sake. I felt a sense of overwhelming pride as I held out Ichabod's jacket for him to slip into it. Blasted silver buttons or not, Ichabod was breathtakingly handsome in his constable's uniform.

"Why didn't you wear this to Sleepy Hollow?" I asked. "It makes quite an impression."

"It was not exactly routine business," Ichabod replied. Then he broke down and admitted, "To tell you the truth, I think I look ridiculous. But we do not have the freedom to choose what we wear on duty here in the city."

"Well, you don't," I insisted, seeing if a kiss would convince him.

When we drew apart at length, Ichabod asked, "Are you ready for this? It could very well turn ugly."

"It will take a lot to shock me from now on," I reassured him. "Yes."

The plan was set: Young Masbath and I were to accompany him to the city watch house and participate as civilian bystanders. I frowned when Ichabod told me it would take on the shape of a trial of sorts. I frowned even more when he told me how many times he had been through it before. The three of us ate breakfast together, reviewing scenarios of every possible outcome.

The watch house indeed resembled a courtroom. The room was full of long benches and men running this way and that, arguing over the virtues of some of the strangest contraptions I had ever seen. I could not believe they were intended for the use of fighting crime. As we stepped inside, Ichabod pointed out the three men seated on the lofty stand.

"The High Constable, Burgomaster, and Chief Alderman," Ichabod explained in a sidelong whisper. "I answer to them."

Ichabod continued down the center aisle, wearing his best mask of bravery. I followed slightly behind with Young Masbath. The High Constable noticed our approach, waving off one of the inventors.

"Constable Crane," he said in a tone full of even surprise. "I had begun to think you had dropped off the face of the earth! Well, what news from Sleepy Hollow? You have apprehended the perpetrator and brought him to face due punishment, I trust?"

Ichabod glanced about warily and replied, "I would have, Sir, except that she no longer lives." His terse statement sent a ripple of confusion through the room.

"She?!" exclaimed the Burgomaster. "What in God's good name-"

"She," continued Ichabod firmly. "The greed and corruption of Van Tassel's own wife were her undoing. She managed to rid Sleepy Hollow of all heirs standing in her way of inheriting the Van Garrett fortune, save one. That one stands before you now," Ichabod said gravely, standing aside so that I could step forward. The magistrates were quite obviously startled.

"And... and you may be, Miss?" questioned the Burgomaster politely.

"Katrina, daughter of the late Baltus Van Tassel. He... also fell prey to my stepmother's avarice. I am the only one left," I said softly, eyes downcast. I played the little girl lost so skillfully- and in all truth, honestly- that I saw the hard eyes of Ichabod's oppressors melt in shocked pity.

"She was not your father's first wife?" asked the High Constable kindly.

"No," I whispered, gripped by emotion. "My mother died almost two years ago of poison given to her by the nurse who cared for her when she contracted pneumonia, though we did not know that then. My father married the nurse half a year later, unsuspecting... I am sorry," I said, hiding my tear-stained face in my hands. Ichabod cast a hard look at his superiors and gently urged me to sit down on the nearest bench beside Young Masbath.

"Thank you, Miss Van Tassel," said the High Constable, visibly shaken. "That will do very well. Crane," he said, turning his attention back to Ichabod. "This woman was so ruthless as to behead the complete succession of living heirs?"

"Yes, Sir," Ichabod said firmly. "She was utterly deranged by her obsession, and so clever that she was not suspect until the last minute. Katrina's life would not have been spared had this boy not come through in citing the location to which Katrina had been abducted. Lady Van Tassel realized the futility of it all and committed suicide during the encounter."

Young Masbath met the men's scrutiny with somber eyes.

"Young man, what was your role in this affair?" asked the Burgomaster.

"My father was the f-fourth victim, Sir," said the boy, cleverly passing his near-slip off as fright.

"Was he an heir?"

"No, Sir, but a servant to the first victim, Van Garrett."

"Where is your mother, child?"

"Dead, Sir. When I was but three."

I was amazed at the stunning change in these three stoic, law-hardened men. They gave Ichabod a helpless, questioning look.

"I took him on as my assistant," Ichabod explained compassionately. "Young Masbath is alone in the world and incomparably bright. I intend to train him... if you will permit it."

"You mean," asked the Burgomaster skeptically, "that your... experimentation... proved useful in solving this atrocity?"

"Absolutely, Sir," Young Masbath insisted before Ichabod could answer, rising to his feet, impassioned. "My father's soul rests the better for it!"

"Is it true, Crane? That your bungling contraptions and heretic's potions were of any aid in uncovering evidence?"

"Yes, and it is a matter of extreme complexity. You shall have my complete written report by Monday."

"And the young lady? She is spoken for?"

"She is soon to be my wife," Ichabod said meaningfully, taking my hand with infinite gentleness. I offered a small, tearful smile that befuddled them all over again.

The magistrates were stunned into unwilling silence. At last, the High Constable spoke.

"Very well, Crane," he said, baffled by Ichabod's unusual confidence. "You may go about your regular duties. As for the verdict of this experiment, I reserve the right to withhold comment until your official report is received. That is all."

Exiting the watch house, the three of us uttered a collective sigh of relief. Ichabod patted Young Masbath on the shoulder and spun me in his arms with sheer relief.

"Again it is your white magic that saves me," he whispered lovingly, wiping my tears away with a white handkerchief drawn from his pocket.

I hugged him back wordlessly, realizing that my spell had not been cast in vain after all. The evil here was simply more different than I could have imagined.

I parted ways with him before the watch house with fewer inhibitions, at least knowing he would be safe. He told Young Masbath and I to expect him by seven. He kissed me long and full on the lips there in the street without a second thought. As Young Masbath and I walked home, I thought proudly, "He is loosening up, Van Ripper!"

When we reached the street where Lady Carraway's shop is located, I had an idea.

"Young Masbath," I asked, "would you like to stop and meet Lady Carraway?"

"You mean the magic woman?" he asked cautiously.

I nodded. "Only if you want to."

"Yes, I suppose I do."

The shop was strangely empty as usual, but Lady Carraway seemed to have anticipated our coming. She emerged from behind the curtain with a tea tray in the very instant we arrived. She placed the tray on the counter and greeted me as ever with open arms.

"I hoped you would come, Katrina," she said warmly. "I believe there is something you forgot when you were here yesterday." I looked at her questioningly, but her soft hazel eyes had lit upon Young Masbath.

"We'll come to the matter soon enough, Katrina," she reassured me. The boy was immobile at first in her greeting embrace, but in a few moments he melted into it instinctively. "I have heard much about you, young man. You must be quite extraordinary."

"If curious is extraordinary, then I suppose so," he said modestly.

"Why," said Carraway, "it is the first step on the road to greatness. How else should we learn, child, if not by asking questions?"

"No other way's possible, I'm sure," Young Masbath said with a smile. "I don't mean to be rude, but you remind me of someone who I knew but didn't quite know, if that makes sense. Grandmam, Papa's mother. She died when I was small too, but I don't think I forgot her."

"It makes perfect sense," said our hostess, handing a cup of tea to Young Masbath, which he accepted gratefully. She gave me one and sipped at her own.

"Where is the wayward but charming Mr. Crane this fine day?"

"At work," I said regretfully. "He is a constable."

"Indeed," said Carraway. " I have seen him before even though he never noticed me. He seemed the type ever in need of a guardian angel- so inexplicably fragile! Thank God he has found one in you, my dear."

"What was it that she forgot?" Young Masbath asked suddenly.

"Ah, yes," said Lady Carraway, setting her tea aside and drawing a small gray box from her gown's well-concealed side pocket.

"The chalk was my gift to you, Katrina, though I am proud that you make use of it most selflessly," she said, placing the box in my hand. "This," she said joyfully, "is my gift to you both. Don't open it now. You will know when the time is right, Katrina."

"Yes... yes, I will," I said, unable to stop myself from smiling. "How can I ever thank you?"

"Don't just yet, my child! You don't even know what it is."

"Something tells me I do," said Young Masbath with a grin.

Young Masbath and I made an afternoon of exploring yet uncharted parts of the neighborhood. His uncannily accurate navigational skills never failed to right our path each time I thought we were lost for certain. When we were too cold to walk any longer, we returned to the house. After lunch, Young Masbath promptly buried his nose in a book. With the kitchen cleaned and a lack of something to do, I wandered upstairs to the laboratory.

Finding the Shakespeare texts was a chore and a half. I scanned the shelves twice over before I chanced to find the sonnets and Twelfth Night. Macbeth was nowhere in sight. I returned to the living room and sat down, began leafing through the sonnets. Before long, I was so engrossed that time seemed irrelevant. Ichabod had illustrated the margins of what must have been his favorites, adding to their already whimsical beauty.

At about four o'clock, Young Masbath came running into the living room with something large and flat under his arm.

"Look what I found in the bottom of the chest!" he exclaimed, holding up the game board. "Do you know how to play checkers?"

And so the next two hours were spent tête-à-tête, taking turns beating each other quite terribly. In the end, I won two more matches than Young Masbath.

"I'll have to practice," he said determinedly. "I'm sure Ichabod could beat us both blindfolded, though."

My thoughts had been on Ichabod for quite some time. A shred of uneasiness refused to subside. It was six fifteen.

"He will be back soon," I said. "I should fix something to eat."

The table was set and ready for an hour after that, but no sign of Ichabod. Young Masbath seemed concerned, too, so I tried my best to hide my uneasiness. We sat in the armchairs exchanging increasingly edgy snippets of conversation when at last we heard the front door open and familiar footsteps sounding in the hall. I heard the clink of the alarm bell being replaced on the corner table. I raced to let him in.

Ichabod's expression was weary and strained. He was noticeably paler than usual. His eyes reached and held fast to mine as though they were the light at the end of an interminable tunnel.

"Katrina, you have no idea how-!"

He was in my open arms before he could finish. The instant I embraced him, though, he stifled a cry of pain and fainted dead away.

"My God, his shoulder!" I cried to Young Masbath, who came running. "Help me get him to a chair- No! Light a fire in the stove! I need hot water."

My mind stumbled in panic as I struggled to drag Ichabod to the nearest armchair. I removed his uniform jacket and white shirt beneath to find his shoulder swollen and hot to the touch. The scar had opened only slightly at one end.

I pressed my lips feverishly to his forehead. "Ichabod, come back to me," I coaxed him softly. He remained unresponsive.

"The water's on," said Young Masbath anxiously, hanging in the doorway. "Do you need anything else?"

"Yes, a cloth damp with cold water. He hasn't come to."

Young Masbath reappeared minutes later with a dripping cloth. I sponged Ichabod's face and neck, his entire upper body. He moaned and opened his eyes with a shiver.

"K-Katrina..."

"Hush, love. You have done something to aggravate the wound, that is all," I comforted him.

"I... daresay..." he moaned groggily. "The wheelbarrow."

"What?"

"Found... a man, large fellow," Ichabod faltered, "hurt in a tavern brawl. Assailants fled... left him in the street... had to get him to the watch house for questioning somehow."

"Dear Lord," I muttered. "Was there no one to help you?"

"You mean Green and Witherspoon? We had split up, as usual. I couldn't find them," Ichabod said, more coherent.

"Ichabod, you started to say something when you came in the door. It seemed important."

He breathed hard and closed his eyes. "They mock me, Katrina. All of them. No respect or compassion, and none are so ruthless as Aaron."

"I thought you told me he-" I started in indignation.

"Oh, he seemed to find it worth the trip on his day off to harass me. I suppose if it was he alone, then I could bear it, as it is quite routine... but the others? Green? He was never one to point a finger."

The answer crept into my consciousness with certainty. "Surely they heard what unexpected success you had yesterday?" I prompted.

"Without a doubt," Ichabod said. "Gossip flies faster in the New York City constabulary than in some tea rooms."

"There you have it," I confirmed. "It is jealousy, pure and simple."

Ichabod's brow knit in pain and confusion for a few seconds until it dawned on him. "It must be," he said darkly, "considering what they said to me in passing."

"Such as?"

"I will not suffer you to hear it," Ichabod said gallantly, and I knew it was perhaps best left at that.

"Ichabod!" Young Masbath shouted, racing to our side. "We were so!... I mean what happened? I mean... Katrina, the water's beginning to boil."

"Excuse me," I said hastily, leaving a kiss atop Ichabod's head.

I rushed into the kitchen to find the water just right. I added what herbs I knew to be most potent in fighting pain and infection. I worked with urgency, brewing and cooling it as quickly as I could. I added a little sugar as an afterthought.

Ichabod smiled faintly as he finished off the potion, realizing I had remedied the bitter taste. He watched with interest as I unfolded the cloth in my other hand, revealing the pulp left after straining the concoction. It must have stung horribly, for he jumped when I pressed it to his shoulder.

"That, I am afraid sugar cannot help," I apologized. "I only need to hold this in place about fifteen minutes."

"The pain is worth the result. That, I know well," Ichabod said, taking my hand. "You work wonders, Katrina."

"For you, my love, I would do nothing less," I whispered, embracing him gently this time.

Ichabod was on his feet in half an hour and able to join us for dinner, though he avoided using his left arm as much as possible. The infusion I had given him was stronger than the one the night before, and by the time we finished eating, I was certain he would nod off directly into his largely untouched plate. I shooed Young Masbath off to bed early and helped Ichabod up the stairs. Dressing him for bed was not as painful as I thought it would be. The poultice had numbed his wound and brought down the swelling considerably.

"Have I told you how beautiful you are?" Ichabod asked drowsily, watching me with languid eyes as I changed into a nightgown. I threw back the covers and lay down beside him, propping myself up on one elbow.

"I believe I can count a few times at least, between last night and the night before," I said, smiling and stroking his hair back. I put a tentative hand on his left shoulder.

"How does it feel?"

"Stiff," he murmured, "but much improved." He drew my face down to his with his good arm. The kiss broke when he yawned. I laughed.

"You need rest," I chided halfheartedly.

And unexpected request followed. "Sing me to sleep," he said.

I had not sung in ages, it seemed. I was swept up in a memory of my mother singing me a lullaby when I was no more than ten. She had sung it on every sleepless night since my infancy that I could remember. The melody passed my lips before I was aware of willing it to do so.

     "The night has fallen, silent, over all
      the earth, and gentle sleepers in its arms
      dream long until the morning comes to call
      their peace to wake; the night withdraws its charms.
      My love, forget me not when slumber claims
      your clear, smooth brow so filled with innocence.
      May the darkness soon be filled with flames
      as bright as those which plague me in my rest.
      I truly never will forget that touch
      we shared so long ago beneath the stars;
      not once have I adored half so much
      or drowned in a cause as deep as ours.
      My dearest love, lie quiet now, be still,
      for night has come to weave what spells it will."

Ichabod fought his exhaustion for the right to listen, despite the reason he had asked me to sing in the first place. His eyes gleamed with unshed tears.

"Why cage another cardinal to sing for me," he whispered, "when I have you?"

I kissed him soundly. "Mother used to sing it to me on the darkest nights of the year," I explained to the unspoken query in Ichabod's eyes. "I know not who wrote it, nor why. It must be a song as old as the stars, for my grandmother used to sing it to my mother when she was but a girl, too."

"On stormy nights, my mother used to comfort me with the optical illusion I gave you," Ichabod said, his voice distant. I got up and rummaged through my remaining unpacked bag. I found what I was looking for instantly. I sat back down beside him.

"Sleep now, dear," I whispered, spinning the disk before his eyes.

"Katrina, I love you more… than… words can say..."

Ichabod was fading fast. He could stay awake no longer. I rose, setting the beribboned toy beside Lady Crane's handkerchief. I blew out the candles one by one and slipped beneath the covers beside Ichabod. I had no intention of sleeping, however. I held him protectively instead, bracing myself for the nightmare that surely lurked just beyond the brink of his slumber.

Ichabod's shoulder was stiff but free of pain the next morning. Awake and dressed a bit earlier than usual, we stood together in front of the revolving window, staring at the falling snow.

"You only woke with a start and cried for a little while," I said when Ichabod apologetically asked if he had frightened me during the night. "What was it this time?"

"My father," Ichabod said softly. "The argument we had on the day I left home."

"What place did you call home, before New York?"

"I was raised in Connecticut. Where else but in New England do they accuse innocent women of consorting with the Devil?"

"When did you decide to leave?"

"I was fifteen and could not stand to live in our Hartford residence any longer. My father was deplorably strict and not in the least penitent for what he had done to my mother. He expected me to enter the clergy, but I would have none of it. I packed my bags one autumn afternoon, told him I was going to study law enforcement, and never looked back. Oh, but he got in a few harsh words before I slammed the door!"

I was held rapt by the overwhelming tragedy of his past. No wonder his features seemed cloaked in sorrow always, even in moments of joy.

"Perhaps there is some bravery in you after all, Ichabod Crane," I said with admiration. "And after that?"

"I worked my way down the coast. I daresay I was not very good at covering up my tracks, because shortly after I reached New York, my father located me. I had somehow managed to ingratiate myself with one of the magistrates. I do not think he realized what he was getting into when he took me on as an apprentice. I suppose all that you need is curiosity and the honest desire to learn. Before I knew it, I was training to become a constable. It was during that time when a brief, expressionless message from my father arrived with a considerable sum of money. He stated that it was all I would get from him and that I had better use it wisely- a guilty 'good-riddance' from a pious tyrant. I never heard from him again."

Ichabod's eyes were darkly distant. He sighed heavily. "What would they think if they could see me now?" he asked in a plaintive whisper.

"Your parents, Ichabod?" I replied gently. "They can see you now- at least your mother, I'm sure of that- and the answer is that you turned out just fine."

We held each other in consoling silence for a while before deciding it was time for breakfast. Young Masbath, evidently exhausted from a long night of reading, was still asleep when Ichabod left.

"Tell him I shall ask the High Constable if he can accompany me on duty starting Monday. It will give him something to look forward to."

"It certainly will," I agreed.

"Do not fear for me, my love."

"As long as you agree to no heavy lifting, I promise I will not."

One moment his lips were upon mine, and the next he was gone.

As I took inventory of the contents of the kitchen cupboards, my mind turned to the box Lady Carraway had given me. I had left it in the pocket of my gown unopened, forgotten in the commotion of the evening before. I raced upstairs and retrieved it.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I opened the hinged lid of the box. Poignancy burned my eyes at the sight. It was time, that I knew. But to find the right mood, moment, words- I was much less adept than Ichabod, for all his fumbling sincerity.

I did not have to think long- or twice- about who to ask for the answer, however. A poet's voice from long ago wrapped its curling tendrils about my awakening imagination.

Young Masbath and I had scarcely begun a game of checkers when a rap sounded at the front door. We exchanged baffled looks. Who on earth would come calling at ten-thirty on a Saturday morning?

I opened the door cautiously. A streetwise but friendly-looking lad of about fourteen thrust a clean, folded piece of white paper at me. It was sealed in lavender ink with the ornate stamp of a letter C.

"Message for the lady of the house?" he inquired, looking me up and down.

"None other... well, I am soon to be," I replied, mildly embarrassed.

"I got the right place, then," the young man said with a smile. "Congrat'lations." he nodded politely, dashing off before I could ask any questions. I broke the note's seal and read:

My dear, do bring the boy and have lunch with me today. Business is slow these days, and I do so love your company. I shall expect you at eleven-thirty if it is not inconvenient. Besides, I must hear of your darling Mr. Crane's reception of the gift!

Fondly, until anon,

Lyse Carraway

The invitation was a warm one, and welcome. Shivering, I went back into the house.

"Young Masbath, I hope you are dressed warmly. I foresee another day on the town."

I showed him the note. He grinned ear to ear.

"I've no objections to that!"

Lady Carraway listened to me intently over soup and scones while Young Masbath browsed the main room of the shop just beyond the curtain. I explained how Ichabod's malady- I was careful not to make mention of the injury or how it had come about, but merely informed her that he was prone to fainting spells- had prevented me from presenting him with the small gray box, let alone opening it myself. She listened to my ideas with approval, even making some suggestions. I eagerly jotted first lines and numbers down on a napkin.

Young Masbath and I left our friend with reluctance some two hours later. Before I followed Masbath out the door, Lady Carraway embraced me with all of a mother's tenderness.

"Blessed be you both," she whispered.

I sat in front of the fire memorizing for the rest of the afternoon, flipping pages so often that my fingers ached with the exercise. I desired perfection almost to a fault.

Young Masbath cast sly, inquisitive glances in my direction often. I knew he had overheard most of my conversation with Lady Carraway.

I was not prepared for another disquieting episode upon Ichabod's arrival home. I was in the middle of taking carrots off the stove when I heard the front door. I ran to meet him, leaving Young Masbath lost in a case studies text at the kitchen table.

Ichabod's face was ashen. He looked as though he wanted nothing more than to collapse in my arms again, but what he held prevented him from doing so. I glanced questioningly at the muddy, paper-wrapped brick in his hands.

"Has... Has there been trouble?" I quavered.

Ichabod gave a slow, pained nod, removing the badly crumpled piece of paper from its crude mode of delivery. He handed it to me. The slush-blurred message seeped across the page in a rough, pompous scrawl:

    Witches and orphans, what fine company!

It was unsigned. Ichabod had to prevent me from swaying, this time. My tongue froze. I could not state the obvious.

"Lady Carraway heard the crash at about three o'clock and was quite prompt in reporting it," Ichabod explained, shaken to the very core. "It missed her front window, hitting the door instead. It cracked the wood... obviously hurled by someone of strength."

"Yes," I said faintly, leaning against Ichabod for support. "She must have told you that Young Masbath and I were there for lunch not long before... and that we stopped by for a visit yesterday. Good God," I whispered, feeling sick. "Who would...?"

"Sadly, I can identify the handwriting," Ichabod said with difficulty. "I still cannot believe that brute lent me his notes now and then during training, when I happened to miss. That is why he hates me, you know. I bested him on the final medical boards, came out first in the class."

"Aaron," I said tonelessly.

"Yes, I fear. He is the only constable dullardly enough to assume that a woman who runs an eccentricities shop and the young lady who keeps company with her are, therefore, by virtue of the nature of her merchandise, witches. The tables are turned," he whispered fearfully, dropping the brick and folding me in his embrace. "Now I am frightened for you."

The thud produced by the brick had caught Young Masbath's attention. He peered into the room with wide eyes. I motioned for him to let it rest and go back to his reading. The boy obeyed.

"Katrina," Ichabod persisted worriedly, "we need to-"

"Talk, yes, indeed, but let's speak of it after we have eaten. Dinner is ready, and we need not worry the child more than is necessary," I reassured him, fighting off a twinge of fear My vision of earlier seemed to be crumbling around me.

At the table, conversation was strained at best. Young Masbath had no idea what was going on; he picked at his plate fretfully, eating barely enough to sustain a bird. Ichabod fared no better. I urged Young Masbath to bed with an unwarranted bit of sternness, but the boy did not protest.

Dusk found Ichabod and I sitting in a candle lit living room, but the prevailing wind was adverse to the one I had planned on. I had a dreadful time of coaxing Ichabod to speak what was on his tortured mind. The gift would have to wait.

"What I mean to say is... I... Oh, God! If you had stayed an hour longer... If you had been in the main room of the shop... If the brick had shattered the window..."

"Are you saying that it is no longer safe for Young Masbath and I to venture out? That Aaron would go to even greater lengths to cause us unspeakable harm?" I asked, distressed.

"I cannot be too sure, and yet I cannot be too careful!" Ichabod cried miserably. "To have lost what little sweetness I had in my life long ago- and then to discover it anew," he lamented, "only to lose it again..."

"It is no different for me! I am terrified of losing you every moment that you are not by my side! But, to me, love is faith, and in that I find so much comfort, Ichabod.... that heaven does not grant such a love as this only to take it away!"

"And what of a love like my mother's? Your father's? That of the parents of a precocious boy undeserving of the world's cruelty?" Ichabod pleaded searchingly, eyes aflame. "I love you so much... with all my soul, with all my life... but I am beginning to wonder if, that, in bringing you here..."

"Yes?" I choked. The implication made my blood run cold.

"That if in bringing you here I have only endangered you the more... if it was really the best thing..." Ichabod said desolately.

And it was time, without a doubt. I drew the gray box from where I had hidden it behind the cushion of the chair with trembling fingers. The candles seemed more distant, yet brighter than before. The carefully rehearsed lines of Sonnet 26- "Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage/Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit"- fled from my mind, leaving the words of another in their place. The words of one I did not recall memorizing, yet one that my soul knew to be the only one that mattered in that heart-stopping moment.

I stood before Ichabod's chair with Lady Carraway's gift extended at arm's length. I whispered through a haze of tears:

     "Let those who are in favor with their stars
     Of public honor and proud titles boast,
     Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars,
     Unlook'd for joy in that I honor most.
     Great princes' favorites their fair leaves spread
     But as the marigold at the sun's eye,
     And in themselves their pride lies buried,
     For at a frown they in their glory die.
     The painful warrior famoused for fight,
     After a thousand victories once foil'd,
     Is from the book of honor razed quite,
     And all the rest forgot for which lie toil'd.
     Then happy I, that love and am beloved
     Where I may not remove nor be removed."

I slowly revealed the contents of the box to Ichabod, who wept as unashamedly as I fell to the ground before him, clutching his outstretched hand, pressing the newly unveiled treasure between his palm and mine.

"Never doubt yourself, Ichabod! Never second-guess simply because life seems too hard... seems determined to drag you down with every step! I, too, suffer and do so with you gladly. Remember what is past, but more importantly, look at what is to come; embrace it rather than revile it! I need you, my one and only love, as you need me... now more than ever, so let it be tomorrow," I whispered with finality, the promise descending upon us like a prayer.

The sounds of the street outside draw my thoughts back to the present. Young Masbath's footfalls are distinct on the other side of the wall as he paces in front of the bookshelf, searching for something new to read. I smile, realizing that he must already be dressed in his finest, simple though his finest may be. I glance at the clock. I must wake Ichabod soon.

As if in answer to my thoughts, he stretches slowly, his eyes fluttering open. He focuses upon my expression drowsily, returning a peaceful smile. I brush my fingers against his cheek.

"Where have your nightmares gone, Ichabod Crane?" I ask softly. "Not even a thunderstorm could have roused you from sleep."

"I think you have found a remedy for this ill world after all," he whispers, his voice an echo filled with boundless relief, "for my demons decided to let me rest easy for a night."

"I have every reason to believe that they will grant you more than just a night," I reassure Ichabod, urging him onto his back so I can check the condition of his shoulder. The wound has closed once again and it is no longer swollen. He is warm all over, his skin a steady, normal temperature, neither feverish nor clammy. I offer a silent prayer of thanks, encircling him with my arms.

"We had better rise soon," Ichabod says purposefully. "Do you remember what day it is?"

"I would not forget for the world," I whisper gratefully, catching a glimpse of the simple, matching gold bands in the gray velvet box set out on a chair with my best cream-colored gown before I am once again lost in the touch of his lips, the miracle of what we have won in the face of impossible odds.

I close my eyes and imagine that it is noon already, a lofty, spacious place bathed in stained-glass light. To the lilt of an aged reverend's voice as Young Masbath and Lady Carraway look on with shining eyes, the blessed tokens are exchanged and sealed by the same.

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