Not Too Much to Ask

by Adrienne

"There, there, my dear, calm down.... That's right, breathe slowly. My poor, poor girl!" Lyse Carraway crooned comfortingly, her arm across my shoulders a reassuring weight. I gripped the cold porcelain wash basin with both hands, white-knuckled as the wave of nausea passed. I collapsed backward into Lyse's embrace, gratefully pressing the damp cloth that she offered to my lips.

"H-How long will it be like this?" I choked in a half-whisper, swiftly doubling over at the bidding of one last ungraceful retch. Lyse took the cloth back and mopped my cheeks and forehead with the clean side.

"As much as it pains me to tell you," Lyse said with wry sympathy, "the sickness can last anywhere from three to six weeks, sometimes longer. It's one of nature's little inconveniences, Katrina. Every woman is different."

I buried my face in my hands, wanting nothing so much as to cry on Ichabod's shoulder- and perhaps to give him a good pummeling for having induced my present condition, as irrational as my thoughts were in that haze of pain. I said hollowly, "It's only been five days. Lord have mercy! I can scarce hold down a cup of your tea, let alone breakfast!"

"Aye," Lyse said softly, her voice full of a mother's wisdom. She slung the cloth over the edge of the basin and hugged me tenderly. I gave in to shameless tears. Lyse stroked my hair with deft, soothing fingers.

"There is no greater call than motherhood, my dear, if you can believe that," Lyse laughed gently, drawing back to search my overflowing eyes.

"I can," I admitted, though my heart was not in my words, as my stomach had begun to churn again. "Joshua is such a joy, Lyse. He is so precocious! It has been barely two months, and already I have begun to think of him as my own. But this," I sobbed, breaking down again, "but this..."

"Is merely physical discomfort that will seem so trivial nine months from now," Lyse said firmly, lowering me into the chair beside the basin. Her smile was enough to penetrate my misery for an instant, to make me believe it. For a fleeting moment, though, I still wanted to hit Ichabod.

"Yes," I agreed softly, snatching the cloth to wipe my tears away, "I suppose you are right." I grinned weakly, swaying to my feet. "I would be lost without you, Lyse," I cried, my emotions turned promptly upside-down again, throwing my arms around her.

"You are the daughter of my heart, if not my blood, Katrina," Lyse murmured with feeling, clasping me about the waist. "I will be beside you every step of the way. There are some remedies that I can give you-"

"I know of them. A few, at least," I reminisced shortly, recalling the afternoons spent by Beth Killian's side in order to learn her realm of the herbal healer's art. "Rest assured that I do not plan on leaving here without them."

"That's my girl," Lyse said brightly. "Take courage. I bore three sons by the time I was your age, and believe me, it was an absolute trial by fire the first time. They are my joys, however, all grown now, of course. Andrew lives in Albany, Isaac in Boston, and Timothy in Philadelphia. None ever married, sadly, except for Andrew, whose wife died six months ago. They still write to me and even visit on occasion, so my days have never truly been empty since Edwin died. Enough about my family, though, for I assure you I could speak of them for as long as you'd let me! Does our dear Mr. Crane know that he is to be a father?" she added curiously, eyes aglow as she thought of my endearingly eccentric husband.

"No, but he is so worried about me that I believe he must have been sick himself several times by now. He thinks that I have some tenaciously incurable stomach flu... as I believed until two days ago. I tried to reason with myself that a week late was perhaps not late enough to be certain, but the presence of the nausea quickly convinced me otherwise. I wanted to wait until I had seen you. I wanted to be sure."

"Well, I confirm your suspicion with gladness. Will you tell the gentlemen this evening or wait until Christmas Eve? It's less than a week away, you know."

The notion had crossed my mind earlier that morning, but I had reluctantly dismissed it. As tempting as it was to save the surprise for Christmas, I refused to allow I refused to allow Ichabod even one more day of vicarious suffering.

I sighed, "No, I will tell them tonight. I cannot bear to see Ichabod lose sleep on my account any longer. Truly, I am as afraid for him as he is for me. He has eaten as little as I these past few days, and I find that I must all but push him out of bed in the morning. He cannot stand leaving me in such a state." I added vehemently, "I hope to God that Ichabod has not crossed Constable Aaron's path! That charlatan would not think twice about making the dark circles under my love's eyes even blacker." With sheer hatred I remembered the brick that had cracked Lyse's front door and the malicious note attached. Despite the handwriting match that Ichabod had been certain of, somehow the High Constable had not deemed it fit enough evidence to convict Aaron. That, I realized, I would never forgive. But there had been no further incidents. Perhaps Ichabod had frightened Aaron in addition to infuriating him.

"Katrina, calm yourself," Lyse warned. I could not fathom the source of her infinitely tolerant forgiveness. "Your emotions will swing from the river bed to the mountain top in the blink of an eye. The trick is to keep your feet on level ground as best you can, lest you hurt yourself or those who you call beloved. Tell me, is young Mr. Masbath taking your turmoil well?"

"No," I replied hesitantly, startled that Lyse had lit so soon upon the very thing that perplexed me so greatly. "Joshua has been... sullen," I puzzled, "but twice as attentive as usual, and he is so thoughtful as it is. The boy is one jump ahead of everything, and as a result, I have barely so much as lifted a finger this week. On the days he did not accompany Ichabod, he brought me breakfast in bed and hovered nearby with such a haunted look in his eyes that I nearly wept at the sight. He waited so patiently for me to be sick, Lyse, standing there with a surgical bowl from the next room in his hands..."

"Bless him!" exclaimed Lyse, barely containing her subdued mirth. "Crane and Masbath, two of a kind. You are lucky to have them, Katrina. The child has taken well to being called by his first name, it would seem."

That was true enough. On the day of the wedding, I had thrown back every piece of rice that Young Masbath had tossed at Ichabod and me upon leaving the church, plus more once we had returned to the house. He had been known to everyone in Sleepy Hollow by his given name, but upon his father's grave, he had taken upon himself the family name with quiet determination. It was a title we had willingly granted him during his time of mourning. But as I tossed a heaping handful of rice, I had shouted without thinking, "Joshua! Catch this, you little sneak!" (Completely unbeknownst to me, he had raided the cupboard and filled his pockets with the grain.) Unprotesting, Young Masbath had blinked in amazement, letting the volley of rice shower upon his chest.

"Do you miss being called Joshua?" I had asked cautiously.

"Yes," he had replied almost inaudibly, a grin spreading across his face. "Yes, I rather do."

Lyse's voice summoned me back to the present. "Katrina, dear, are you ill again? Or is that a smile I see?"

"Yes, it is, and yes, he has," I answered, my sour mood dying away. "Joshua Masbath's heart is well on the way to recovery. At least it was until my illness. I owe him a checkers match tonight, I think."

"Just not at the expense of your health," Lyse said evenly. "When you need to rest, don't hesitate to say so."

"I will have all afternoon to rest. Joshua is training in the constabulary today. He works with Ichabod three days a week."

"Fitting," Lyse observed. "He is driven by the same force as your husband. And has a stronger stomach, too," she mused.

Our friendship had blossomed so quickly since the day Ichabod introduced us that I had not been able to hide Sleepy Hollow for long. I had mentioned that Ichabod suffers from occasional nightmares, which had led quite naturally into that fateful conversation. Lyse had been somewhat hesitant at first, but eventually she believed every word.

"As much as I would like to spend the rest of the morning here, I had better go," I said reticently. "If Ichabod sends Joshua home to check on me, he will be frantic to hear news of an empty house."

"If you think that you can make the return trip, then I agree that would be wise. I assume that the nausea abates within the next half an hour anyway," replied Lyse.

"Alas, no," I contradicted her in surprise. "I have been sick well into late afternoon ever since this started, so I do not see why today should be any different than the days preceding."

Lyse lost all color, a sliver of worry creasing her brow.

"What is it?" I asked, fighting the sudden quaver in my voice.

Her expression vanished as quickly as it had come. Lyse shook her head as if to clear it and said, "Never mind, my dear. I'm just deciding which treatments will serve you best."

Lyse led me by the hand through the back room which serves as her living space into the front room where her curiosity shop is located. I leaned patiently against the counter while she cut, measured, and carefully packaged an odd assortment of dried plants and powders, explaining how each should be taken. I was grateful for the lecture, because I found that I had never heard of a few of her antiquated prescriptions.

"Thank you," I said in awe, fastening my cloak and reaching for the brown-wrapped parcel she offered. My hands missed their mark and grabbed frantically for the counter, however, for I surely would have fallen if my reflexes had not been quick enough. Seconds later, I knelt on the floor gagging with Lyse at my side offering more physical comfort and words of reassurance. Miserably, I allowed myself to be place in a chair behind the counter. Lyse disappeared behind the curtain and reappeared with a few rags to efficiently deal with the mess. Once finished, she fetched her own cloak and tucked the parcel under her arm.

"I won't suffer in the least if I lose a day's business," Lyse said, urging me to stand so that I leaned upon her heavily, "so don't you dare protest. I'm closing for today, hailing a coach, and taking you home. I don't know how you made it here alone in the first place." I had barely opened my mouth when she put a finger over my lips. "Not a word," she said severely. "You need to be at home in your own bed with someone to look after you. That someone will be me."

I rested against Lyse's shoulder as the coach bumped along, wondering if Ichabod had indeed sent someone to follow up on me. Or, for that matter, is he had come himself. The latter thought made my heart skip a beat, but the fresh bile rising in my throat was quelled by the realization that if Ichabod had come and found the house deserted, he would at least have had the sense- even in a panic, I hoped- to come by Lyse's shop.

The coach stopped abruptly, interrupting my thoughts. "That'll be half a dollar, Ladies," the driver called as Lyse helped me descend into the street.

"Allow me," I said to Lyse, hunting the coins in the pocket of my cloak. I handed them up to the driver, who lurched away with a tip of his cap.

I unlocked the door of my home and scanned the entry hall, relieved to find that no notes had been slid under the door or left on the small table. Lyse followed close behind, one arm outstretched and hovering at my waist.

"I'm ready to catch you this time, dear," she teased.

"Ichabod may be the one that you end up catching. I think I will need an extra pair of arms on hand when I break the news," I replied, opening the second door that led into the living room. I removed my cloak and draped it absently over one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace, waving to indicate that Lyse could do the same. She chuckled good-naturedly and whisked both cloaks away to the coat rack in the far corner.

"With dizziness comes carelessness, even to my good little housekeeper, I see!"

I held onto the back of the armchair for support, wishing that the vacuous pain in my stomach would swallow itself whole. "I do not care about much of anything right now," I replied, "except for lying down, praying for sleep, and waking to find Ichabod home again." My body ached in defeat. My throat burned from its latest bout with stomach acid, and my eyes were sore with new, unshed tears. "I need some water," I said numbly. "I need to get upstairs..."

My vision swam, but true to her word, Lyse was right there to hold me aloft. Her voice taut with concern, she said, "You need not worry about a thing, Katrina. Lyse deposited the parcel on the chair and steered me toward the stairs. "You will be asleep in no time. I'll see to that," she promised.

Lyse astounded me. She had been a guest under our roof only once before, and she had not even been upstairs on that occasion. The bizarre atmosphere of Ichabod's laboratory did not faze her. I did not even have to tell Lyse that the bedroom lay behind the almost unnoticeable closed door on the far side of the shadowy, spacious room. She simply knew.

Before long I lay comfortably tucked into bed, stripped of my gown and stomacher (which constrictive garment, I realized, probably accounted for half of my pain!) As my chemise alone was not warm enough, Lyse had wrapped me in the first thing she came across in Ichabod's wardrobe: a large, silly bathrobe the color of forget-me-nots lined with gray flannel that I had not known Ichabod owned. It must have been on the bottom shelf or stuffed into a corner, for it had certainly escaped my scrutiny. The robe was a treasure, though, as I soon realized. It was the warmest, most comfortable thing I had ever worn. I curled up in it beneath the covers, waiting for Lyse to bring whatever remedy she stood in front of the stove concocting. I stared at the small painting of my long-dead mother-in-law that sat on the bedside table.

"Was Ichabod this much trouble for you?" I asked Elisabeth Crane, pressing a hand against my unquiet stomach. Her exquisitely painted eyes seemed to shine with sympathy. I did not doubt that she had been a younger bride than I, just as Lyse had been.

Lyse arrived with a steaming teacup just in time, for my stomach threatened to disgrace me once again. "This is one tisane that you cannot sip too quickly," Lyse advised. "The sooner it's all consumed, the better."

I emptied the cup in four or five swallows. "What will it do?" I asked. The ingredients were so completely infused that I could not distinguish the taste of individual herbs.

"Dull the pain, relax your muscles, and make you drowsy faster than any eyebright or chamomile," Lyse answered, sounding much relieved. She took the cup away from me.

"Amen," I said, grasping her free hand with boundless thanks. "Ichabod once called me a miracle worker," I murmured, feeling the nausea ebb and retreat. A pleasant laziness settled in my limbs. "But that was before you- he- he met- knew you better," I mumbled, finding speech difficult.

Lyse bent and kissed the top of my head. "I failed to mention that it thickens the tongue, too," she chuckled, her good humor restored. "Close your eyes and sleep now, my dear girl. I will not be far away."

"I... know," I breathed thinly, permitting my eyelids their much-needed surrender. As welcome oblivion washed over me, I wondered vaguely what kind of potency spell Lyse must have uttered over the brew.

I was first aware of the trembling hand that caressed my cheek, followed by a soft, anguished utterance close to my ear. I opened my eyes slowly, realizing that it was Ichabod who pressed his feverish lips against my forehead and lamented, "Oh, Katrina, forgive me...." My throat tightened.

"Forgive you for what?" I whispered, tears of relief blurring my vision. I slid my arms around Ichabod, drawing a shocked sob from the very depths of his soul. I could not tell whether it was out of pure relief to find me in one piece or out of remorse for having roused me from sleep. "I needed you," I cried, holding onto him for dear life, "and now you are here." I had no idea how long he had been sitting on the edge of the bed, but his presence was all that mattered.

"For leaving you this morning," Ichabod responded, guilt-stricken. He wrapped me in his arms firmly but tenderly, as though he expected me to shatter beneath the slightest pressure. I clung to him fiercely, unable to stem the rush of emotion. I wept in quiet remorse for how I had felt toward him earlier.

"Why such tears, love?" Ichabod asked, stroking my disheveled hair away from my face. He frowned in deeper concern. "Dear God.... Had I but realized you were this ill! Why on earth did you venture out alone this morning?"

"To ask Lyse-"

"If she knew what was wrong with you?"

"No," I replied softly, tears giving way to a smile. "To verify my own diagnosis."

Ichabod's eyes opened wide. "You mean to tell me that you know what you have?"

"It is not so much a question of what I have," I said, taking his hands in mine, "as it is one of what I am going to have."

Ichabod looked tormented to the point of dementia. It broke my heart to see him so, faint from lack of sleep and sick with worry. Such things absolutely dismantled his rational mind and reduced him to a frightened child. It was I who stoked his cheek and whispered against his forehead this time. I pressed his hand against my stomach, which, heaven knew, would not be so unobtrusive for much longer.

"Let me just say that where magic is concerned," I said with anticipation, "you have truly outdone yourself this time, Ichabod Crane."

I watched expectantly as the realization hit. Fright, confusion, joy, relief: all of these emotions flared in Ichabod's ever-changing eyes, escaping his lips in a disbelieving exhalation that seemed to catch halfway in his throat. I was lucky that Lyse walked in just then. Very lucky.

"I would not have believed you if I had not seen it with my own eyes!" Lyse exclaimed, rushing forward to help me prevent an unconscious Ichabod from sliding to the floor. "I suppose that these old arms of mine came in handy after all."

A glum-looking Joshua Masbath, who followed close at her heels, sighed wearily, "What did it this time?"

"You told him, I surmise?" Lyse asked, urging me to move over so she could prop Ichabod up on the pillow beside me.

"Told him what?" Joshua demanded.

"Yes, Lyse, I did."

"Told him what?" repeated Joshua.

"That I am with child," I said, nodding at Lyse to give her permission to unbutton Ichabod's uniform jacket. One of the silver disks, loose on its thread, toppled and landed on the floor with a pronounced clink before rolling across the floor, coming to rest between Joshua's feet.

"You are?!" Joshua exclaimed, his excitement so short-lived that I felt my heart sink. His joy drained away as quickly as the faint color in his cheeks. "I'm happy for you," he said with an earnest but forced tone of congratulation. I looked at him hard as he bent nervously to pick up the button, filled with concern.

Joshua, what is wrong?

The boy interpreted my silent query without difficulty. An unusual bond had formed between us.

Nothing. Nothing that I want you to worry about, Katrina!

Joshua glanced at me uneasily as he placed the button next to Lady Crane's handkerchief on the bedside table.

I shook my head sadly, gesturing for Joshua to stay close while I focused my attention on Ichabod. He was waking as Lyse eased him out of his jacket. Ichabod sat up quickly, muttering terse thanks to Lyse and shrugging the rest of the jacket himself. He embraced me immediately, this time impervious to the danger of suffocation. I trailed my fingers over his closed eyes, following the tracks of fresh, wordless tears. Lyse pulled Joshua toward the door by his sleeve. The boy still looked immensely disturbed, even reluctant to leave.

"I'll be in the kitchen, my dears. After all, the soup is almost done. Come, Joshua. You can tell me about your day. You have chosen a fascinating line of work, and I'm quite eager to hear all about it."

"Y-Yes, of course, Ma'am."

With that, the two of them vanished. Ichabod's long, fervent kiss took my breath away. I felt spectacularly faint as he lowered me back onto the pillow.

"I should have realized," Ichabod berated himself, but his voice was more full of wonder than chastisement. "For all of the books that I have ever read, for each human condition that I have ever studied.... You would think me capable of recognizing that my own wife is with child!"

"Hush," I reassured him. "You were afraid for me. Worry blinds any and all men that it afflicts. Even I took these symptoms for what they were not. I, a woman, who surely should know!"

Ichabod sighed, looking instantly healthier than I had seen him in days. He stared at the curtains, unsure of whether to laugh or cry.

"Despite the elation, I... I feel quite unutterably guilty, if you can imagine that," Ichabod admitted apologetically. "You would not be feeling so poorly if-"

I clapped a hand over his mouth, laughing so hard that I hoped he did not take it for mockery. "If you can believe it, I do! Such thoughts I had running through my head earlier while losing what few swallows I had taken of Lyse's tea, you could hardly imagine. If you had been there, I might have knocked you flat," I confessed. "I feel terrible about that now.... You have no idea how terrible."

"And well I deserve it," Ichabod suggested with a wan smile.

"Never say that. Not even in jest. I would not trade all of the nights that we have shared for the world. I was not in my right mind earlier, and I daresay that I will not be in the days to come. The fault is mine as much as yours," I reassured him affectionately.

"What a glorious blame to share!" Ichabod agreed, staring at me as though through the veil of a dream that he wished would never end. "I never expected to be so blessed, Katrina. Never in all my living years."

"Then expect it, for I certainly am," I mused, drawing from him the laughter I had come to hold as so rare and precious. "What is Lyse cooking?" I asked at length, deciding the sensation I had begun to feel was not the sickness but hunger.

"To tell you the truth, I have no idea. I only know that she mentioned soup. I was in such a rush to reach your side that I did not bother to look."

"How long have I been asleep?" I asked curiously, realizing that the daylight was unusually subdued.

"Nearly six hours, according to Lyse. It is almost five o'clock."

"Five o'clock! You left work early, then. Are you sure you will not meet your end at the hands of the High Constable?" I asked anxiously.

"Joshua helped me to convince Smythe to cover for us. He is a new recruit and has a kind heart, which is as much of a rarity as a reprieve such as this. And, truth be told," he added, "I do not care."

I was touched beyond words by his sacrifice. "I cannot believe that I slept so long," I finally said, hoping that a kiss would convey what speech could not in that moment.

"I would not have it any other way," Ichabod reassured me when at last we were eye to eye. "After all, you are resting for two now."

"True enough," I said, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. "I think I am hungry, although one bite will tell that tale soon enough," I added dourly as Ichabod helped me stand. He appraised the bathrobe with amusement, which hung on my frame like an old coat on one of FatherÌs scarecrows.

"I see that you have discovered the most ridiculous item of apparel that I own," Ichabod observed.

"Lyse fished it out of your wardrobe. I did spend a while wondering where on earth it came from."

"I found it in that trunk in Joshua's room shortly after Mrs. Barton passed away, along with some exceedingly aged slacks and dress shirts. I assume it belonged to her husband, or perhaps to the servant who once occupied that chamber. Where it is lacking in looks and size, it more than makes up for those deficiencies in warmth. You are just now beginning to experience how cold this house is in winter."

"That, too, I discovered," I said, grinning. "I swear there must be enough room in it for both of us."

"I cannot argue with that," Ichabod replied as I shed the robe, fetching my gown and pulling it down over my head.

"A theory that you would like to test later, perhaps, Constable?" I asked, an honest yearning beneath the flippancy of my tease. I wanted to hold him for hours on end while he was yet at arm's length, before morning would inevitably take him from my side again and leave in his place that harrowing pain. For that evening, at least, I was certain that I would be fine. I had to be. Four restless, uneasy nights without feeling him in my blood and in my soul, without forgetting where my own being ended and his began. I wanted to reassure him that this sickness would neither daunt me nor come between us if I could help it. And the look in his eyes as I spoke those words told me that he, too, missed being whole.

"Only if you are certain that you feel all right," he whispered gently, his fingers becoming slow and attentive against my back as he fastened my gown.

"I am sure that I will have nothing to worry about until tomorrow," I breathed into the rising and falling hollow of his throat. "I have reason to hope that after such a rough morning, God would at least see fit to grant us an evening of peace."

Ichabod fumbled with the last two hooks, at last giving up to the breathless demand of my whisper. He pulled me close and rested his chin on top of my head. "Indeed, I pray that is the case, Katrina- ahh..." he sighed in a voice low and strained. "I love you so... I do not know what I would do without you."

I believe that if Lyse had not called from the foot of the stairs some moments after that, we might have decided to skip dinner altogether. As Ichabod and I descended the stairs reluctantly, arm in arm, we were chided by the knowing smile Lyse tossed over her shoulder as she walked back into the kitchen.

Joshua sat at the neatly laid out table with a book in his lap, but I could tell that even though he stared intently at the page, he was not reading. Lyse gestured me to the stove and whispered beneath the bubbling of the soup, "That boy is deeply troubled. He barely said a word to me in all this time, the poor dear! I should have taken what you said earlier much more seriously."

"I know," I mouthed in reply, answering Ichabod's questioning glance with a wave in Joshua's direction. He nodded almost imperceptibly and tapped the chair beside Joshua lightly, raising his eyebrows. I nodded, making my way around the table and taking the seat that Ichabod had indicated. Ichabod took the one across from me, next to where Lyse would sit.

"Joshua," I said quietly, laying my hand upon his smaller one as he nervously balanced the book in his lap. He started suddenly at my touch, as if I had burned him. The book slithered out of his lap, landing in an ungainly flutter of pages on the floor.

"IÌm sorry, Sir," he whispered, staring at Ichabod with wide, grave eyes. He would not look in my direction. Ichabod spilled the water heÌd been pouring all over the table.

"IÌll leave now," Joshua mumbled in an upset panic, blindly pushing his seat away from the table. I grabbed Joshua by the collar to prevent his escape.

"What has gotten into you?" I asked with wild dismay, slamming him back into the chair with such force that I found Lyse and Ichabod both staring at me in alarm. Joshua had closed his eyes and hidden his face in his hands, trembling where he sat.

"DonÌt l-look at her that way.... I-I said donÌt!" came the muffled cry from behind JoshuaÌs fingers. He pulled them away slowly, looking me straight in the eye with his red-rimmed pleading ones. I let go of his collar slowly, wishing my offensive hand would wither for what it had so rashly done. I felt my own breath adopt the rhythm of JoshuaÌs rising sobs.

"I didnÌt mean to," Joshua faltered. "I couldnÌt help it.... I couldnÌt...."

I put my arms around him, my embrace a screaming plea for forgiveness. "I should not have done that. Forget it. Forget this ever happened," I whispered dumbly, not even certain of what my own outburst had meant. Over JoshuaÌs shoulder, I stole a fearful glance at Ichabod and Lyse. Frozen in time, neither dared breathe. I rocked the boy, choking down a melody that rose unbidden in my throat....

" ÎThereÌs rosemary, thatÌs for remembrance....Ì "

No, no, oh, God, no.... Yonder stands the Queen and my Prince, my sweet Prince....

And I am Ophelia and I am going mad. I am....

"... Going to eat now," I heard Ichabod say emptily, gently pulling me away from Joshua. I had nearly crushed the boy in my arms. I allowed Ichabod to kiss my cheek and fold my arms in my lap. I stared at them.... Pathetic, pale, tenebrous things....

"I had better serve this before it cools," I heard Lyse say.

"Yes," I said, looking up at Ichabod with a faint smile, a desperate attempt at recovery. But the look in his eyes told me that the damage had already been done.

Dinner proceeded nonetheless, altogether too somber for the event we claimed in our hearts to be celebrating. Conversation resumed, but the others hung indulgently on my every word as if they feared I would fly into another fit at the slightest sign of a lack of empathy. I spoke with forced clarity, praying it would reassure them that my wits were once again about me. I made a point of emptying my bowl. I did not feel nauseous, but still vacant inside even though I had eaten well. Joshua even returned to a shade of his old self for my sake. Ichabod and Lyse cheered us on afterward in front of a blazing hearth, Joshua easily rallying an army of black kings against my feeble red disks. At one point in the game, a look of despair passed between Joshua and Ichabod.

Joshua had not beaten me for days.

Their fair gatherer of wild flowers was tottering unaware on a flawed willow branch over dark, uncharted waters.

"Check," Joshua said weakly for what must have been the tenth time.

"So it is! Well done," I congratulated him. The least I could do was smile.

Shortly after that, Joshua voluntarily retired to bed. He hugged each of us good night by turns, lingering upon me last.

"I donÌt want to upset you. Trust me," he whispered in my ear, unbeknownst to the others.

I nodded mutely, kissing the side of his head. Joshua, you are breaking my heart....

If you wonÌt permit me to hold my peace, that I surely will do!

I sighed heavily as he left the room. I was left face to face with my husband and Lyse, at the mercy their scrutinizing concern. Ichabod left his seat, coming toward me with purposeful steps. Lyse sat in the other armchair, her eyes never once leaving us. I realized Ichabod intended for her to be a participant. I looked at Ichabod fearfully as he knelt beside me.

"Katrina, if there is something that I do not know, I pray you tell me now! Joshua is withering... disconsolate, before my very eyes. What has happened between the two of you?" Ichabod demanded almost harshly.

"If I knew the cause of his grief, Ichabod," I replied with bitter equanimity, "then you would be the first to know. He has been acting strangely for five days now. Did you think to trace it back to my first signs of illness?"

"No," Ichabod responded, humbled by contrition, "I did not, and in which case, you are the most skilled detective under this roof. I was so preoccupied with your condition that, I admit with great reluctance, I have paid very little attention to Joshua's disposition during these past few days. To say that I did not notice that he is out of sorts would be a lie, but I confess that I gave no heed to its origin." Ichabod paused to breathe at last and bowed his head against my palms penitently. I took his face in my hands and looked to Lyse for answers.

"You have been a mother for far longer than I," I said to her respectfully. "You surely noted his actions at dinner-" and mine, I thought ashamedly- "with your usual keen eye. Do you have any idea what the trouble is? Even an inkling? I am at wits' end." I tasted wormwood in the last comment to come tripping off my tongue. I lowered my own countenance in defeat, finding solace in the softness of Ichabod's hair as had become my habit.

"There is more to it than meets the eye, and I assure you that whatever his malady, my eye it has not yet met," Lyse answered truthfully, her voice full of regret. "I can't help that feel that I have failed you in this, my dears. No magic exists that can discern the poison of a child's heart. But I can sense one thing for certain: his behavior is the result of something that happened in the past. And his unspeakable fear has invariably linked it to you, Katrina"

Ichabod and I looked up almost in unison, our helpless gazes locked. The emergence of the prophetic Lyse sent chills racing down our spines. Ichabod clenched my hands tenderly for a moment before rising to his feet with an anger so swift and sudden that I wondered for a moment if this was truly the soul mate that I had come to adore.

"The past!" Ichabod cried, "Unceasingly, it is the past that threatens to make Hell of every second that we breathe! Each minute, each hour, and that for ever and always! Lyse, I am weary of the game fate has chosen to play with me. Just when I am led to believe that I have won, I find that I am standing on top of yet another trap door!" Such a plaintive, desolate lament, I had never heard in my life. I watched spellbound as Lyse rose to her feet, bravely facing Ichabod's newly unleashed wrath. The stood eye to eye, will to will.

"I am so tired of grief, Lyse," Ichabod whispered, for his voice had broken at last and left him capable of naught but frightened tears. I rushed to his side, threading one arm through his. "At one time, I was equally tired of life. Strange, that fear of what lies beyond should be the only agent to stay a rational man's bullet, is it not? I tell you.... The only reasons that I now live are this angel that stands by my side and the boy who sleeps upstairs! Will you deny me the boy, then, too, who I so long to call son? For the love of all that is holy, if indeed there be anything holy at all in this world save the union so recently Katrina and I have entered in, leave us to our peace...." Ichabod had trailed off, and I realized that he was not talking to Lyse at all, but railing at a force higher than our comprehension. His eyes stared with blank defiance at the wall beyond. Lyse knew it, too, and had taken his hand, smiling her sad, knowing smile.

"I must now beg your forgiveness, too, my Lady," Ichabod said quietly, kissing her hand. He reached for me, and I willed my embrace to give him the strength that he needed. "I simply ask for acceptance of the fact that Joshua's behavior is a product of his worrying about Katrina. Nothing more, nothing less. The two of them are inseparably close, so I do not understand why Joshua would react in any manner contrary. Lyse... as I love you, as our friend... I plead with you, accept this conclusion for all our sakes."

Ichabod fell eerily silent, focusing upon me rather than upon Lyse. I understood his consternation all too well. Ichabod had just lain bare the forbidden reaches of his soul to someone he still considered half a stranger, for he had not spent half the time with Lyse that I had. Lyse bowed her head in deeply concerned acknowledgement, embracing us both briefly.

"It is true that Joshua is worried about Katrina. It's a prominent cause. I could not consider myself honest, however, if I had not come off straight with you. You must beware the undercurrent, the thing that he dares not speak. Oh, my dear children..." she murmured, her own eyes aglow with firelit tears. "Please say that you trust me in this. You know that I have said nothing save that it be for your own good!"

"I know," I cried, the first to step forward and repeat what I had done countless times earlier. She held me for a long time, and what silent exchange must have gone on between she and Ichabod, I cannot say. But I felt my mother in her arms. That was all that I needed to know.

"See to it that she treats herself according to what I have given her," Lyse told Ichabod kindly as he helped her into her cloak. Ever the gentleman, he had gone to fetch it as she comforted me. "She will be in sore need of it come morning," she added in a more furtive, almost fearful tone. "You may have to learn how to make these potions."

Ichabod returned a look of surprise, but nodded in agreement, clasping my hand. "I could ask for no finer teacher, I assure you," he said. "I bid you safe journey home... and," Ichabod added apologetically, "I swear that I will never repeat what I have done tonight. My words and actions were... inexcusable."

Lyse winked amiably as she turned to go, ever undaunted, and said wisely, "A man in passion rides a mad horse, Mr. Crane. Whether it be the horse or rider whose choler is greatest, however, is the question. Look to it and be careful, my dears. Get some sleep and I shall see you on the morrow. Farewell."

We watched from the front door until we were certain that Lyse had safely hailed a ride home. Once inside again, we pressed cold hands to each otherÌs windswept cheeks. The silence was long, but not unwelcome.

"How is it that we give ourselves over to such madness," Ichabod asked in wistful amazement, "when on this night, of all nights, we have a new life to celebrate? Katrina, I ask your forgiveness on a valid account this time. I am afraid that perhaps a bit of my father lives on in me after all."

"What shame is in that?" I asked, cocking my head. "Are we not all one half of each our parentsÌ flesh? Just the same, my father lives on in me and JoshuaÌs in him. We cannot help what shadows of mannerisms that we have inherited. Why," I added in amusement, "if this child is born with even half of the mettle that lies in each of us... and what, with your brilliance my whimsy-"

"Katrina, please do not flatter," Ichabod replied half in earnest, "lest you tempt me to some greater mischief!"

"Pity," I replied coyly, relieved to know that good humor had been restored. "I had a mind to be mischievous."

"I suppose it would depend on what kind of mischief...."

I leaned closer so that the lines of our silhouettes touched. "The very kind that accounts for the sort which you fear in your own progeny," I replied, bringing the gentle quarrel full circle. When our lips met, all enmity was forgotten.

I whispered against his mouth, "Thanks to Lyse, I have had enough rest to last me two nights. I am nowhere near tired...."

"I suppose that I, too, have... hours to spare, considering I left work early," he replied, pausing to kiss me again in midsentence. "But mark my words, I will not have you up half the night!"

"Suppose I have you up half the night, then?"

The exchange ended up well enough where it was headed. I lay for a long while afterward, committing each slowing heartbeat to memory. If I had ever wondered how a man would go about making love to spun glass, then I needed look no further. IchabodÌs infinite gentleness had always been a fine point, but to experience it amplified ten times hence and battle it with my own fiercer fire, yes... indeed, that was the definition of poetry in motion. We lay pressed close to the point of pain and beyond, sleep hanging patiently over.

"Would you have wanted me to wait until Christmas?" I asked, contently exhausted.

"What?" Ichabod murmured, his reply muffled between my hair and the pillow. His slim fingers continued to trace phantom patterns across my back. I often wondered what on earth he was drawing. I resolved to ask him sometime.

"Would you have wanted to hear the news on Christmas rather than on an ordinary day like today?"

Ichabod raised his head and looked down on me thoughtfully for a few moments. "Katrina, I have come to accept that no day is an ordinary one. No, I would not have traded knowing now for the world," he replied, reaching over me to extinguish the few candles we had lit on the bedside table. "My child needs its rest," he said with affectionate sternness, settling back down, bundling me close beneath the covers.

"Its?" I asked in amusement. "Why not Îhis or her?Ì "

"Too cumbersome. Besides, I do not have the faintest idea of whether to expect a son or a daughter, nor do I prefer one above the other. I cannot stand those men who are obtuse enough to assume their firstborn has no choice but to be a son."

I fell asleep knowing that I was the luckiest woman in the world. I would not trade my quailing rationalist for all of the bravest ignorants in creation.

I awoke to the sound of rain beating hard upon the roof, finding myself alone in bed. I sat up in apprehension, only to find myself racked by a familiar dizziness. I lay back down with a soft moan. I could feel the twinge waiting for the first morsel of food that I dared try and force-feed it.

"Ichabod," I called tentatively, though I knew he could not hear me. I was almost afraid to yell. I had dined my fill upon raised voices at dinner the night before.

I rolled over onto my side, reaching for the clock on the table. I squinted in the semidarkness. It was a quarter until six. Much too early for Ichabod to have left for work. I risked sitting up again, wrapping the robe about myself and slipping out of bed. I knelt and put my ear to the floor. I had not been mistaken. Voices echoed up from the kitchen, faint but possessed of a bizarre clarity.

"... Two measures, like so.... No, thatÌs too..."

"What do you mean... much?... I followed... exactly...."

"Listen... her, Sir.... knows what... doing, IÌm sure...."

I laughed aloud, abandoning my eavesdropping in favor of getting back into bed. Lyse was giving Ichabod and Joshua their first lesson in white magic. One free of spells, I was certain, for the two of them were not ready for it and probably never would be.

I must have drifted back off to sleep, for the creak of the bedroom door plunged me once more into hazy wakefulness. Dawn's incandescent light revealed to me two figures hovering in the doorway. Ichabod bore a tray and Lyse followed close behind with a saucepan. I sat up with a smile that was instantly replaced by a wincing frown. I was lightheaded.

"As I feared," Ichabod said with concern, placing the tray at the foot of the bed. I laughed inwardly at Lyse's pretended disdain, for Ichabod had borrowed her glory. Ichabod pressed a teacup to my lips.

"If I have any talent whatsoever for this sort of thing, we shall soon find out," he said, stroking my forehead as I drank it. "You are supposed to sleep on this one an hour or so longer. That way, you should not feel as-"

I had not half-emptied the cup when my digestive system rebelled. "Oh, God..." I cried softly, shoving the cup at Ichabod and hastily grabbing for the bowl that Lyse bore as she rushed forward. Ichabod supported me as I choked up his first herbal efforts into the bowl. Once finished, I leaned against Ichabod miserably, hiding my face against his chest as Lyse set the bowl on the floor and refilled the teacup with what remained in the saucepan.

"Katrina, listen to me. You must hold it down this time."

"I'll try," I muttered helplessly into the folds of Ichabod's white shirt. He was completely dressed for work except for his jacket. I remembered the loose button as Ichabod urged me to drink once more. I swallowed the draught hard and shut my mouth tighter than a steel trap. This time, the violent upheaval remained internal. I shuddered with it, clasping Ichabod's arms with sweating palms. He kissed the top of my head and rocked me gently.

"You... your coat lost a button y-yesterday," I stammered, lacking the presence of mind to say anything else. "Bring me the sewing basket. The button is on the table. Let me fix it-"

"No, my dear," Ichabod said firmly, laying me back down. "You need to rest a while longer. I shall not move from this spot until you sleep again, I promise you that. Joshua is not going with me today. He insisted upon staying home to look after you. He will be nearby long after Lyse and I have gone. Be still, love."

I could not stand being an invalid. I could not stand being unable to see to Ichabod's smallest needs. I insisted stubbornly, trying to sit up, "But the button-"

"Will be tended to presently," Lyse interrupted, scooping the bright flash of silver off the table into her palm. "Where do you keep your needles and thread, Katrina?"

"In the little basket on the closest bookshelf in the next room," I replied in a small voice. Lyse and the button swept out the door in a flurry of violet skirts.

"Lady Crane, Lady Crane," Ichabod sighed. "Whatever am I to do with you?"

"Nothing, save what you already have. I could not ask for more!"

When I rose at eight o'clock, Ichabod and Lyse had both departed. True to his intent, Joshua sat in a chair beside the bed, waiting patiently. The surgical bowl was on the floor at his feet.

"Good morning," I said, smiling. When Joshua returned the sentiment, I was grateful to see that even though his melancholy still ran as deep as ever, he did not force it.

"You too, Katrina. Did you sleep well?"

"Yes.... Did you?"

Joshua hesitated, a dark look crossing his face. "No," he responded truthfully. "I had nightmares. Did Ichabod?"

"Not last night. I am sorry to hear that they plagued you for a change," I comforted him, placing a hand on his. "I... I want to tell you how sorry I am for my behavior at dinner last night, Joshua. I cannot stand it, you know. Seeing you this way. I feel responsible."

Joshua heaved a pained sigh, withdrawing into his shell like the hermit crab that I caught once along the coast as a child. "You're not. Please don't think that you are, Katrina. I just want you to trust me," he pleaded. I was lost for words. Nothing he had said over the course of five days had made any sense at all. I knew that if I pried I would only be answered in more riddles. I gave up.

"All right," I surrendered. "I am not feeling so ill right now. I think whatever the three of you concocted has taken its effect. Leave me now, and I will join you for breakfast presently," I said, narrowing my eyes with a conciliatory grin. "How would you like some cocoa? Is there any left in the cupboard, or have you filled your pockets with that, too?"

"Very much!" Joshua answered enthusiastically. "No, there's plenty. Call if you need me," he said over his shoulder as he left the room.

Needless to say, Ichabod's potion was not entirely effective. The consummation of a whole cup of cocoa and half a slice of bread led me into a false sense of security. Half an hour later, I bolted in the middle of a conversation with Joshua about what he had done at work the day previous. He clung to my arm with trembling hands, ready with a cloth just as Lyse had been.

"I hope you're not in too much pain," he blurted apprehensively.

"No.... Not at all...." I whispered hollowly, the pallor of my voice betraying the truth behind my claim.

Joshua trailed me like a hawk for the rest of the day, most of which time I spent curled up in an armchair altering two of my older gowns for the months to come. Joshua sat in the other, reading aloud to me from the paper and spouting off amateur conjectures that I knew he did not yet have the confidence to present to Ichabod. I smiled queasily, propelling my needle with a steady, in-and-out weave. Joshua would doubtless be a great thinker in his time.

Dinner that night, at least, had a semblance of order. I was feeling well enough by then for the three of us to take a walk through the small park not far from home. Even snow lay on the ground beneath our feet, four inches deep in all directions. I handed my muff to Ichabod, who gave me a bewildered look.

"Your hands will freeze!" he protested.

"Shhh," I hissed mischievously, putting a finger to his lips. "No they won't."

I bent down and scooped up a handful of snow. Joshua was several yards ahead of us, studying a group of children making snow angels not far away. I took a few silent steps and then froze. I remembered vividly the day when, aged nine years old, I had beaten Brom in a snowball-flinging match. I prayed that my aim had not gone bad.

Joshua grunted as the snowball hit him square in the left shoulder. Ichabod was trying very hard either not to laugh or to hide his embarrassment. I could not tell which, but I grabbed my muff away from him and hid my hands in it before Joshua turned around.

"He did it!" I exclaimed innocently, pointing a finger at Ichabod, who gave a stupefied gasp.

"I did not," Ichabod insisted with denial so flat and vehement that I had no choice but to fly into hysterical laughter. Joshua glared at me competitively.

"You liar," he shouted, bending to gather his own ammunition. He sent the missile sailing with deadly speed. I ducked just in time. The snowball hit Ichabod in the face.

"You had better run," Ichabod spluttered, furiously wiping the snow off his stinging cheek. "Both of you!"

Joshua and I ran the whole way home with Ichabod in comical pursuit, pausing to try and maintain his dignity and scoop up snowballs by turns, all of which missed their mark. He came close, however, upon reaching our doorstep. I was clipped in the back of the head by an insubstantial flurry of ice. I allowed myself to be caught, laughing as Ichabod playfully half-dragged me up the front steps. Joshua had already unlocked the door and bolted inside. I supposed he considered himself the winner, having cleverly eluded capture.

"I will get you back for this one of these days," Ichabod teased, stopping to kiss me halfway through the entry hall.

"Will you, now?" I asked, stamping my feet to dislodge the snow that had accumulated on the old pair of boots that Ichabod had lent me. His feet, like mine, were small, though still the boots were a couple of sizes loose in fit.

"Yes. I guarantee that you will not even know what hit you."

"Ichabod Crane... unpredictable," I mused. "This, I must see."

"All in good time, dearest love."

"When did Lyse arrive this morning?" I asked, suddenly curious. We clambered into the living room where Joshua was kindling a fire, tripping out of our ungainly winter footwear.

"She arrived at five thirty, and believe me, someone knocking on the door that early nearly scared me out of my wits. I dressed as quickly as I could. Lo and behold, Lyse was on our doorstep. She brightly informed me that I was about to learn a thing or two about prenatal medicine. What choice did I have but to let her in?"

"None," I chortled. "Lyse has an absolutely indomitable will. What she insists upon is law. My mother was like that. 'Positively forceful' is how I prefer to consider people like them."

"Katrina, only you could find a ray of sunshine in this vale of tears!"

The days remaining days until Christmas were difficult. The morning sickness maintained its intensity, and on two occasions I was resorted to the sleeping potion that Lyse had first given me. Ichabod managed to keep his anxiety under decent control at my constant urging, whereas on my worst days Joshua was completely beside himself no matter what I did or said.

Despite the fact that I was no closer to recovery than I was to solving the mystery of JoshuaÌs angst, I maintained a façade of holiday cheer that daunted even LyseÌs seasonal enthusiasm. I decorated the house from top to bottom between bouts of lying miserably curled up in IchabodÌs arms or lazing in the armchair, festooning the banister and mantelpiece with holly and poinsettia garlands. I hung a sprig of mistletoe above the front door. I even bullied Ichabod into dragging a Christmas tree three blocks from the vendor where I had purchased it.

"I have the Germans to blame for this, if I am not mistaken," Ichabod grunted as he heaved the unwieldy shrubbery up the front steps with awkward help from Joshua.

"And what persistent scapegoats they are," I said wryly as I held the door for them. It had become my quest to make the best of what had transpired in Sleepy Hollow. I found that the whole affair indeed had a lighter side if I looked hard enough.

Much to his embarrassment, Ichabod was the one to answer the door when Lyse arrived for dinner on Christmas Eve. I will never forget how his eyes shot nervously toward the mistletoe dangling above their heads. Curious, Lyse followed suit and looked up.

"This poses a fascinating question, Mr. Crane," Lyse pointed out, her eyes shining merrily. "Who caught who?"

"Madam, I..." he faltered, but he straightened up as soon as I gave him a playful nudge from behind. "I do not know. I judge that we well enough caught each other, considering the circumstance."

"Then doesnÌt that mean you have to kiss each other?" Joshua chimed in as he came down the stairs, grinning wickedly.

Ichabod sucked in his breath and let it out again, his eyes darting sidelong to the floor. This classic gesture of his elicited snickers from all of us. He put on his best mask of bravery and assented smugly, "Very well. For traditionÌs sake."

Lyse leaned forward first. She kissed IchabodÌs left cheek; he kissed her right. He bowed slightly and gestured for her to come inside as though to say, "Are you satisfied?" While Joshua took LyseÌs cloak and hefted the bag he had relieved her of with great interest, I put an end to IchabodÌs pouting on the spot. No sooner had he pushed the door shut than I pinned him up against it, kissing him hard.

"Let it not be mistaken that I caught you!" I scolded him affectionately. Joshua and Lyse applauded heartily. Cheeks flushed crimson, Ichabod took my hand and led our small gathering into the kitchen.

Ichabod and Joshua had insisted upon cooking Christmas dinner, to which I initially protested quite loudly. But I could not disagree that it was only fair, since I had done all of the decorating. They had refused to let me set foot in the kitchen all day long, and as we entered, I understood why. I choked up, and Lyse breathed a soft "ahhh" of approval.

Linen of deep forest green covered the dinner table. A set of new silver candlesticks served as centerpieces, the tall red candles perched in them aglow. The tableware was brand new, all of it: silverware gleaming in the candlelight as brightly as new-minted coins, plates of fine bone china adorned with painted birds of all kinds... sparrows, linnets, robins, chickadees, cardinals. The various components of a matching service set each contained a different dish: stuffed pheasants on a grand platter, sauce in the gravy boat, mixed vegetables and cranberry relish in a set of shallow serving boats. I had never been more grateful to Van Ripper for his complicity in the Van Garrett transaction. Without the inheritance safely ensconced in our New York bank, Christmas gifts would have been scant indeed. My hands flew to my mouth as a sob escaped my throat.

"Merry Christmas, Katrina," Joshua said shyly. Ichabod did not speak, but mirrored JoshuaÌs sentiment in a look worth a thousand words. It was some moments before I regained my composure and told everyone to sit down and help themselves, like a good hostess should. I held IchabodÌs hand under the table all through dinner.

Afterward, Ichabod and Joshua carried two extra chairs into the living room so that they would not be forced to sit on the floor. Lyse urged us all to gather around. She had fetched the bag that Joshua had been so intent upon earlier.

"I expect a show of excitement as eager as that of this young man here," Lyse warned Ichabod and me, indicating Joshua with a wave of her hand. "You are not so old that you have forgotten what it is to be a child on this most glorious night of the year." Even Ichabod smiled at that. I finally realized where his spinning cardinal disk must have come from.

Lyse handed us each a beautifully wrapped box, urging us all to open them at once. Joshua murmured, "ItÌs so lovely that I almost donÌt want to open it."

Joshua opened it all the same and discovered a snugly wrapped set of fine marble chessmen inside. He threw his arms around Lyse, exclaiming, "IÌm sure they wonÌt mind sharing the board with the checkers. In fact, they canÌt wait!"

I extricated the box from the paper carefully, finding a treasure that I would hold dear for the rest of my life: a tiny white christening gown and bonnet. I spent the next five minutes sniffling on LyseÌs shoulder.

"ItÌs fit for a little prince as equally as it is for a little princess," Lyse murmured with pride, stroking my hair. "I am so proud of you, my brave child, to have borne this so nobly."

LyseÌs gift to Ichabod left him speechless. It, too, was white and brilliant: a lace-edged neck cloth much fancier than any of the plain ones he owned. It put me in mind of one Brom had owned, but I did not say that. I took it from IchabodÌs trembling hands. Removing his old one, I tied LyseÌs in its stead, tucking it just right. I assured him that for now he did not need a mirror.

"You are so handsome that you take my breath away," I breathed in his ear.

"Lyse, I am... I... I do not know what to say," he stammered. I could see that he was sorry for all of the times that he had regarded her intentions with annoyance.

"Then donÌt say anything at all, my dear," she said, affording him a forgiving wink.

Joshua, Ichabod, and I gave Lyse the quilt that it had taken us so long to reach a consensus on. We had spent an entire afternoon haggling in the weaverÌs shop. I had favored one with a wildflower motif, while Ichabod had been fond of one covered in stars and other geometric designs. Joshua had cut to the chase by scooping up one adorned with an esthetically pleasing but eerily familiar pastoral scene. That very quilt now lay unwrapped in LyseÌs lap, its stitched golden wheat and windmill scene cascading over her lap and onto the floor.

"Bless you all," she whispered with feeling. "This will put an end to these cold December nights for certain! An impressive and practical brand of magic indeed."

In reply, Ichabod and I shared a knowing look. Joshua beamed. Lyse slowly rose to her feet, folding the quilt gingerly and placing it in her bag. She held it to her chest as though it were a sack full of gold.

"I must leave you, my dears," she said reluctantly. "My sons are coming home tomorrow. I have my own Christmas Day to prepare!"

The goodbye was prolonged and heartfelt, but at length Lyse descended our front steps and went her own way. As he looked after her, I sensed IchabodÌs new respect for that remarkable old woman. With a sigh, he ushered Joshua and I back into the living room. Seating us formally in the armchairs, he whisked the kitchen chairs away to their rightful spots. He returned and stood in front of the fireplace, thinking a few moments. A smile tugged at my lips. He looked for all the world as though he were about to give a speech.

"I have no doubt that you have been as curious about these as I have," Ichabod said finally, indicating the six parcels under our tree. Three wrapping styles were wondrously evident: two swathed in JoshuaÌs clumsy but thorough attempts with red and white striped paper, IchabodÌs exacting, elegant silver gray ones, and my two angel-wrapped ones detailed with curling ribbon and holly attached. Ichabod picked up the larger of the two that he had wrapped, and at his cue I fetched the smaller of my two. Ichabod looked at me questioningly, wondering if I wanted to give my gift to Joshua first. I shook my head and gave him a nudge.

Ichabod placed the oddly shaped package in JoshuaÌs lap. It was largely flat and rectangular except for a row of odd protrusions on top, as if a tiny mountain range had sprung up beneath the wrapping paper. As his hands tore the paper away, JoshuaÌs grateful, shining eyes never left IchabodÌs face. He gasped as four bottles of different colored ink rolled free into his lap. He pulled the rest of the paper away to reveal a ledger bound in burgundy leather and a fine writing quill nestled beside it. I am not sure who moved forward first, but master and assistant were caught in a rare embrace in less than a second.

"Thank you, Sir," Joshua whispered tremulously.

"It is high time you had your own ledger," Ichabod said with undisguised pride and affection. "And... please..." he added in a whisper, as though he feared the words he was about to speak. "Never be afraid to call me by my first name. Do you understand that?"

"Yes, Ichabod." The words passed JoshuaÌs smiling lips effortlessly. The boy had been waiting for permission all along.

"By no means will I upstage Lyse and Ichabod," I said softly to Joshua, extending my gift to him. "But I want you to have this."

Joshua unwrapped my offering with great ceremony, as though he wanted the moment to last for eternity. When at last my childhood copy of The Knights of the Round Table was unveiled, Joshua stared down at it with a speechless, misty-eyed expression.

"My mother gave it to me when I was small," I offered when he did not speak, hoping that my words would fill the void. "She used to read to me from it almost every night as I lay in bed-"

JoshuaÌs sob tore my heart in half. He clutched the book fiercely to his chest, gazing up at me with streaming eyes. "How did you know?" he demanded, grief and thanks so fully blended in his tone that I could not separate one emotion from the other. "How in GodÌs name did you know?"

"How did I know what?" I asked helplessly, smiling even though the familiar wings of fear beat in my chest.

"Nothing, nothing, nothing," he cried, taking a deep breath rising to his feet. He locked me in a poignant embrace for a few moments and continued on his way. "Good night and Merry Christmas," he murmured, flashing us a tearful smile. Cradling the book as though it were an infant as he looked down at it with wild, tragic eyes, Joshua left Ichabod and I standing alone. Hot tears stole down my cheeks.

"What have I done this time?" I sobbed over and over again while Ichabod tried desperately to calm me. My tears soaked his new neck cloth, but he did not seem to care. "What on earth have I done, Ichabod?"

"You have merely reminded him of the happy Christmases that he has shared with his own family. There is no shame in that, Katrina. Some memories are sweet things likely to incite tears once awakened. Oh, please, do not cry.... Joshua is tired and surely misses his father. Let him have time with those memories."

I agreed with a hesitant nod. Ichabod dried my eyes with careful fingers. "Now," he said gently. "LetÌs leave JoshuaÌs gifts so that he can give them to us in person tomorrow. I am sure that he would want that." Ichabod eased me into an armchair, and as I watched him bring forward the remaining two parcels from under the tree, I could felt the thrill of an evening so many weeks ago. It was our engagement night all over again, only decked in garlands and mistletoe. He went to place my gift to him in my hands, but I pressed it back, begging him to keep it.

"I want you to open yours first," I said with a tearful smile.

He knelt obediently at my feet, balancing the large box on his knees. It was nearly as long as his arm. He worked carefully around the holly in order to open it. Ichabod gave an astonished cry when at last he lifted the box's lid.

"It was not so hard to figure your measurements as all that," I teased him lovingly. He held out the top garment at arms' length. I believe that half his astonishment lay in the fact that he had never owned anything so fine. I had seen to it that the new frock coats were in his preferred black, but the rest was entirely up to me. He ran awed fingers over the London brocade and smoothed the onyx buttons with disbelieving reverence. The bright golden thread was dazzling... and genuine, much to the tailor's consternation at my exorbitant demands. Oh, but that fellow had shut his mouth once he saw the money. It had bothered me that the tailor had seen only the currency's worth, rather than that of the priceless man for whom these gifts were intended.

Ichabod lifted the second coat gingerly, only to find two sets of matching slacks beneath. "Katrina!" he breathed as a silver signet ring rolled from amidst the luxuriant black folds of cloth. He picked it up and examined the swirling, unusual inscription on its pentagonal face: J'aime et j'espere. It had reminded me nothing so much of his own one-of-a-kind calligraphy, so I had known instantly that it would appeal to him. I took the ring from him and placed it on the middle finger of his left hand, next to his wedding band.

"I thought perhaps you needed one for your other hand, too," I explained, fingering the unusual red and silver shield ring he always wore on the index finger of his right hand. "I owed you a poesy, besides!"

He embraced me, completely overcome. "You do not owe me a thing.... Not a single thing, Katrina! And yet your gifts never cease, Katrina.... Oh, Lord, if I could but match you whit for whit.... Alas, I am afraid this must suffice," he said, handing me an elongated rectangular box. It was perhaps seven by four inches. It was not light, but not heavy, either. I kissed his forehead.

"The china and the candlesticks more than sufficed," I told him gently, working at the paper with one fingernail. "I had not expected more than that, my love!"

"And I had not expected all of this," he admitted, still dazed.

The wristbands were beautiful, azure lace and embroidery with sky blue beads and four pinpoint diamonds on each. I had no trouble realizing that he meant for them to match the new gown I had ordered two weeks before, which still had not come in.

"The Pickety Witch would not have been the same without them," Ichabod said, tying them about my wrists with infinite tenderness. "You have not worn the ones that you have since the night I was injured by the Horseman, did you realize that?" he asked with a reflective smile. "I miss them."

"I did not," I said with quiet wonder, rising and offering him my hands. "Well, miss them no longer. Merry Christmas, Ichabod," I whispered, tears of joy escaping my control once more. "From both of us!"

How long we stood in front of the hearth simply weeping and holding one another, I cannot say. I remember kisses by firelight and a glass of champagne apiece after that, but I was soon so tired that my last recollection was being gathered in my husband's arms and carried in the direction of the stairs. A rare thing happened that night: I dreamed.

I was omniscient, everywhere at once; the very eyes in the trees that see and tell all. My breath was the rise and fall of the summer breeze, and I could see a cornfield-meadow on the forest's edge far below. A young mother sat barefoot in the grass, her voluminous skirts drawn up to her knee, and her long, straight honey blonde hair loose over her shoulders. A dark-haired, dark eyed child sat in her lap, toying with a chain of wild clover that she had made for him. The mother held a book before them, and shapeless, soundless words floated from her smiling lips. Only once did she pause, a fleeting pained expression rippling over her countenance. She closed her eyes and breathed in, and soon was smiling again. The child turned his head to see why his mother had stopped-

"Ichabod!"

I sat bolt upright in bed, inadvertently flinging off Ichabod's arm. He woke with a start.

"Katrina, are you ill? Do you need me to get-"

"No..." I said, slowly lying back down. "I am fine. It... It was a dream Ichabod. The strangest dream.... I had the feeling for a minute that- that-"

"That what?" Ichabod asked me expectantly.

My heart sank. The glimmer was gone. "I don't know," I whispered fearfully. "That's what is so strange about it."

"Was it a nightmare?"

"No. A more tranquil scene I had never seen, to be honest...."

"Then sleep, my love, and perchance it will come back to you and you will remember what it was you were thinking," Ichabod reassured me, pulling the covers back over us.

"Perhaps so," I yawned. Sleep reclaimed me before I knew it. But the dream did not return.

I was more ill on Christmas morning than I had been on any day previous. Nausea dragged me awake with vicious, clawed pangs, my cries frightening Ichabod into a state of near inactivity. He kept a constant vigil, sitting beside me on the bed while Joshua, whose mind worked incomparably well even when in panic's grasp, brewed the infusion that Lyse had taught to he and Ichabod without missing a single step in its preparation. I held it down on the third try and was able to sit up shortly thereafter.

Joshua disappeared briefly once he was satisfied that I was in passable shape. He returned with his gifts to Ichabod and me. I was brought to tears all over again by the small stained glass suncatcher rendered to look like a rose window so often seen in chapels. Ichabod was equally touched to find himself the owner of an out-of-print medical volume valued more for its diagrams than text. There was not a doubt in my mind that Lyse had been an agent in procuring these marvelous items. I thanked her silently. I knew that the allowance that I gave him each week would not have been quite enough to cover such expenses. I wondered briefly, too, if he had picked up extra money running errands for the constabulary.

One of Lyse's gilt-edged, lavender sealed invitations arrived by her usual urchin messenger boy two days after Christmas. I read it to Joshua over lunch, sitting at the table even though I was certainly not eating anything myself. Ichabod, after his three days off, was sadly back on duty. Joshua leaned forward eagerly as I read:
 
 

~Lyse, Andrew, Isaac, and Timothy Carraway~
 
 
 
 

It was in Lyse's handwriting, but she had signed for all four of them. Joshua could not disguise his excitement, but he was guarded where getting his hopes up was concerned.

"She wants us to meet her sons," I said.

"Ichabod's not going to like this," Joshua said with disappointment.

"The socializing part, no," I agreed. "But the stargazing may be our ticket. Do you think he would pass up the chance to match wits with other men interested in science? I think not! Lyse told me about Isaac. He's the one with the passion for constellations."

"Do you think we can talk him into it?"

"I think that there is a fairly good chance," I said with a smile.

Indeed, the lure of stargazing did the trick. Joshua and I attacked Ichabod at dinner, barely giving him room to protest. Out of courtesy, I sent a message to Lyse in return stating that we accepted the invitation with gladness.

The next day, though under severe attack from the slings of morning sickness, Joshua and I made a trip by carriage to the tailor's, where a rather petulant display on my part achieved the desired effect: my new gown would be finished the day before New Year's Eve. Joshua was particularly glum for the rest of the afternoon, however, for upon returning home I retired to bed white-faced and did not get up until Ichabod returned home that evening. Ichabod reported later that night that he had found Joshua sitting on the floor just outside the closed bedroom door as I slept.

"He was cradling that book you gave him for Christmas, Katrina, and weeping silently. I have never seen anything like it," Ichabod related with shocked pity.

In response, I could only close my eyes on my own tears. Not even Ichabod's astounding good news that he had been allowed to perform an autopsy (and fainted when he discovered that the cause of death was a swallowed kitchen knife, so I heard by way of a rumor carried home days later by Joshua which I had no reason to discredit) on a suspicious case could dispel my preoccupation with the boy's melancholy.

I stood in front of the full-length mirror, studying the result of my efforts. The azure silk gown was even fuller than most of my others, its skirts a shimmering flood of skylight. As I ran my hands over the exactingly fitted curves of the low-cut bodice with its orchid-patterned lace and contrasting panels of a lighter shade, I realized wistfully that this would be the first and the last time that I would be able to wear it in a long while. I was not about to have this one altered for maternity purposes. Ichabod's wristbands were the perfect touch and, truthfully, even more prized than the gown itself. I had also donned a pair of diamond teardrop earrings and a matching necklace that had belonged to my mother. To me, the entire illusion was shattered by my wan complexion and pain-darkened eyes. I closed them with a heavy sigh, completely unaware that Ichabod had approached me from behind.

"I could not have asked to stand in a more exquisite shadow," he whispered, slipping his arms around my waist. For him, I smiled and opened my eyes. I noticed that he was studying my hair, which I had swept up in an elaborate coiffure with a mother-of-pearl comb. Undoubtedly, Ichabod was thrown because I always wore it down.

"Is it that shocking?" I asked.

"No," Ichabod said, grinning at last. "You look older, that is all."

"Two years older?" I teased hopefully.

Ichabod snapped his fingers. "Precisely. Where age is concerned, you have finally caught up to me!" he lamented with mock melodrama.

"Oh, you," I said affectionately, turning around to study his own attire. He was wearing one of the ensembles that I had given him for Christmas. The new poesy ring shone on his left hand and Lyse's neck cloth completed the picture of aristocratic elegance.

"You would think that we had been invited by royalty," I observed, leaning close to his ear and adding, "You take my breath away."

"Then, with no breath whatsoever left between the two of us, let's be off," Ichabod proposed, offering me his arm. "Joshua has been waiting for hours now!"

Ten minutes later, a carriage deposited the three of us at 107 West Court- better known to us simply as Lyse's shop, which, for no better reason than its being there, is nameless. The tremor of Ichabod's hand on my hip told me that his jitters had already set in. At Joshua's meek but eager tapping, our hostess answered the door.

"My, my, but December thirty-first never looked so fine!" Lyse exclaimed as she hustled us in from the cold. "Timothy! Come and help me with these coats."

Ichabod's arm tightened around me as an energetic man in his late twenties emerged from behind the curtain. His generous smile and dancing eyes were clearly an inheritance from his mother. He was not especially handsome, but it was not hard to tell that his disposition helped to make up for it. Despite his straight, sandy brown hair and mustache, I could see a part of Lyse shining through.

"Why, hello, I was wondering when I would have the honor of meeting the illustrious Cranes," Timothy said jovially, seizing Ichabod's hand and giving it a vigorous shake. "Mother speaks of you constantly. You are Ichabod, I take it?"

"None other," Ichabod managed, greatly abashed. "This is my wife, Katrina."

"Lady Crane, I am honored," Timothy said respectfully, kissing my hand lightly. Ichabod made a defensive start at the gesture, but I leaned and kissed his cheek reassuringly before Timothy had even let go of my hand.

"Mr. Crane, you are a fortunate man. Gems such as this are quite rare. Ah, young man, you need not be shy," Timothy said, turning to Joshua. "You must be the checkers fiend."

"Aye, Sir, that I am. Joshua Masbath at your service," Joshua said, grinning. I could tell that the boy liked Timothy instantly.

Timothy clapped his hands together, nodding to his mother, who had just finished hanging up my rose-embroidered white cloak. "If you would so kindly step this way," Timothy said, gesturing toward the curtain, "I'd like you to meet my brothers and my fiancée."

"Fiancée?" I whispered to Lyse.

"Yes," she confirmed with happiness. "One of my vagabond sons is finally going to marry. I could not have hoped for a finer gift from my youngest!"

For some reason, Ichabod looked much relieved and less ill at ease. I whispered to him as we entered Lyse's small home, "Have you translated the ring yet?"

"Yes," he replied, "for I have a dictionary on French translation. I love and I hope."

"And that you are, dear, both my love and my hope," I replied with admiration. "So smile and enjoy yourself tonight for my sake, if not for your own."

"Katrina," Lyse interrupted hesitantly, "I meant to ask when you first arrived.... How have you been today?"

"Better, but not the best. I have had days both more and less painful than this. It has been rough. I have lost weight."

Lyse turned away in hope that I would not see her look of anguish, but it was too late. Joshua had also noticed. He fastened his eyes on the floor.

Lyse's eldest, Andrew, was a kind, fatherly man in his mid-thirties, even though he had never had any children. When Ichabod inquired sympathetically of what his wife had died, Andrew answered with a wistful smile, "A terrible, wasting disease for which the doctor had no cure. All that I could do was see to it that her last days were spent in comfort."

"Cancer," Ichabod whispered tautly in my ear, closing his eyes in a moment of silence for the dead woman. The two men had found even ground in few words, both of them native to the realm of terrible loss.

"Are you a doctor?" Andrew asked my husband.

While the two of them became engaged in conversation, Lyse drew me to where Joshua was speaking with Timothy, who had his arm around a shapely raven-haired woman who I judged to be at least four or five years my senior. Her pale gray eyes had an exotic slant, and her broad, heart-shaped face was cast with warm, rich cinnamon undertones. Her straight, gossamer black hair was knotted simply at the nape of her neck. Her cherry-colored gown was not as elaborate as mine, but it was of a pronounced elegance nonetheless. Her gaze met mine, cool but not hostile. I smiled timidly in recognition, feeling intimidated for the first time in my life. I had never seen a woman so beautiful.

"Ah, Lady Crane," Timothy addressed me. "Please, meet my fiancée, Angeline."

"It is my pleasure," I said, giving a small curtsy.

To my surprise, Angeline did the same and approached me, taking my hands and greeting me with the formal double kiss on the cheeks that I knew to be common in Europe.

"Your city, it is truly an amazing place," Angeline said in softly accented English.

"I can say the same as I, too, am a newcomer here," I admitted.

"How is that?" she asked curiously.

"I was born and raised in a village two days north of here. I met my husband when he came to investigate a murder case-" I bit my lip, not about to volunteer further information- "and returned here with him when his work was finished."

"He is a detective, your husband?" Angeline asked with admiration, eyeing Ichabod.

"Detective, constable, scientist, dreamer," I sighed with a laugh. "He is all of these. He works for the New York City constabulary."

"You and your son must feel safe, no?"

"Why, yes, we-" I paused, realizing what she had said. "My son? Oh, Joshua. Ichabod and I have adopted him. His parents are dead."

Angeline's eyes widened in amazement. "I would never have noticed, with this dark hair and these dark eyes. It is a strange thing."

I had never considered it before, but I realized suddenly that it would not be difficult for a stranger to mistake Ichabod and Joshua for blood kin. "Yes, it is," I agreed, smiling. "Strange and wonderful." No sooner had I spoken these words than I found it necessary to turn away, the ghostly beginnings of nausea taking amorphous shape in my stomach. I stepped toward the wall and leaned against it. Angeline stepped forward in concern, but she did not look surprised. She put a hand on my shoulder.

"It is hard on you, this baby?" Angeline asked.

"Yes," I breathed, feeling the tremor pass. "Did Lyse tell you?"

"No, told me nothing. But I carried one once," Angeline said almost inaudibly.

I looked up at her, but no words came. Her lips were pursed in a small frown. Her clear eyes still mourned an old loss. I did not ask her for details. Fleetingly, I realized that Joshua was staring in our direction. He looked away quickly when my eyes met his.

Angeline sighed, rekindling her smile. "I am sorry I thought the boy was your son. It was foolish of me. I realize now that you are too young to be his mother."

I laughed, touching her hand briefly. "Gracious, do not apologize! I am not offended in the least."

"Good. Because I make so many mistakes. I am so nervous here."

I was about to reply, but Lyse's call broke the silence. "Timothy! Andrew! Where on earth is your brother?"

I had not even realized that the third one was missing. Ichabod excused himself from his discussion with Andrew and rejoined me. I introduced him to Angeline. As reserved as both of them were, a barrier of shy respect was displayed, and nothing more.

"On the roof again," Timothy said impatiently to his mother, rolling his eyes. "As if he hasn't tinkered with that rickety contraption enough."

"I take it that you mean the telescope?" Ichabod inquired, his distaste evident. He had little respect for those who insulted science even in the slightest.

"Indeed I do. I can surmise well enough that you're an educated man, Mr. Crane. Why don't you go up and have a look?" suggested Timothy, pointing to a staircase in the far corner of the room.

"I believe that I shall," Ichabod retorted mildly, accepting the implied challenge. He embraced me briefly, taking his leave. "This popinjay will not make a mockery of me," he remarked indignantly, his lips briefly grazing my neck. Angeline and I shared a furtive laugh once both of our partners were out of earshot.

"Men sometimes are silly creatures," Angeline smirked demurely.

"Oh, you do not even know the half of it!" I laughed. "Just wait until you and Timothy are married."

"Next week," she replied with a nervous smile.

"Congratulations," I said warmly. "You are the first marriage of the New Year to meet my ears."

Lyse quickly recruited Angeline and me to help set the table in a side room connected to a tiny kitchen that I had not noticed before. While Angeline prodded at the turkey roasting in the hearth, Lyse pulled me aside.

"Her father was a French minister who spent many years in the Orient. He married a convert woman who died shortly after the birth of their daughter. Angeline was raised by her father, and they came here when she was seventeen. Can you believe that she is fluent in two other languages? Her English is excellent, isn't it?"

"Yes," I replied, satisfied to finally know her origins. A European father would definitely account for her pale eyes and distinctly Gallic accent.

Joshua soon grew tired of Timothy's prattle and drifted into the kitchen. Lyse set him to whipping potatoes while Angeline and I coaxed the turkey off the spit and onto a large silver platter. Lyse pulled half of a ham from the oven. Soon, all was in readiness.

"Angeline, dear, will you and Katrina fetch the gentlemen?" Lyse inquired.

"Certainement," Angeline answered. I followed her into the next room. Andrew and Timothy had gone to join Ichabod and Isaac on the roof.

"Wait one moment," Angeline said, disappearing into the shop. She returned with my cloak. "It is cold, and you must not get sick."

"Thank you," I murmured, touched. "Will you be all right?"

"Oh, fine," she answered nonchalantly as we climbed the steps, emerging into the frigid evening. "My blood is hot from the kitchen. I do not mind the cold."

We found the four men knotted around the telescope chatting like a pack of overgrown boys. I was pleased to see that Ichabod was the center of attention. His eye was glued to the telescope lens, and the three brothers were huddled around him, following the gestures of Ichabod's hand as he pointed out a particular constellation.

"Orion, the hunter," I heard him say as Angeline and I approached. Ichabod stepped back from the telescope. "It is most visible during the winter months. Observe? It does not even need magnification. I recommend taking a closer look at Rigel and Betelgeuse, however," Ichabod continued, moving back to the telescope and adjusting it accordingly. "They are the blue and orange stars respectively which make up the lower corners of the torso."

Consequently, Timothy was the first to scramble for the telescope. Angeline and I snickered.

"He may not say so, but in truth, Timothy respects scholars," Angeline said. She pointed to the brother yet unfamiliar to me. "There, that is Isaac," she said.

The aforementioned turned at the sound of his name, as did Ichabod, who had been speaking with him. Isaac waved and Ichabod beckoned. One look told me that Ichabod had found a kindred spirit. Isaac was approximately two years Andrew's junior. His blond hair was sparse and his absent-minded grin captivating. This was not a pompous amiability like Timothy's, but an earnest, guileless charisma.

"Ladies, Master Crane and my little brother indeed speak the truth. I would sooner look at the two of you than all of the stars in the sky," Isaac greeted us warmly. "Lady Crane, come and have a look at what your husband has found."

I smiled at Isaac and then at Ichabod. "Will you show me, love?"

"Of course," Ichabod murmured, nudging Timothy away from the telescope as politely as he could. "I missed you," he whispered in my ear as he guided the lens to my eye and adjusted it.

"How can that be? You have been up here for but half an hour."

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder even so," he said. "There. It is focused."

I picked out a dazzling blue-white orb against the blackness and other pinpoints of light.

"Rigel," I breathed.

"Master Crane, I see that your wife's brilliance matches your own," commended Isaac.

"It is breathtaking," I told Ichabod, looking up from the telescope. "Are you an astronomer by profession?" I inquired of Isaac.

"No, by fancy," he chuckled. "I am an architect and contractor. A more lucrative trade, I find."

"We are here to tell you it is time to eat," Angeline interjected, poking her fiancéeÌs side playfully.

"Allons, allons, then," said Timothy gaily, taking her arm. The six of us filed back down the staircase.

Over dinner, Joshua redeemed his folly and was even more quickly enamored with Isaac than he had been with Timothy. Ichabod and Lyse's middle son patiently answered Joshua's every question. Lyse spent a good deal of time scolding Andrew and Timothy over their table manners while Angeline and I continued our quiet, roundabout bonding. I learned that her father was still alive and that she and Timothy planned to take him back to Europe with them on their honeymoon.

I had only eaten half a piece of turkey breast when I realized that I could not swallow another bite. I squeezed Ichabod's hand and excused myself quickly. Ichabod followed in alarm without explanation. He steadied me while I purged myself in the familiar white basin in Lyse's laundry room. We both returned to the table a few shades paler, I leaning heavily on Ichabod's arm. Joshua was staring dismally at his plate. Crestfallen, I knew in my heart that he, too, would not eat another bite.

Once we finished eating, Lyse brought out a currant liqueur. Ichabod and I refused, but Joshua was audacious (or depressed) enough to accept a full shot, a glint of merriment creeping back into his eyes, daring us wordlessly to protest. I threw my hands up indifferently, and Ichabod sucked in his breath but managed not to say anything.

After two full glasses of the stuff, a thoroughly besotted Timothy rose and cried, "I propose a game of charades!" It was Ichabod's turn to roll his eyes.

Lyse was assigned the duty of dividing us into teams. Lyse took Ichabod, Angeline, and I for herself and placed Andrew, Joshua, and Timothy under Isaac's command.

"Four against four," she announced, drawing a hat full of folded slips of paper from behind her back, "fair and square. Let's begin!"

Our team won, thanks to Angeline's stunning portrayal of a tiger. A vivid actress lay beneath her reserved mien. The game's most laughable moment was Ichabod's forced enactment of a cuckoo clock. Joshua complained to a sympathetic Isaac for long after the game had finished that his rendition of a one-man marching band should have tied the score. I found that particularly amusing, since Isaac's own puzzled guess had been, "A symphony?"

Before long, all were shocked to learn, it was nearly ten o'clock. Timothy had nodded off in his chair by the fire with Angeline in his lap and a half-finished glass of cognac in his hand, which Lyse whisked away curtly. I sat on the low divan with Ichabod, leaning against his shoulder while he argued the cosmos with Isaac, who sat stretched out on the floor in front of the fire. Andrew and Joshua were engaged in a game of checkers, seated at the table in fierce concentration. Lyse, the proud matriarch of her assembled brood, would come in every so often from washing dishes to investigate. At one point, however, it was Ichabod who dozed off on my shoulder and I who had picked up the conversation with Isaac.

"Lady Crane," Isaac complimented me, "I am severely impressed. I have never met a woman so well versed in the mythic forms of the constellations."

"My mother saw to it that my classical education was not lacking," I replied, combing Ichabod's hair with absent fingers. "I was instructed in French, Latin, and Greek, and with that came mythology and all of its many applications."

"I never dreamed that one day I would meet another white witch as admirable as my mother."

I blushed. "I do not know if I will ever reach that level of greatness, but I thank you all the same."

At eleven thirty, Isaac excused himself, rising to fetch a bottle of champagne and a rack of wineglasses from the mantelpiece. Having heard the rattle of glass, Lyse came in from the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel. She dropped it on the table, catching Andrew and Joshua's attention.

"Come, come, all you sleepyheads, wake! There's but half an hour left to the Year of Our Lord seventeen hundred and ninety-nine!" Lyse cried, relieving Isaac of the rack of glasses. I planted a kiss on Ichabod's cheek, a gesture that never failed to wake him with a smile. Angeline and Timothy tumbled out of the chair, somewhat disheveled and mildly disoriented.

"Come on, to the roof with you!" Lyse cried.

Joshua led the way energetically, followed by Isaac, Andrew, and Lyse. The remaining four of us scrambled drowsily for our vestments.

"Are you sure that I refused a drink at dinner?" Ichabod groaned as he shrugged into his overcoat.

"Sure 's your wife did," Timothy slurred, slapping Ichabod on the back as we made our way up the steps. When I tripped on my gown, Angeline, one step ahead of Ichabod and I, whirled around and shyly prevented me from falling. I hugged her in thanks and we continued upward, emerging through the trap door one by one.

"Strange, that such a thoughtful girl is marrying such a careless dandy," Ichabod mused in a low voice. I laughed in spite of myself.

Isaac filled glasses and passed them around. Ichabod asked Lyse for an empty glass and poured half of his into it. I smiled. He had read my mind. Angeline and Timothy retired to a far corner of the roof balcony with their spirits. Joshua set his on the ledge and eagerly commandeered the telescope.

Isaac pulled out his pocket watch. "Fifteen minutes!" he announced. I pulled Ichabod over to the wall so that we could look at the city below. Ichabod took one apprehensive glance down and quickly turned so that he leaned with his back against the brick. I leaned against him, content in his shaken embrace.

"I would never have thought that you are afraid of heights, too," I marveled. "You climbed the windmill and rode its sail to the ground without blinking an eye."

"You would be surprised what a life and death situation will drive a man to do, Katrina."

"That makes sense," I replied, resting my chin on Ichabod's shoulder as I watched Lyse and her two eldest sons join Joshua at the telescope, "but I still believe that you must be the bravest coward on earth."

"If that is true, then I am still twice the man only because of you."

"Nine minutes!" Isaac shouted, raising his untouched glass in the air. I grabbed mine from the ledge and raised it high in acknowledgement, quickly replacing it afterward.

"Just think of it," I said. "This year will be gone in the blink of an eye."

"I cannot shake the feeling that you and I will be the only ones to briefly mourn its passing before the celebration begins. It has been a remarkable year."

"The remarkable old rings in the remarkable new," I said. "I know for certain that you more than any other man present realizes the significance of a whole new century. It represents all that you hope to accomplish. And, truly, your victory has already begun. One autopsy is a world of progress from none at all. It is noble of you not to give up on this city's police force. You know that you could have quit and I would have supported your decision."

"Yes," Ichabod sighed, "I know. It may sound absurd, but each measure of grief that my superiors and my coworkers give me only strengthens my resolve. I am determined to reform the constabulary whether they like it or not."

"You set an impeccable example for Joshua."

"I am relieved to see him in higher spirits for once," Ichabod noted. "Tonight, he has been-"

"Four minutes! Glasses in hand, everyone!"

"Yes, Sir!" Joshua shouted in reply.

I picked up my glass and handed Ichabod his. In the stillness, the dying seconds ticked to life. Each heartbeat was a step both lost in the annals of time and taken toward an uncertain future.

I looked up at the sky. "Do you suppose that Orion and his compatriots are counting down the seconds, too?"

"It goes against all reason to say so, but yes," Ichabod laughed. "The stars as much as any other heavenly bodies are components in the clock of the universe."

"Two minutes, friends!"

"Do you think there's a constellation in the shape of mistletoe somewhere up there?" I ventured.

Ichabod pressed a hand to my cheek. "On a night like this, you have taught me, anything is possible," he whispered.

"Find it for me," I urged.

"One minute, Ladies and Gentlemen. One!"

"If you trace the diagonals there and there," Ichabod said, pointing, "then I may be able to justify a leaf.... Ah! There, that smaller cluster... for berries...."

"Five... four... three!..."

"You are my miracle, Ichabod Crane!" I whispered, raising my glass to his. With luminous eyes, we each took a sip and set the glasses aside.

"One! Eighteen hundred is here!" Joshua bellowed, his voice rising above Isaac's and leading the refrain. "Happy New Year, Ichabod and Katrina! Happy New Year to everyone!"

"And you are mine! Caught you," Ichabod whispered. That kiss was by far the sweetest we had ever shared. All care and grief grew dim. We were the only two present in that high, windswept place blessed by a myriad unborn and ageless eyes above.

Thankfully, the next morning was Sunday, giving time for the exhausted to sleep for as long as they wanted and for the hung-over to begin their groggy recovery. Ichabod, Joshua, and I straggled home from Lyse's at about half past midnight. Ichabod and I counted ourselves among the exhausted, sleeping until my sickness roused us shortly before noon. Joshua, on the other hand, counted himself among the hung-over, sitting slouched in an armchair with a snow-filled water bottle pressed to his forehead.

"What have I done to deserve the honor of caring for two invalids instead of just one?" Ichabod joked when at last he managed to bring my nausea under control and put Joshua back to sleep, both feats accomplished by potions that Lyse had taught him.

I would like to say that life returned to normal after that, but it did not. The only good things to happen were autopsies: Ichabod had been granted permission to use his methods in two more cases, after his success with the first (which had actually been his second, but they seemed to skirt nervously around all references to Sleepy Hollow.) Apparently, the kitchen knife case was initially thought to be a poisoning, when in reality it was a suicide, which Ichabod's grisly discovery had more than proved. The poor woman's innocent husband had been saved from hanging on a charge of murder.

For me, on the other hand, a nightmare was just beginning. Two days after New Year's, I woke up moaning at six in the morning.

"Katrina," Ichabod demanded in concern, "Katrina! What is it? Do you want me to make you a draught-"

"No! Oh... God... aaaaagh!"

"Katrina, answer me!" I heard panic filtering into Ichabod's voice, but I was in too much pain to think about keeping him calm.

"I... will not... lie," I panted. "I feel like... like my insides are being- being- Good Go-o-oddd!- ripped to shreds.... Ichabod... get the bowl... now!"

The pain in my abdomen persisted for two grueling hours. Ichabod remained by my side until at last I could hold down a potion and slept from sheer exhaustion, as miserable as I and once again emotionally drained. Joshua's demeanor, too, took a turn for the worse. From the moment Ichabod left late for work until the minute he returned home again that evening, Joshua never left my side. He was at least hopeful when I felt well enough to try eating dinner, but he was shattered all over again when I promptly lost it.

Despite his own devastation, Ichabod steeled himself and cared for me with a stoic, devoted courage that I knew him to be capable of only when at wits' end. He held me long into that night, at last breaking down and sobbing with me when the pain returned around midnight. Barely a soul in the house ate or slept during those eight days of horror. The fire inside me attacked haphazardly, without timing or warning. And then on the ninth day... peace. I was left with the simple sickness with which I had begun. I told Lyse that I had never imagined I would call it a reprieve. Her visits had been few but heartfelt, as Isaac and Andrew had not yet departed. Angeline, her father, and Timothy had left for Madrid, from where they would tour several of Europe's major cities.

"Katrina, dear, you know that there is most likely something very wrong," Lyse told me quietly, taking a sip of her tea. My eyes felt hollow and bruised. I looked past her to where a distraught Joshua sat on the stairs, pretending to read a book on chess strategy. The armchair seemed to swallow me whole. Perhaps I did not look it yet, but I felt like a living skeleton.

"Then what?" I demanded bitterly. "I pray you tell me if you know so much. I, for one, am grateful for a day's release from the agony that I have endured for the last week and a day! You have probably never even experienced anything like it. Tell me that you have and see if you can still call yourself honest, Lyse!"

My outburst stunned Lyse into silence and brought Joshua racing to my side. He took my hand protectively and spat at Lyse, "She's right. What on earth do you know? You've been cavorting with your sons while we haven't had a single wink of sleep! I guarantee you Ichabod's catching hell as we speak for coming to work looking like a walking corpse. Have you ever seen a corpse? I don't mean the rosy, peaceful one of a man who died in his sleep. I mean one that's been beheaded or tortured or dead a few weeks. Do you hear me? That's what Ichabod puts up with.... That's what we've put up with. Don't you dare say another word! There's nothing wrong with her. I won't let there be anything wrong with her, and neither will Ichabod. We'll help her get better and the baby will be fine and we'll forget this all ever happened!"

Joshua dashed out of the room in a blind, grieved fury, sobbing as he went. I buried my face in my hands and did not even try to stop Lyse when she left her chair to comfort me.

"Let me die.... Let me die now," I rasped, the dry sobs rising from my empty stomach. "I am so hungry.... I am so tired.... When will it end, Lyse? I am so afraid...."

She rocked me like a child. "I don't know," she crooned, "dear child, I don't know. I have nothing more to say. I have exhausted my resources where this matter is concerned. I have not lived long enough even to see something such as this. In a sense, Joshua is right. It can only be waited out. I promise you that you have had my prayers, and that you always will. Do you want me to make you sleep? Do you think you can swallow some tea?"

"Yes," I answered numbly, some tenacious hope struggling to revive my withered faith. "And promise me that you will play chess with Joshua once I have fallen asleep. Anything to keep his mind off me, Lyse. Anything at all."

Lyse stayed and made dinner again that night. Upon returning home from work, Ichabod had never looked so glad to see her. Disoriented but aware, I allowed Ichabod to rouse me from sleep and carry me downstairs to eat. I was ravenous. And the truth is, I had never eaten so well in my life as I did that night. My cheeks won a little of their color back, and the change raised everyone's flagging spirits. Ichabod and I sat in front of the fire that night for a while. We had not done it in quite some time.

"I think that the worst of this is over," Ichabod said with growing confidence. "I have not seen you looking so well in days."

"Do not let one evening get your hopes up," I said halfheartedly, but I could not help but smile. His hopeful air was infectious.

"If one evening is not reason enough to celebrate after so much hardship, what then?" Ichabod countered, kissing my cheek.

"I suppose you are right," I sighed. "Now that I am up to it, perhaps I should send a few more of my gowns to be altered instead of trying to do it myself again. I do not think my fingers can stand the abuse!"

"That's my Katrina," Ichabod replied indulgently. "I was beginning to wonder where she had gone."

I started bleeding the very next day.

I studied the stains on the sheets beneath me with speechless horror. I had woken up to find Ichabod gone, but he had left a tender note on the bedside table. I crushed it against my face, weeping until the ink ran. At length, I realized how irrational my actions were. I smoothed the note, gasping like a fish out of water, and tried to calm myself. I was terrified, completely afraid to move. I tossed the note behind the bed and dried my eyes as best I could. I pulled the covers up over myself so that Joshua would not see what moment by moment slowly drained from me. I called his name over and over as loudly as I dared.

I heard Joshua's footsteps on the stairs presently. His anxious face appeared in the doorway. "Are you ill?" he asked.

"No," I said strangely, my voice trembling. I realized that for the first time in weeks, I did not feel sick even in the slightest. A chill gripped me. I swallowed hard, willing the tears away. "I need you to leave the house," I said, my voice sounding as a faraway echo in my own ears. "I need you to go get Lyse. I need you to go quickly. Please tell her that she must come immediately.

"K-Katrina?" Joshua whispered with uncertainty, his hand on the doorknob beginning to violently tremble.

I took another gasping breath, turning my head aside. He must not see me cry! "Joshua, please listen to me," I choked. "Go now."

Joshua began to back away slowly, one hand flying to his mouth. "Yes, Katrina!" he cried obediently, bolting down the stairs.

I could hear the sobs rising in his throat as he ran. I could no longer restrain a whimper from passing my own lips. I turned down the covers again in disbelief to make sure that I had not dreamed it. The black-red stain beneath me had deepened and spread. I was dimly aware that my head bounced off something hard as I lost consciousness.

"She's fainted.... I think she hit her head on the back of the bed...."

"Katrina! My dear, if you can hear me...."

Lyse and Joshua slowly came into focus, bending over me with snow in their hair and fear in their eyes. I felt the hot warmth beneath me and remembered what was happening. I sat up as if I had been electrocuted. I grabbed Lyse's hands.

"You must get Joshua out of here," I said desperately, my words molding themselves into the ravings of a madwoman.

"Katrina, nonsense. You merely fainted-"

I threw an absolute fit.

"No!" I screamed. "You have to get him out of here now, because I have to show you why I fainted!"

Lyse's eyes widened as I pulled the covers up closer, clinging to them fiercely. She tried to pull them away, but I lashed out like a viper.

"I TOLD YOU TO GET HIM OUT OF HERE!" I howled.

"You had better go," Lyse urged Joshua, who fled with a hysterical glint in his tear-glazed eyes. Lyse closed the door after him and locked it. She came toward me as though she feared I might bite. To be honest, I was not far from it. Lyse swallowed hard.

"Katrina," she said tensely, "are you about to show me what I'm afraid you're about to show me?"

I shook my head quickly, a depraved spasm more than a nod. I threw off the covers and scooted backward so that I sat up against the headboard.

"See?" I choked.

Lyse's hand flew to her lips as a low moan escaped them, but she did not regain her composure. She rushed toward me. I did not try to escape her desolate embrace.

"You must do as I say," she sobbed, smoothing my tangled hair. "I'm going to get this cleaned up and at least make you comfortable.... Oh, Lord, my child! My poor, poor child.... There is nothing more I can do. Absolutely nothing more...."

I was numb, past the point of tears. I got up slowly and bunched my nightdress about myself as Lyse had instructed me. While she stripped away the bed sheets, still sobbing wretchedly, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Had I truly regained enough color the night before for Ichabod to become so hopeful? The reflection that I saw was positively ghoulish. My hair hung in limp, disarrayed strands, some falling across my haggard face. I was a mere slip of what I had been when we first came from Sleepy Hollow, and my wrinkled nightgown was stained with blood-

Some say that Ophelia was pregnant....

"But he married me!" I cried to no one, remembering one of Ophelia's singsong laments about a maid whose lover had broken his promise. "He married me...." I crumpled to the floor, realizing that I would not have cared any more if Joshua had come bursting in. The curtain had finally gone down, and I could not hide the denouement from him any more than I would be able to hide it from Ichabod.

An hour later, I lay freshly bathed (but I wished I had drowned) in a clean bed. Lyse had folded an old bed sheet and placed it beneath me. After a while, I simply stopped checking, for each time I did, the blood was still there. Like Lady Macbeth, I could not banish those damned spots from before my maddened eyes....

I ate the bread and honey that she brought for me without saying a word. I drank the sassafras tea before I had the courage to ask, "Where is Joshua?"

"In his room. He has bolted the door and will not answer," Lyse replied. She had stopped crying, but her eyes were now as bruised and empty as mine. "I think Ichabod should be notified as soon as possible," she added quietly.

I had been pushing thoughts of the confrontation away all morning. My mind beat wildly against her suggestion. "No, please no," I begged. "He was so happy last night.... I could not possibly-"

"You cannot hide grief and blood stains, Katrina! You know that! Joshua cannot hide his anguish, and you cannot hide the life that seeps from you even in this moment! What's done is done," Lyse said with despairing resolve. "After I clear these dishes away, I'm going to fetch your husband myself. And you, young lady, will not protest or move from this spot."

I pushed away the tray and closed my eyes, determined to cry inwardly from that moment forward. "I wash my hands of this," I said, my voice cracking, yet knowing in my heart that no amount of water could ever work such a miracle.

I felt the tray lifted from my knees. "If only I could," Lyse lamented as she rattled out of the room.

I forced myself to sleep, finding that realm of rest known to the hunted and wounded. I dreamed of the mother and child again, but the scenario was gravely changed. The sky was dark, overcast with menacing clouds. I was sobbing with all my omniscient being, and the ragged breaths of wind moaned in the trees. The young mother lay unconscious on the brown, dying grass. Her small son cried disconsolately as he clung to her motionless arm. In the other hand, he grasped the book that she once had read him....

I woke to the sound of the bedroom door opening, but I dared not open my eyes. The footsteps were unmistakable but unnaturally heavy, as though weighted with lead. I heard them draw dangerously near the bedside. My heart rocked in my chest as though it meant to break my ribcage and set itself free of this torment. I was about to open my eyes and face the inevitable when the footsteps retreated quickly and stopped somewhere in the vicinity of the window. I heard the pane of glass tremble as though someone were leaning against it. A fist pounded hard against the wall.

"I believe that it is not too much to ask," I heard Ichabod say, his voice rising from an anguished whisper to a despairing roar in three seconds flat, "for one good thing to happen- and endure- after all of the misery that I have been subjected to. Just one!" His fist slammed into the wall again. I knew that I had no choice but to open my eyes and my wounds. If he fancied pounding the glass next time, he would be seriously hurt. I took a deep, terrified breath.

"Do you mean to say that our safe return was not one good thing? Our marriage? Or the fact that we have Joshua in our lives?" I asked abruptly, tears filling my eyes the instant I opened them. So much for my resolve.

Ichabod spun around and stared at me with grief-stricken eyes. I could see the jagged precipice reflected in them. He was on the edge. An edge upon which I had teetered but had chosen to fall back from, at least. Ichabod took a few steps toward me and stopped, racked by violent sobs.

"Last night, Katrina... I spoke the words of a lunatic, an absolute madman!" he cried, closing the distance between us and collapsing beside me on the bed. He tore down the covers and replaced them a moment later, for a moment was all he needed. Ichabod's untamed grief refreshed itself, causing him to choke so hard that I thought he would suffocate on his own tears. I took his face in my hands in attempt to console him, but it was no use.

"It is true, then, what Lyse told me!" he wailed, one hand creeping like a wounded animal to my abdomen. "I did not want to believe her, Katrina. I almost did not come home.... I did not want to know, Katrina, and if God never forgives me for that, so be it.... If God indeed exists..."

"And I did not want Lyse to tell you," I said with quiet finality, "so once again half of the blame is mine. There is nothing that we can do, Ichabod. No magic in this world can reclaim what my body has rejected because it can no longer bear to contain it." Each trail left on my cheek by a tear seemed to burn as I continued, "Something beyond our comprehension went wrong. Something that we could not have prevented. You do not know how hard it is... as the mother... to accept that! But I have not stopped loving you, and no one is to blame...."

Ichabod permitted me to hold him at last. There we languished in an embrace so complete that not even death could have torn asunder, for it was death that had united us. That was how Joshua found us, his presence announced by the remembered clink-roll of a silver button. I raised my head and looked at him over Ichabod's shoulder. Joshua's eyes were red with hours of weeping, his fingers knotted together painfully in front of him. I shivered. He had stood in the same position at the foot of his father's grave.

"You're not dead yet," was all Joshua said, his voice a frail, wasted rasp.

I sobbed loudly, wanting to include Joshua in the embrace, but Ichabod let go of me with a sudden cry of rage. He flew at Joshua, chasing him into the laboratory, slamming the bedroom door behind them.

"Ichabod! Ichabod, he meant no harm!" I cried, but I was powerless to rise, and my pleas fell on ears deafened by ferocity. I collapsed onto the pillow. Ichabod's tirade echoed from the other side of the wall.

"How dare you mock her? How dare you! Of course she is not dead.... What, did you expect that God would be merciful enough to take her life as well? Of course not! That's all in His marvelous plan, do you not see...? All three of us must be alive to suffer!"

A struggle ensued. Glass smashed to the floor, and immediately after the thud of a solid blow, Ichabod cried out in pain. I heard another series of thwacks, each of which drew a cry from Ichabod. I realized that Joshua had somehow knocked Ichabod to the floor and was dealing a vicious set of kicks to his ribs.

"Please stop!" I cried, but I received no response.

"I was eavesdropping on that night when you told Lyse that you were tired of grief," Joshua shouted, kicking Ichabod again. "Now it's my turn to tell you that I'm tired of your eternal self pity! Did you hear me telling my woes to everyone within earshot while I moped around this house? No! I held my peace rather than worry you and Katrina any further. I suppose you're dying to know what's been wrong with me for all this time. Well, today's your lucky day. I've decided to tell you."

My breath caught in my throat. Ichabod did not respond, but I could imagine him kneeling on the floor and clutching his sides in pain while hanging upon Joshua's every word. I heard Joshua take a long, shuddering breath.

"I might have been young when it happened," Joshua seethed, "but I was not so young that I do not remember it as plain as day now. My mother died of an illness like Katrina's!" I heard him flee down the stairs, the bitter emphasis that he had placed upon the word illness ringing in my ears with each footfall.

Joshua had not merely lost his parents. His mother had died carrying his unborn sister or brother.

The sound of Ichabod's bitter, remorseful sobs reached me at length. Picturing a dark-haired little boy forlornly clutching a faded copy of his favorite bedtime story, I turned my head sideways into the pillow and wept.

I must have cried myself back to sleep, for when I woke again, it was early evening. Ichabod sat beside me on the bed, leaning wearily against the headboard. When he saw that I was awake, he bent and kissed me soundly. I did not resist, nor did I have the desire to, even after his appalling behavior toward Joshua. Ichabod pulled the covers back.

"I want to see if the bleeding has stopped," he said steadily.

"Has it?" I asked, not really caring about the answer one way or another. I was completely drained.

"Yes. I believe so."

Ichabod removed the bloody bundle quickly, folding it upon itself. He rose to dispose of it, but I stopped him. I had no idea why I asked him what I did.

"Are you going to examine it? I mean to see if-"

"No," Ichabod cut me off curtly. "I have seen enough."

I was left alone until Lyse appeared half an hour later with a tray of food. I picked at it fretfully, eyeing Lyse uneasily as she hovered by my bedside.

"Is Joshua all right?" I asked, taking a bite of some cheese.

"Frightened, but otherwise all right, yes. He and your husband had quite a violent exchange-"

"I know. I heard it."

Lyse looked at the floor and sighed.

"Where is Ichabod?" I asked finally. "I can sense that is what you want to tell me. And it is what I would like to know most of all." I bit my lip. "Please tell him that I need him," I begged.

"He left the house with something bundled under his arm," Lyse said hesitantly. "He told me to tell you not to expect his return until nightfall."

I closed my eyes and gave a pained sigh. "I thought he meant to let it rest. To let it be," I said. "He is never satisfied. Not even when it is the end. Ichabod always returns to tie up the loose ends if something does not sit right. Did you know that is the only reason why he did not return from Sleepy Hollow alone?"

"No, I did not," Lyse said with earnest surprise, putting the last pieces of the puzzle in her own mind into place. "I would say in that respect, then, that you are very fortunate."

"Yes," I agreed quietly. "Yes, I am."

Joshua appeared not long after Lyse disappeared with my half-eaten dinner. He lingered in the doorway uncertainly, affording me a glimpse of what he had tucked under his arm: The Knights of the Round Table.

"Come here," I said, patting the space on the bed beside me. "Sit down."

Joshua obeyed reticently, but once seated, he leaned forward and hugged me for a long time.

"I'm sorry for what I said. Ichabod had a point. I must have sounded terribly rude. But I thought I was going to lose you.... I honestly thought I was going to lose you!" Joshua cried.

"Hush," I soothed him. "I did not think that what you said was rude at all. You had every right to be worried. I was touched, Joshua. Ichabod was wrong to act so rashly."

"Where has he gone?" Joshua asked, unable to disguise his own concern.

"He..." I trailed off and swallowed, "needed some time alone. He is taking this all very hard."

"Aren't you?"

"Yes, but I am also resigned to it."

"That's better than madness, I suppose," Joshua sighed. "I've lost my second chance at being a big brother, though."

"There will be other chances, I am sure," I said slowly. "And if not, perhaps you were meant to be an only child," I added, tapping the book. "You had a copy of this when you were three, didn't you? Your mother used to read it to you."

Joshua snapped to attention, almost spooked.

"How did you know?"

"It's just one of those things. Would you like me to read it to you?"

Joshua's eyes lit up and misted over at the same time. "Yes," he said. "I would like that very much."

As I opened the book's cover, in my mind's eye I could see the dark clouds retreating and the grass coming back to life as the sun returned. I breathed in deeply and opened my eyes, sitting up as if awakened from a long sleep. The boy who sat beside me in the grass was older now. He let go of my arm slowly, smiling as the gentle breeze dried his tears. As I began to read, I found that those soundless, shapeless words were my own. The only difference was, they now had meaning.

As promised, Ichabod did not return until much later, after I had sent Joshua to bed and reassured Lyse that it was all right for her to go home. She refused, remaining at my side until she heard the front door open.

Though I was half-asleep when Ichabod entered the room, the look of him still wrenched my heart. His hair was in disarray from abuse by wind and falling snow. His cheeks were pale but flushed with some exertion, and he had not bothered to take off his overcoat. Neither had he removed his boots, which were encrusted with a good amount of mud and slush. His trembling hands, red from the cold, were empty.

"What did you find?" I asked gently, but he must have found another implied command in my question, for at this, he pulled off his boots and tossed them into the laboratory. Confused, he sat down on the edge of the bed.

"What do you mean?"

"Lyse told me that you left the house with-"

"I did," Ichabod answered harshly.

"So I am inferring that you examined-"

"I did not. I told you that I had seen enough."

"Then where is...?" I asked in exasperation.

"Buried," Ichabod replied, his voice oddly calm. "In an oak grove that I am familiar with, just north and outside the city." He closed his eyes and took my hand, tears coming at last. "I will show you the place when you are well enough. I often went there to walk. God forgive me, Katrina, but I consider it a resting place more Christian than any of the churchyards in New York."

"Then I trust your judgement," I said tenderly, bringing his hand to my lips. "What saddens me most," I said almost to myself, "is that we never even discussed a name."

"How could we have? We had no way of knowing. I am convinced now that it is better this way," Ichabod said, defeated at last. He rested his head on my shoulder. After a few moments, he asked cautiously, "The... bleeding has stopped?"

"Yes. Be at peace," I said, working a few tangles out of his hair. "Come to bed, love. This day has exhausted everyone."

"Surely you more than anyone else," Ichabod murmured with feeling. "You are the bravest one of us all." He rose and shrugged out of his coat, changing slowly, for he appeared to be in pain. I winced with him as he removed his shirt. The flesh of his right side was beginning to purple where Joshua had kicked him. I did not try to hide my astonishment. Ichabod fingered the bruises with a sort of reverence.

"I deserve them," he said. "I would not be surprised if Joshua never speaks to me again."

"Of course he will," I reassured him. "Joshua came to me while you were still out, Ichabod. He wanted to know where you had gone. He has reconciled your intentions with his own."

"That boy has both your patience and your forgiveness. I understand why Angeline mistook you for his mother."

"And you for his father," I pointed out. "He has your insatiable hunger for knowledge... and your hidden temper."

At this, Ichabod managed a faint smile. "God forbid I should ever-" he cut himself off suddenly. Ichabod gingerly pulled on his nightshirt, struggling to banish whatever had been on the tip of his tongue.

"That was my father in me, Katrina," he sighed at length. "It grieves me that my mother's blood was not thick enough to choke his out of me."

"You must stop blaming the dead. It is a persistent habit with you," I cautioned him.

"At least one of us still has faith in the living," Ichabod said darkly, slipping carefully beneath the covers. He seemed afraid to touch me. I put my arms around him, and at last he surrendered to the embrace that I so loved him for.

"You mean that you have none whatsoever?" I asked.

"Not exactly. I have, but in one living soul only: yours."

Sleep came with merciful swiftness, binding our barely staunched wounds with a poultice that not even hands as skilled as Lyse's could make.

The next month was a slow, uncertain time of protracted healing. Like Ichabod's shoulder, the scar was one easily opened time and time again. While Joshua and I had only become closer, the opposite seemed to be true of he and Ichabod. For two weeks, the they trod upon broken glass in each otherÌs presence. Although the words that they spoke were unusually patient and respectful, their reserved conversations turned sour in my ears. The eyes of each begged open forgiveness of the other, but both lacked the courage to give it.

Thankfully, Ichabod and I maintained the same level of devotion as before, if not one stronger. He fussed over me incessantly even though I had taken to my feet a mere three days after the miscarriage. Much to everyone's relief, I was plagued by sickness no longer. All I could do was look at them strangely and say, "Is it not to be expected?"

Despite the misbegotten rift in their relationship, Joshua went back to his apprenticeship with Ichabod once he was certain that I no longer needed constant supervision. The return to normalcy proved to be their saving grace, because I could see the ice beginning to melt once they started working together again. At least Joshua's demon had been exorcised by the entire tragedy. To have lived with his silent pain, I realized, would have been worse than any death. To me, the salvation of a soul's well being was worth far more than the loss of a barely formed life.

Sadly, Ichabod could not come to full acceptance of our loss. A new melancholy glint appeared in his eyes, adding its sore light to his existing multitude of mourning flames. He suffered a disturbing increase in nightmares, which brought me to my knees scribbling feverishly. I tasted chalk dust and felt it under my fingernails for days.

My days at home alone were not empty, as Lyse visited frequently after her sons departed. Like Ichabod, she seemed to hold herself responsible in some small way. Enlisting her advice, I set myself to the first of many domestic renovations: trashing the only two pitiful rugs that existed in the entire house and planning to have the entire thing carpeted. Ichabod was compliant with my kitchen tile and carpet choices, and he was even receptive when my ambitions expanded to include new wallpaper and furnishings. His only contrary comment was, "The laboratory does not fall under your jurisdiction." I had no objections to that. With my pledge that his workspace would remain untouched, work on the floors was set to begin in mid March.

To say that I was completely free of anomalies would be a lie, but the latest change was so benign that I was content to let it go without seeking explanation. During the beginning of February, I developed the most inordinate cravings for things that I did not even like. I went to Lyse's for tea one afternoon and out of sheer courtesy took one of the candied violets that she offered. But after I had eaten it, I found myself taking another, and another.... Before I knew it, I had consumed all but one of the confections on the little dish between us. Over the rim of her teacup, Lyse gave me a strange look.

"I didn't know that you were so fond of sweets, dear," Lyse said, faintly amused.

"Neither did I," I replied, shrugging as I popped the last violet into my mouth. "Do you know of any confectioners that sell good marzipan?"

"On the corner of Bay and Madison. It's right on your husband's way home," she replied with a wink.

Ichabod gladly indulged my new vice, for he was thrilled to see me eating well again. He was eager to send the gaunt look that I had adopted into oblivion. In truth, so was I. I was tired of catching a chill at the drop of a hat. I fleshed out again quickly- much more quickly than I had expected. Ichabod teasingly attributed it to my phenomenal sugar intake, and I indifferently agreed. Until the morning of March twelfth, that is.

Another mundane habit that I had resumed was rising at the crack of dawn with Ichabod. While Ichabod arranged his uniform jacket, I sat on the edge of the bed struggling with my stomacher. I could not tighten it properly for the life of me. The laces continually pulled out of my hands, and I had to grope around behind my back to catch hold of them again. I quickly grew frustrated.

"Ichabod," I asked in exasperation, "will you help me with this?"

He sidled up behind me on the bed, taking the laces from me. "Someone had one too many truffles after dinner last night, I suspect," Ichabod scolded affectionately. He pulled the laces so far only to run into the same problem I had. He tried a second time, causing me to gasp in pain.

"You had better cut down."

"I only had four," I snapped indignantly.

"Let me try again. Suck in your stomach," Ichabod instructed.

"I am."

"Nonsense. I cannot get this to give an inch."

"I am telling you," I said through gritted teeth, forcing as much air out of my diaphragm as I could, "that I can no sooner suck in another inch."

Ichabod sighed quizzically and pulled harder.

"Stop!" I gasped. A strange sensation shot through my midsection. It was not pain so much as it was... resistance.

"Are you all right?" Ichabod asked, immediately concerned.

"Yes..."

"Let me have a look," he said grimly, loosening the stomacher and slipping it up over my head. "I should have known that there is probably still something amiss."

I lay back on the pillow at his urging, running an incredulous hand over my once-flat abdomen. I could hardly believe what my fingers were telling me. I looked down, and my eyes confirmed it. Cold excitement rushed through my veins. I wondered why I had not noticed before. I took IchabodÌs hand and placed it just below my belly button.

"Do you feel that?" I asked, my voice hushed.

Ichabod frowned, passing his palm over my stomach. "Feel what?"

"Press a little. Use both hands."

I could tell that Ichabod did as he was told only to humor me, but as he proceeded to explore with a sure physicianÌs touch, an expression of frightened confusion spread across his features. An unidentifiable emotion ignited his dark eyes.

"Now do you see?" I whispered, unspeakable words dancing on the tip of my tongue.

"No," Ichabod said, unsettled, pulling his hands away. "I do not." I smiled patiently. His neurotic behavior told me otherwise.

"Ichabod, I do not believe you," I said gently, taking his hands again. His breathing grew unsteady and his eyes widened to twice their size as I guided his hands over the irregular contour of my belly.

"Katrina, I am begging you.... Please, do not do this to me! I cannot bear it," he cried bitterly, his inflection pure disbelief.

"Do what to you, Ichabod?" I asked him with harsh but hopeful reproach. "Does your denial run that deep?" He tried to pull away, but I held his wrists fast, willing him to believe in the subtle roundness that his senses, too, told him was there. His eyes were bright with tears.

"Katrina, please..." Ichabod begged again. I held firm, leaning forward until my lips touched his ear.

"I think that our child has been buried right here all along," I whispered, my eyes stinging as surely as his.

Ichabod did not faint, but he collapsed in my arms as though I had dealt him a mortal blow. He began to weep, but whether it was from emotional exhaustion or shocked elation, I could not tell. Only once his sobbing turned coherent was I certain.

"The violets, the marzipan, the chocolate," Ichabod choked joyfully, half-crying and half-laughing. "I cannot believe it! Katrina! Curse me for it, but I was so certain of what I laid to rest at the foot of that tree...."

"Let us not forget," I comforted him, "that misjudgment is a common fallacy, especially when one is in despair. You chose not to take a closer look."

"Ten times guilty, I," Ichabod muttered in remembrance of a ledger tossed to the flames and a love left sleeping without a goodbye.

I kissed Ichabod reassuringly. "I do not blame you," I said, "for I would not have been able to bring myself to do it, either. But if you had, think of what you would have discovered that would have saved us a world of grief!"

"I will never," Ichabod vowed with a resolute smile, "reject your advice again."

"I give you the permission to if you know for certain that I am wrong," I laughed.

"The catch is," he continued, "that I have never known you to be."

"What, then, if our child inherits the infamous Crane judgment?" I teased.

"Why, I shall hope that the Van Tassel sensibility is strong enough to counter it!"

As Ichabod and I descended into the living room, I felt lighter than usual, both in body and spirit. I had foregone the stomacher and resolved to see the tailor that very day about some maternity gowns. Ichabod stopped dead at the bottom of the stairs, halting me as well. He nodded in the direction of the fireplace. Joshua lay curled up in one of the armchairs, fast asleep. The Knights of the Round Table balanced precariously on his knees.

"I think that you had better do the honors," Ichabod whispered nervously.

"So do I, but you are going to be right beside me."

We approached slowly, almost reluctant to disturb JoshuaÌs rest. I extended my hand and brushed his hair back from his forehead. He stirred, eyes fluttering.

"Yes, Mother?" Joshua groaned, his expression changing from one of contentment to embarrassment as his waking eyes focused upon me clearly. "I- I mean... Katrina.... Good morning," he stammered.

I smiled at him. "What you just called me is uncannily accurate," I said, bending to kiss the top of his head.

Joshua looked at me dazedly. "What?"

"Exactly what I said. Call me ÎMotherÌ to your heartÌs content. I need to get used to it."

Joshua gave me the oddest, most incredulous look I had ever seen. "YouÌre with child again?" he asked in disbelief.

Ichabod stepped forward and knelt so that he and Joshua were eye to eye. "She has been with child all along. My foolishness has cost us a tremendous amount of grief. Will you forgive me.... Honestly forgive me, Joshua? I truly have felt like I deserve the sentence that the High Constable threatened me with so long ago."

Joshua looked at the floor for a few minutes before looking up with a sly grin, unable to contain his excitement. The double good news- the baby and the apology- were an offer that he could not refuse.

"Medieval torture devices and all?" he asked Ichabod warily.

"Even so," Ichabod said with grave conviction.

JoshuaÌs eyes, too, filled with tears then. "IÌm sorry, too," he whispered penitently. "And I hope that you forgive me... Father. YouÌll need to be getting used to it, too!"

This embrace was not one for me to share in. I stood watching them with silent pride, reflecting on LyseÌs long ago promise:

But you are blessed, my children, and ever shall you be.

Whether it was the journeyÌs end or not, I had no way of knowing. But I could feel the fourth unseen presence within myself so strongly that I knew one thing for certain: Never had we been so blessed.

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