III Youth and Love

To the heart of youth the world is a highwayside.

Passing for ever, he fares; and on either hand,

Deep in the gardens golden pavilions hide,

Nestle in orchard bloom, and far on the level land

Call him with lighted lamp in the eventide.

Thick as the stars at night when the moon is down,

Pleasures assail him. He to his nobler fate

Fares; and but waves a hand as he passes on,

Cries but a wayside word to her at the garden gate,

Sings but a boyish stave and his face is gone.

xXx

"Ab..." Crane moans in his sleep, tossing. Beside him, Katrina looks over, a slight frown crossing her features.

He's dreaming. Again. I feared this would happen. She reaches over and brushes the sweat-dampened hair from his brow. The room is hot, the air sticky with humidity. There is a breeze blowing in through the open windows, but it provides little relief.

"No." The word is clear and distinct. He hasn't yet shouted it, but he's close.

Katrina waits, knowing it will come.

"No!" he screams, sitting bolt upright in bed, eyes wide and, momentarily, unseeing.

"Ichabod," Katrina soothes, running her hand down his arm. "You must have been having a nightmare."

"Oh... yes... forgive me, my love, I..." he blinks and looks at her. "This is the third one this week," he says. He rises from the bed and walks to a table where there is a pitcher and two glasses. He pours himself a glass of water, downs it, and returns to bed. "They are not all nightmares, however," he explains, his head clearer now.

"No?" Katrina asks, interested.

"But... they all involve the same person," he says, his eyes darting away from his wife's face. Katrina holds her breath, knowing what he is going to say. "A woman."

I know. "A... woman?" she carefully asks.

"Do not fret, my love, it's nothing... improper. At least... I don't think... oh, dear. Some of the details are blurry."

"It's all right, Ichabod. If you don't wish to discuss it, I understand," she says. I am not certain I wish to hear about it.

"No, no, I should like to tell you... I think it will help me collect my wits."

"Ichabod, you need your rest. General Washington is expecting you early tomorrow," Katrina advises.

"Yes, my dear, I remember," he nods, taking her hand. "But, if my brain is addled with this puzzle, I will be of no help to the General whatsoever."

Katrina sighs softly, hoping she doesn't sound as wary as she feels. "Then, by all means, my love. Please, go on. This woman. What is she like? What does she do?"

"It's very strange. We... we aren't... lovers," he says, attempting to erase the tension he sees on his wife's brow. "I feel... fondness for her, so I presume we are friends. But, close friends. In my dreams, I... I trust her implicitly. We are... allies, working for a common cause." The words come out haltingly as he attempts to explain his relationship with the mysterious woman in his dream.

"What... what does she look like?" Katrina asks. She has actually been curious about this since she came to realize that the second witness would be a woman.

Crane closes his eyes. "She dresses strangely. She wears trousers, like a man, but... they appear to be different from the sort I wear. She is small, very petite, but… strong, I think. She is also a free woman of color."

"Oh," Katrina says, blinking in surprise.

"She... she looks rather like Miss Dixon. Yes. There is a passing resemblance to Grace Dixon, most definitely," he says, decisively nodding. "She is very smart. Clever."

"Does she have a name?" I have heard him speak her name. Abbie. But, I wonder if he is aware?

"I'm certain she does, but… I seem to refer to her as "Lieutenant" in my dreams when I do address her. Curious. A female lieutenant." He pauses a moment. "Her name is something beginning with the letter 'A', I believe," he says, almost absentmindedly.

"Pretty?" Katrina softly asks.

Crane smiles at his wife. "My love, are you jealous of this nonexistent woman?"

Oh, but she does exist. She will. "Merely curious," she answers, feeling jealous indeed, yet smiling to hide it while she listens to her husband praise a woman he will not meet for an undetermined amount of time. Could be centuries.

"She is quite pretty, yes, but, of course, I only have eyes for you, Wife," Crane answers. He leans over and kisses her cheek.

"What does she do? I mean, what do you do... together?"

He thinks. "There is a fair amount of running. It's often dark. It's often... unpleasant. Not always, but frequently. I believe we are chasing someone. Or something." He pauses. "Sometimes, we are the quarry. That was the case this evening. We were being pursued."

"Pursued by whom?" she asks, her eyebrows rising.

"I am not certain. I am not even certain if our pursuer is a 'who'. It may be a 'what'. I am always jolted from my slumber just as events escalate," Crane says. He yawns and stretches, then settles deeper into their bed.

"How long have you been having these dreams?" Katrina asks, settling in as well. It is too warm to truly be comfortable, but they manage the best they can.

Crane kicks a leg out from beneath the sheet, his foot nearly hanging off the end of the bed. "Just within this last year..." his voice trails off, and he suddenly sits up, his eyes widening. "No. I dreamt of her when I was but a boy. They weren't nightmares at all then, but I remember... flashes." He closes his eyes, willing the images to present themselves. "Her eyes. Her voice. I remember being puzzled by her dark skin, wondering why I would be dreaming of this beautiful, dark-skinned woman."

So, now she is beautiful? Katrina swallows and says, "I suppose that would have been very perplexing. How old were you?"

"Ten. It went on for a few years. I never told anyone."

Katrina is quiet for a moment, trying to decide how to get her husband to calm himself and return to sleep, hoping the dreams will not return tonight. "Ichabod, I know this is puzzling," she soothes, reaching for his hand and gently pulling him back down. "But, you cannot let it trouble you. Dreams are mysterious things. Shadows. No one knows of their origins. I do not think you should dwell on them." She feels the familiar sting she always experiences when forced to keep something from – lie to – him, but she must. It is a part of the path she must follow, just as he must follow his. If he were to learn of his true calling at the wrong time, the consequences would be disastrous.

He sighs, his eyes closed. "I shall try to not let these dreams worry me," he says. "But, they are so... vivid."

"That often happens," Katrina says. "Once, I dreamt I was a sparrow. When I awoke, I could still feel the feathers on my skin. I would have sworn I could fly." She quietly chuckles, reaching over to softly stroke Crane's beard with her fingertips.

He leans over and kisses her. "Thank you for listening, my love. And, thank you, as always, for your sage words of counsel."

xXx

The next day, Captain Ichabod Crane falls on the battlefield after removing the head of a Hessian soldier. His wife, Katrina Crane, places him in an enchanted sleep, saving his life until he can wake at the proper time.

In doing so, she unintentionally wipes the dreams from his memory.