"Mr. Van Brunt, I presume?" Abbie greets the man at the door. Ichabod finally consented to let her meet his agent after Abbie put forth a very persuasive argument, stating that she knows more of what their household needs anyway and that if Van Brunt so much as looked at her in a lecherous way she would "put him on his ass". Then she demonstrated her ability to do so, at Crane's insistence.

Then they wound up making love on the floor where he landed.

Abraham Van Brunt's eyes nearly pop out of his head at seeing a petite, beautiful woman standing in the open doorway instead of the shadowy figure of Crane talking to him through the crack of a barely-opened door.

While he opens and closes his mouth like a catfish struggling to breathe on land, Abbie presses on. "I'm Abigail Crane, Dr. Crane's new wife. My husband and I have agreed that our transactions going forward will be handled by me," she says. Her tone is brusque, businesslike, and commanding authority.

Van Brunt is confused and a little aroused. He also finally finds his voice. "Enchanté," he smoothly greets, holding out his hand and stepping inside the foyer.

She takes it, making sure to pointedly turn her hand sideways to prevent him from kissing it.

He puzzles at her a moment, surprised at how strong she is. "Well then… Mrs. Crane…" he trails off, then regroups. "I'm sorry, when did this happen? I mean, I knew he had a… a maid or something here, but… was it you?"

"We were married over a month ago," she tells him. "And yes, I have been here, but I was never a maid," she protests, though she knows full well that she pretty much was. "The details of our marriage are not your concern," she says, squarely meeting his gaze. She looks him over. He is of similar height and build to Ichabod, tall and thin, though she thinks Van Brunt may be a shade beefier. He is handsome enough, blonde, with close-set blue eyes and a chiseled jawline. He would be more attractive if he didn't have an overall air of haughty disdain about him.

All in all, she's not terribly impressed. She holds out the list, tired of these inane pleasantries.

He takes it and looks it over. "This is a lot," he observes. The list is twice the length it normally is.

"Dr. Crane and I will be setting out on a journey as soon as the weather improves and will be needing some travel supplies," Abbie explains. "There will be more next time, too."

Van Brunt wants to complain. He wants to refuse. He wants to tell her she can do the shopping from now on. But he's come to rely on the money he gets from Crane. And he's realized he's a little afraid of Mrs. Crane. He doesn't know what's wrong with his old friend, but obviously he is well enough to take a wife, and what a wife at that. He's certainly met his match.

"Is there a problem?" she asks, her hands on her hips.

"Um, no… ma'am," he answers, pocketing the list. "It may take me until tomorrow to acquire all these items for you," he says. "If that's all right."

"That's fine," she answers, now smiling pleasantly. "I won't keep you any longer, Mr. Van Brunt."

He realizes he is being dismissed, and finds his feet are already carrying him back to the door. "Have a good day, ma'am," he says. She nods, smiles, and shuts the door.

"I know you're watching, Ichabod," she calls, and he appears in a doorway, looking properly sheepish.

"You're certain you are not a witch?" he asks, walking towards her.

"Not entirely certain. I mean there have been a few in my family," she admits with a smile, stepping into into his embrace. "Why do you ask?"

"I have never seen Van Brunt behave that way," he says. "Polite. Respectful. To man or woman."

She leans her head back and looks up at him. "Oh, so you think I enchanted him?"

He chuckles. "The thought had occurred," he admits. "But you were very commanding. Apparently you are a stronger person than he," he says, laughing some more. Then he kisses her, intending it to be a small kiss, but it quickly changes when he realizes how much he enjoyed watching her put Van Brunt in his place. How much seeing her authoritative side arouses him.

"Ichabod," she says, reeling from his ardor. "What…?"

"Let's go upstairs," he murmurs in her ear, "and you can order me around for a while."

"Oh, so it's like that, is it?" she asks, taking his hand and pulling him towards the stairs.

"Indeed," he concurs.

xXx

They set out for Pocantico Hills in late March. There are still some piles of dirty snow lingering in places, but Abbie knows Ichabod is anxious to depart. So they pack some things, bundle up, and head out.

"The journey would be faster if we rode," Crane says as they walk.

"I've never ridden a horse," Abbie replies, thinking that perhaps her husband might have thought of this sooner than when they were already afoot.

"Truly?" he asks, looking down at her.

She stops walking and looks up at him. "And when, exactly, would I have had the means for that kind of horse and the time to learn to ride?" she asks, a little testy. The sheriff was a good, well-educated man, but he didn't have a lot of money. Plow horses are one thing. Horses meant to be ridden by people as means of transport are quite another.

"I'm sorry. Forgive me. I did not think." She imagines he looks quite contrite behind his mask – which she now hates as much as he does.

She nods. "You might have asked about this sooner; you might have had time to teach me."

"True," he allows. "I have been so distracted by thoughts of the culmination of this journey that I left all the details of the actual journey to you… not once did transportation occur to me. Until just now."

"It's understandable, Ichabod," she says, taking his arm and beginning to walk again. "I know how hard this is on you."

He sighs and nods. They walk in silence for a bit and he says, "You could ride with me. That might not be bad, astride a fine horse with you in my arms."

"You got horse-buying money on you?" she asks.

"Oh. No, I do not," he answers. He has a full purse, but it is filled with money for lodging and food. If he uses it to buy a horse they will have none left for anything else. And he isn't going back to get more.

"Then it's a moot point," she declares. "I know those boots are uncomfortable, Love. Maybe you can take them off when we get deeper into the forest."

"Perhaps," he agrees.

They reach the edge of Pocantico Hills proper just after darkness falls. They stopped only briefly to have a bite of lunch – which Abbie had packed – and once Ichabod realized how close they were, they pushed on a little longer than they both would have liked, the prospect of an inn much more desirable than camping out in the cold.

"It's smaller than I expected," Abbie comments, looking around.

"This isn't the town center," Ichabod replies. "Just an outlying village. But it will suffice." They spot an inn, and head that way. "You remember our plan, my love?"

"Yes," she nods, taking his offered purse. "Wait here." She automatically leans up to kiss him, says, "Oh," frowns at his mask, and heads inside.

Abbie walks through the doors and the din inside decrescendos for a moment as several heads turn to look at the small woman wearing trousers and boots who has just walked in. She ignores everyone and heads straight for the innkeeper behind the bar. The noise level rises again when everyone decides she's not interesting.

"Do you have a room available?" she asks, meeting the innkeeper's gaze.

He raises an eyebrow at her. "Just you? A beautiful woman should not be traveling al—"

"My husband is outside," she interjects.

"Oh? Why's he not come in then?" he asks. "Not much of a man who lets his wife just saunter into a strange place all on her own, if you ask me."

"I didn't," she answers, her voice icy. "Do you have a room or not? I can easily give my money to an innkeeper who knows how to mind his business."

He blinks once, then says, "I've got one left." He nods at the staircase along one wall. "Up those stairs, last door on the left," he adds.

"Nothing on the first floor?"

"All our rooms are upstairs, Missus." He narrows his eyes at her. "Deters people from thinking they can trash my rooms and then escape out the window."

Abbie presses her lips together. We were counting on sneaking him in the window. "Very well," she says, fishing into Ichabod's purse and putting some coins on the bar. After a moment's thought, she puts a few more down. "We would like two dinners brought up as well."

The innkeeper looks down at the money. It's more than enough. He doesn't normally deliver meals up to the rooms, but she's convinced him with her silver. "Of course, Missus."

She takes out one more coin and presses it in the man's palm. She closes his fingers over it and leans in close, her hands tight around his closed fist. "My husband has a skin condition. He is not contagious, but will be cloaked so as not to make your guests uneasy. I am trusting you to see to it that this will not be an issue," she says, her voice like steel.

When she releases his hand, he stares down at it, surprised at how much strength there is in her small hands. "Yes, Missus. Of course."

Abbie nods and strides back out to fetch her husband.

"Abbie!" Ichabod exclaims stepping out of his hiding place. "You weren't supposed to come back out… did they have no rooms?"

"Oh, he has a room, but it's on the second floor," she answers, tossing him his purse. "Come on."

"What?"

"Come on. It will be fine," she says, taking his hand. He resists and she turns towards him, cupping his face. She looks around a moment, then her fingers work his mask up just enough for her to kiss him. "I promise."

"Very well," he relents, and she tucks his mask back into place.

They enter the inn, and this time no one pays any heed. Abbie and Ichabod make their way along the wall, endeavoring to be as inconspicuous as possible, heading towards the stairs.

"Hey!" a patron calls, hoisting his mug in their direction. "What's with the mask? Are you some sort of bandit?" They ignore him, so he continues. "Oh, help, help! The skinny masked man and the tiny woman are taking all my gold!" Laughter erupts, and as Abbie and Ichabod reach the stairs, he tries again. "Hey! I asked you a question!"

The innkeeper intervenes, quickly striding over and cuffing the patron on the back of the head with his beefy hand. "Shut it, Hawley, or I'm cutting you off."

As Hawley turns towards the innkeeper to protest, the Cranes successfully ascend the stairs and slip quietly into their room.

They are soon forgotten by the other patrons, but the innkeeper knocks a short time later with their dinners.

"Thank goodness," Ichabod says. "I'm starving."

"Me too," Abbie replies, waving him over behind a privacy screen in the corner as she walks to the door. "Thank you," she greets the innkeeper.

"May I?" he asks, his eyes darting around the room, obviously looking for Ichabod.

"Please," Abbie steps aside, allowing him to bring in his tray and set it on the table. "My husband is behind the screen," she informs.

"Oh, I wasn't—"

"Yes, you were," she answers, her voice kind. "Ichabod, darling, say hello to the innkeeper."

"Good evening, sir," he calls from behind the screen, feeling incredibly stupid, hiding in what is essentially a makeshift loo. "We thank you for your hospitality. Whatever you've brought for dinner smells delicious."

"It's a simple beef stew, sir," the innkeeper answers. "I hope it will be to your liking." He nods at Abbie, then heads out.

When the door closes again, Crane comes out from behind the screen. "That was humiliating."

"I told you what I told him, and I also told you to leave your mask on," Abbie gently chides. "But no, someone had to undress down to just his trousers as soon as both feet were inside the roo—oh!" She squeals when Crane suddenly sweeps her into his arms.

"I can think of a better way to use that smart mouth of yours," he rumbles, his face inches from hers.

"Me too," she agrees, her voice a seductive whisper. As he leans in to kiss her, she leans away and says, "I meant eating dinner; of what were you thinking?"

Then she worms her way out of his arms and goes to the table.

"Abbie!" he exclaims, but he is laughing. And also hungry. He eats his entire bowl full, the second half of Abbie's, and most of the bread.

She sets the tray outside the door, then slides the heavy bolt into place, locking everyone else out. When she turns around, he is right there, his eyes dark and feral. She squeaks in surprise when he lifts her, pulling her legs around his waist. She feels the cold stone of the wall against her back, but it barely registers because of the heat radiating from her already-naked husband.

"Ichabod…" she gasps, speaking around kisses, "I have trousers on… you have to let me down…"

He grunts in recognition, sets her on her feet, and kneels before her, intent on disrobing her as quickly as possible. He leaves her shirt on to protect her back from getting scratched on the wall, and when he picks her up again, he shoves the front of her shirt up so he can have access to her breasts.

Abbie clings to his shoulders, holding on as he kisses, licks, and bites a path over her skin. He shifts her, his hands – with their sharp nails now carefully and painstakingly filed down – gripping her hips until they are aligned and he easily slides into her with a low growl.

"Oh…" she breathes, then bites her lip, trying to be mindful of the fact that there are other guests in this inn. He powerfully thrusts into her, bracing her shoulders against the wall, his lips placing sucking kisses on her neck.

"Abbie," he grunts her name with his thrusts. "Oh, Abbie…"

When she hears that deep, hoarse rasp, she knows he is gone, lost in her, and she pulls his face to hers for a kiss. "I love you," she whispers into his mouth while they kiss.

"I love y—oh, yes…" he groans, and she knows he is getting close. She's become quite adept at reading him this way over these three months, and when he speaks again, she knows what he is going to say. "Touch yourself, Love."

She lets go of his neck and snakes her hand down between them, rubbing small circles to help bring herself to her climax because both of his hands are occupied holding her up. "Oh…" she gasps, "Oh yes… harder…"

Ichabod grits his teeth and complies, knowing he is playing with fire but needing to bring her to completion before he has to pull out. Abbie cries out a moment later, her thighs tightening around his hips.

He growls again, quickly but gently removing himself from her and setting her back on the floor. To his shock, she immediately drops to her knees and takes him in her mouth. "Abbie!" he exclaims. "Oh…" He almost collapses at the feel of her mouth around him, and braces his hands on the wall to support himself.

She's never done this before – not to anyone – but she must be doing it right because he's certainly not complaining. She swirls her tongue around the end, then sucks him in as far as she can, wrapping her fingers around the base of his shaft. It feels unexpectedly erotic to pleasure him this way, and she hums contentedly.

"Abbie, my love… I am… ohhh…" he groans, not sure if it is her intention to swallow his seed or not, but that's precisely what she winds up doing a moment later as his knees buckle and he surges forth into her mouth.

She gags a little, but manages it; when he's done, she leans back and slides him out of her mouth. She leans forward again and places a gentle kiss on his softening cock before looking up at him. He's simply staring down at her in awe.

"I always wondered about that," she admits.

He reaches down and helps her to her feet again. "So you've never…?" he asks, kissing her. There is a strange taste to her now, but he doesn't care.

"No," she answers, walking over and pouring herself a glass of water. "Has anyone ever done that to you before?" she hesitantly asks into her cup.

"No," he replies. "My experience is limited to a few tumbles in the barn with girls from the village, to be quite honest."

She chuckles and says, "Too bad we didn't grow up in the same village."

He smiles, but then his expression grows serious again. "Too bad indeed. This entire mess could have been avoided then, for you would have stolen my heart – that is, I would have freely and joyfully given it to you – before Miss Van Tassel could have set her sights on it."

"Possibly," Abbie says. "She still might have done it out of jealousy."

Ichabod pulls her into his arms. "True," he allows. "Or worse, she could have loosed her wrath on you." He bends down and kisses her. "Come," he says, "let's see if this bed is comfortable."

He takes her hand and pulls her to the bed just as a knock sounds at the door.

She squeezes his hand before releasing it and goes to the door. "Yes?" she calls through the wood.

"Is everything to your liking, Missus?" the innkeeper asks. "Do you require anything else tonight?"

"Everything is fine, thanks. We don't need anything," she answers.

"Shall I send up some breakfast in the morning then?"

She looks at Ichabod who is giving her a look that clearly asks How much money did you give him? "Yes, that would be lovely. We will be setting out quite early though."

"I'll have it brought up just before first light," he answers.

"Thank you very much," she replies. "Good night," she adds, just to make sure he knows their conversation is over.

"Good night," he says, and Abbie walks back to bed, where Ichabod is waiting.

"I didn't give him that much," she tells him and kisses him. "Count what's left yourself if you don't believe me."

"I trust you," he answers. "I saw how you handled Van Brunt; I have no doubt you could have this innkeeper eating out of your tiny hand," here he picks up her hand and presses a slow, wet kiss to her palm, "just as easily."

xXx

The next morning they set out, skirting around the edge of town before most people are up and about. Ichabod doesn't relax until they are in the forest, hiking up the hill.

"I have to say your memory is really helpful for something like this," Abbie comments, completely trusting him to lead them to the correct destination.

As they walk, she remembers waking up the morning after their wedding, Jenny's query about whether or not the previous night's activities would break the curse in the front of her mind. But she knew it did not before she even opened her eyes from the furry arm and pointed claws under her hand. She sighed, kissed his hand, and rolled over to find him staring at her. The first words out of his mouth were, "That did not work either." She knew then he had also considered that option.

Ichabod takes her hand, and she can feel the tension radiating through him. She knows this is much harder on him than it is on her, and she tries to be mindful of that. Just because she doesn't care if he is a beast or a man doesn't me he does not care. All he wants is to live his life as he did before, able to move openly in society, able to actually leave his house uncloaked, able to give her the child that they both very much want but cannot yet have.

She knows he is happy with her, and a part of her wishes it was enough. But putting herself in his place, she understands how she is unable to ease his pain all on her own.

She knows he will be unable to truly, fully be himself until he is restored to his former body.

And deep down, a tiny part of her hopes he will still want her if and when that happens. And that's a small part of why you don't care if he changes back. You know he won't leave you if he stays a beast.

"Abbie?" Ichabod asks, looking back at her with a concerned expression. "Do you need to rest?" he asks. "I knew I shouldn't have kept you awake so late," he adds, chiding himself for his seemingly unquenchable lust for his wife.

"No, I'm fine," Abbie answers. She notices she's dropped several steps behind him, her hand no longer in his.

He walks back to her and guides her to sit on a large boulder nearby. "You do not look fine. Something is troubling you."

She sometimes forgets he can read her as well as she can him. "I just had a realization, that's all," she says after a minute. "About myself."

"What is that?" he tenderly asks, tracing her cheek with his finger.

She bites her lip, then quietly asks, "What if you don't want me after you've changed back?"

He looks at her under furrowed brows. "That is preposterous," he replies. "Why on earth would I not want you?"

"Because you'll be back to your human self, which, from what I've seen, is quite handsome. I can see why Katrina fancied you. I bet you were admired by several of the single ladies in town, in fact. And I… I just realized that a small part of the reason it doesn't matter to me if you are a man or… a beast is because if you're a beast, you won't leave me." She looks up at him. "People I love have a tendency to leave me."

Any personal hurt he may have felt over her doubts immediately disappears with her last sentence. He kneels in front of her and takes her hands. "Grace Abigail Crane," he declares, kissing her knuckles. "I promised, in front of a man of God, your sister, and Mister Corbin, that I would honor and cherish you for the rest of my days. That I would love you regardless of the circumstances around us. I made a vow to you that day, a vow I did not take lightly then and do not now. If I were to ever leave you, I promise it will not be through my choosing."

She leans forward and hugs him tightly. "I'm sorry, Ichabod," she whispers, her tears wetting his neck. "I didn't intend to question your feelings for me… I just…"

"I understand, Love. I do," he replies, leaning back to kiss her. "You take on the burden of my troubles so much that your own problems often get pushed to the side, and for that, I am sorry." He kisses her again. "Just know that I will love you no matter how… fuzzy… I am."

She snorts an indelicate giggle and he smiles.

"And do you honestly think I would turn you away while Miss Jenny walks this earth? My nose has not forgotten the sting of her fist, you know," he adds.

Now Abbie laughs, and he gives her one more kiss. "Thank you," she says, and stands, pulling him to his feet. She gives him a tight hug, burying her face in his chest for a minute before stepping back. "Come on. Let's go find those witches."

"Quite," he agrees. "We are actually not far."

They walk for ten more minutes, then come to an abrupt halt in front of what appears to be a pile of charred rubble.

"Oh dear," Abbie says, breaking the silence. "Ichabod…"

"Burnt," he croaks. "They're… they're…"

"Gone," she finishes. She turns to Crane. "What do we do now?" she asks, but as soon as she sees him, she can tell he is in no state to construct a Plan B just yet. "Come sit," she says, pulling him to a large fallen log. She takes a skin filled with water out of his bag and urges him to drink. He passes it back to her, indicating she should also have some.

"Why?" he asks after a time, wiping his eyes. "How? Why? They weren't hurting anyone."

"People are ignorant," she hollowly answers. "Cruel. They condemn what they don't understand."

"That's what my mama said." A small voice behind them makes them jump, and they turn to see a young girl of about nine standing and staring at them from the edge of the clearing. Crane begins to panic, as he is unmasked, but Abbie places a steadying hand on his arm. "What's wrong with you?" the girl asks.

"He is under a curse," Abbie answers. "He won't hurt you."

"I know," the girl replies. "He's not hurting you. And he looks like my doggie. My doggie is nice."

Abbie squeezes Ichabod's hand, hoping he takes the innocent comment for what it is.

"I am just a man under all this," he answers, collecting himself. "What is your name, child?"

"Macey," she answers. "What's yours?"

"I am Ichabod, and this is my wife, Abbie," he answers.

Macey tilts her head, almost as if the two of them being married is stranger than Ichabod's appearance, then says, "You're pretty."

Abbie smiles. "Thank you. So are you." Macey beams and Abbie asks, "What happened here?"

"Some of the villagers burned the witch ladies last year. I liked them. They let me ask them all kinds of questions," Macey answers, frowning.

"I am certain they did," he replies. "You must be full of questions."

"My papa says too many questions," she says, nodding.

"No such thing, Miss Macey," he says.

"Do you live near here?" Abbie asks. "In the forest?"

"Yes. My papa has sheep… there's a clearing over here where they're grazing this spring." She points behind her and to the right. "We live where the sheep need to be."

"Fascinating," Ichabod answers.

"You wanted the witches to help you with your curse," Macey states. She doesn't need to ask.

"Yes. You are a smart girl."

"My mama says too smart," she replies.

"Once again, no such thing," Ichabod repeats.

Macey stares at them for a long moment. "There's a man," she suddenly says.

"Oh?" Abbie asks, wondering where this strange child's train of thought is going now.

Macey nods. "He helped my brother. There was a demon inside him. It made him sick and naughty and burned him. The man got the demon out."

Crane's eyebrows shoot up. "Truly?" he asks.

"You don't believe me."

"No, no, I do… we do, but… we would like more information," he presses.

"If possible," Abbie adds. "Do you know where we can find this man?"

"My papa knows," Macey answers. "He can tell you."

Abbie and Ichabod look at each other. Why not? seems to be the unspoken agreement between them.

"Are you certain?" Ichabod asks.

She hesitates. "Not really, but come ask. The witch ladies always told me that you can't find out anything if you don't ask," she says.

"Well then," Abbie replies, standing.

Ichabod stands as well. "Perhaps I should mask myself…"

"It's all right," Macey says. "I'll tell them you won't hurt them."

Abbie bites back her grin and says, "Lead the way, Miss Macey."

xXx

Macey's family's hut is not far from the remains of the witches' home, and they are greeted by the girl's mother. And Macey's little dog, which does in fact bear a passing resemblance to Ichabod.

"Macey! Where did you wander off to this time? Oh! H-hello…"

"Don't worry, Mama, he's nice," Macey says. "I found them by the witch ladies' house. They wanted their help, but the witch ladies are dead and Mr. Ichabod doesn't want to look like a doggy anymore so I told them about the man who helped Elijah."

"Macey…" her mother sighs, but gives Abbie and Ichabod a sympathetic look.

"We do not mean to intrude, but your daughter happened upon us shortly after we discovered the remains of the house, and, well, she's rather persuasive," Abbie says. "My name is Abigail Crane, and this is my husband, Dr. Ichabod Crane."

"Yes, I'm well aware of my daughter's gift for persuasion," Macey's mother says, stepping forward and wiping her hands on her apron. "Please to meet you and welcome to our humble home. I'm Cynthia Irving. My husband and son are tending the sheep, but they will be returning soon for lunch. Will you join us?"

"If it isn't an imposition, Madam Irving," Ichabod answers. "Miss Macey tells us that your good husband will be able to point us in the direction of this man of which she speaks."

"Yes," Cynthia answers. "He is called a Sin Eater."

"But my husband did nothing wrong… his curse was unjustly placed on him," Abbie says.

"It is simply what he is called, Mrs. Crane," Cynthia explains. "My Elijah did nothing to call the demon into him either. But truly, who of us is totally free from sin?"

"Excellent point, Madam," Ichabod allows. "Miss Macey said this man was able to help free your son from this demon?"

"Yes. But Frank will be able to tell you more about that. I… I can't," she says, looking away, obviously still too emotional about the ordeal.

"Of course," he softly replies.

xXx

When Frank and Elijah return, Abbie and Cynthia are chatting over the food, sharing recipes and cooking tips like old friends while Ichabod and Macey play fetch with her dog, Betsy.

"Frank," Cynthia hurries over to him, "we have guests."

"So I see," Frank says. "Macey, I assume this has something to do with you?"

"Yes, Papa," Macey answers. She takes Ichabod's hand and leads him to her father. "Mr. Doctor Ichabod is cursed and needs the man that helped Elijah."

"So I see," Frank repeats with a nods. "Doctor…?"

"Dr. Ichabod Crane, sir," Ichabod says, extending his free right hand. It doesn't even occur to him that Frank might not want to shake his hand until the other man warmly grasps it. "My wife, Abigail," he introduces, nodding over his shoulder at Abbie.

"How do you do?" she asks, respectfully nodding. "We apologize for the unexpected intrusion."

"Nonsense," Frank says, kindly dismissing her worries. "This is Elijah," he introduces his son, who appears to be around 12 and is half-hiding behind his father. "Come out and let them see you," he urges.

The boy steps out to reveal a sweet face that looks very much like a younger version of his father's, only with a large burn scar extending from his right cheekbone down to his neck, disappearing into his shirt. It is mostly healed, but not completely. "Hello," he quietly says.

"I am pleased to meet you, Elijah," Ichabod greets.

Elijah shyly smiles and gives Ichabod a small nod.

Cynthia places her hand on her son's shoulder and says, "Are you hungry?"

"Starving," Frank says. "Come on. We'll talk and eat."

"Miss Abbie was helping Mama cook," Macey says. "She used to be a real cook in a real inn."

"Is that so?" Frank asks. "Macey loves the idea of inns. Or any house that you can't pick up and move," he chuckles. "So, Dr. Crane… what kind of doctor are you?"

"Not a medical doctor, if that is what you are wondering," he answers. "My doctoral degree is in the field of botany."

"He does science things," Macey explains. "With plants, right?"

"Yes, Miss Macey, that is correct," he agrees.

"Hmm," Frank replies, taking his plate from his wife, and it occurs to Abbie that perhaps he was hoping that Ichabod would have some advice for Elijah's scars.

"You would be surprised at how many plants have medicinal uses though," she tactfully ventures, looking directly at Frank.

His eyebrows shoot up. "I have heard that," he replies, his eyes tellingly darting in the direction of his son.

"Yes," Abbie answers. "Ichabod, what were you telling me about that desert plant last week? You know, the one I almost knocked over?"

Ichabod nods, catching on. "Yes, the aloe. Remarkable healing properties. For… external use," he tactfully says.

"Very interesting," Frank replies.

"Just say you're looking for something to help my scars, Papa," Elijah mutters, exasperated. "I'm not a child and I know what you're talking about."

Frank looks at Elijah, then Cynthia, who nods. "Do you think it could help?"

"I cannot say for certain, but it would not hurt at all," Ichabod answers. "What do you say to a trade? If you can direct us to the location of this Sin Eater, I will bring you some aloe extract for Master Elijah. And perhaps a little something for Miss Macey as well," he adds, winking at his new little friend.