The Blood Red Gown

The water scalded me with pleasure, as I slowly stepped in and lowered my body into the washtub. Today was the day of the community ball, and I wanted to cast an elegant and respectful appearance. I cleansed my hair and body, and lingered in the tub until my fingertips resembled dried prunes. It was not frequently I bathed fully, and typically only scrubbed with a sponge from a wash pan. This was undeniably a luxury and I could remain in the tub for an eternity, as long as the water turned my skin scarlet.

After I had dried, I rummaged around in my oak trunk for something to wear. I couldn't even be considered close to well off, but I had what I had, and learned to make due. My parents left most of their belongings to me after their passing and a vast majority of the items in the trunk were my mother's; four dresses, a small amount of jewelry, and a pair of velvet black slippers with a similar shawl. Two of the dresses that occupied the trunk were common-day dresses; faded and torn. I couldn't possibly wear either for such an event as a ball. The third dress was a Sunday dress that would be worn when I would attend church. It was a pallid dress, with lace hinting the seams. Although decent, the dress was simple and not suitable for an evening party.

The fourth dress lay deep in the depths of the trunk, as if a sunken vessel latent at the bottom of the Atlantic. I had never worn it and had begun to question why I had kept it. I heaved it out from its depths and my heart skipped a beat when I saw it unfolded. It was ultimately perfect. I was not staring at a dress, but a blood red, velvet gown. I could hardly contain my enthusiasm as I slipped the gown over my head, wrestled it over my camisole, and buttoned the clasp at the nape of my neck. I hurriedly dashed across the room to the gold trimmed and cracked mirror that hung by my bedside. I couldn't believe my eyes when I viewed my reflection. The gown seemed to be made for me. It fit every curve of my body flawlessly. It seemed to mold itself to my 5'7" frame, and at the slightest move of my hips, the skirt appeared to sway about me as if a tolling bell. The collar "V-ed" down to mid-breast, clearly exposing too much cleavage for an afternoon gathering.

"However, I will not be appearing at an afternoon gathering, but an evening ball. The gown will be appropriate for tonight." I convinced myself. "I still look elegant and classy…reverent."

I continued to examine the gown as I fell in love with every thread of material. The shoulders bunched up forming luxuriant sleeves, which extended down my arms in tight velvet and came to a point as it reached my hands. This gown would have everyone's mouth ajar, I was sure of it – especially Ichabod's.

I lightly combed my thick hair, an ocean of waves, and pulled it up into a French Twist. The hairstyle was formal, yet only took a second to carry out. My dark hair, with natural red highlights, contrasted with my icy blue eyes, yet complimented the exquisite gown.

I added a few pieces of jewelry to my epitome – my mother's gold wedding band upon my right hand, black-stone earrings that accented my jaw-line, and a soft, black, velvet collar that seemed to tie the outfit together. I slipped each foot into a black slipper and wrapped the shawl around my shoulders. I studied my reflection one final time still trying to believe the image I was seeing. I didn't resemble myself at all. I appeared to be wealthy, white-collared, and born with a silver spoon in my mouth. Everything I was not. I wondered if Ichabod would recognize me? I shunned the thought that he wouldn't and left my deprived cottage on my high-horse – in my mind, a pure white, magnificent Paso Fiño, ornamented with expensive tack adorned with jewels and gems of all shapes, sizes, and colors.

Darkness rolled in as soon as I arrived at the Van Dan mansion. The moon's dim glow cast eerie shadows that seemed to trail my every footstep. The chill in the night's air created goose bumps that raised from my flesh. I was more anxious about this party than I had ever been of anything else in my life. Not only that, but the thought of seeing Ichabod Crane was enough to make my stomach leap into my throat.

" I could just turn around and go back to my cabin…avoid all of this. It would be effortless, and I could claim that I was ailing and confined to bed," As tempting as the thought was, my legs kept on progressing nearer to the door.

I exhaled a deep breath, filled with shakiness and uncertainty. I unconsciously smoothed my gown and checked to ensure my hair was in place while listening to the faint bellows of music and laughter. Without another thought, I tapped the golden doorknocker, a small plate that read Van Dan. The calligraphic writing was the only detail that made the plate worthy of mentioning - the rolling knolls of each letter engraved to perfection… it was too late to turn around now.

It seemed to take an eternity before the door opened. Throughout my moment's wait, I could have sworn I felt the hair on my head gray, and my cheeks wilt with wrinkles. Anxiety, I supposed. The opener of the door was a butler, I presumed, in his late fifties. He wore a simple Sunday suit with a tailed coat. His hair was rather long, bowed to the base of his neck in a navy tie and resting on bridge of his nose was a pair of thin-framed bifocals. I acknowledged him as I stepped into the grand foyer, but he gave no response as if an only statue only guarding the entrance.

I stood in awe, as I gazed amongst whirling gowns, laughing faces, and cheerful musicians as they fiddled their tunes. As my presence became more apparent, stares fell down upon me accompanied by hushed whispers. Feeling embarrassed and uneasy, I hastily made my way towards the door before a light hand on my shoulder stopped me.

"Excuse me, dear, but I must introduce myself. I am Mrs. Van Dan, the lady of this household. I welcome you to Sleepy Hollow, Miss?" her voice was welcoming and pleasant. She dressed in a satin, forest green gown, her hair loose in a tidy bun on the top of her head.

"Melanie Olsen," I stated my name and grinned.

"I welcome you to Sleepy Hollow, Miss Olsen. I do hope you are enjoying yourself? "

"Very much so," I lied. "But, actually I was just about to depart. I have some things I need to tend to," the dishonest words shot out of my mouth. How I wanted to say, "I am having the most dreadful time, and I wish to return to my rundown cottage and watch the fire die as I drift off into a lonesome slumber." But I wouldn't dare appear hostile in front of the lady of the house, or any person for that matter.

"Nonsense, my dear," and before I had an opportunity to object, she took my arm, and lead me through crowds of people. "I'll have to introduce you to my husband."

The night wore on, as I made many more introductions, acquaintances, and chatted and laughed humbly amongst other women. I had even shared the dance floor, dancing with gentleman, young and old, including what Mrs. Van Dan thought as "eligible suitors." Conversely, the only suitor that I thought "eligible," was Ichabod Crane. In fact, I had not seen Constable Crane all evening. Certainly, he was in attendance; he had to be. If he was not, I assumed he had a respectable reason. I couldn't dwell on the fact that he might not grace me with his presence, although I desperately wanted to see him again. He either was going to come, or he wasn't; plain and simple.

An hour later, I caught a glimpse of him near the entrance to the foyer. My heart felt as if it had wings - it's rhythmic beat throbbing so intensely, I was sure the entire room could hear it. He was dressed in black, similar to the prior day, and the silk, white scarf around his neck made him appear elegant and mystical. His black hair was combed and resembled a fine silk and his eyes danced as if just gazing upon him was worth more than life itself. Lifting my skirts, I scurried towards him, deliberately slowing my pace as I neared.

"Constable Crane, it's a fancy seeing you here," I spoke casually and he recognized me instantly which made my heart melt.

"Ah, I was wondering if you would attend. How are you this evening?" he asked with a sincere smile on his face.

"Quite well… and dry," I replied with a light chuckle. "And yourself?"

"Likewise. However, yesterday when we met, I do not recall learning your name."

What a goose I was! I couldn't believe after our encounter the prior day, I left without a proper introduction. Here I was thinking of this man all day and all night and yet, he did not know my name. Embarrassed, I blushed and felt as if I turned the same hue as my gown. "How thoughtless of me," I confessed. "I am Melanie Olsen."

"You look stunning… Melanie." He slightly bowed his head. Whether the compliment was out of courtesy or sincerity, stunning was stunning. I felt as if I was a giddy adolescent inexperienced to love, tenderness, and passion.

"Ichabod?" a sweet, melodious voice rang out. A woman walked to Ichabod's side and looked searchingly into those handsome eyes.

"Katrina, my dear," he reached out and tenderly grasped her hand, drawing her closer to him. "Melanie," he said to me with that voice that seemed so addictive. "I'd like to introduce you to my wife, Katrina." She was a petite and attractive woman with a rounded face. Her blonde hair was slightly curled at the tips and fell carelessly over her indigo gown.

I felt the blood drain from my face, and my knees felt feeble, as if at any moment I would crumple to the floor. For a moment not a thought registered; I couldn't budge, talk, nor hear. All I could do was see… see Ichabod Crane with another woman. Not just any woman, either; his wife. My feelings were too deep for rage, sorrow, or envy. Within that moment, I was emotionless, seeing through my eyes, but not as myself.

"It's…it's… a pleasure," I strained to say. I forced my lips to form a smile. "Your…husband has been awfully kind to me," I said almost mindlessly. Husband. Husband… I couldn't believe that Ichabod has vowed this woman his heart, his love. Suddenly my emotions transformed into hatred – hatred for this woman who shattered my every last hope; shattered my heart into a million pathetic pieces. Hatred for myself for being so foolish to fall for a man I did not know, and having such feelings for a married man. There was no such thing as love at first sight… men are either worthless or married.

Finally, I could not stand looking at this woman any longer – her content smile made me on the verge of vomiting. "Mr. and Mrs. Crane…" Damn Mrs. Crane… "If you'll excuse me," I spoke as politely as I would allow myself, concealing my wrath, and by God, I was good at it. I began walking swiftly in the opposite direction, not seeking any place in particular. My mind filled with harsh thoughts and I desperately wanted to be rid of them; pry them from my mind.

"If only I could forget," I muttered to myself. "If only I could forget…" Abruptly, I was struck with a contemplation. "I can forget…and I will forget…"