Chapter 6

A Quick Stitch

It was nearly dark when I arrived at my cabin, and fog and murkiness had settled low into the village. I went about my household tasks in a daze, avoiding all thought and comprehension of the day's prior affairs; I couldn't cope with it - not now. I prepared myself something to eat, but the sweet aromas did not phase me, and discovering I had no appetite, threw it out.

I glanced around my cabin in despair, and in some way, was taking a candid prospect at my life. I was living in a shack with walls that could hardly support its ceiling in the bleak and desolate community of Sleepy Hollow. I had not a soul; kith nor kin. Not a lover to fulfill my desires. I had no one. I was alone. Now that I thought about it, I didn't even know why I had come to Sleepy Hollow in the first place. Perhaps it was of adventure. Perhaps I was searching for something that I would never find. Maybe I was running from something. I did not know.

My eyes stopped when they wandered upon the cracked mirror by my bedside. I observed my dejected reflection and upon doing so, realized I was still wearing that horrid nightdress of Katrina's. Ichabod's Katrina. The adorable lace and bow was enough to impel insanity, and finally I could endure no more. Rage exploded from my body like magma from a volcano. I seized my ivory comb from the bed stand and hurled at the mirror with such force that sent me to my knees. The mirror shattered and glass surged everywhere. Ripping the nightdress from my head, I flung it across the room and collapsed to the floor in a quivering ball, tears of rejection falling from my eyes until I could not see.

The walls were closer now, and my breaths left my body in deep and rapid rasps. The room was darker, and the light that crept under the vast door I leaned against, brighter. I screamed and cried, but still sound was nonexistent. I slid down the cold door in exhaustion and frustration of failure, and my hand grazed over some type of engravement in the center. I could not see the design that was present, but my fingers depicted an eight-pointed star with symmetrical curvature of each point. The figure resembled a compass rose, indicating that there was no guaranteed direction to pursue, no distinct path to follow.

How long I laid there, I wasn't sure. When I opened my eyes, the fire had died out and the slight grayness of dawn appeared in the east. I gradually rose to my knees and drug myself to my bed. Ichabod's coat lay discarded on top of my pillow, and I embraced it securely against my body, inhaling his masculine scent that was present when we kissed. It was only then I could sleep.

My eyes were red and nearly swollen shut when I awoke about midmorning. Strands of hair were plastered against my tear-streaked cheeks and for an instant I thought that yesterday was only a dream, a nightmare, but the nightdress thrown in the corner proved me mistaken. Slipping on my worn navy common-day dress, my mind wandered aimlessly through yesterday's happenings. Ichabod had kissed me, a passionate kiss that left me standing on the tips of my toes. Then he had rejected me, even though I knew he had wanted me.

Everything happened so fast that I could now only recall a blur. Flustered and confused, I decided to venture down to the river. The walk would do me good, cool me down, and even a swim might be of benefit.

As I stepped out into the sunlight and shut the cabin door behind me, I noticed not a bird was chirping, not a breeze rustled through the leaves of the apples trees; not a being stirred. The day's heat was approaching as fast and the contrast between yesterday's ambiance and today's seemed aberrant. I walked along the indistinct path until I arrived at the river and the rushing current was soothing to my ears. Stripping my clothes and laying them tidily on a boulder resting on the bank, I waded into the cool waters. The liquid numbed my feet, and bearing all, I dove under the sweeping current, enveloping my body with icy needles. Somehow the sensation was rather enjoyable as I emerged at the surface gaping for air to expand my lungs before disappearing beneath the fervent waves. I could never remember learning to swim, I just always knew how. Swimming was one of the few things that soothed and relaxed me, no matter the situation. It gave me a chance to escape reality and focus on something other than my troubles or life itself.

I let the current carry me downstream for a little while, and when I tired, I sat in a state of tranquility upon the boulder letting the sun dry my skin. Changing back into my frayed dress, I wandered back to my cottage in a new sense of contentment and revivify.

When my cabin came into view, I noticed something was resting in front of the door. Curiously, I quickened my pace anxious to see what the mysterious object was. As I neared, I could make out the velvet of my mother's blood red gown. Picking it up and unfolding it for inspection, I observed that the gown was not longer torn and soiled, but it had been efficiently darned in places that were considered necessary, and had been laundered so the gown seemed like new. Before I had the opportunity to ponder about whom had preformed such a charitable task, a note fluttered from the folds of the velvet, landing at my feet. Picking it up it read:

Melanie,

You had forgotten this when you left in such a hurry and I thought you might have wanted it returned. I've thought of nothing but seeing you again. If you consent to it, please meet me at the stables at dawn.

Ichabod

I read the note over and over again, as if making sure every word was existent. A New Hope appeared a discovery of a star within my reach. There were no metaphors that could describe the feelings I felt at this moment.

I rushed into my cabin, a sensation of fervor propelled through every bone in my body. Tucking the gown into my trunk, I began to straighten up my muddled cottage. In the state of depression I had entranced, I did not take notice of chaotic condition that my living quarters was in.

The gleaming pieces of glass from the mirror were discarded, the bed made, floor swept, and the diminutive amount of furnishings that occupied the room dusted. Coming upon the nightdress abandoned in the corner, I paused, and slowly picked it up keeping as far from it as possible like it bore an infectious disease.

The oranges, reds, and yellows of the dancing flames of the fire caught my eye. For a brief instant, I thought of burning the dress; watching the destructive force demolish the garment of flawlessness. But I couldn't bring myself to do it. Instead, the dress was shoved into the far corner under my bed, where it would lay forgotten in the midst of passing time.

Hours passed in what seemed like only minutes. The sun had disappeared behind the rolling hills of the countryside and the fire's warm glow shed an imperial light amongst my cabin. Every corner, every inch of the little cottage was spotless and for once I did not look about it in disgust. Although I was not residing in silks and furs, I took a dignity in what I had accomplished.

After I consumed my meal, a simple croissant with raspberry jam, I crawled under the welcoming covers of my bed. I was physically exhausted, and yet my mind was racing. I couldn't stop thinking about the note Ichabod had written me, and picking up the cherished paper from the bed stand, my eyes danced over every letter. It was all there, every word. Ichabod wanted to see me again. I clutched the note to my breast and exhaled a long sigh, snuggling into the deep depths of rapture. I could hardly keep my eyes shut and let sleep grasp me, but when it did, I had a smile of pure contentment across my face.