Icy and clear air filled my lungs as I walked along the vacant road that led to the stables. The light gray of early dawn was present and everything seemed so lifeless, so serene. Houses seemed empty as their occupants were still captivated by sweet dreams of sleep. I could scarcely make out the tattered roof and weatherworn siding of the stable as I neared. At first sight, the building could have been mistaken for abandoned, as did many structures in Sleepy Hollow, but the soft snorts and neighs of horses proved different and was most welcoming.
As I rounded the bend, I saw Ichabod in the process of saddling a beautiful mare, whose coat, hinting at shagginess in preparation of the colder season, resembled the tint of a well traveled copper penny. Ichabod's own mount, the grullo gelding, stood patiently next to him, tediously chewing on the bit that rested between his teeth. My heart skipped a beat and my skin tingled when my eyes rested upon him. I had never felt like this when in the presence of a man, a sense of anxiety and giddiness. And Ichabod Crane had revealed feelings deep within me; feelings I never knew existed.
When he noticed me, he smiled his charming little grin that could make any woman's knees buckle. "Melanie," He spoke softly so I could hardly hear my name as he led the two horses over to where I was standing. He slipped the black leather reins of the mare's bridle into my hand and mounted his horse distributing his weight in the seat of the saddle and the balls of his toes that rested in the stirrups. I did the same, and arranged my cloak so that it hung smoothly over the horse's muscular hindquarters.
We rode stealthily through the streets toward the outward brake in the west, and somehow we could not speak, as if a single word were equivalent to a gunshot and would disrupt the uncanny silence of the village.
The little town was now only a small cluster of buildings and houses and I wished Ichabod would say something, anything, as the awkwardness that hung in the atmosphere was unbearable. I gazed over at Ichabod who looked straight ahead, his eyes showing no emotion or hinting at a thought that occupied his mind. He was dressed in similar black attire that he had worn the last time we encountered, that moment when a kiss created throbbing pulses, and yawning desires.
My eyes wandered down to his hips that rolled back and forth in rhythm with his horse's lively gait. For a brief moment, I wondered what it would be like if… but I blocked the thought from my mind. He was married, whether happily, I did not know, but that was irrelevant. But perhaps the reason why I wanted him so badly was because he was taboo, forbidden because he shared his bed with another woman.
It took every ounce of self-control that I could muster to keep from screaming. The silence buried itself within the hollows of my bones and after what seemed to last for an eternity, he finally spoke.
"I want to apologize in regards to the other day," he began unsteadily, as if he did not know what to say. I startled slightly at the instant sound, but Ichabod's voice alone did anything but make me edgy, and I found myself thinking how easy it would be to fall asleep to the melodious tone, like an infant drifts asleep to its mother's humming.
"I should have controlled myself, or at least thought rationally before I made such rash actions," he continued. I almost forgot to breathe as reality unfolded before me. I knew what Ichabod was about to tell me; that the kiss we shared was meaningless and only a moment of foolishness. And that it would prove best if we pretended that it had never occurred and avoid each other in even the slightest sense of intimacy. I bit my lower lip until it turned white, preparing for words that would bite and sting open wounds.
"But that would have proved impossible," he whispered so soft, I questioned what I thought I heard. I stared up at him in disbelief and confusion, but his expression told me I was not mistaken.
"What does that mean?" I asked prying for the answers of questions that deemed no correct response.
"It means," He paused and took a breath, composing himself as words he were about to speak stung the back of his throat. "It means you have stolen a piece of my heart. My heart, of which, does not belong to me, but to the innocence of my wife. And no matter how many times I deny it, I cannot, and it has driven me to the point of madness."
"Then don't deny it," I whispered, adjusting the reins in my hands. "I didn't."
"It's not that simple, Melanie. I am married. Married to a beautiful wife who loves me, and I can't do anything to hurt her. One day you'll understand."
"If only things were different," I swallowed back tears that brimmed my eyes.
"But they are not. My life is full of complications as it is, and I… I don't need this right now."
I gravely nodded my head. How much I wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere and elude the truth that hung so death like in the air. Silence. No birds, no rustling of leaves from the hooves of the horses. Nothing, except the silence screaming into the haunting trees that chilled the bones on even the warmest of days. "You're not from these parts are you?" I asked desperately changing the subject. He stared at me in confusion at the sudden change of conversation. "No," he finally replied. "I grew up in Brooklyn."
"What brought you to Sleepy Hollow?"
"Murder," he said quickly. "I was sent here to investigate the murders…"
Of course I didn't need to question the murders for which he was sent, not now anyway. "And you met Katrina," I finished his sentence.
"Yes," he looked at me and smiled. I could tell by the sincerity of his expression that he cared for the woman he called his wife, and no matter how many grievances it laid upon my shoulders, I knew I must respect and honor that. "Shortly after the tragedy ended, we returned to New York where we wed," he continued. We stayed there for about six months, but Katrina didn't adjust, could never call the city home, so we returned back here."
"What about you? When did you feel a sense of belonging here; in this community?"
"You'll never feel like you belong here. I will never, and neither will you," he spoke the harsh truth that sent chills down my spine. "Not with the kind of people here. All you can do in learn to accept things for what they are and hope the same of others. That's where we're alike, you and I, we're both outsiders in this godforsaken town." He looked at me with understanding eyes and I felt relived and happy and so many other feelings I couldn't find words to describe. Warmth came over me and a genuine smile spread across my lips. Finally someone who felt as out of place here as I. Finally someone who understood the loneliness I felt. For once in my life I was not alone and that feeling was worth so much.
Suddenly I remembered the harsh truth and my happiness turned to ice and bitterness. My smile was swept from my face as quickly as it came. No he didn't understand the loneliness that occupied my pining heart. He was married. Married. At least he had… but as naive as I was, I knew that marriage didn't mean satisfaction.
"Now that you've heard my life story, what about yours?" he asked interrupting my thoughts. It took me a moment to comprehend the features of our conversation.
"Well, I wouldn't consider what you just told me a grand life story, but there's really nothing to say," I explained burying my prior thoughts in the back of my mind. "My parents died when I was younger, and ever since I've lived a nomadic lifestyle."
"Why Sleepy Hollow?"
"I don't know," I confessed. "I've been trying to figure that out myself."
"Interesting," he muttered softly. "And what of your kin?"
"I don't have any, not that I know of anyway. There must be some people out there in which my blood flows, but after my mother died, my father was never quite right…"
"Not quite right?"
"Not himself, mentally unstable." I continued. "I was raised mainly by the many nurses who cared for him and many a time was passed from neighbor to neighbor when times where hard, until I could fend for myself, that is. So, as you can see, it was of no great consequence when my father passed on."
"I see," Ichabod replied pondering on what I had just told him, as if trying to place himself in the shoes of a little girl who had never had the comforting arms of a father to sooth and calm her fears. Little did I know, the shielding embraces from a father were absent from his life as well.
I told him the heartrending epic that was my childhood, and blood drained from my face and goose bumps erupted from my skin as Ichabod retold the horrors of his upbringing by a bible-back father who murdered his mother in an act of punishing her innocence. Pain and anguish was apparent on his face and his eyes were distant, yet a small flame of fury seemed to glow brighter. I wanted to take him in my arms and hold him, comfort him; show him that I understood how he felt, because I truly did.
Throughout my life, I had always felt there was a missing part of me, a hole growing bigger, gnawing at my insides with a constant cavernous pain. No attempt of reliving this pain proved successful, and soon, I simply gave up. Now, however, I had the sensation that Constable Ichabod Crane could fill that vast emptiness within me.
We rode in silence for awhile, each consumed in our own thoughts, not noticing the sun sail westward in the cloudless sky and Sleepy Hollow wasn't more than a speck occupying the small valley below us.
"Why did you want to see me again?" I asked one of the questions that had dominated my mind. "I know it amounts to more than just returning the dress, even though I thank you for it." I said realizing I had been rude as to not to commend him on mending and returning the dark crimson gown.
"I don't know," wrinkles of concentration decorated his brow. "It seemed so right at the moment, but now I'm not so certain… of anything."
"And you used to be so certain of everything?"
He did not answer me. Instead he turned a deathly white, his lips purple and sheer terror filled his eyes that were locked so painfully with something straight ahead.
"Ichabod?" I asked shakily, my voice barely a whisper. I slowly turned my head, preparing to look into the valley of death. For a moment, my heart stopped as my eyes gazed upon the miraculous ethereal tree that rooted itself deep into the soil of the legendary Western Woods. The bark, russet and auburn, irregular in pattern twisted up into think leafless branches. The tree appeared to be dead, and yet something inside me told me it was very much alive. The tree seemed so out of place, surrounded by numerous maple trees, their crowns bursting with luscious greens. So out-of-place, so diverse, so incongruous like me. Like Ichabod. And yet this tree held a dark beauty that seemed surreal, only existing in fairy tales. An unidentifiable beauty that drew my eyes to its trunk, like fresh blood lures carnivorous cats.
"We must leave this place," Ichabod said harshly. His horse snorted and pranced nervously. "Now!" Without giving me a chance to question why, he spun his horse around and galloped into the thick forest, weaving his horse between trees and other obstacles. Hastily, my horse sprinted after him, and I concentrated on maneuvering around branches as we picked up vast speeds, kicking up dust from the ground. I pondered on why Ichabod had wanted to leave the site so quickly. He was scared, that was obvious, but why? There were so many secrets that lay in the depths of the small farming community of Sleepy Hollow, so many secrets I wanted to uncover.
We returned to the stable in what seemed like minutes. The sun shone from the horses' coats, glossy with the sweat that was bucketing from their pores. A white lather had accumulated around their eyes, which were warped with exhaustion. Two pairs of nostrils flared pink with each rapid breath they took into their lungs.
A flame of fear still hinted Ichabod's eyes as we untacked the horses and the color had yet returned to his cheeks. I noticed a slight tremble to his hand as he slipped the girth from the gelding's belly. Not a word was spoken while we lead the horses at a slow walk until the sweat dried in clumps on their backs. My mind was searching for answers as I kept my eyes focused on my feet, moving in tempo with the slight shuffle of the four hooves next to me.
The mare relaxed as I returned her to her stall, and spotted Ichabod hauling two water pails out to the stable's well. I jogged over toward him as he began to let the cool liquid fill the soft wood container. "Why did you leave in such a hurry? You looked like you had come from the grave."
"You ask too many questions," he didn't move his eyes from the filling bucket.
"You have a lot to explain, and besides you're the constable," I reminded him.
"Was," he looked at me with cold, sharp eyes that made me take a step back. Even more explaining on his part, I thought, but didn't press this new matter. I'd do it later. As for now, I wanted to know what had sent him running.
"I deserve an answer," I demanded. "You can't take off like that and expect me to think everything is alright."
He lifted the sloshing bucket from the well peg and replaced it with the empty one. "I don't expect anything of you."
"I beg pardon, but…"
"The past is past, Melanie. Please don't unearth things that took so long to bury." His voice was soft with his interruption, eyes almost pleading. Heaving a bucket in each hand, he sauntered back to the stable, and I stood there, my eyes following his every step, as I let his words sink beneath my skin.
I briskly followed him after he disappeared in the opening of the barn. But as I peered down the long isle, I was puzzled that the stable was empty, save for the horses munching contently on their hay. I traveled down the isle and peered into the stalls of the grullo gelding and the copper mare. In each one, a wooden pail occupied the far corner brimming with fresh water.
Looking out the far opening of the barn, I saw Ichabod, hands in his pockets and head down, heading in the direction of his home. For a brief instant, I thought of following him, and confronting him with my many questions, but he had made clear he didn't want to discuss them. Therefore, I came to the conclusion that if he didn't want to help me, I'd find the answers myself.