CHAPTER 10

MRS. CRANE

"What do you mean you can't press charges?" I awoke to the bellow of Ichabod's raised voice coming from downstairs. He was obviously in the deep wrath of an argument with someone, but whom?

"I mean we don't have enough substantial evidence to assure that he committed the crime." The voice was low and unfamiliar to my ears.

"Not enough substantial evidence?" Ichabod yelled in disbelief. "Good God, Man!" His voice lowered and I could barely make out his words. "There is a woman upstairs who could hardly walk last night because she was beaten so badly. First New York prosecuted worthless crimes, and now you, sir, won't press charges when a blind man could see this woman almost walked the grave? Please sir, have some compassion."

The other man let out a deep congested sigh. "Well I suppose I could take a quick look at her."

I shut my eye when I heard the muffled footsteps of the two men as they ascended the stairs and walked down the hall. The door creaked open and the men entered. "Melanie?" Ichabod picked up my hand and gently rubbed it. I opened my eye in response. "Melanie, this is Officer Baldwin. He's come to look at you." He stepped aside, and Officer Baldwin; a roughish man with a thick beard took a step closer. "Can you see what I was talking about?" Ichabod questioned.

Baldwin grunted, "and what did the doctor say?"

"She took some hard blows, but she'll be fine. No permanent damage." Ichabod spoke as if he were reading from a book.

"Doctor?" I asked in a soft murmur. "I thought a doctor wasn't necessary."

"Possibly so, but I could not rest until I was certain you were well… those words coming from the mouth of a professional." Ichabod stated. If I were in any other condition, I would have protested Ichabod's act of misdemeanor, as he was not my father nor my… my husband. Instead I sighed, but my sigh transformed into a pathetic moan. The left side of my face was swollen to the possible extent and every muscle, every bone in my body screamed with aches and pains.

Officer Baldwin cleared his throat. "May I see you out side, Constable?" Ichabod nodded his head, and together they left the room, leaving me to my thoughts.

When Ichabod returned, I had raised myself into a sitting position. I was feeling more awake and alert and grinned when Ichabod brought the wash basin and set it down on the desk. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Much better." I replied. "What did Officer Baldwin say?"

Lines wrinkled on his forehead and he let his shoulders sag. "He can't press charges. Mr. Rexroth has an alibi that says he was at the Tavern last night and Dirk Miller witnesses to it."

"Lying Bastards," I grumbled under my breath.

"My words exactly."

"But why would Jonathan Miller lie and say Rexroth was at the Tavern? I don't think he holds anything against me. Why, I haven't done a thing to him, or anyone else in this town." I declared. "I've only been here a few months, and, and…"

"It's possible Rexroth was at the tavern before he visited you," Ichabod explained. "You said he was intoxicated when he attacked you."

"He wasn't exactly sober," I thought back to when I could smell the whiskey on his breath. A nauseating sensation came over me just at the thought.

"And he's in all probability black-mailing Mr. Miller so he seconds anything he says."

"What are you going to do?"

"Nothing, I suppose. There really isn't anything I can do. And besides you're safe now and that is all that matters," He said walking to the door. "I have some other matters to tend to, so please, make yourself at home, and Katrina is up and about if you need anything at all."

I nodded and he left me once again. I crawled out of bed and staggered over to the wash basin. Every muscle I had, and even some I never knew existed, shrieked as I flexed them. The cool water was reviving as I washed my face and gently cleansed the wound on my cheek. The left of my face was extremely tender, and my eye still swollen shut. I could just imagine the bright hues of yellows, purples, blues, and blacks that decorated the deformity of my face. Running the cloth lightly down my neck, I realized that I was only dressed in my camisole. Snatching one of the blankets from the bed, I bound the warm wool around my shoulders and departed the room.

Descending the stairs slowly and stiffly, I spotted Katrina in the kitchen chopping vegetables. She lifted her gaze from her work and smiled at me when she noticed my presence. "Melanie, you're feeling better?"

"Yes," I slightly grinned. "Just a little sore, that's all."

"I can only imagine," Katrina shook her head. "Can I get you something to wear… perhaps a little more comfortable?" she asked noticing I only wore a camisole and a blanket wrapped around my shoulders.

My mind flashed back to Katrina's nightdress crammed in the far corner underneath my bed. "Thank you for your generous offer, but that won't be necessary," I said quickly, not wanting to debt myself anymore than I had to. The truth of the matter though, was that I would have loved to don into something a little more decent than a worn undergarment, but I would find myself taking too much of an advantage over Katrina's charitable hospitality. "Actually, I had hoped to brew myself a cup of tea," I said looking around.

"Oh, of course," Katrina sweetly said. "Water is already set to boil in the kettle over there…" she pointed to a large kettle resting on top of a cast iron stove, "and here is the most delicious chamomile," she handed me a small bag from a cupboard filled with rich, dark herbs. "The best you can find."

Katrina placed a cup and saucer of blue china on the counter as I retrieved the water from the stove. "You don't like here, do you?" she asked so suddenly, so coldly, I almost dropped the kettle.

"Of course I like here," I flashed a stern grin and looked around the unusually large kitchen. The wooden floor was polished so that I could easily see my reflection in it, and it extended into walls of a dark green. Random paintings hung from the walls, and gold and silver decors were scattered about on hall tables and clustered in corners. A cast iron stove occupied a corner of the kitchen, surround by counters and cupboards of wood that matched the flooring. In the center of it all was a huge fireplace, the fire blazing, contained only by a hearth and mantle that stood taller than I was. "Your house is most beautiful," I said slowly lost in the profound enchantment of the place Ichabod and Katrina called home. If only she knew, I thought, of what I had lived in. In my eyes, this was more exquisite that the palaces of royalty itself.

"I meant Sleepy Hollow," Katrina said simply, pulling my mind back to reality.

My eyes were full of sarcasm and a loath so deep; I could hardly recognize it. "What's not to like?" I said, pouring the water into the small cup, using only one hand, as my right wrist stabbed with pain every time I tried to use it.

"Everything, at first," she spoke softly. "The people, the ways in which the town is run. New people never last long here; not more than a few months, a year at the most."

I stopped stirring my tea and set the spoon on the saucer. "What are you so boldly suggesting?"

Katrina was taken aback. "Not anything like that. I didn't mean it that way. It's just when I went to New York, I discovered a whole different world, completely different from the reserved contradictions of this small community."

"And it's that different world that so many of us try to escape from, and yet they're all the same. So if you think I'm just going to pack up my bags and leave because of something I've faced my whole life, then you're going to be highly disappointed." These words were a kick in the stomach, even to me. Every thing I said was true, every word. And that was what frightened me the most. You can't hide from rejection, from the critiquing stares of other people, from the criticism. Every corner you turn to, it'll be there, waiting. I wake up everyday not knowing where I'm going to be tomorrow, or who I'm going to meet. Is it worth it? I always thought love and friendship were worthless, but instead they're the creators of the vast empty hole inside of me longing to be filled.

Katrina stared at me, but there was a different gleam to her eyes; they were filled with real, genuine warmth. "I admire you, Melanie. You're so determined, so sincere… " I burst out laughing inside. How little this woman knew, but she possessed a quality no other person acquired. Katrina was extremely compassionate; one of the kindest souls I had ever met, and I hated her to an extent I never knew possible.