Heavy laden and ominous gunmetal gray, the late autumn skies over the small village of Sleepy Hollow held the promise of coming rain—the only forward-looking vow of which the tiny, desolate parish could boast.
From early morn, an uncanny silence had settled across the land, huddled in watchful wait against the dark, thick trunks of barren trees. No fowl called from a high perch within the stark branches and not a single insect or rodent scurried beneath the damp fallen leaves at their base.
The quiet spread itself insidiously atop unkempt, overgrown fields that had lain fallow for a thrice of years, mingling with the thick fog of smoke from the chimneys of the few remaining homes in Sleepy Hollow.
The billowy clouds of puffy white smoke, much like the hunkering silence which preferred to hug close and lie still, refused to climb high into the thickening gloom of clouds, preferring instead to cower in wait near the ground and no breeze forced it upward to meet the coming squall.
Not even the lo of nearby cattle or the irate cackle of a militant guinea hen dared disrupt the almost reverent quiet of the day.
Brom Bones was dead.
Down in the village, a short distance from the Old Dutch Church, a small group of people huddled in a tight circle around an open grave, seemingly unaware of the almost unnatural silence and bitter, biting cold.
At the head of the small gathering of folks who’d come to pay their final respects, Katherine Van Brunt felt isolated and alone, quite apart from the rest of the group gathered together on this miserably cold November day…a day made doubly wretched by the nature of events taking place.
Indeed, the day was one marked with soul-deep sadness for Katherine because it would forever after be observed as the day of burial for her father, Abraham Van Brunt…or “Brom” as the townspeople were wont to call him.
Though she held herself staunchly upright, maintaining a tight rein on the turbulent emotions whirling inside her while the people of Sleepy Hollow bid a final farewell to the redoubtable Brom, her spirits were deeply troubled.
A jagged thread of lightning raced across the sky, and a thunderous boom drowned out Reverend Von Groot’s words. Katherine’s gaze rose skyward.
‘Tis a poor day to lay yourself down, Father, she thought. A heartsick sigh slipped from her, and Brau tightened his hold around her waist, giving her a little squeeze for comfort.
Her heart ached for the loneliness she knew would come. Just as it had when her grandfather, Baltus Van Tassel had gone to his final rest. Exactly as it had when a mere four years ago, her mother and the child she’d been carrying passed into the ever after.
Her attention on the proceedings once more, the words of the honorable Reverend Bartholomew Von Groot registered upon her thoughts as from a distance.
“May God’s peace find you, Brom. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. Amen.”
Such finality, she thought, not only for the dead, but for the living also.
A chorus of melancholy “amen’s” followed the reverends and Katherine gave another tremulous sigh before stepping forward to toss the first handful of Sleepy Hollow soil into the open grave.
Each of the town’s few residents did the same and one by one they moved away toward the church.
“Come, Katherine,” Brau said. “We’ll join the others briefly and see the Von Groots off. Then it’s home and a nice hot toddy for you.”
His concerned gaze skimmed her. “It has been a trying day for us all, but most especially for you, my dear. I wish I could have spared you this.”
Katherine tried to smile. “He is with mother now, Brau. He always was happiest when she was at his side.”
A tear, one of many she’d shed since her father had drawn his last breath, slid down her cheek.
Brau lifted his handkerchief to catch it. “It will be over soon, Katherine. Just a bit more and we’ll see you home. You’ve borne the day remarkably well…especially for one so fragile,” he said, his fingers brushing a comforting caress against her cheek.
Katherine turned away to hide the sudden rush of tears, unwilling to burden him with her sorrow or her thoughts just now. “I’m sorry, Brau. I can’t seem to hold them in.”
Gently, he guided her forward, a bit apart from the rest of the small group. “Let the tears fall, Katherine. Heaven knows you’ve had more than your share of hardships in life these past years. You’ve earned the right to them.”
He offered his handkerchief and she took it. Wiping away the wetness on her cheeks, she gave a small nod, and the two moved on in silence, each thinking their own thoughts until they reached the churchyard.
Lifting her gaze as they drew near, Katherine studied the downcast, troubled faces of those gathered about. John and Clara Tanner and their two children Anne and Dehann had lived in the Hollow for as long as she could remember. Anne and Dehann had grown up while her father lay ill, she thought.
Next to the Tanners stood Heinrick and Mary Vandercleef. Master Heinrick was Sleepy Hollow’s notary – had been for at least ten years. It was Heinrick, or “Heins” as most of the residents of the Hollow called him, who handled the legalities of her father’s many business transactions in the Hollow and in the city.
There was the schoolmaster, Everett Bleecker, his wife Nell, and their son Eustace. Alma Von Groot stood next, and then there was Callum.
Dear, sweet Callum.
It was providence, really, that Callum Mather was here in the Hollow. Father had been about his business in the city and, as he’d told it the day he’d brought Callum to live with them in the Hollow, a young boy had been arguing with the gentleman he’d gone to meet.
The man had called out, “Away with you, boy! Your brains are addled. What good could come of your being here? None!”
To which young Callum had replied, “You’re about to conduct a business transaction with a headless man. What good could come of that, sir?”
Her father had laughed at the boy’s comment, clapped his associate on the shoulder, and chortled about the fancies of young men. But he’d been intrigued by the youth’s cryptic words, and called the lad over. He’d slipped him a coin and told him to wait for him outside the gentleman’s office.
Callum had waited, and after a warm meal and a long conversation, her father had invited Callum to come to Sleepy Hollow and live.
That had been the summer before her mother died.
Thinking of her mother brought her attention to the gentleman at her side: Brau Van Ripper. As a young man, Brau thought the sun rose and set in Katrina Van Brunt, and Katherine feared he might never find a woman to live up to his vision of her mother for as long as he lived. But her mother was no longer here, and Brau had become a fine man since Katrina’s passing.
Brau had come to the Hollow shortly after Katherine’s birth, they told her. He’d taken quite a shine to Master Van Brunt, and spent each day dogging Brom’s every footstep.
Many of the residents of Sleepy Hollow thought Brom was grooming young Van Ripper to follow in his own footsteps, and as Katherine grew from a bright, happy child to a more serious adult saddled with the responsibility of tending to her ailing father, Brau’s attention seemed to become centered on her. Most of Sleepy Hollow’s current residents believed an announcement would soon be forthcoming from the two.
Mr. Rawlins, the Van Brunt butler cum coachman, waited in front, his coat buttoned high against the chill autumn wind and the ominous threat of a downpour.
The Von Groots were leaving Sleepy Hollow.
Katherine waited while Mr. Rawlins and the reverend loaded the last of the Von Groots belongings into the coach. Alma stepped to her side and embraced her.
“Be strong, dear. Perhaps someday there shall be happiness in Sleepy Hollow once more,” the elderly woman said.
Katherine offered a watery smile. “Yes, someday. I hope for it very dearly, Mistress Von Groot.”
The reverend came to stand at his wife’s side. “Dearest Katherine. My heart is with you today, my dear. I hope you will be well. So much heartache for you.”
“Thank you, Reverend. My thoughts go with you as well. Are you certain you will not reconsider?”
He sighed. “Alas, I cannot, my dear. My old eyes have seen enough of sorrow in this Hollow. I fear my poor heart cannot take more.”
Katherine swallowed back tears and gave a somewhat choked laugh. “Then have a thought for the rest of us, sir, as you begin your new life outside the Hollow.”
He gave her a kindly smile. “You will never be far from our thoughts, Katherine Van Brunt. This I promise you.”
Turning to his wife, he took her hand. “Let us be away, my dear, or we’ll never get to shelter before the rain comes.”
Alma Von Groot offered another half smile, and let her husband hand her up into the coach. He followed and Mr. Rawlins gave a whistle and shout to the team.
The coach started off with a jerk, and Katherine moved to stand beside Brau and the rest of Sleepy Hollow’s residents. She waved until the coach had drawn out of sight, a brittle farewell smile frozen in place on her lips.
Brau gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Will you be alright for a moment, Katherine? There is a matter about which I need to speak with Master Vandercleef…”
Katherine nodded, and he walked away, leaving her to stare bleakly about at the Sleepy Hollow countryside and the desolate little town that had once been teeming with laughter and abundance at every turn.
Fields were laid to waste; the orchards had become little more than a tumble of overgrown weeds and life-draining suckers. The charred remains of several houses, once filled with proud, happy families, rose up from the near barren countryside, a scorched, blackened mockery of the prosperous homes they once had been.
Everywhere she turned lay desolation, and it was more than she could bear.
She heard footsteps approaching from behind. “It’s too quiet, Brau. Too quiet, too cold, and too…empty,” she said.
Brau took her hands into his own. “You’re distraught, my dear. Today has been a long and trying day. You should rest.”
Katherine looked away, shaking her head, her saddened gaze gliding over the barren countryside once more. “No. No, I’m not distraught, Brau. Yes, I am saddened to have lost my father, but Brau, Father was ill for a very long time. Today is not the first that I noticed Sleepy Hollow slipping into ruin.”
He looked away, letting her fingers slip from his. “What would you have me do, Katherine? What is it you wish to see?”
“Prosperity! Abundance.”
She turned to face him, gesturing toward the fields, the pond, the barn, the orchards. “I want to see freshly turned soil, Brau. Green growing things. I desire to see life in Sleepy Hollow once more.
There should be waterfowl resting upon the pond, mounds and mounds of hay bursting forth from every single crack in that barn. And pigs. There should be piglets running about underfoot when we make our way toward home.
Did the trees bear not a single fruit this season, Brau? Look about you, and tell me you do not see misery and desolation at every turn!”
He looked disgruntled. “Yes, I see it, Katherine, but there is nothing I can do…”
She whirled toward him. “Nothing, Brau? Look there.” She pointed toward the remaining homes, where thick plumes of smoke curled from the chimneys, and then to the churchyard where the families were still gathered, chatting amongst themselves.
“Look to the people, Brau. Each of them remembers how the Hollow was before. Every man, woman, and child look back with remembered fondness, dreaming of life as it was before the fever. Look to them. They will help us restore the Hollow, Brau. I know they will.”
Brau gave her a look of impatience. “Three men and some children, Katherine? Surely you haven’t forgotten how few citizens of Sleepy Hollow remain? Even the good reverend departed for better climes!”
“More will come…” she began, but he cut her off.
“No one will come, Katherine. They fear the Horseman, and the witches curse. People shun Sleepy Hollow for fear of losing what little they have left in this life. Now come, my sweet. Let us get you home.”
Taking her arm, he turned her about. “Besides, you should be looking forward, Katherine. Not back. Time does not reverse its course…for anyone. We’ll move to the city…”
She shook her head, fighting tears once more. “I have no wish to live in the city, Brau. Sleepy Hollow is my home. My grandfather worked his whole life, and my father after him to leave a grand legacy for future generations. I’ll not forsake it in its hour of need.”
He laughed, a harsh bark of censure and amazement. “You speak of the town as if it were a living, breathing entity, Katherine. Such is the way of nonsense.”
Katherine lowered her head, fighting her need to protest more lest Brau find it necessary to remind her such thoughts did not belong in the head of a young lady.
Though she tried, Katherine oft found herself contemplating the world from what Brau believed to be a point of view reserved only for men, and Brau was never wont to hesitate to remind her that proper young ladies minded only things of a gentler nature…such as her mother had…and never, ever did they attempt to intrude upon matters best left to a man—in thought or in deed.
“I’m sorry, Brau. I know you have done all that you can, and I have no right to expect more. You’ve been a dear friend of the family, and you’ve always been here when we needed you most. But it’s…”
She broke off, her attention focused suddenly upon the gathering at the front of the church and she frowned. Everyone had moved to stand apart from the lone figure at the center of the throng, looks of fearful caution haunting their faces.
“Oh dear,” she whispered.
One glance at Callum, and she immediately recognized the dazed, faraway look in his eyes. It was the same he wore whenever his gift of prophecy came upon him.
“The crane flies.”
His words were spoken low, almost at a whisper, but still she heard. A terrible chill of foreboding chased its way through her.
Katherine shook free of Brau’s hold, and started forward. “Callum? Callum, dear, we’re going home now.”
“The crane flies,” he said again. “Fear flushes the raven…and the horseman rides once again.”
At the word “horseman”, a murmurous clamor broke out amongst the townspeople. Gaining momentum borne of fear, the noise of fervent whispers rose so quickly Katherine almost didn’t recognize the low sound coming from behind her.
Turning, she stared curiously at the covered bridge that acted as a gateway of sorts to the town. She wondered what brave soul dared to come into the Hollow on this the most morose of days, for the sound she’d heard was that of a horse slowly making its way across the bridge.
The steady clip-clop of hooves rang against the thick oaken boards that stretched across the brook. The wooden covering over the bridge magnified the sound, and within seconds every eye was frozen on the opening that would soon reveal the traveler’s identity.
Katherine gasped. If she lived to be one hundred and three she would never forget the first time she laid eyes on this man.
Mounted on his midnight steed, he sat regally erect, his gaze moving unhurriedly from man to man over the crowd assembled before the church.
From the top of his blonde head to his black leather-clad feet, Katherine saw nothing but pure, unadulterated, powerful male. Her heart picked up a beat, and she pressed her palm to her chest, forgetting the hapless psychic at her back.
His hair was too long, she thought, watching it blow roguishly from his face in the chill breeze. It fell too far below his collar for decency, yet she could not imagine it at a more respectable length. Nay, it suited him. Just as the midnight stallion beneath him that seemed to share the same stately arrogance his master exuded suited him.
Forcing her gaze upward once more, she noted his shoulders – arrogantly squared and impressively broad beneath the heavy black coat he wore. That same coat had been left open to reveal his snowy white shirt of finest lawn beneath. Scandalously, he wore no cravat. His shirt had been left open, baring a shocking amount of bronzed male chest to her hungry gaze.
Her breath caught and she felt heat flood her cheeks. Pressing closer to the man at her side, she whispered, “Brau? Who is that man?”
* * *
The closer he rode toward town, the more convinced Icharus became that some horrible tragedy must have befallen Sleepy Hollow, for even the few broken down scarecrows he’d passed along the road wore a look of stricken melancholy.
His thoughts were as much a jumble of confusion as the fields to his left and right, all were badly overgrown and tangled with brambles. The meadows were in dire need of a herd of skinny sheep, he thought, for they, too, showed signs of severe neglect and non-use.
A frown furrowed his brow. This was Sleepy Hollow, the almost mystical place that had been entirely responsible for changing his father’s life?
Taking in the unkempt, completely dilapidated farmhouses, broken down fences, and unturned, weed-tangled fields, he found it hard to believe.
Where were the fatted pigs of his father’s stories? Where were the strutting gobblers, the proudly ferocious guinea hens, and smug, rounded cattle? Why was there no sign of freshly hewn fields of wheat, rye, and Indian corn? Not a single speck of pumpkin orange did he witness for as far as his eye could see, yet many times over the years his father had lauded the plump beauty and orange glow of a Van Tassel pumpkin over his own.
Surely a catastrophe of dire proportions had overtaken the Hollow, he surmised, but he would not let that deter him from his goal. Nay, Abraham Van Brunt had made a promise to his father, and he intended to see that promise kept…at any cost.
Van Brunt’s promise was the only thing that had kept his father going long after most men would have simply given up, encouraging him with dreamy visions of the wealth, riches, and security of Sleepy Hollow which all but forced him to strive harder each day to carve out such a fanciful place for his own.
Aye, Van Brunt’s promise had always been there, uppermost in his father’s mind, gently persuading him to keep going and not give up when the struggles he’d faced were much more than difficult.
Throughout his last years, his father had constantly urged Icharus to do his best and more. “For the prize is close at hand,” he’d say.
Knowing just how much having the reward he’d been promised had meant to his father, Icharus vowed he would not rest until he’d acquired that which was pledged to him on that dark, midnight ride out of Sleepy Hollow so many years ago.
At last, the bridge that led into the once quaint town came into sight. So this is the infamous bridge, eh, Father? It’s not so frightening in the light, you know, he thought. Though he knew it unlikely he should see such a thing, Icharus could not prevent his gaze from seeking out the remains of a shattered pumpkin on the covered oaken boards that crossed the brook.
With a little chuckle over his reminiscence of the tale his father often told regarding his last ride across this very bridge, Icharus straightened his shoulders and with a click of his tongue to urge his mount onward, he made his way onto the bridge.
Just on the other side, he could see a small gathering of people before the church. At the center of attention was a braw young man with hair the color of wet sand. Icharus wondered what the fellow was saying, for he certainly had the full, apparently horrified concentration of the assemblage.
He rode ever nearer, the sound of Defiance’s footsteps ringing loudly in his ears. After a moment, he let his gaze roam over the others.
Five men, three children – two of which were definitely approaching adulthood, and five women, one of which appeared to be a servant.
All of them were garbed in dreary black or somber gray. None were smiling. Icharus felt the sudden need to turn and ride away as fast as Defiance could carry him. A shiver crawled his spine, and he felt the urge to retreat, to shake the gloom of this place from him before he became possessed by it, but he forced himself to continue on.
On the other side of the bridge, his attention was caught and held by one woman in particular…a brunette with eyes so blue he could make out their color from where he sat. She had turned at the sound of his approach, and was openly staring at him even now.
A thin black veil covered her hair for the most part, but at her waist and temples, he could see chocolate colored ringlets stealing forth to play in the light breeze that blew through the Hollow.
He judged her height to come just beneath his chin. Yes, she’d fit snugly against his chest, he thought, and then chided himself. You have business here, nothing more, he reminded. Just speak with Van Brunt, collect the papers, and leave.
But the lady’s warm blue gaze was so direct he couldn’t help but return it with an intent look of his own.
She moved closer to the tall gentleman who’d stepped to her side, and he saw her press her hand to her chest. Did the lady think him someone to fear by chance?
Drawing Defiance to a halt before the assembly, his gaze sought out and then rested upon whom he presumed to be the eldest male in the group.
“I am seeking Abraham Van Brunt. We have business to discuss,” he said.
The somewhat younger man standing beside the lady whose gaze had all but devoured him on the way in spoke up. “Master Van Brunt sadly was laid to his final rest just this morning.”
The news hit Icharus like a blow to the gut. “He’s dead?”
Dead? How was he to acquire what he’d come here for if the man who held it were no longer alive? A fierce determination rose up within him. I will not give up, he thought. Nay. He’d come here with a purpose, and he’d not leave without accomplishing what he’d sought to achieve.
“Quite,” the man rejoined. “Van Brunt was a brilliant fellow and a shrewd businessman before he took ill. A tragedy, that. We shall all miss him.”
Icharus pinned the man with his gaze, curious as to how well-versed the man was with the late Van Brunt’s business affairs. If Abraham Van Brunt, or “Brom” as his father had called him, was gone, perhaps he could conclude his business with this man in his stead. “You speak as if you are familiar with his business…”
The man nodded. “If Master Van Brunt had business with you, I would know of it. What is your name, sir?”
Icharus glanced at the crowd, then back at the man with hair as black as a raven’s wing and a voice as chill as the heart of winter itself. His words had hinted that Icharus lied…that there was no true business between his father and the now deceased Van Brunt. Icharus pinned the man with what he felt was a chilling glare.
“Icharus Crane,” he said. “Eldest son of Ichabod Crane. My father was once schoolmaster here.”
A murmur of whispers ran through the crowd.
Icharus saw shock and even panic on the faces of the townspeople, though he did not readily recognize the cause…until he heard the whispered words “witches curse” and then “headless horseman” soon thereafter.
He was very careful to show no outward sign he’d noticed the alarm aroused by the mere stating of his name. Instead, he said, “Abraham Van Brunt made a promise to my father when he left Sleepy Hollow twenty-five years ago. I have come to collect what is due.”
A rather large man stepped forward, a look of pained disgust mingled with curiosity on his face. “Our mistress has just today laid her father to rest, young man. Surely it would not be too much to ask that you show some respect for the deceased!”
He spat upon the ground, his irritation with Icharus’s unknowing insolence winning out over his curiosity. Icharus frowned.
“Your business will hold until next week. Come back then,” the man said.
“No!”
The word was practically shouted, bursting forth from the lady with the eager gaze, Icharus noted. He turned to her, curious as to the reason for her outburst.
She stepped forward, an awkward smile twisting her lips. When the man who’d derided him for his lack of respect looked about to protest once more, she shook her head in denial. “No, John, really. It’s fine. I should like to hear more about this promise between my father and Ichabod Crane.”
She turned her full gaze back to Icharus, and he imagined he saw a bit of apology in her eyes for her would-be protector’s vigilance. Was it a conjuring of his mind, or was there also a bit of desperation mingled with the hesitant interest there in her lovely gaze?
“Would you care to join me for supper, Master Crane?” she asked.
In light of the circumstances, Icharus’s first thought was to regretfully decline. He considered the words of the man she’d called “John”, and felt a bit of remorse for his appalling lack of manners. He said so. “I would not have you think I’ve no respect for the recently deceased. Perhaps later would be best as your John here suggests, Mistress…?”
The lady smiled…a real smile this time that brought a glow to her face and a merry twinkle to her eyes. Icharus was quite taken aback. Heavens, she was quite lovely!
“Katherine Van Brunt, sir,” she said, “and I’ll hear no more of waiting. Supper is at eight. I shall expect you to sit down with us.”
Icharus was still wont to decline, despite how her soft voice played merrily upon his ear, pleading gently with him to agree. His notice had not missed the slight stiffening of the man by her side, and he acknowledged it now.
“I think perhaps your young man here feels you’re not quite prepared to entertain guests this eve, Mistress Van Brunt. Later in the week perhaps?” he offered.
The man at her side nodded. “Indeed, Katherine, I think that would be for the best, considering…”
Was he the only one who noticed the brilliant light became extinguished from her gaze at those words? Odd, he thought, that she should have such a reaction to them. It seemed her fiancé (for surely the man hovering protectively at her side was at least that) meant only to see to her welfare.
Still, she attempted a polite smile. “Nonsense, Brau. Master Crane will not test my endurance any further than you yourself might.”
She turned again to Icharus. “I shall have Mrs. Porter lay a place at the table for you.”
Icharus sensed the tense undercurrents between Mistress Van Brunt and her fellow, but apparently he was the only one who did. Not wanting to upset the lovely Miss Van Brunt or the townsfolk any further, Icharus nodded. “Until evening then, Mistress Van Brunt. It shall be my pleasure.”
* * *
Brau waited until Icharus had ridden out of sight before he turned to Katherine. “You are clearly overwrought, my dear. Inviting a stranger to your table mere hours after laying your father to rest? What were you thinking?”
Katherine ignored the somewhat parental censure in his voice. “He’s not a stranger, Brau. He is one of my father’s business associates, as he said. And as such, he is welcome in my father’s home and at our dinner table, is he not?”
Brau stood silent for a moment, as if giving their audience time to agree with his reprimand or give protest of her clearly inaccurate observation. When no one spoke up, he sighed. “In that case I suppose I shall join you for dinner as well. You forget your father is no longer here to look after you, Katherine. And in all kindness, I suppose I must be delighted to have the responsibility fall to me.”
He turned to the others, giving her no time to object to his words. “If you’ll excuse us now, I will see Miss Van Brunt to her home. Thank you, all of you, for being here for Katherine and myself in our hour of grief.”
“But what about Crane, sir?” Dehann Tanner called out. “Do you think his arrival will stir up the Hessian’s wrath, as his father’s did? Should we fear a visit from the Horseman?”
Brau offered an amused quirk of a smile. “Dear boy, of course you should not. I shall settle things with Master Crane, if indeed there is aught to be settled.”
The cynical tone of his voice suggested Brau did not believe Master Crane’s claims one small whit.
“As for the Hessian,” Brau continued, “there is nothing to fear. The Headless Horseman is nothing more than a figment of imagination, and you’d do well to remember that.”
He pinned John Tanner with a speaking glare, as if to reprimand that one as well for allowing his son to believe and carry tales of such outlandish nonsense.
Anne Tanner leaned near to her brother. “Aye, but what about the witch?” she whispered loudly.
Brau had turned and placed Katherine’s hand upon his arm, but now he paused. Facing the small assembly once more, he pinned both Tanner youngsters with his glacial gaze. “Enough. There will be no more talk of horsemen gallivanting wildly about, sporting pumpkins for heads. Nor of witches, ravens, curses, nor aught else which may further upset Mistress Van Brunt. She’s been distressed quite enough with the events of the day as it is.”
With an encompassing look that included the entirety of Sleepy Hollow’s residents, he said, “We’ll speak no more of it.”
No one seemed wont to argue, so he gave a slight nod in acceptance of their unspoken understanding. “Good day to you all.”
Katherine kept her gaze steadily forward. It would do little good to attempt to speak with Brau regarding Master Crane’s visit tonight. Clearly he thought the matter none of her concern.
She might well agree, but for a vague memory at the back of her thoughts. She knew from his words and his tone that Brau disbelieved Master Crane’s claims, but Katherine had a feeling deep in her heart that he’d been sincere.
All that remained was to discover precisely what that promise had entailed.
