A new chapter for AMPWMInnocent. I tried to be as realistic as possible here. I hope you like it. :)

Ichabod Crane steps outside for a bit of fresh air. Sleepy Hollow's Historical Society is getting quite stuffy as new guests arrive. It was James' idea to throw such a spectacle in the first place. He wanted a soirée and invited individuals who were affluent and impactful in the state of New are chemists, musicians, doctors, artists, lawyers, writers. Ichabod is especially pleased to notice the amount of women in the room. They have truly made a mark, and he's glad their successes had not gone unacknowledged. Grace Abigail Mills, in particular, was among her female counterparts tonight. He's heard a great deal about her but has yet to meet her in person until this moment.

She, too, has come out to the balcony for a breeze. There's a glass of champagne in her hand. She's in a magenta evening gown. The sleeves are short with lace ruffles at the ends of them. Her hair is curly and pinned. Her lips are plump, and her cheekbones are pronounced. He can't help but marvel at her beauty.

"Are you going to stare or speak to me?" She smirks at him.

He blushes at the ground. "My apologies, Miss Mills. I didn't mean to gawk at you."

"You're not the first man to do so. It happens."

He steps further outside and stands beside her. The city lights are bright, and he hears the clop of the horses and the squeal of the carriage wheels.

"I can certainly imagine there are a long line of suitors waiting for you."

She smiles and sips. "A woman never tells."

He chuckles. "Of course. If I may ask, what brings you out here?"

"It was a bit warm in the building, and this dress isn't helping matters."

"My apologies for your discomfort. However, I hope you have been enjoying yourself nonetheless, Miss Mills."

"Abbie. Call me, Abbie." She finishes her drink and places the glass on the rail. "I'm having a nice time meeting everyone. I'm used to crowds, but this is certainly a lot to take in. Yourself?"

"I am enjoying myself as well. You are right about the number of people. I'm not sure why James decided to invite so many. But, alas, James is like a child when he can't have his way."

She laughs. "I can tell. He told me you're his partner. Ichabod Crane, right?"

He nods. "That is correct, though sometimes James likes to joke that I'm his other half. You can imagine the implications of how that sounds if one wasn't familiar with our relationship."

She giggles. "Oh, I can imagine. You two do compliment each other well."

Ichabod has known James for 10 years. He's the one who gave him his first opportunity working in an archive after countless others across the state rejected him. He has learned so much over the years that he's now the assistant director of the Historical Society.

"Certainly. He's one of the best men I've ever known. I'm honored to work with him each day. I know his husband, Micheal, loves him dearly. He's actually in attendance this evening as well."

"Must be comforting to have a person to work with constantly."

"It is. I've heard that you're an abolitionist. I'm sure you have met a few colleagues as much as you travel."

"I have. All of them are wonderful."

"I'm quite curious to know some of the places you've been and the people you've encountered."

"I've been all across the north. I'm not known to stay in one location." She laughs. "I go where my work calls me. Most of the time I'm volunteering, writing, and presenting speeches."

She tells him how some of her work has been published in The Liberator and The North Star. She's been in the company of Mary Prince, Frederick Douglass, Maria W. Stewart, and many other prominent black abolitionists. She mostly volunteers with the Vigilance Committee in Albany as well as churches in need of assistance with runaway slaves.

"They're always in need of an extra pair of hands. Plus, I remember the kind faces that helped me during my escape from the Sweetwater Plantation in Georgia. It's an opportunity for me to give back."

He's quite impressed with Miss Mills and her active involvement in the anti-slavery movement. From hearing her speak, she's quite passionate about what she does. It makes him smile.

"That is truly amazing. You are quite brave, Miss Mills. It's quite commendable what you stand for and how you are so willing to fight for the freedom and equality of your people."

"Thank you. It's what I'm born to do." She pauses. "Where do you stand, Mr. Crane?"

He's heard about the atrocities of slavery in the south and even in northern states like Maryland. Normally, he's kept his views quiet about abolition and the slave trade, as not to cause a debate, but with this woman in his presence, who's been nothing but fearless, it would be cowardly of him to hide his opinions.

"I highly disagree with enslavement. No human should be treated as the property of another or as cargo. Each individual deserves free will and should be protected under the Declaration of Independence. Unfortunately, that is not the case, though it certainly should be."

It feels nice that he's able to express himself so freely in front of her and have such a conversation about the current American culture. He's never been engaged in a discussion quite like this.

"Well-said," she says.

"Thank you. What has your experience been in the abolitionist movement?"

She ponders that for a minute before she answers.

"I think...it's been a blessing, but there are problems within the movement, mostly in regards to working with white abolitionists. Our goal is the same to a certain degree, but even then, there are disagreements. There's a current debate about the rights we should have once slavery is abolished. Some white abolitionist think being free is as far as it goes, but we have a different opinion. We want to be treated as citizens and have the same privileges they have. I'm grateful for white allies, but it doesn't come without its challenges."

He's certainly learning a lot of new things chatting with her.

"I had no idea that they were disputes among abolitionists. One would assume that everyone involved is on the same page."

She shakes her head. "I wish. It would make the movement much easier."

He nods. "I know it would. Are you involved with the women's suffrage?"

"I am, but that's not without its complexities, too. White women have far more advantages than us. I don't think they quite understand or have even truly acknowledged our struggle as being both black and female."

"Did you, by any chance, witness Ms. Truth's speech?"

Her eyes brighten, and she smiles wide.

"Yes. She was phenomenal. Her presence alone was enough to empower me. I hope I can do that for other colored women, too."

He smiles at her. "I have no doubt you're already making quite an impact."

"Thank you."

"Have you ever felt overwhelmed with all that you do? I can only guess you may require a break occasionally."

"Of course. As much as I love my work, I try to find an escape from it at some point. Discussing slavery and helping runaways, in addition to reminders of my own experiences, can be daunting and emotionally exhausting. I'm actually starting to feel that way now. I could use a change in subject if you don't mind."

"I understand. Would you care to dance? The orchestra is playing a lovely tune."

"I would like that." She smiles as he holds out his hand for her.

As they sway to violin and piano, he can't help but lose himself in her light brown eyes.

"What?" she says.

"You are a vision under the moonlight, Miss Mills."

She blushes. "You are quite the charmer, Mr. Crane. A girl needs to be weary around a smooth tongue like yours."

"I beg to differ. I say it because it is true."

She touches his cheek in thanks. "Tell me more about you."

He tells her how he's from London, England, that he attended the University of Oxford and decided to leave his home country after taking a keen interest in American history. He tells her about his parents' utter disappointment and fret about him going off to a new country by his lonesome; they've gotten better about it now. He visits every summer.

"I don't remember much about my parents. I was taken from them when I was young. All I have is my mom's sweet lullaby and my dad's tight hug."

His heart saddens for her and all that she's lost. He rubs her back in place of words. What can he possibly say to comfort her?

"The closest I've had to a mother was Ms. Dotty. She was a practical woman with the largest laugh. I remember she stayed up late to make me a dress for church. My first week without my parents, she held me to her bosom and let me cry and cry until I slept. She always made sure I had something to eat after working a long day in the field, even if she had to give up her own food."

"Is Ms. Dotty with you in Sleepy Hollow?"

"That was supposed to be the plan. It was going to be us two on our way to freedom, but we ran into trouble with slave catchers. She ended up getting captured."

He closes his eyes. She doesn't need to finish. He can imagine what happened from there. It is disheartening.

"I'm so very sorry, Abbie."

She looks at him with watery eyes. "Most of what I do is for her. I want her to know her capture wasn't in vain."

"I believe she knows." He wipes the tears on her cheeks.

"Sometimes, I can feel her presence with me, and it's then that I remember my purpose."

"I know it's very comforting."

She nods. "More than I can say."

He hands her a handkerchief from his pocket; she cleans the rest of her face.

"Thank you for listening to me. I haven't told too many people about her. She's quite special to me."

He nods. "Thank you for sharing her with me."

They dance in silence for a short spell until she speaks.

"Would you like to accompany me for a cup of tea at my home? I'm about ready to leave."

"Oh, that would be lovely. I can only stand so much of a large party myself, Miss Mills."

She laughs. "Good."

She gives him directions to her house.

"Meet me in one hour," she says and rushes off with her empty glass and his handkerchief.

He would love to walk out with her, but he understands why he has to wait. Rumors spread quickly in Sleepy Hollow. It's best to avoid unpleasant attention at all cost. He wouldn't want to be the cause of ruining her reputation as a single woman.

It's a privilege to be asked to visit her home. If Ichabod is honest with himself, he's grown quite attracted to Miss Mills within this short amount of time. Her mind is simply brilliant and her heart is nothing short of courageous. He's never met a woman like her in all his life. He's had the affection of women, yes, but none of them have truly captivated him like her. He's not too sure how his parents, his friends, or his associates would feel about his interest and romantic entanglement with a woman outside his race, but he doesn't care. All he desires for her is love and equality and everything else good in between. He'd count the stars for her if she asked him to, and with this thought, he knows he's chosen his heart over his head.

Abbie's in her carriage in route to her home. She replays her encounter with Ichabod Crane and likes the way her stomach flips at the simple thought of him. He was quite attentive, engaging, and sincere. She loves his blue eyes and beard, the way his fingers felt holding her hand. There's a gentleness about him she wants more of. She doesn't invite men to her home often, only a handful she deems worthy and acceptable to her standards. She certainly never thought she'd entertain a white man. Though she hasn't known him but a second, her heart has already decided she's fallen for him. She's certainly lost her mind at this point, she believes.

As she waits for Ichabod's arrival, she puts on a kettle to boil, changes out of her horrid gown, and unpins her curls. She prefers them down, but the weather thinks otherwise. Plus, it irritates her when white citizens touch her hair without her permission. That's happened on a couple of occasions, and she politely advises them to keep their hands to themselves. It's best she keeps it up.

While the stove heats the water, she finds snacks to put together: crackers with olives and cheese and mini turkey sandwiches. She sets the table with saucers and cups, sugar cubes and honey, napkins and spoons for stirring. The options for tea are chamomile, mint, and lemon. She's not sure what flavor suits his fancy.

Soon, her doorbell rings, and she grabs her night dress in nervousness as she tries to calm herself down.

"Hello, Miss Mills," he says.

"Hi, Mr. Crane." She steps aside to let him in and shows him wear to hang his coat.

"You can follow me into the kitchen."

They sit at her table and prepare their tea in quiet. He takes chamomile and three sugar cubes; she takes lemon and adds honey.

"I wasn't sure what you prefered."

"I'm not very picky. This is spectacular, Miss Mills. I especially love the sandwiches." He stuffs one in his mouth.

"Thank you. Help yourself. There's plenty." She pauses. "I have a question for you. Is the tea better in England or America?"

He laughs. "England, of course. Nothing compares to food and drink from your home country."

"I agree. Ms. Dotty made the best homemade biscuits and jam. I used to help her cook sometimes, and she'd hum and sing as she went. Those were such peaceful moments. I actually know some of her recipes by heart."

"I'm glad you have such good memories of her."

"Me, too. It helps. Maybe one day, I can invite you over for dinner. I'd make her famous fried steak and mashed potatoes."

"That would be swell. I would bring dessert. My mum made the most delicious apple tarts and vanilla ice cream."

"We'll have to plan it."

"Certainly." He finishes his tea and crackers.

"What's England like?"

"Oh, it's quite charming."

She listens intently as he tells her more about his upbringing, the traditions in his family, and life in London. She tells him about some of the happiest moments in Georgia, like how she was a flower girl in a wedding once. She was told the adults weren't allowed to marry, but they still celebrated how they could. She also remembers holding a baby for the first time. It was a boy, and he had the biggest brown eyes she'd ever seen.

Abbie doesn't keep track of time as they talk about their interests and dreams and where they see themselves. There is laughter and light conversation that she enjoys.

After they finish all the tea and snacks, Ichabod says, "As much as I'm enjoying our time together, I feel as I must leave you to the rest of your night. I do not wish to take up all of your time."

He stands up, but she takes his hand. He looks at her, surprised.

"You don't have to leave so soon, Ichabod."

His breath shortens.

"I would like it if you stayed the night," she says.

"Miss-"

"Abbie."

"Abbie, I couldn't possible impose myself like that. You've been more than generous towards me tonight." He kisses the palm of her hand. "I greatly appreciate it, but-"

"Stay." She intrudes his personal space and can feel his breath on her lips.

Ichabod wants his hands to stay by his side, but they willingly encircle her waist. "If it is what you wish." He nuzzles her nose.

"For a reason I can't explain, I've found myself pulled to you." She wraps her arms around his neck.

"As have I."

Then she kisses him, and there's a fire in both of them. He's groaning into her mouth as she loosens his ponytail. She drops the ribbon to the ground and runs her hands through his hair. His hands squeeze her backside, causing her to moan. Then she clenches his shirt as he kisses her neck. She leads him to her bedroom, where they undress each other slowly. She is stunning.

When he rests his hands on her back, he feels multiple welts under his fingers. He stops kissing her and looks at her with questions.

"Are these-?"

She turns around in a complete moment of trust and vulnerability. His stomach sinks, and he's speechless as he stares at six large welts across her back. He gently touches them again and bends to his knees to kiss every one of them, trying to replenish the lash with his love.

She faces him, and his eyes ask her what occurred.

"I don't want to talk about that right now."

"Understood." He stands up and kisses her again.

Ichabod wants to make her feel cherished. After gently laying her on the bed, he kisses her lips, nose, eyelids, eyebrows, forehead, her neck and her collarbones. She sighs,wrapping her legs around his waist. He softly kneads her breasts and sucks on each of her nipples. He leaves a kiss between her breasts and slowly makes his way down her belly.

"You are a treasure," he whispers. "A light."

She smiles down at him, as he nips the side of her waist. She opens her legs for him and his teeth nibble the inside of her thighs, causing her to bite her bottom lip.

He glances at her to make sure she's still comfortable with this. She nods, then finds herself moaning and squeezing her sheets while his tongue darts in and out of her, thoroughly. He sucks and licks as she tries to keep her sanity. Soon enough, she's climaxing. Before she can catch her breath, he's slowly inserting himself into her. She holds his shoulders and kisses him.

"Are you certain, Abbie?" he says.

Her legs tighten around his waist. "Yes."

They moan together at his first thrust. She enjoys feeling the whole of him inside her. They say each other's names like they've been lovers their whole lives, as if they've been kindred spirits all along. Maybe they have and didn't know it until now. As he makes love to her, she sees the possibilities of them. Abbie knows he sees it too when he says, "Treasure. My treasure."

And then her second orgasm overwhelms her. He falls apart right afterwards. Both of them are spent, and he pulls her towards him. She lays on his chest as he plays with her curls. She doesn't mind this time around.

"Your hair is quite lovely."

She kisses his chest and chin. "Thank you. I keep it braided at night so it doesn't get tangled."

"You will have to show me your hair regimen one day."

She giggles at the thought of him doing her hair. "Perhaps."

He yawns. "I'm afraid you've exhausted me, love."

She laughs. "Hm. You haven't seen anything quite yet."

He chuckles. "Oh, dear. I should prepare myself then."

"Indeed."

He entwines their fingers and kisses her forehead.

"What will people say about us, Ichabod?"

She can't continue with him if this isn't addressed.

"Most of them won't like it, I know. However, they have no say in who we decide to form a relationship with."

"I agree, but it's not going to be an easy journey if we keep seeing each, especially in public."

"Not at all. Do abolitionist believe in interracial relationships?"

"Yes, but of course, there is opposition. Did you know that Frederick Douglass just got married to a white woman? Her name is Helen."

"I've heard. It saddens me that it's caused quite an uproar, even among their own family."

"Me, too," she says. "I can understand the hurt and anger from our perspective though; it is a betrayal in a sense. His first wife was black. Her name was Anna, and unfortunately she died. I've met her once before she passed away. She was a lovely woman and carried a lot on her shoulders for her family and husband. I know her children miss her dearly."

"It's never easy losing the ones we love. I hope Mr. Douglass and his children have had the proper time to grieve and heal."

"Me, too. As for him and his new wife, I'm sure they are handling the outcry about their marriage as best they can. I know it's difficult, none the least."

"Certainly. I think it's helps to remember how powerful love can be. If one forgets that, then they have nothing at all anymore."

"I couldn't agree more, Ichabod."

She kisses him and finds herself aching for him again. She climbs on top of Ichabod. Abbie doesn't know what will come of them, what they'll be, but she hopes for something extraordinary.