Prologue

Blair, Maryland
1785

The old woman struggled as strong hands grasped her shoulders, dragging her upon a rickety old wooden box. She stood watching as the villagers gathered in a mob below, shouting obscentities and throwing rocks whenever they could find one.

"Witch! Filthy Witch!" They screamed, and she held her head high, refusing to allow the insults to penetrate.

"Elli Kedwards," the voice of the local magistrate boomed over the roar of the crowds. "You have been charged with bleeding seven children. What have you to say for yourself?"

Elli merely stared at him through her dark brown eyes, setting her jaw tightly. What she had done, they would never understand.

"CONFESS!" Someone shouted, and she watched as a row of children made their way up to the front of the crowd, tossing more rocks. She flinched as one struck her cheek, her chest, the calf of her leg. She would not confess to being a witch, never.

"If you have nothing to say, then we have no choice but to banish you from this town forever," the magistrate snarled, and before she knew what was happening, they tossed her into a wheel barrell. Her eyes were covered with a black bandanna, so she could see nothing.

"Kill the witch!" the crowd hollered in unison as they followed the wheel barrell away from the town and towards the woods. "Kill her!"

The ride seemed to take forever; the wheel barrell was bumping and creaking over the rocks and uneven dirt ground; Elli felt sweat pouring down her forehead and cheeks. She was suddenly relieved from the contraption, falling to her knees on wet snow. It was so cold; one of the coldest winters Blair village ever experienced, and she could feel ice creeping upon her weathered neck.

The townspeople did not remove the bandanna as they strung her tight to an enormous tree, taking the pleasure of kicking her in the stomach while they worked. "You had your chance, witch," an unidentified man hissed into her ear. "If you believe so much in natural remedies, let us see how nature responds to you."

Then they left her where she stood, until the wood returned to silence. She struggled against the ropes, hissing in pain as it dug into her skin, and she felt warm blood trickling down her wrists. The darkness of the bandanna was overwhelming; she needed to remove it, but there was no possible way of doing so.

"Curse you!" she screamed hoarsely, even though she knew it would do no good. "Curse all of you! Every one of your children will pay for this!"

She let out a blood curtling scream of agony, which echoed amongst the trees…

Chapter 1
New York City, December 1799

The coblestone streets were empty and silent; and a light mixture of snow and rain began to fall. Jonathan Masbath II shot up in bed with a gasp of surprise, clutching his quilt to his chest. He glanced around his small bedroom wildly, the sound of the old woman's scream still ringing in his ears. Surely he had been dreaming again, for not a sound could be heard in the three story flat.

Once his heart managed to slow to a normal rate, the ten year old ran his hand over his head of short, somewhat spiked black hair. Judging from the pitch black of the sky, it was clearly very late…more than likely past midnight. Groaning inwardly, Young Masbath pulled the blankets down, and slid to the floor, tiptoeing over to his desk. A half-used candle sat waiting in its container, a box of thin matches laying beside it.

He'd been in New York City for three full months now, many thanks to the generosity of Constable Ichabod Crane and his new wife, the former Katrina Van Tassell. He struck a match and lit the candle, holding the container up so the room engulfed in a gentle orange glow.

Quitely as he could, Young Masbath slipped out of his bedroom door, walking down the narrow hall. The bedroom of his master and mistress was not far from his own, and he smiled faintly when he heard the Constable snoring gently. He peeked in to check on them, and found Ichabod and Katrina sound asleep in each others' arms. Neither were at all phased by the sudden appearance of candlelight, which was a great relief.

Adjusting to city life as opposed to life in Sleepy Hollow had been a bit of a challenge for the boy. He worked as Ichabod's apprentice, following him on patrol throughout the city.

When the time came to tell the story of what happened to the old tarrytown to the high magistrate and the Burgomaster, they practically laughed Ichabod right out of the building. Young Masbath felt his anger bubble as he remembered their amused sneers, and was startled his master had been allowed to remain in his position. However, it was certainly by his and Katrina's eye witness accounts that kept his superiors from doing so. "No doubt I am hanging by a thread, still, Ichabod told them later.

While they were not involved with the constabulary, Ichabod spent a great deal of time in his third floor laboratory. Young Masbath helped clean up chemical explosions, fascinated by the sounds and smells they produced. Of course, the racket they made upstairs on certain days caused Katrina to come running, half-relieved/half-aggravated when she would discover them to be perfectly fine. He smirked to himself when he remembered an incident that occurred only that past weekend:

BOOM! When the haze cleared, Young Masbath stood staring at a large, gaping hole where the center of the wooden table once was. He gulped, and after hesitating a moment, turned to face Ichabod. "SIR!" he cried, and immediately began to put out the small fire, which struck upon the old lab coat his master wore, and Ichabod thanked him afterwards.

"Er…was that supposed to happen?" Young Masbath asked, frowning at the dark, crisp spot on the white , and hoped he wasn't hurt.

Ichabod raised his eyes, as though the boy would even dare suggest such a ridiculous thing. "Of course," he replied, clearing his throat, and began to clean up what he could.

Katrina's frantic footsteps could be heard a moment later, and when they allowed her in, she gasped at the sight. "What happened?!" she exclaimed, and Ichabod smiled softly at her, removing his goggles.

"My shirt caught fire," he explained simply and with such a calm tone, Young Masbath could no longer contain his giggles.

Young Masbath began to head downstairs with the intention of going to the kitchen, and jumped when one of the old steps creaked under his feet. He glanced over his shoulder, hoping the noise hadn't woken his master or mistress; he would be in deep trouble for being awake this late. Again. As it were, he'd already gotten in trouble with the Constable earlier that week, for sneaking out late to spend time with a companion or two.

"Young Masbath has taken to quite wild fancies since we have brought him here," the boy remembered overhearing husband and wife's discussion over the preparation of dinner. "I do not know what to do with him."

Young Masbath gave a tiny sigh as he reached the parlor at last, and pushed the door open to the kitchen. He set the candle onto the long table, and filled an old tin mug with fresh water from a barrell they stored in the house.

He gazed at the dead fireplace while he sat, wondering if he should mention this dream to Ichabod. He had dreams of this old woman before, ever since he arrived in New York… and each became more tragic than the next. Was she significant in some way? He shuddered lightly, taking another sip of water. Just as he was about to stand up and put the tin mug away, he turned around and saw a figure standing in the kitchen doorway.

"Oi!" Young Masbath cried in alarm, nearly falling backwards. He steadied himself against the table top, and after he held up his candle, he realized Ichabod was watching him. "Sir, I'm sorry…you startled me!" he took a deep breath, and the middle-aged Constable's lips set into a thin line.

"Do you want to tell me why you are awake at this hour?" he asked, and Young Masbath hung his head. "If you're about to sneak out tonight, I'm insisting you think twice about it."

"I wasn't, sir, and I'm sorry," he apologized again. "I…I thought I heard someone screaming, but turns out it was just a nightmare… and then I was thirsty." he wet his lips, and Ichabod folded his arms, a weary expression on his face. "I did not think I would disturb you."

"Lad, how many times must I tell you not to wander around after dark?" he asked. "Especially since you know we must be up at dawn for patrol."

Young Masbath gave a sudden yawn, rubbing his eyes. "I know, sir," he replied. "it won't happen again, I promise."

Ichabod nodded in satisfaction, and came to put a firm hand on the boy's shoulder. "Back to bed," he ordered, and Young Masbath led the way, using the candle to shed light on their steps. Katrina was waiting for them in the hall, and when she inquired what had happened, Young Masbath insisted he was all right.

"He had a nightmare, apparently," Ichabod explained, and she frowned deeply.

"Dear boy, do you wish to talk of it?" she asked, and Young Masbath gulped.

"No," he insisted. "I'll be fine." he gave a nod of his head, and after bidding them good night, went back into his bedroom. Ichabod and Katrina stared at each other once the boy's door closed, and Katrina took his arm.

"You two should discuss this in the morning," she suggested, and Ichabod yawned loudly, excusing himself. "Perhaps his disturbed sleep has been the cause of his recent behavior."

Ichabod fiddled with the black stone ring on his finger, and cleared his throat. "Perhaps," he agreed. "All right, my dear…let us retire." he kissed her forehead, and Katrina took his hand, pulling him back into their room.

Young Masbath continued to lay awake for quite some time, gazing at the snow as it continued to fall. Whatever I do, I never wish to disappoint you, sir, he thought, closing his eyes. I've only ever wanted to make you proud of me.

Before he knew it, he was sound asleep.

When dawn crept over the city, Ichabod Crane was wide awake, dressing for the day. Katrina continued to lay in bed, watching as her husband slipped into his uniform, and their eyes caught when he sat to tug on his boots.

"Good morning, love," he announced, and she smiled, stretching her arms over her head.

"Good morning." she sat up, closing her eyes as he came to place a kiss on her lips. "However do you manage to wake at this hour every day?" she asked, and he chuckled, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"It is merely a habit, Katrina," he replied. "Did you sleep well?"

She nodded. "Too well," she laughed, and climbed to the floor herself. "The winter months are always so difficult when it comes to rising from bed."

He helped her dress, announcing he would wake the boy while she prepared breakfast downstairs.

"Do not forget to speak to him today, Ichabod," Katrina warned as she descended the steps, and Ichabod's lips twitched in nervousness. When he first arrived in Sleepy Hollow, he never intended to come back with more than his book full of notes from the investigations. Yet circumstances changed considerably, and good fortune presented him with a beautiful wife and a young, sharp-witted boy as his apprentice.

"Though sometimes Young Masbath looks to me as a father figure I fear," he said to himself as he went to the child's room. "I'm afraid I've not the courage nor experience to heed him."

He knocked a couple of times, calling, "Young Masbath! Time to rise, my boy."

Young Masbath cringed at his master's voice from where he lay amongst the covers, squeezing the pillow tightly to his cheek. Morning always came much too quickly.

When the boy didn't answer, Ichabod sighed with frustration, and opened the door himself. "We have no time to dawdle, lad," he warned, and Young Masbath's eyes snapped open, finding his master already dressed and freshened for the day.

"Sir, must I?" Young Masbath whined, and Ichabod chuckled.

"There are consequences of being up past midnight," he replied, and Young Masbath struggled to sit, rubbing his eyes. "Katrina is preparing our breakfast downstairs, so I'll expect you washed and dressed within the next ten minutes. Am I understood?"

Young Masbath nodded, yawning, and Ichabod smiled at him faintly before leaving the room again. The ten year old was up and dressed in the amount of time given, and found his master working through a bowl of freshly brewed porridge when he arrived.

"Good morning, lad," Katrina greeted, as Young Masbath sat down at the table, helping himself to a piece of fruit from a bowl placed in the center.

"Good morning," he replied, smiling as she came to kiss him.

"There is a blanket of snow on the ground today, so I expect the both of you to take extra care," Katrina warned, and Young Masbath's heart leapt. He adored snow; Sleepy Hollow rarely saw a flake.

"We will," he promised, and Ichabod cleared his throat, checking his pocket watch.

"Speaking of which," he began, "we'd best be off."

Young Masbath took another bite of an apple, and hopped up at once, going to fetch his coat and his master's from the hook in the main hallway. "Scarves and gloves!" Katrina called from the kitchen, and both Ichabod and Young Masbath smirked at each other.

"Of course, Katrina," Ichabod replied, and once they were bundled tight, he pulled open the main door. Young Masbath immediately leapt into the snow, prancing around and watching as his feet made prints in it. He lifted his head to the sky and stuck out his small tongue, hoping to catch a flake or two.

"Coming, lad?" Ichabod asked, and Young Masbath lowered his head, nodding, and dashed after his master. They walked in silence for the most part, taking in the sounds and sights of the city at this time of the day. Ichabod thought of Katrina's suggestion the night before; 'Talk to him about it', and frowned as he saw the boy glancing at him rather awkwardly.

"Young Masbath, if there is something you wish to share with me, I would encourage you to do so," he insisted at last, and the boy paused in step, his eyes raising.

"Y-yes, Sir. I know. I just..." Young Masbath's steps faultered at this, images flashing behind his eyes when he closed them. Agonizing screams. Rocks. The smell of fresh blood, heavy over the lighter, earthy scent of the woods. It was all so real. Without thinking, the boy found himself stepping closer to his master with a soft whimper, raking trembling fingers through his hair.

Ichabod frowned and placed a comforting hand on Young Masbath's shoulder, squeezing it gently. "If it makes you feel better, I had terrible nightmares in Sleepy Hollow. But I felt...after talking about them...they became less frequent." he paused, and pulled the boy aside, so they would not be run over by a carriage. Young Masbath stumbled, his feet skidding over the already slippery stones that made up the road. He squeaked in alarm as the carriage rumbled past, narrowly missing the toes of his boots.

"S-Sorry, Sir," he mumbled, his voice muffled by the scarf wound tightly around his throat. He looked up at Ichabod, his dark eyes wide and earnest. Talk about the dreams? But how could he? That would be like reliving them. The boy swallowed hard and found himself unable to speak for a moment.

"I... they... Sir, they were hurting her!" Like a dam breaking, Young Masbath's works came suddenly, and so fast they ran together. "They tied her to a tree and threw rocks at her and called her a witch! She looked so sad, but then they left her and she got angry and... and she was screaming!" He whimpered, clamping his hands over his ears. "She keeps screaming..."

Ichabod's eyes widened, and he straightened up, unsure of how to answer. The word 'witch' was one he was slowly getting used to; the Lady Van Tassell was the witch of the Western Wood in Sleepy Hollow. Could the boy be thinking of her...and her fate in hell with the Headless horseman? He cleared his throat and was about to respond, when one of his co-workers called his name from the other side of the street.

Ichabod rolled his eyes, pulling out his pocketwatch; the man's name was Edward Darlington; he often chided Ichabod for his 'ridiculous schemes'. "Don't be ridiculous, Darlington...We have ten minutes," he replied, and Darlington snorted.

Young Masbath shrank away from the imposing man and his cruel eyes. He was one of Ichabod's coworkers, and one the lad did not like much at all. Not that he liked any of them terribly, but some were certainly less disagreeable than others. Not Darlington, though. He glared at the man and, feeling minutely braver, stepped closer still to his master defensively.

"We weren't going to be late!" He piped up from Ichabod's side, his cheeks bright pink over the wolly scarf. "My master is always on time! Except... except when he's not," he added quickly, recalling the few times that he and Ichabod had, in fact, been late for patrol. Usually at the fault of the lad himself.

He swallowed and shrank again, kicking at the snow. Ichabod cringed a little, and Darlington gave the boy a nasty look. "Not sure what you're teaching that boy, Crane, but he should know better than to speak to his elders in that tone. I'll see you at work." he knocked Ichabod roughly in the shoulder, storming off towards their building. Ichabod rubbed at the sore spot for a moment, his face growing very warm. It would not be truly terrible if he were to give up his work at the Constabulary altogether, though he refused to live off of Katrina's fortune.

He hugged Young Masbath, reassuring the boy it would be all right, and urged him onwards. "We'll have to talk about this more later tonight, lad. I'm sorry," he apologized, just as they stepped inside. The usual sounds of scraping metal and human screams of agony and wailing filled the air; Ichabod was used to it by now, but it disturbed the boy greatly.

"D-Do not apologize, Sir." Young Masbath shuddered the moment they entered the Constabulary, cringing when the horrible sounds reached his ears. No matter how many times he came in here with his master, it still made him fidget with unease. He kept his eyes on the ground for the most part, unless Ichabod asked him to look at something specifically. It was horrible. Dreadful. He had no idea how Ichabod could stand his job, let alone love it as much as he did.

They reported to the High Constable first, who was a man with the apperance of a vampire: sharp, pointed features and black eyes. He set them on patrol at certain places around the city; it was rare they came across anything exciting. "Crane, I'll have another assignment for you after Christmas at least...once details are oriented," he began, and Ichabod raised an eyebrow; he'd been hoping for a bit of a break after his experience in Sleepy Hollow. Christmas was just two weeks away, if that.

"A...I see," he stuttered, and cleared his throat, which had been feeling slightly raw over the past few days due to the extreme cold.

"But...!" Young Masbath looked from the High Constable to Ichabod, who stood so tall in front of this horrible man. They had only been back in New York for three months, and his master had barely time to breathe between patrols. He knew that Katrina and Ichabod wished to spend more time together, alone. And how could they do that if Ichabod had to leave again?

The High Constable looked down at Young Masbath, one eyebrow arched in question. "The boy has something to say?" He inquired in his startlingly deep voice. The boy swallowed his annoyance and clamped his lips together, shaking his head silently. He wouldn't put up a fuss twice in the span of a quarter hour. Especially not in front of Ichabod's superior.

Ichabod narrowed his eyes in warning, and glanced at the High Constable. "Of course I will accept, sir," he replied, and the High Constable gave a nod.

"As your investigations in Sleepy Hollow did not prove to be entirely useful, we have decided to give you another chance. A final chance, mind." he scowled. "To prove just how capable you are in this position."

Ichabod grimaced...he knew this was coming, and wished he could retort and say, "FINE, then. It's not worth the trouble anyway." but the words wouldnt come, and he decided to merely nod his agreement, before taking his post for the day, leading Young Masbath along.

"Why that horrible... puckered... windbag!" Young Masbath was running alongside Ichabod to match his master's long strides, his face scrunched up in anger. "I have half a mind to... to... Sir! Slow down!" Panting, the dark-haired boy fought to catch up with Ichabod, feeling winded already. Such things came from little sleep, he knew, and prepared himself for the similar lecture he was sure he was about to recieve. It wasn't often, after all, that he couldn't keep up with his master.

Ichabod eventually stopped at the dock of the great river that ran before the Constabulary, and took a deep breath. He was so tired; so exhausted...how could he possibly even think about traveling again? Katrina would be devastated if she had to leave New York, just when things were finally beginning to settle with their new life.

"Young Masbath..." he began, but frowned when he could not think of how to finish the sentence. Instead, he turned to face the river again, wishing he could carry the cardinal disk in his coat pocket. The boy settled into his normal position; just behind and to the left of Ichabod. He folded his arms and looked down into the ugly swirling water, his face still burning with indignation for his master, and thorough dislike for the entirety of the Constabulary. He did not want to leave New York! He had friends here. He found himself loving the city more and more each day, and detested the thought of leaving the hustle and bustle for anything. His mistress loved it too, he knew. She was blossoming, falling naturally into the role of Ichabod's wife and mistress of their home.

"Sir?" The boy spoke softly, barely audible over the gurgle of the river. "Must we go?"

"I am determined to prove them wrong once and for all," Ichabod spoke in a quiet, but serious voice. "I've worked too hard to give up now." he turned, and provided Young Masbath with a rare, soft smile. "Even if we do go wherever they send us, it will not be forever. Besides..." he cocked his head to one side. "I do think you need a bit of a rest from all of your nightly escipades, mmm?" Ichabod remembered the last incident, when Young Masbath had come home soaking wet, after attempting to help his friends sail a handmade raft down the river.

Young Masbath couldn't contain the sheepish grin at that, and he kicked a stone into the river with an almost shy air. "Maybe so, Sir. Though I don't want to leave my friends." He turned sad eyes up to his master, his bottom lip protruding slightly. It made him look younger than his ten years, especially with the wind making his pale cheeks rosey. "I hope it won't take us long."

They continued to wander aimlessly down the cobblestoned street, keeping their eyes peeled for any suspicious activity. Despite the difficulties that Young Masbath was sure lay ahead, he could not help but think, what a fine day this was! He shivered slightly when the wind picked up, and several snowflakes found their way down the back of his jacket. He sniffled softly, rubbing the back of his neck with one gloved hand. "I like snow and all, but I never realized standing around in it was so... cold!"

Ichabod chuckled, as they began to stroll along again, using movement to keep warm. "I do believe I could use one of Katrina's home made gingerbreads right about now...with a warm cup of tea." he shivered as snow began to fall a bit more heavily, though it was truly a beautiful sight. Especially when it mixed with the darkness of the river water, practically clouding everything in sight. Ichabod waited until Young Masbath was about a foot ahead of him, and reached down to roll a snowball. He tossed it at the boy's shoulder with a soft THUD, waiting for the reaction.

It was a slow reaction, his senses dulled from cold, emotions, and lack of sleep. He blinked and turned around slowly, the snow falling from his shoulder in soft clumps. He stared at Ichabod for a long minute, then grinned and bent to retrieve his own handful of snow. "I shall make you pay for that one, Sir," he called, packing the snow into a firm ball before throwing it at his dark master. It hit the center of the man's chest, exploding in a cloud of powder. "Ha ha! Take that!" And with that, he was off running, laughing over his shoulder.

Ichabod chased after his apprentice, and the two of them were caught in a miniature snowball fight, laughing and letting out grunts of surprise at each attack. They only stopped when they saw a man holding a gun at another, threatening to "finish him" if he did not supply what he wanted. Ichabod ordered Young Masbath to stop at once, and immediately fetched his own gun, starting for the incident. This was the first they'd experienced yet; clearly not everyone was inside due to the weather.

"Go over there, lad," Ichabod whispered, pulling out his gun, and Young Masbath hurried to hide behind one of the building walls, watching as his master approached the fighting men, ordering them both to stop at once and put their arms in the air. The men stared at him with surprise, and Young Masbath snuck out from his post, snatching the fallen gun from the one villain, and now both were aiming their weapons in warning.

"Don't shoot, don't shoot!" the chubby man begged, and Ichabod did not immediately lower his gun.

"Yet you were more than happy to partake in doing so to this gentleman," he explained, pointing to the thin, scrawny fellow.

"He stole something from me shop, and I was chasin' him, sir," the stout man replied, and Ichabod whistled, encouraging Young Masbath to come around and stand beside him.

"Either way, you were assaulting this man with a murderous weapon," Ichabod replied. "What you should have done is brough him directly to us. Now both of you are going to have to come with me to the station. Young Masbath? Take these, and hook that one while I take care of him."

Once both men were shackled and harmless, they were brought to the constabulary, and the weapons were presented to the Burgomeister. With a grunt of "good work," the Burgomeister sent both Ichabod and Young Masbath to their posts.

When the shift ended around 5:30 that evening, both were anxious to return to the warmth of the Crane home. "You did very well today, Young Masbath," Ichabod spoke after they walked in silence for quite a while, and the boy stared at him. "I am very proud of you."

Young Masbath blushed, grateful for any compliment his master could find the courage to give. When they arrived home, Katrina ordered them both in front of the fireplace at once, rubbing Ichabod's hands and cheeks when she first felt them. "Goodness, you are both frozen!" she exclaimed, and he kissed her tenderly, allowing Young Masbath to tell the story of the gunmen, which had her quite fearful.

"Ichabod, he is much too young to be doing this," she cried, and Young Masbath smiled.

"Actually, I like it," he insisted. "It's quite similar to playing guns and robbers, only…"

Ichabod laughed. "It is with true guns and true robbers, right?" he ruffled the boy's hair, and Young Masbath stuck out his tongue.

"Yes," he replied, and Katrina smiled again.

"Well, I have something exciting to tell you both over supper," she announced, "but first I insist you rest by the fire. The last thing I want to do is have the two of you catch cold before the winter has truly set in!"

Ichabod winked at Young Masbath, and both sat on their separate chairs.

When dinner was ready, Ichabod proceeded to inquire what his wife seemed so giddy about, and Young Masbath raised his eyes when she looked in his direciton.

"Actually, the news pertains more to Mouse here," she began, using Young Masbath's nickname. She began calling him that ever since he started sneaking out at night, and it just seemed to stick.

"What did I do?" he asked softly, and Ichabod encouraged her to go on.

"Well, it seems the pastor from our church stopped by, and asked if we would be interested in enrolling you with the choir for the Christmas holiday."

Silence filled the air, and Young Masbath leaned back in his chair, suddenly having lost his appetite. "Why?" he exclaimed, and Katrina chuckled.

"They apparently do this every year, lad, and since you are a new addition to the church, he wished to have you join."

Young Masbath looked at Ichabod, who gave a small shrug, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "I…" he began slowly, and Katrina squeezed his hand.

"I think it would be a good activity for you," she continued, "you would be able to meet other boys your age, and you will be able to…"

"Stay out of trouble," Ichabod finished, and she frowned at him. "yes, Katrina, I do believe that will be a good idea for you, Young Masbath."

"But sir, you don't even go to church," Young Masbath said softly, and Katrina looked at her husband, who narrowed his eyes. "I thought I was here to help you!"

"I understand that, lad, but I want you to be involved with something less mischievous in your life right now. I insist you begin to associate with children who are a bit more dignified in their manners. This city is too dangerous for you to be running through it in the dark of night. Next thing I know we'll be bailing you out of prison for some crime or other!" the gunman appeared in his mind, and Ichabod shuddered.

Young Masbath looked from one adult to the other, feeling somewhat defeated. "All right, sir," he sighed heavily. "I suppose it could not hurt to try. But I do like my friends, and I promise I wont ever let them talk me into doing anything like that," he added, and Ichabod nodded with approval, smiling again at Katrina, who had an expression of amusement on her face.

"Good," Katrina replied kindly. "I'll bring you to the church tomorrow, so you may speak with the Pastor Richards. Besides, I have heard you play the piano, and you are quite musically talented," she said, and Young Masbath played with his vegetables, wishing he could disappear through a hole in the floor.

"Yes ma'am," he muttered under his breath, and Ichabod raised an eyebrow.

"We are only looking out for your well being, Young Masbath," he insisted, and the boy looked at him, asking if he could be excused.

"Yes you may," Katrina replied, and Young Masbath got up from the table, scurrying from the kitchen as fast as he could. Ichabod watched as he disappeared into the living room, and turned back to his wife.

"Ichabod, if he does not wish to change, we will not be able to make him," she warned, and he nodded.

"I know that, my love," he said. "but it is all an experience. As you said, we should not pass on any chance to try something new."

Katrina beamed. "Yes," she agreed. "I did in deed say that." she blushed, but the kitchen was too dimly lit for Ichabod to notice.

"Would you…" he paused, and she cocked her head to one side.

"Would I what, darling?" she asked, and Ichabod massaged his forehead.

"Would you like to take a chance for a new adventure as well?" he watched her expression, and hated having to bring the idea of a new assignment up already.

"Always, my Ichabod," she laughed lightly. "what have you in mind?"

"My dear, I am so sorry to have to bring this up…so soon after we've begun to settle in New York, but…"

Katrina covered her mouth very softly with her hand. "They have another assignment for you, do they not?" she asked, reaching for his hand, and he nodded sadly. "Oh dear…where is it this time?"

He shook his head. "That I do not know, love," he admitted. "I was only told that it was pending, and we will find out after Christmas."

She slumped in her chair, disappointed. "I see." she fiddled with her napkin. "well, I suppose we will have to do as they bid, then." she looked down at her plate, and Ichabod knew she wasn't happy.

"I'll make this up to you some day, Katrina," he promised, and she nodded.

"I trust you, Ichabod," she replied, three words he'd waited his whole life to hear.