Chapter Two: Hudson River Valley, February 1777

[Music: Human by Aquilo; Winter Ghosts by Jesse Marchant]

Stefan sat quietly at the rough wooden table while his comrades got louder and louder. The poor innkeeper of the roadside tavern was rushing around the room trying to keep the Hessian regiment topped off with food and drink. Stefan didn't actually enjoy this particular perk of the job. The British way of doing things was to go where they liked and take what they wanted from the indifferent colonists who had not yet picked a side in the fight. The regiment had been at the inn for two days and was celebrating news of a victory. Much needed after the disastrous battle of Trenton not two months ago. Many lives were lost and morale was beginning to wane. Tonight the men were uneasy. The soldiers behaved as if they could chase away their fears by drinking too much and acting too bold.

Stefan stared down into his barely touched ale and wished he could drown in it.

“Another, sir?”

“No,” he answered sharply, looking up. He winced when he saw a young serving girl. Her curling, light-brown hair and large brown eyes matched the Innkeeper’s--her father, perhaps. She was young to be working in a tavern full of soldiers on a night like this. Her round face betrayed a look of innocence that did not fit the rowdy room. His face softened, and he smiled at her, “My apologies. What is your name?”

She gave him a warm smile in return and said, “Susanna, sir.” She blushed, probably from the heat of the sweltering room full of loud soldiers.

He said, “No thank you, Susanna.” and she dipped a quick curtsy before turning to serve the next table.

An empty mug slammed down on the table in front of him, making Stefan jump.  He looked up as Captain Wolfskeil sat down heavily on the bench and leaned forward.

"Lochner!” Wolfskeil bellowed. “Why are you sitting here instead of enjoying the celebration?"

Captain Wolfskeil made Stefan uncomfortable. That was an understatement. The captain was both highly respected and greatly feared by his men, and for good reason. He was merciless on any soldier who defied even the smallest order. He was a proud man.

Ever since the Hessians had gained the respect of the British in recent battles, their captain had become increasingly brazen. And full of greed. He seemed to think it was his personal right to raid as many villages as possible as they traveled to their assigned posts. He made sure to arrive with additional horses and weapons which gained him favor with the British generals, and in return, they were more than happy to look the other way while he pocketed money and other valuables for himself. He had boasted often that his mother had named him Maksim after the Roman emperor Maximus who had conquered most of Prussia hundreds of years before they became a military state. When their Landgrave ruler, Friedrich, sold their services to the British, Maksim Alban Von Wolfskeil, or “Mad Maks” as some of the men called him – although never, ever within his hearing – rose quickly through the ranks. He was both intelligent and ruthless.

“Captain. I was just about to turn in for the evening.”

“Nonsense, Lochner,” he said, looking at Stefan with cold, steady eyes that belied how much he’d been drinking. “I saw you talking to that serving girl. Why don’t you take her with you?"

Contemptuous sniggering erupted from the other soldiers standing nearby.

Stefan waited a moment too long to reply, and Wolfskeil’s mouth twisted up into a wicked smile. “Unless of course, serving girls are not your preference,” he sneered, and the soldiers standing behind him laughed a little too loudly.

Stefan held his captain's gaze. He made sure his face didn’t show any signs of disrespect. “Sir.” Stefan nodded and stood up. He had to get out of that stifling room, get some air. He made his way through the crush of rowdy soldiers, now singing a drinking song, and took his coat off the wooden peg. He pulled open the heavy tavern door and walked out into the cold night air.

He crossed the frozen courtyard and went inside the barn where the horses were sheltered for the night. He didn’t bother to light the lantern, he wanted to be alone in the dark for a while with the comforting scent of horses, leather, and hay. He breathed out a frustrated puff of steam. The air was crisp and silent. He thought of his family’s small barn at home in Brocken, and of the early mornings tending horses with his father, and immediately regretted the thought. He shook his head to dispel the sad memories of home and laid his hand on his horse’s warm neck. The horse nickered and Ichabod soothed the animal with gentle words. It was bitter cold outside and had been for two days. He wouldn’t allow himself to think of tomorrow. The fighting thus far had been brutal, and the conditions miserable. His regiment was disciplined and they were skilled fighters, so their losses had been miraculously few. He generally got along with his fellow soldiers, but he had few friends among them. His horsemanship skills were well respected in the regiment, and he was improving his skills with the ax and sword. He slid his sword out of its scabbard and listened as the cold metal slid out of the sheath with a metallic hiss. It glinted in the lantern light streaming across the courtyard.  How many lives had been cut down with this very sword? He felt cold at the thought, despite his wool coat. This conflict in him was dangerous, and he knew it. Any hesitation on the field of battle could cost not only his life but the lives of the men he fought alongside.

He looked up as he heard the tavern door creak open. Someone was walking through the courtyard toward the barn. The footsteps were light, so not likely one of the soldiers. He didn’t want to be disturbed, so he stepped back into the shadows next to his horse’s stall and watched. The serving girl Susanna had walked out with a large wooden bucket to fill at the water pump. He breathed a silent sigh of relief that it wasn’t one of the men. Just then, the heavy tavern door swung open again and out stepped Captain Wolfskeil. Stefan’s heart dropped. The man spotted the serving girl at the water pump and he turned to walk unsteadily toward her. Stefan held his breath as he silently willed her to look up and hurry back to the safety of the tavern. Too late. The captain stood behind her and spoke, but Stefan couldn’t make out the words from across the courtyard. She looked around, startled, and put the bucket down. She hastily replied, and the captain spoke low and angrily to her. The girl quickly turned to pick up the bucket, and as she stood, the captain reached out and slapped her hard across the face. She dropped the bucket, spilling water across her skirts as the captain grabbed her by the arms and pushed her toward the outside wall behind the wagons and out of Ichabod’s view.

Stefan cursed under his breath. What now? He knew what his captain was like, knew what he had done at other taverns to other serving girls. He couldn’t let that happen to her.

He stepped out into the moonlight and crept up behind the captain, who was now trying to tear the girl’s dress open with one hand while covering her mouth with the other. Stefan's anger boiled and without thinking, he grabbed the captain’s vest and hurled him backward. The captain stumbled and skid on the loose rocks in the courtyard. Stefan looked at Susanna, she stood shaking and clutching her dress, a hand to her bleeding mouth. He said, “Go, now.” She widened her eyes then flew behind him across the courtyard toward the kitchen doors.

Captain Wolfskeil had regained his balance and stood looking at his lieutenant, his mouth pressed into a hard line. He didn't say a word, but his eyes blazed with anger. Stefan realized he still had his sword in his right hand, and it was now pointed directly at his captain. They stood motionless, looking at each other, waiting.  Stefan was breathing hard, his heart pounding, unsure what he should do next. The captain remained absolutely silent, but his face twitched with barely contained anger. His steel-blue eyes darkened with rage. 

There will be hell to pay for this, thought Stefan. Just then, three regiment soldiers stepped out of the tavern. Stefan immediately slid his sword back in its scabbard and stood at attention. The captain was about to speak when the other men walked over and asked what they were doing standing around in the cold. Captain Wolfskeil gave Stefan one last hard look, then turned and walked over to the other men. He slapped one of them on the back and asked if they had any tobacco. Without a backward glance, the four men turned the corner of the tavern and walked out of sight, leaving Stefan standing alone in the freezing courtyard.

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The Curse of Sleepy Hollow and all photos are copyrighted 2019. This is a work in progress and is subject to editing and updates (my apologies for any errors as I continue to research and try to get it right!).