Page 29 of Horsemen and Hot Chocolate

“But how would that explain his note or the missing musket?”

Mrs. Jansen drew herself up, her eyes gleaming. “It would explain why he never came home. Or why there were no letters of his passing. The witch might have intercepted him on his way to join the army… or on his way back.”

An odd chill brushed against Katrina’s neck. The pumpkin heated ablaze, its warmth seeping into the table, and her eyes widened.

“But I suppose we shall never know,” Mrs. Jansen said with a strange cheeriness. “Do be careful, though. Don’t wander off the path lest you also find the witch in the woods.”

With that, Mrs. Jansen turned in her seat and sipped her coffee. Katrina’s heart drummed beneath her chest, the possibilities opening before her.

After paying, Katrina hurried out of the shop with the warm pumpkin secured under her arm. A bubbly sensation rose in her throat as the name Willem echoed in her mind. The name felt right—like the missing puzzle piece snapping into place.

Could the Horseman be Willem Van den Broek? Had she finally solved the mystery of the Headless Horseman?

There was only one way to find out.

Chapter sixteen

When Katrina appeared at his cabin to return his pumpkin, a sense of unease clenched the Horseman’s stomach. Her conversation about the witch had stirred a deep-seated dread he could not explain, but she raced up to him like an excited hummingbird.

“Do you think your name is Willem?” she asked, breathless. “Willem Van den Broek?”

He stepped back, stunned by her blunt greeting. A wave of emotions—the despair he felt seeing the woman at the café—crashed over him.

His heart lurched at the name as if beating a resounding yes to claim it. Yet he shied away, fear clenching inside him. A shadow of doubt made him hesitate.

What if the name was wrong despite the way his soul sang at the sound? Perhaps his nerves ate through his core because of the question festering in his mind: Could he handle the truth?

Yet Katrina stood before him, her eyes shining bright and expectant. She’d spent all this time trying to help him find his identity, and when the answers lay bare before him, he faltered.

His voice refused to work, but after several moments, he forced out an answer. “Perhaps.”

Katrina handed him the pumpkin and clapped. He was unsure why she’d be delighted at his noncommittal answer.

“I’m almost certain it is,” she said, beaming up at him.

“How can we be sure?”

She reached into her skirt pockets and retrieved a small tin compact with a mirror inside. Opening it, she turned it toward him, and a sharp inhale froze in his chest.

A silver, gleaming outline of a face materialized above his neck. His pulse roared under his skin, and he was torn between wanting to draw closer and running away. He could almost make out the shape of a nose and eyes staring back at him. The face was like a stranger, and his mind refused to accept the image, even if something deep inside him whispered it was his own. As if pulled by a supernatural force, he raised a hand to touch the face in the mirror, but as soon as his fingers brushed against the outline, the face disappeared in a shimmer of dust.

A tremor ran through him as he stared into the small mirror. Darkness hovered over his neck—only the monster remained.

Katrina frowned. “But… I thought for certain I’d discovered the answer. You’ve drawn pictures of the town even though you said you’ve never been before.”

He turned to the drawings she mentioned. Some were half-drawn because his memory had failed him, but he spied a drawing of the market he’d seen today. He hadn’t known what had possessed him to draw these shops and stalls other than the strange desire to capture the fleeting images before they disappeared. For years, he wondered where these places could be and what they could mean, but little did he know they were in Sleepy Hollow all along.

“It might still be true,” he said, even when his stomach clenched with fear.

She put a finger to her mouth in thought. “You felt the most emotion being at the café, correct? You led me to that place. Do you not recognize Charlotte Van den Broek? Would you not be able to recognize your own mother?”

The question struck an invisible wound he didn’t know he had. Would he be unable to remember someone as important as his mother if she stood before him? If Charlotte Van den Broek was family, why wouldn’t the floodgates open and the memories pour from his soul? Why would he be left feeling nothing but anguish?

“I did feel a connection to her,” he admitted. “I felt as if I recognized her.”

A smile bloomed on her lips, and her eyes rounded in delight. “See, there it is! I believe you must be Willem because every time I say the name, your face appears. See?”

Katrina held up the mirror, and the same outline shimmered before his sight. A nameless emotion welled up inside him, paralyzing him. All this time, he knew he had a life he had forgotten, but misery wormed into his heart. He hadn’t considered he’d forgotten people who had loved and missed him—how could he forget them? And how much pain had he caused them?