Page 8 of Horsemen and Hot Chocolate

“I do not know. I have no memory of who I am or where I came from. I live alone with this steed,” he gestured to the black horse, “I have been here for fourteen years.”

Fourteen years. That was also when her brother passed away. Some of the rumors must be true, but she couldn’t imagine life alone with no memory in these woods. Nor could she imagine having no identity to call her own.

“Do you think you were perhaps a soldier? Most villagers believe you were a Hessian soldier who fought for the British,” she said.

The soft glow within the pumpkin—the only light in these dark woods—flared momentarily. Something in his expression shifted before he shook his head.

“I do not remember,” he whispered.

“Nothing at all? You wear a soldier’s uniform. Though upon further inspection.” She paused and leaned in to look at the faded navy color of his coat. The Horseman stiffened as she neared him. The fabric was made of wool, thinned and mottled with curious dark stains—loose threads dangled from the edges of his sleeves and collar. Katrina hummed in thought. It did not look like a Hessian uniform or a red British one.

“It looks like a Continental Army uniform,” she said slowly, the revelation filling her with surprise. Deep inside, she knew this ghost was not her brother—it was an unexplainable yet undeniable feeling she couldn’t shake—but could the Horseman have fought beside Johannes?

He perked, the light glowing brighter again. “Perhaps,” he said.

“Then…” She paused, hope flickering within her. “Do you have any memory of White Plains?”

Another strange emotion flashed on his pumpkin head. “I—” he started before screwing his eyes shut.

“My apologies,” she said. “I did not mean to trouble you.”

“No,” he reassured her. “You did not. Sometimes, I experience… flashes of emotion. Lights. I cannot discern them. But why do you wish to visit White Plains?”

Katrina took a steady breath. The Horseman had proven he was not as dangerous as she had once believed, and she felt strangely safe in his presence for reasons she could not explain. Perhaps he would hear her out.

“I wish to go to White Plains. My brother died on the battlefield there, and I must lay my brother to rest once and for all. We never received his body, and…” she paused, hesitating over the bold request. They had just properly met, and it would be impolite to ask for something when he had saved her. It was also a mad idea, but she was running out of time. She must seize this chance before it slipped away.

With new resolve, she said, “I would like you to take me there.”

The pumpkin’s eyes widened. “You want me to take you?” he asked slowly.

“Yes.”

“Why not your family?” he asked.

“They do not wish to unbury the past. We’ve already held a funeral in his name, and they do not wish to travel to a battleground.”

“I see,” he said grimly.

“Could you take me?” she asked again. Usually, she would bat her lashes and lie on her charm, but she didn’t feel she needed to. His presence and candid answers made her feel like she could be more herself around him.

“I cannot,” he said, and her face fell.

“Why?”

“Because I cannot remember the way if I have been there.”

“Then,” she began as an idea formulated in her mind, “perhaps I can help you regain your memories.”

The glow in the pumpkin flickered as if uncertain. “Help me?” he asked with his carved eyebrows raised.

“Yes,” she answered with a firm nod, resolve settling in her chest. “Perhaps it was fate you saved me on the bridge, because now we can assist one another. I can help restore your memories, and you can take me to White Plains before I am forced to marry. If that happens, I’ll never have the chance to make peace with my brother.”

Whoever she married would expect her to be in bed with him. It would be nearly impossible to sneak out without alerting him. This would be her only chance.

The Horseman sat silently, considering her with a faint, jagged frown. Then, his gaze lowered to the flask in his lap as he sighed. “What if… the past was meant to be forgotten? Or what if I regain my memories and have no connection to this White Plains?”

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take if you have no connection to the place,” she said. Then, her eyes softened at his fidgeting fingers. “But perhaps you can confront the past with me. Don’t you want to know who you are?”