Free SEVERED (A Tale of Sleepy Hollow) by Dax Varley Page B

wonderful day.”
    * *
*
    I prepared by baking two dozen
apple dumplings and filling a jug with cider. These were not meant as rewards for
good work, but to fill the children’s small bellies beforehand. After all,
hunger is a gnawing distraction. So is clock-watching. Something I tried not to
do.
    Ichabod arrived
about half past three, juggling four hornbooks, a sum book, and two other texts
in his arms. Even though he’d spent the day teaching the village children, his
smile was as pleasant and refreshing as if he’d just awakened to a day of
sunshine. “I would’ve been here sooner, but Gunpowder had other plans for me.
It took some persuading to get him out of the schoolyard.”
    I peeked out at
the pigheaded beast, which at the moment was using the hitching rail as a
scratching post for his gray speckled breast. “Surely Van Ripper has another
horse he could loan you.”
    “Not unless I want
to ride the plow mule. Besides,” – he nodded back toward Gunpowder – “he’s
shown me parts of the valley I never knew existed. Nor could ever find again.”
    “You don’t have to
worry about getting lost around here,” I said. “As long as you can hear the
river, you’ll find your way back.”
    His eyes softened
as they met mine. “That’s assuring.”
    Those eyes.
    I quickly turned
my attention to his supplies. “Let me help you with some of these.” I lifted
the two texts from his grip, then I saw that one was a volume of Aesop’s Fables. No! Panicked, I quickly opened his coat and shoved it under his arm out
of sight.
    He blanched,
folding to the side as he wrangled the remaining items so they wouldn’t fall.
He managed to grip the fables with his armpit.
    “Sorry” I said,
reaching to steady him.
    He flinched at my
touch.
    My face burned
ruby hot. “You must think I’m a lunatic.” Or worse! “Honestly, I didn’t
mean to be so brash.” I slowly reached out and took a couple of the hornbooks
from his grasp.
    He slipped Aesop
out from under his arm. “No, please, don’t apologize. It’s just that” – his
cheeks reddened slightly as he gave me a shy smile – “I’m...quite ticklish.”
    “Oh.” Why do I
find that so endearing? I covered my mouth, holding back a giggle.
    He rolled his
eyes. “I know. Go ahead and laugh.”
    “I wouldn’t.” But
I wanted to.
    He held up the
book, turning it front to back. “So tell me, why are we so eager to censor
Aesop?”
    “Because if Father
sees it he’ll skin your hide and bury you in Smedt’s root cellar.”
    His face opened in
a jest of shock. “Then to save my hide, I should explain its purpose.”
    “They are
stories,” I reminded him.
    “But they’ll be
used for critical thinking. I’ll read a short tale, then have the students try
to determine the moral. It stimulates the mind.”
    I shrugged a little,
conceding. “That sounds reasonable.”
    “And,” he added,
“I think the children will be inspired to know that Aesop himself had been a
slave.”
    I exaggerated a
sigh. “Ichabod, you are one brave man.”
    Our eyes held for
a moment, then a smile lit his face. “Why don’t we test that with the
children.” He gently took the texts and hornbooks back from me and shifted them
to his arm. “So, where is our schoolhouse?”
    “This way.”
    I led him into the
kitchen where I’d placed the plate of dumplings and jug of cider into a hamper.
I’d brought out some quilts too. Since the children had no benches or desks, I
felt these would ease the discomfort of sitting on the gritty dirt. We carried
everything to the spreading maple where Ichabod would teach.
    The soil
underneath it had been loosened and patted, making sure each child had a proper
writing surface. No doubt a deed Simon had seen to. I’d barely spread the
quilts when the children came marching up from the slave quarters.
    There were eleven
instead of seven – all led by Leta, a strong-willed child of about twelve.
After getting them seated she turned to