Disclaimer: I do not own The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.

Author’s Note: This fanfic is based on the story “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow” by Washington Irving. I am not too fond of the Katrina in the book (as opposed to the Tim Burton movie in which I find Katrina to be a likeable character). So this story is taken from the perspective of a servant working under the Van Tassels telling her story of how she loathes Katrina, or better yet despises how all the men in the town are only interested in one woman, that being Katrina.

This is my second attempt at writing from the perspective of an outside character playing the role of an observer telling the events that happen from the way she sees it. Please tell me what you think.

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Oh look, it appears to be another beautiful nightfall over the Van Tassel farm. The sun always shines through the clouds here, even on the days it rains. There can never be a storm here. Whoever makes the weather must have fun laughing at the expense of the townswomen.

I take feed out to the hens pecking the ground. What repulsive animals. They consume the food without any gratitude to the ones who waste their time to see their already bulging bellies increase in mass. They feed with greed, stealing from their sisters. It’s a pitiful, disgusting sight, much in common with what I witness here every evening. They bachelors of the land flock to the gate of this grand house and loiter in hopes of seeing her highness.

They wait patiently for the beautiful blonde who peers through the door. Their faces brighten when she strolls towards the gate with her shawl hanging loosely over her perfect body. Their behavior is no better than these stupid chickens. The only difference is the animals have a purpose for their fighting. The men could argue they have a justifiable excuse as well. They battle amongst themselves to win in any way they can. They harm each other in terms of insult, wit, and even physical brutality in hopes they’ll be one step ahead in claiming their prize. Heaven forbid one of them should have to wed a woman of a lower standard than perfect Miss Van Tassel.

What kind of woman would choose to be a man’s trophy? One who likes the attention she receives from every bachelor in town, that’s who. Anyone possessing the name Katrina Van Tassel. She giggles to herself and any female who squeals at the thought of being Miss Van Tassel’s friend. They cannot be impressed by her small intelligence or scandalous personality. The only reason for them lingering around her disgraceful majesty is the hopes they too will find a wealthy husband in her presence. They join in her laughter that surrounds the very thought that many men throw themselves at her. She enjoys the fact that they wage war daily to seek her hand. She laughs that they find her the most eligible of all in the land. The other ladies laugh for knowing the competitors will dwindle down and ultimately choose one of them. I find comfort knowing it is not she they hope to win, but rights to her farm.

What gives her the right to be the most sought after prize of the town? Is it her wealth? Or is it beauty? What amount of luck allowed her to be blessed with both wealth and beauty? I’d give half my life to be blessed with a single gift she is allowed to monopolize. What is it that causes the men’s hearts to fall? Why is it that women like her are considered beautiful and those like me are not? Is it that her white face is lined with a small nose, large lips, and no flaws? Her skin holds no scar, nor her hands etched with lines from days in the dirt. The only sign of pain is the several pricks from her pathetic attempt at needlework that the men drool over when she finishes. They shower her sloppy work with praises, some offering to buy it, others tell her to enter the rubbish into the county fair. It nearly brings a chuckle to my throat to imagine the amount of men who would wage war amongst themselves to be the one to buy her shamelessly awarded first prize work. Her ears and necks are decorated with precious gold. Her pricey clothes of blue and pink line her flawless waist. The lacing in front pushes up her round breasts, the longing of every lecherous man in town. The skirt forms around her hips then rises out around the edges of the hoop.

The very hoop my sister placed on her that morning. The queen needs help to dress. Many nights the two of us share a laugh as she tells me of how many extra pulls from the corset are required to fit the Missy into what was her original size. Seems the gem of Tarrytown has gained a few from many nights feasting on our toils. We all know the farm belongs to her family and they treat it as they are the ones who deserve the credit. Not once had either a Van Tassel from this or the last years of birth planted, plowed, pulled, nor harvested. Yet at their many parties with the greatest from the town they pretend they are the only ones who had any influence on how it all grows. I’ve served the guests their dinner, having to remind myself time and again that it is not my place to speak an unkind word to any of them. The rich idiots from town probably believe that the Van Tassels were born with the power to control the weather which allows the crops to raise high from the ground. It would bewilder me more if one of them, especially the lively heiress understood a thing about the raising of crops.

Perhaps I am too harsh in my thoughts. I do not hold any personal resentment toward the Van Tassels nor do I wish them unpleasant fortunes. In fact I am quite fond of Mr. Van Tassel. He has been entirely kind to my sister and myself by employing us during hard times. He pays us what he agreed to, never forgetting a penny. In fact he has even allowed us to dine on what little food was left over from the feast at his many parties. The servants were expected to share amongst themselves, the men taking first choice. The food’s always outstanding, having known for I’m one to have cooked a large portion. At the last party there was little left for our meal, us having to thank Mr. Crane for his insatiable appetite for food, and Katrina. Although he eats faster than we can cook, I don’t mind serving him for he is the only one to pay us any thanks. If there is a man to win the battle I personally hope it’s him.

A painful noise enters my ears. I leave the porch with my hands covering my ears, the chickens following closely behind. I find no reason for why Mr. Crane wastes his time trying to teach Miss Van Tassel to sing. It was Mr. Van Tassel’s idea that first night Mr. Crane was invited to dinner.

“Have you always longed to be a schoolteacher?” I overheard Mr. Van Tassel ask.

“Yes, Sir,” Mr. Crane replied. “If I can help the youth reach their fullest and hopefully gain a great career then I have completed my task in life.”

I put the second course down in front of Mr. Crane. He complimented the aroma, taking a second or two to inhale the steam rising from the roasted bird.

“Well then, I hope you’ll educate the young men in our town to become brighter than some of the ones I’ve been in contact with of recent,” he laughed.

“They can’t be too dull,” Mr. Crane commented.

Mr. Van Tassel scoffed. “Every night about ten men stand outside the entrance of my farm. They offer gifts to my daughter.” He held out his cup for me to fill. I did so without a change of expression on my face. He continued, “As you will someday understand, Mr. Crane, if you are lucky enough to be blessed with a daughter like mine, I must be careful of who is to wed her, as she is my only.” He took hold of Katrina’s dainty hand. Katrina smiled sweetly at him. Her smile made me wince. “For the one to take her hand will not only be the father to my grandchildren, but also taking responsibility of my farm.” Mr. Crane swallowed the food in his mouth. “So I naturally wish for someone who I can trust with those duties.”

Mr. Crane nodded. I noticed the look in his eyes as he glanced over to Miss Van Tassel. I felt a small amount of respect I held for him fall as he looked her over. I could see behind those eyes of his as he continued to eat. His main priority now matched that of every other man in town, to make Miss Van Tassel his very own.

“I noticed you have a marvelous voice,” Mr. Van Tassel said to Mr. Crane.

I smiled for too having heard his voice in the church choir was in full agreement with my employer.

“Thank you, Sir,” Mr. Crane said.

“I’ve heard around town that you give singing lessons, is that true?” Mr. Van Tassel asked.

Mr. Crane swallowed with a nod and said, “Yes, Sir, that’s correct.”

“Mr. Crane, I’d be delighted if you would teach said knowledge to my daughter.”

I had to place my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing. Having sat in the pew in front of Miss Van Tassel I knew first hand that she was in need of more than what Mr. Crane could offer.

“Mr. Van Tassel I can say first hand that Katrina’s voice is beautiful, one of the best,” Mr. Crane said. A small cackle escaped my mouth and I dropped a plate to cover.

All three turned to look at me.

“Pardon my folly,” I said picking up the shards.

Mr. Van Tassel frowned and gave me a glare. I suspect he understood the real reason I dropped the dish. I gritted my teeth hoping that would not result in my dismissal.

“As I said,” Mr. Van Tassel interjected. “I would greatly appreciate if you would teach Katrina.”

“As you wish, Mr. Van Tassel,” Mr. Crane said. He turned to Katrina and smiled at her with his eyes despite the serious expression on his mouth. “If anything I’d be delighted to hear Katrina singing every day. She has a unique voice.”

There was no disagreeing with Mr. Crane there.

“You speak with kind words, Mr. Crane,” Miss Van Tassel said with a giggle.

“My mind can only find kind words for you,” Mr. Crane said slipping a smile.

I took a glimpse at Mr. Van Tassel to see him leaning against the back of his chair with his arms crossed and a huge grin on his face. I looked back over at Mr. Crane to see his eyes gleaming in unison with Miss Van Tassel’s.

I carried the soiled dishes off to the kitchen. When out of their hearing range I slammed my foot into the wall. For the remainder of the night I looked down as I served him. What little hope I held of having a man whose wishes was not of her hand vanished from my heart. Another wrinkle formed on my skin as the chance of one occurring in Miss Van Tassel’s lifetime disappeared.

I look up and notice the sun beginning to set. Already two of Katrina’s suitors stood behind the fence, dressed their best, each with flowers in their grip. As a joke I give a smile to the both of them. One smiles back in return, probably out of an act of pity, while the other wrinkles his nose. So much for the manners of a gentleman.

I roll my eyes before returning them to what I am meant to be focused on, the livestock. I must feed them a bit more to keep them from pecking at each other for the remaining crumbs. There’s still less of a chance of that happening than seeing these supposed civilized men leave without starting a battle over what only one can clearly possess at the end of the day. In less than an hour Princess Katrina will take her seat behind the fence with a large smile, taking in pleasure of the sport these men will provide for her tonight. The winner of the fight will be the one to be in her company for the evening.

The most interesting subject at my house every night centers around which man is the current to court that whore of a woman. I know it is wrong to refer to a supposed virgin in that nature, especially one as wealthy and powerful as Katrina. I am careful with who I speak to in this subject, for I wish not for me or my sister to lose our employment on the Van Tassel farm. It is only suspicion, we do not know, nor will ever ask Katrina personal matters of that sort. It is not ladylike conversation. Besides we both know she would never answer, resulting in our dismissal if we even questioned.

For the longest time we both agreed that it would be that proud, arrogant Brom Van Brunt who would end up with the prize. If there’s anyone I like less than Katrina it would for sure be that man. He never gave any respect, for all I’ve seen, to anyone other than Mr. and Miss Van Tassel. He’s never offered me a kind word, mostly orders, and many times more often than that not even a word at all. I lack a reason to stay on the farm if the name soon changes to the Van Brunt farm. Ever since Mr. Crane found an interest in Miss Van Tassel the likelihood of Mr. Van Brunt being the confirmed choice for Katrina waned. The main reason I stay to watch Katrina’s suitors arrive is to see the jealous look upon Mr. Van Brunt’s face when he sees her in the company of Mr. Crane. I believe she still has shallow feelings for Mr. Van Brunt, but enjoys teasing him by choosing Mr. Crane as her companion for the night. I wish it is not the case, Mr. Crane, though showing his stupidity for taking an interest in Mrs. Van Tassel, is too good a man to have his heart broken by her fickle whorish tricks.

As I finish my work more men arrive by the minute. I feel as if I’m taking them one at a time to meet the royal family. As expected as soon as the sun fully sets the hooves of Mr. Van Brunt’s horse rides up to the farm. The other men move out of his way and he makes his way to the front of the fence. I wait every night in hopes that one of them will finally give that troll the pounding he deserves. I look back at the house and conclude from the shrieking inside that Miss Van Tassel’s lessons are taking a bit longer than usual tonight. Since all my work is finished and I must wait for my sister’s word that she is as well, I take one look at Mr. Van Brunt and decide to have a little fun.

I wipe my soiled hands on my apron and push my damp hair behind my ears. I put on my best smile and strut up to the fence. Several of the men move back and others sneer at my appearance. I know I’m no Katrina Van Tassel, my hair dark and thin, my eyes dull, and my clothes plain and dirty from a day of work. My skin is covered in scars and scrapes. My nose is not as petite as Miss Van Tassel’s and unlike her I’m missing a few teeth. From all the years of toiling I appear about ten years older than my actual age, but I’m not repulsive. Even Miss Van Tassel would look horrid after spending a day laboring on a farm.

I lean over the fence giving my slyest, most frightful smile to the crowd.

“What brings you out tonight, gentlemen?” I ask in a coy manner.

I hear many jeers and laughs in the group.

“Where’s Katrina?” Mr. Van Brunt asks.

“Mr. Van Brunt, you’re looking handsome tonight,” I say. “What’s the occasion?”

“Where’s Katrina, farmhand?” Mr. Van Brunt hisses, grasping the railing and putting his face in mine.

“Please, personal boundaries, Mr. Van Brunt,” I say with a giggle. I hear a few more joining mine from the crowd. Mr. Van Brunt growls and asks the same question a third time.

“She’s inside,” I say.

“Well, tell her I’ve arrived,” he says crossing his arms.

“I would, sir, but she’s in the middle of her singing lesson,” I say. “It wouldn’t be polite for me to barge in on her and Mr. Crane.”

I smile at Mr. Van Brunt’s twisting face.

The door opens and out prances Miss Van Tassel with Mr. Crane hooked on her arm.

“Mr. Van Brunt, there’s Katrina,” I say putting on hand on his jacket and extending my other arm in her direction.

“Release me, you’ll make me as disgusting as yourself,” Mr. Van Brunt says forcefully grabbing my hand and throwing me back.

I catch my balance on the fence. I smile and wave to him as I run over to Miss Van Tassel.

She feigns a smile as I approach her.

“Miss Van Tassel,” I say with a laugh. “There’s a few people here to see you.”

She releases from Mr. Crane’s grip and prances over to those crowding around the fence. I notice Mr. Van Tassel looking from the door. He shakes his head then shuts the door, going into the room with the fireplace.

“She has so many acquaintances, I don’t know how she can remember all their names,” I say to Mr. Crane.

Mr. Crane pretends to smile as he nods.

I touch his hand, for his shoulder being much too high for me to reach. He looks down at me in startle.

“Between us, I believe Miss Van Tassel likes you best,” I say.

He smiles. “I do hope so. She’s the best woman I’ve ever met.”

My heart sinks. I lick my top lip trying to ignore those words.

“I’m sorry,” Mr. Crane says placing his hand on mine. “I didn’t mean to offend you, Miss…”

“I’m not offended, Mr. Crane,” I say. I look behind at the crowd spilling Missy with praises she does not deserve. I turn back to Mr. Crane and say, “Have you dined yet, Sir?”

“Yes, I do believe it was your sister’s cooking I enjoyed,” he says.

“Well, if you’re still hungry,” I say. I notice Mr. Crane’s eyes light up. I’m still baffled how a man who eats until full remains so thin. “I still have an apple pie back home that you’re welcome to.”

“I’d love to. Thank you, Miss…?”

Before I can tell him my name Katrina returns to us. The smile on my face falls.

“I think I’ll hear the story Mr. Crane promised me,” Miss Van Tassel says loudly, still looking at the crowd. Many of the men head home with their faces looking at the dirt.

“Come, Katrina, I can tell you a better story,” Mr. Van Brunt yells from over the fence. He hops over and walks towards the prize.

“I heard your stories last night, Brom,” Miss Van Tassel says taking hold of Mr. Crane’s hand.

“What superstitious fairytale can be so entertaining?” Mr. Van Brunt asks.

“It’s a fascinating tale about the River Witch,” Mr. Crane responds not aware of the fact Mr. Van Brunt had meant his words as an insult.

“Sounds wonderful,” I say to further irritate Mr. Van Brunt.

“It is,” Mr. Crane says. “If you’d like to stay and listen…”

I notice the widening in Miss Van Tassel’s eyes and decline. “Maybe another time, Mr. Crane,” I say. “Over apple pie perhaps.”

“Tomorrow night, I promise,” Mr. Crane says.

“Katrina,” Mr. Van Brunt calls as she walks back towards her house.

“Don’t feel bad, Mr. Van Brunt,” I say. “I’m sure she’d love to hear another of your redundant wild stories another time.”

I hear Katrina giggle from behind me.

I turn towards her and see Mr. Van Brunt raise his hand out of the corner of my eye. I turn around and scream as the back of his hand aims for my face. I’m too slow and he hits my eye sending me to the ground.

“Brom!” Mrs. Van Tassel shrieks. “How barbaric.”

“Katrina, please,” Mr. Van Brunt pleads.

“Leave my house!” she shouts. “I do not wish to see your face for the rest of the night.”

Mr. Crane helps me up. “Are you alright?” he asks. I nod, holding my sore eye.

“I will not see him around my property anymore,” Mrs. Van Tassel says.

“Well I do not wish to see you in his company anymore, Katrina,” Mr. Crane says. “He’s way too violent of a man.”

“I cannot believe he’d do something like this,” she says.

“I can,” I say.

“Then why’d you do it?” Mr. Crane asks.

“To stop him from insulting you,” I answer with half honesty.

“Do you need anything?” Miss Van Tassel asks.

“No, I’ll be alright,” I say. I’ve been through worse injuries than this before.

“In any case, do not walk home alone tonight,” Miss Van Tassel says.

I look up at Miss Van Tassel’s face. Upon her face I see a genuine smile. Perhaps I have been too harsh with my criticisms of her. Perhaps it is a possibility that she is not to blame for her own beauty. Maybe the reason all the men of the town wish to win her hand, other than the prize of a beautiful woman and the inheritance of a farm, is the fact she truly is a prize. Perhaps I’ve been blinded by my own jealousy for so long that I’ve not taken into consideration that the men of Tarrytown see Katrina Van Tassel as a nurturing wife and mother with a good heart.

“When I do see Brom tomorrow I will let him know that I do not approve of such actions,” Miss Van Tassel says.

“You plan on seeing him again?” Mr. Crane asks with a worried expression.

“Well yes, I see him every night,” Miss Van Tassel says. She spins around and says, “If he wishes to prove to me that he is as strong, fierce, and brave as he is handsome he must do so in a different way.”

“Katrina, do pardon my saying so, but striking another woman does not classify as brave,” Mr. Crane says pointing at me.

“I concur,” I say.

“He felt threatened is all,” Miss Van Tassel says shifting her eyes between the both of us. She looks up at the sky. “I know deep down he’d be a strong protector for me and my children. He’d make this farm better than ever before.”

“Having any more visits with him is against my better judgment,” Mr. Crane says.

Miss Van Tassel’s cheeks light up. She leans against him with her arms wrapped around his.

“How kind of you to worry yourself with me,” says she. “And it’s quite adorable for you to show jealousy.” Mr. Crane tries to say something but she cuts him off, “Now let’s go inside and you can tell me that story I’ve wanted to hear.”

“As you like, Katrina,” Mr. Crane says. “But I must insist you stay away from him.”

I can see behind his eyes the pain and concern of Missy being alone in Mr. Van Brunt’s company. It is safe to assure myself of these feelings that I too feel a bit of worry over her safety. Still I feel that come tomorrow’s evening she will forgive that beast for his actions towards me and coquet in his presence. She’s too caught up in his outward beauty to see the monster dwelling within. All along she plays with Mr. Crane’s tender heart, a heart too kind to deserve such treatment. I wish only the best for him in the end.

Here comes my sister. The two of us will walk home together and I will treat her to the story of tonight’s events. I know that Mr. Crane is concerned about us walking home alone, but it is only a little ways down, not even worth a carriage ride. We both know it’s only a matter of time before Miss Van Tassel chooses her husband then perhaps the two of us can land one when the madness has ended. Until then I am forced to endure the agony of hearing only of Van Tassel’s superiority.