Corner Of The Housetop: Buried Secrets

by Leen Elle

  "Which won't be soon enough," Derek told her quietly, going back to where he'd set his chest. Hefting it onto his shoulder, he walked down the wide, polished stairs. Leaving the house behind him, Derek found himself looking forward to moving in with Devon and Blueberry. Having to put up with Lady Sarah Mary-Ruth couldn't be as bad as having to put up with Mrs. Worthington. If the old mare got too bossy he could just leave her tied up in her stall. Mrs. Worthington didn't come with that luxury. He only hoped Devon had been told that he was getting a roommate.

  "Devon?" Derek called, walking through the stable door.

  "You here?" The old man chewed thoughtfully on the inside of his cheek for a moment, studying the boy, before barking, "You gon' stand there all day?"

  "No. Where do you want me to put my things?"

  Grunting like an angry boar, Devon shuffled away. "You 'n put your stuff in the loft."

  So I'm sleeping in the loft.… With a heavy sigh, he readjusted the chest on his back and climbed up the ladder. "At least it's warm," he muttered sarcastically as he stepped off the ladder into the thick heat. "Do I get a blanket?" he yelled down.

  The only reply he got was another grunt.

  "Crazy old man." Derek pushed his chest back against the wall and took his candle holder out, setting it on the closed lid so he wouldn't have to hunt for it later in the dark. Kneeling and looking around, he took in his new surroundings.

  There were several wide spaces between the boards underneath him and small drifts of hay fell down when he shifted. The walls and ceiling were solid though, and with hurricane season fast approaching that was definitely a good thing. At one end of the loft was a pile of crates and boxes. Several oddly shaped pieces of metal stuck out from the mass. There was a rusted out bucket sitting right on top of a stack of burlap sacks, making the peak of the junk pile.

  At the other end there was a wide, short door. Beside it, screwed securely into the wall, was a swinging arm and pulley for bring up hay bales.

  Aside from the pile, the loft was clean and open. The pulley was tied up out of the way. There were tie cords strewn on the floor, but they blended enough to not matter. With his chest by a small lump of hay—which he thought would make the perfect bed—and his candle holder set on top of it, Derek already felt a comfortable familiarity about the space.

  "Welcome home," he told himself, his heart lightening.

  Taking a last look around, Derek climbed down the ladder. Devon was nowhere to be seen and Blueberry was gone, too. Lady Sarah Mary-Ruth snorted at him.

  "Don't you start," he told her. "It's not like I asked to be here."

  She didn't seem to accept his excuse because she turned away from him, but not before sniffing at him, her nostril flaring in annoyance.

  Derek looked at her for a moment then laughed out loud. There was nothing that could ruin this day for him. He was home. He was one step away from that house. One step closer to being free. He could come and go as he wished, not having to worry about tripping over others, or being tripped over. He felt quite certain the amount of lectures and punishments he received would decline as well. He was even willing to bet he could go days without seeing Mrs. Worthington, if he put the effort into it. As he contemplated these new thoughts, he was sure nothing could upset him, least of all Lady Sarah Mary-Ruth.

  Resting his hands on the gate and leaning close to the mare, Derek grinned and said, "Nothing could make this a bad day. Not even you." Laughing once more, he walked out into the sunshine.

  The humidity had spiked, coating the land in a nearly visible layer of moisture. There was no reprieve from yesterday's heat wave and it was still morning. Strolling up the small hill, Derek made his way to the kitchen. A little bit of breakfast, some cool water, and then he could start his chores. With only the back lawn to clip and the carriage house to tidy, he would have plenty of time to slip off for a long, swim.

  As he opened the side door of the house, the sound of large objects being moved could still be heard from the upstairs hall. Thuds and skids were mingled with swear words and grunts. He ducked down the steps to the basement kitchen before anyone could drag him into helping again. He'd always been content in knowing he didn't have to see Mr. Millstone outside of church and the more that could get back to normal, the more he would like it.

  "Beth?"

  "Hmm?" Beth was just pouring cornmeal into a bowl.

  "What's going on upstairs?"

  "It seems I get to move into your old room."

  Sitting on the edge of the chair, Derek shook his head a little, his brow furrowed in thought. "Why?"

  A moment of silence passed as the slave woman busied herself as if she hadn't heard him. She pushed up her sleeves and began to turn the contents of the bowl over on itself with her hands. Scraping dough off her fingers, she turned the bowl and folded the thickening mixture a few more times.

  "Beth?"

  She sighed. "I take it you haven't heard then."

  "Heard what? From who?"

  Wiping her hands off on her apron and scattering flour on the counter, she replied in a get-it-over-with sort of voice, "Gabriel told me what was in Missus Worthington's letter. Mr. Worthington and his wife are going to be staying with us for a time."

  "Jonathan?"

  "That's what I said."

  Despite what he'd said to Lady Sarah Mary-Ruth, Jonathan could certainly ruin his day. "What are they moving things around for? Jonathan's room hasn't been touched since he left for school. They can stay in there."

  "I don't know. All Gabriel said was they'd be coming here today to stay for a little while. That's why I'm making extra bread." Not bothering to let it rise, she twisted a lump of dough off the huge ball, rolled it into a biscuit, and set it on the baking sheet beside her. "You're breakfast is over there by the hearth."

  Walking to the table, Derek picked a roll off the plate. "When are they getting here?"

  "By lunch, I expect. Mr. Devon left just a few minutes ago to wait for them at the train station."

  "I'll make sure to have my chores done by lunch then." He poured some honey onto his plate. "That way I can go for a good, long walk or something."

  "Missus Worthington will want you here to help take their things in."

  "Jonathan can carry his own bag," he sneered, violently grinding the bread into the small pool of honey.

  "Are you still going to do the rugs for me?"

  "Sure. I don't have much else today." Derek looked over when he heard footsteps on the stairs.

  Stepping into the warm kitchen, Gabriel stopped short at the glare he got from Derek. "I thought you'd be down here. Mother wants to see everyone upstairs. Now."

  Tossing his bread back on the plate, Derek walked past the other boy and up the stairs without a word. The others followed close behind him, stopping in the main hall where Mrs. Worthington stood waiting.

  Dressed in her finest blue dress, a string of pearls around her throat, Mrs. Worthington was the very picture of supremacy. Her eyes were turned down her nose at the three who stood before her, her gloved hands clutched together in front of her.

  "You will all notice that we will be having company for the summer. Jonathan and Catherine will be staying with us. I will expect quiet, polite behavior from everyone. There will be no loud noises in the house," she stated directly to Derek, "nor too near the front lawn. Catherine has been ill and she's coming here to rest. If her health is disturbed there will be severe consequences. Am I clear?"

  "Yes, Mother."

  "Yes, Missus Worthington."

  "Yes, 'am," Derek chorused

  Narrowing her eyes at Derek, she said in a cold voice, "I'd do best to keep you out all together. Without permission directly from me, consider yourself banned from the house until further notice."

  Fighting an odd, mixing feeling of dread, indignation, and relief swell in his stomach, Derek nodded slightly. "Yes, ma'am."

  Turning to Beth, Mrs. Worthington said curtly, "You will have Mrs. Worthington's slave
to assist you in the kitchen. You are all dismissed. But you, boy, don't go too far. You'll be helping them in with their luggage when they arrive."

  "Yes, ma'am," Derek repeated.

  When Mrs. Worthington swept up the stairs towards the thuds and grunts, it was Gabriel who broke the tense silence.

  "It's been a while since we've seen Jonathan," he said in a falsely cheery voice.

  Clenching his fists, Derek walked back down to the kitchen. Not only was he sent to the stables, he was now banished from the house. The next logical step would be for Mrs. Worthington to send him away completely. While he didn't like being under her rule, the idea of being homeless and without a useful trade scared him.

  Beth's soft voice came from the stairwell. "I'll hang those rugs out back for you."

  "Yeah. I'll get them after I clean the carriage house." He stopped by the table where his bread and honey still sat, but his appetite had vanished.

  Leaving the rest of his meal untouched, Derek left the house, feeling for the shed key in his hip pocket. He unlocked the door and pulled it open.

  Tossing a couple rags into the bucket on the shelf, he picked it up and closed the door. As he filled it with water and walked back to the carriage house, his mind raced with Mrs. Worthington's announcement.

  The fact that she was in a bad mood and taking it out on Derek was nothing new, but she'd never come so close to telling him to leave. She was often cruel, not letting him eat, or locking him in his room or, worse, the attic. But to send him away all together was beyond cruel.

  Setting the bucket down, Derek knelt by the wagon and began scrubbing the mud off the sides. The more he thought, the harder he scrubbed.

  With the fervor of his anger, cleaning took next to no time. The wagon was cleaned and oiled, the floor swept, and the shelves straightened.

  As he set the bucket of water on the end of the shelf, the brackets groaned and gave, dumping the dirty water all over the wagon and Derek. The riding crops and hardware fell with a thump and the lap blankets slumped into the muddy water that was pooling on the floor.

  Growling, Derek kicked the bucket, sending it skidding across the floor. "Just make my day even better!" he yelled, storming out of the carriage house to get some nails. Throwing the shed door open, then slamming it shut, he stomped back around the building, hammer and nails in hand.

  Hitting the nail heads as hard as he could, fueling his swings with the frustration he'd been suppressing since the previous evening, Derek fixed the brackets in place then set the board back on them. He put most of the things back on the shelf then scooped up the dirty, wet blankets.

  As he hung the heavy material over the lines in the backyard, Derek felt his annoyance subsiding. In the heat sweat poured down his face and the water down his front dried, leaving muddy streaks on his clothes and arms. He contented himself knowing that this had to be the absolute bottom. Nothing could make his day worse, not even Jonathan Worthington.

  Derek put the bucket and nails back in the shed, locking the door behind him and sliding the key into his pocket. Checking to make sure Mrs. Worthington wasn't in the hall down stairs, Derek sneaked into the house and down to the kitchen.

  Beth's round eyes popped farther out of her head as she watched him stomp down the steps and across the kitchen. "Good Lord, what happen to you?"

  "I got in a fight with the shelf in the carriage house," he explained, grabbing a clean rag off the pile on the counter. Wetting it, he began to wipe the mud and dirt off his arms. "I think I lost."

  "I would have to agree with you."

  Glaring at her, he said, "You have no idea how much better your vote of confidence makes me feel." He threw the rag in the pile under the laundry chute. Not waiting for another comment, he climbed the stairs and slid out the side door before anyone saw him.

  Derek was just walking back around the house on his way to change when he heard the sound of a horse trotting up the drive.

  They're here, he thought with dread. Changing direction, he walked towards the front porch and waited for Blueberry to come to a stop. As Devon clamored down the side of the carriage, Derek stepped forward and flipped the step down. The old man looked at the mess on his shirt and shook his head before going to the back of the carriage and beginning to unbuckle the luggage.

  The first person to emerge from the carriage was Jonathan. His hair, gleaming golden in the sun, was slightly mused from travel and his trousers were wrinkled around the knees. His white shirt and vest were still pressed and clean. As he stepped onto the dusty ground, he balked, his eyes meeting Derek's.

  Becoming overly aware of the state of his own clothes, Derek said tensely, "Hello, Jonathan. Can I take your things for you?"

  Recovering from his shock, his gaze lingering on the muddy shirt and patched pants, the man said, "Yes. They're on the boot."

  "Your mother will be inside waiting for you, Master Worthington," Devon said, peering at Jonathan as he eased a huge trunk to the ground.

  With a strained smile, Jonathan nodded, then turned to help Catherine down.

  The woman who stepped out carried no resemblance to the girl Derek remembered. The angel he recalled as airy and beautiful was dull and tired looking. Her green eyes had since lost their caring light and her lips, once as pink and supple as rose petals, were pale and drawn. Her golden hair was swept up on top of her head in a dull mass. The tendrils that framed her face were dry and straw-like. Catherine stumbled slightly as she reached the ground, clutching Jonathan's arm for support.

  All Derek could do was stare.

  "The luggage, if you don't mind," Jonathan demanded with a scowl. Turning from Derek, he rested a gentle hand over Catherine's, which still gripped his arm, and led his frail wife up the white stairs.

  As they went, a third person climbed down out of the carriage. She was an elderly slave woman with a large knot of gray-streaked black hair pulled to the back of her head. Her pale blue dress, while not nearly as fine as Catherine's, was well made. She nodded respectfully at Derek (obviously mistaking his white skin to mean he was her superior), then went around the back of the carriage to help Devon with the bags.

  "What you doin', boy? Git over here."

  Jonathan's old slave looked slightly alarmed at Devon, then peered at Derek, avidly interested in his reaction.

  Derek took no real mind to either of them. Still looking towards the door Catherine disappeared through, he walked over and lifted the last bag from the boot. He could hardly believe that the withered creature he'd just seen was the Catherine he'd fallen in love with four years earlier. Her life and vitality were gone, leaving an empty husk and a dark, forlorn feeling in the pit of Derek's stomach. All he could do was wonder what Jonathan had done to her.

  Chapter Four

  "Boy!"

  Derek groaned, rubbing his eyes. "What?" he called in a groggy voice.

  "You gon' sleep all day, boy? Git down here!"

  For the past two days, waking had followed the same pattern. Devon would get up what seemed like two hours after he went to bed and walk around, kicking things by accident (Derek was sure it was on purpose) and talking loudly to the horses, who were still asleep, asking them how their night had been. Lady Sarah Mary-Ruth would be woken up which, judging from her braying and kicking, she didn't like. All the while, Derek would be lying on his back, trying to spend a few more minutes with his eyes closed. After making quite sure everyone in the county was awake, Devon would start yelling in his raspy voice for Derek to get up.

  "Half the morning's gon' and you ain't done nothin'!"

  By the time the old man yelled himself hoarse, Derek was ready to kill. If it weren't for the fact that he was too tired from being woken up at four in the morning, he probably would have strangled the man.

  "You up, boy?"

  "Yes!"

  "Then git down here!"

  Finally losing his patience, Derek rolled over, hanging his head over the edge of the loft floor and yelling, "There's nothing to do
until five anyway!"

  "Lazy, spoiled brat," Devon muttered.

  "Sure am!" he retorted, crawling back on top of his hay pile. He lied there for a few seconds, but it was no good. He was wide awake now. With an annoyed growl, he stood up, stretching his arms over his head. I swear if he does it again tomorrow, I'll kill him, he thought, yanking his night shirt off.

  He rummaged through his chest until he found a pair of pants. They were the same ones he'd worn the previous day, which meant they were dusty and torn at the knees. Not being up at the house, he couldn't just send his laundry down to Beth and have it washed and mended every day. It was a luxury he already missed greatly. Derek was finding his new situation to be none of the wonderful, liberating adventure he'd first thought it would be.

  Buttoning his shirt, Derek walked around the hay he'd piled up for a bed. After his first night of sleeping on it, he'd slipped down to the house and gotten a blanket to put over it. In the humidity, the hot, scratchy hay stuck to him in his sleep, making it nearly impossible to rest well.

  "Boy!"

  Derek took a deep breath, stuffing his feet into his shoes. One more time, old man, he thought. He climbed down the wooden ladder. Looking to his left he saw that Lady Sarah Mary-Ruth was awake and just as annoyed as he was. The mare glared at him.

  "Don't blame me," he told her.

  Down a little ways, Blueberry slept peacefully, his tail swishing contently every few seconds.

  Shuffling towards him, Devon said, "'Bout time you got up, boy. You gon' clean up today. Got some old things need sortin' and some stuff need gittin' rid of. I'll bring the wagon 'round in a little while and you can put things in there. Start up that end of the loft."

  "What? No breakfast first?" Derek asked sarcastically.