Corner Of The Housetop: Buried Secrets

by Leen Elle

  "Ain't breakfast 'til six," he told him, walking away.

  And who's the slave here? Derek thought bitterly, checking his pocket to make sure the shed key was still there. When he felt the small lump, he unhooked the oil lamp from its hanging place and opened the stable door.

  In the quiet of the early morning, Derek could hear the rushing of the distant river and longed for a few spare moments by himself. Since moving into the stables, he hadn't had more than two minutes alone unless he was doing chores. For the last couple, painfully long days, Derek had been cooped up in the heat box, as he'd taken to calling it, with nothing but the smell of dung and horse.

  As he crested the knoll and made his way behind the house, Derek noticed candle light flickering in Jonathan's room. The man's silhouette stood out in the window, casting a shadow against the trees below.

  Looks like I'm not the only one up early, he mused, not trying very hard to feel sorry for him.

  This sighting was actually only the second time he had seen Jonathan since he and Catherine arrived. Derek never went in the house and Jonathan never seemed to leave it, building a comfortable cushion of space between the two.

  On Tuesday, shortly after helping to settle Jonathan into his room, Derek had seen Catherine sitting in the window seat in the parlor, looking out at him while he hung and beat the rugs. When he glanced at her, she'd smiled politely, her ghostly pale features taking on a little of their familiar warmth. Other than that moment, she, too, had remained out of sight.

  As he came to the edge of the house, Derek looked back over his shoulder towards Jonathan's window. His silhouette was gone, the lamp dimmed.

  Unlocking the shed door, Derek, without bothering to lift his lamp, reached for the broom where it usually stood beside the wheelbarrow. It was nice to have some things stay the same. Broom in hand, he strolled back to the stables.

  "Do you want me to save any of that junk in the loft?" Derek asked, hanging the lamp.

  "Don' know what's up there."

  All right. That helps me. He climbed the ladder and looked at the pile. This is going to take a while, he thought.

  Beginning at the front, Derek picked his way through the mess, tossing burlap sacks and lengths of twine to one side. The rusted pail, several crates and broken apple baskets, and a wide assortment of broken garden tools were thrown in another pile.

  Towards the bottom, Derek came across a lamp with cracked glass. Upon closer inspection he found that to be the only thing wrong with it. It needed a new wick and the knob on the side could use some oil, but other than that it was in perfect condition. It would definitely be an improvement over his small candle holder. In his room in the house the little bit of light the candle gave off had been plenty. The loft, however, was much bigger and lacked the large window his room had. With a satisfied smile, he set the lamp on his trunk, then went back to work sorting through the rest of the discarded tools and packing materials.

  Further under the rubble was an old, moth-eaten horse blanket. It stank of mildew and stale air. He tossed it in the trash pile on top of the busted boxes. The sooner he got that out of there the happier he'd be.

  In no time, what was once a formidable mountain of junk was reduced to several smaller piles of trash, savables, and questionables. From there, Devon could figure out what he wanted to do with it.

  When Derek finally climbed down, Blueberry was awake, looking around with wide eyes. When he saw Derek, he started running his nose along the bottom of his trough. Lady Sarah Mary-Ruth wasn't quite so diplomatic. She neighed at him, throwing her head from side to side as if to show just how much she was suffering.

  "You ain't fed them horses yet?"

  "And the whole time you were down here, you couldn't have done it?" Derek snapped, snatching the bucket off its hook and opening the bag of oats.

  "Got my own work to be getting' along with. Can't be doin' yours, too."

  Shaking his head, Derek filled Blueberry's feeding tray, then Lady Sarah Mary-Ruth's.

  "And don' fergit to water them."

  Derek narrowed his eyes at Devon, who was leaning against the wall, watching him. "I thought you had your own work to be getting along with."

  "I do. I'm supervisin' you."

  It didn't look to Derek like that day was going to go much differently than the last two had.

  "You look awful," Beth said when Derek finally walked into the kitchen, sitting down at the table to have his breakfast. "Did you sleep?"

  "For a little while. Then Devon went and woke me up so I could get an early start at cleaning. I did the loft and piled the hay. After I eat I get to clean the two unused stalls, which aren't really even dirty in the first place, then sweep out the walkway." Derek sighed. "I think Devon likes having me around."

  Beth smiled. "You shouldn't have given him such a hard time when you were younger."

  "How was I suppose to know nailing the barn door shut on him would come back to haunt me? And besides, it was Gabriel's idea."

  Chuckling, Beth put something wrapped in white butcher's paper in a basket on the counter.

  Derek chewed his eggs thoughtfully, studying a knot in the table. As much as he hated being followed around and corrected every five minutes, keeping Devon happy was going to be a major part of his plan of escape. He had to convince the man he deserved to do more than clean and sort junk. Thinking back on the tone he'd used that morning, Derek didn't think he was doing a very good job of convincing Devon of anything other than the fact that he was a snotty kid who just needed more mindless work to keep him occupied.

  Turning back around, Beth eyed his torn pants. "You should put those in with your washing and I'll patch them tomorrow."

  "Mmm," he said around a mouthful of bacon before swallowing. "How's Catherine doing?"

  "Not very well. I was up all last night with her." She spoke softly as if she was talking about someone who was dead. "Master Worthington isn't himself. He's so worried over her." Pausing for a moment, she continued even more quietly, "The doctor's coming in from town to see her today."

  "They didn't have doctors in Charlestown?"

  "Yes, but I guess they couldn't do anything for her. They thought maybe it was the city air that was getting to her so they suggested she come out here."

  Soaking his biscuit in a small bowl of lumpy gravy, Derek's thoughts deepened. If the doctors thought anything about Shady Meadows was healthy for anyone they must have been either stupid or desperate. This hole in the middle of nothingness is his wife's last hope? No wonder the poor fool couldn't sleep, he thought with a slight amount of sympathy.

  "Mr. Worthington is getting himself sick, too. Which isn't helping Miss Catherine. They could both use an extra prayer or two."

  Ignoring the hint, Derek spooned a chunk of soggy biscuit out of the bowl. He hadn't really prayed in years and he didn't think Jonathan Worthington was a good enough reason to start now. "Are there any strawberries left?"

  "No. I have to go out and pick some more. It's so hot they're rotting before I can get to them. Half the rows are no good."

  "I might be able to get away from Devon long enough to do some rows for you. It'll give me a reason to leave the heat box."

  "That'd be a help."

  "I don't understand why Mrs. Worthington doesn't just get some people to work through the season. It's more work than you and Devon can keep up with."

  "I'm surprised she hasn't had you doing any of the planting."

  He laughed a little. "She probably thinks I'll contaminate her food."

  "It easier with Atty here, though."

  "She's Miss Catherine's slave, right?"

  Beth nodded. "When she isn't tending Miss Catherine, she takes care of things here in the kitchen for me. She does the cleaning upstairs, too."

  Nodding, Derek shoveled the last of his eggs into his mouth and stood up. "That was great. Thanks, Beth."

  "Are you going back down now?"

  "Yeah. The sooner I tell Devon I said I'd help y
ou, the better. Catch him before he has time to think of something else for me to do."

  Holding out the basket, which she covered with a towel, she said, "Take this to him for me. It's his lunch."

  He took the basket. "Why doesn't he ever come up here?"

  "He hasn't ever since I've been here. Just to pick up his supper some times when I can't bring it to him."

  "Maybe the old bat's scared him off."

  "Mrs. Worthington is—"

  "Kind and generous and godly and perfect," he cut her off, walking towards the stairs. "I know, I know." Taking the stairs two at a time before Beth could yell at him, Derek smirked to himself. "She's a regular candidate for sainthood," he thought. "God himself should be so lucky as to be as great and good as Mrs. Worthington," he muttered.

  As he went out the door and around the back of the house, Derek saw Jonathan walking by the bush that hid the head of his and Gabriel's secret path to the river. As far as Derek knew, Jonathan had never been made aware of it. The river was where the younger boys sneaked off to when they thought Jonathan was being too bossy.

  Perfectly content to ignore the fact that Jonathan was even there, and fairly sure that he felt the same way in return, Derek was caught off guard when the man turned to him and said, "Good morning."

  Really looking at him, Derek couldn't help but note that Jonathan seemed exhausted and run-down. His eyes were red with lack of sleep and his face was pale. His hands, hanging at his sides, were shaking slightly. He looked as if he hadn't gone to bed or eaten a decent meal in days.

  "Morning," Derek said, nodding slightly as he continued by.

  When he got back to the stable, he walked in and set Devon's lunch on a stack of boxes near the door. Blueberry and Devon were gone, leaving him alone to start on the rest of the cleaning with no company other than Mrs. Worthington's glaring mare. Derek raked the drifts of hay out of the unused stalls, ignoring Lady Sarah Mary-Ruth's snorting and huffing. Just as he was finishing, the wagon, pulled by Blueberry, rattled to a stop outside the door.

  Devon walked in, his feet shuffling across the floor. "You can put all the trash in the back of the wagon."

  "All right. I just got back from breakfast. Beth sent your lunch." He nodded towards the basket. "She asked if I would help her pick the strawberries so I'll be heading off after I finish here."

  Busy peeking under the towel, Devon just grunted in acknowledgment.

  Before he could accidentally annoy the old man into giving him more work, Derek climbed back into the loft and opened the doors at the end where the bales of hay were lifted. He piled the scrap metal, rusty tools, and broken crates on the wooden pallet, then hooked the pulley ropes through the rings on the corners.

  "I'm lowering the platform so watch out it if you go outside!" he called.

  "You be careful! If you ain't got that balanced out, you'll be dumpin' that stuff all over the ground! And watch you don' hit anythin'!"

  "I know," he said to himself. Lifting the platform a few inches off the ground proved to be more difficult that he thought it would be. After several tries, he finally got it high enough to loop the rope over the swing arm and push it around out the door.

  Lowering the platform was much easier. So much easier in fact, that it went half way down completely on its own after Derek lost his grip on the rope.

  "What you tryin' to do, boy? Damn near dropped that right on the horse!"

  "Sorry. The rope slipped—"

  "There you go bein' sorry again! 'Sorry' wouldn' a helped this horse if you dropped that on his head!"

  If it weren't for Derek being so annoyed with Devon, the sight of him trying to jump up and down, and wave the rake at the same time would have been comical.

  How many marks against me does that make? he wondered, climbing down to load the stuff from the platform to the wagon. When he got outside Devon was still yelling, brandishing the rake at Derek.

  "You'd think you didn't have a thought in your head, boy! What were you thinking? Nothin', that's what!"

  Derek just walked around him and started putting the crates on the wagon. He liked life a lot better when he was on his own, doing his daily chores by himself.

  When everything was ready to be taken away, Derek walked over to the corral where Devon was exercising Lady Sarah Mary-Ruth.

  "I'm finished. Can I go now?"

  "I'd be pleased if you did," he answered, not bothering to turn around.

  Scowling to himself, Derek walked away. If that was how the old man wanted to be, fine. Taking one of the flat crate tops out of the stable, Derek went across the field to the strawberry patch.

  The plants looked healthy from all the rain, but the days of heat were starting to take their toll on the berries. Most of them were nearly jelly when he felt them.

  "We need more rain. What we really need" he amended, "is a good storm to break this humidity."

  Derek spent several hours picking over the rows of berry plants, filling two flats before stopping for a break.

  Mopping his forehead with his sleeve, he thought once again of the rushing river that was calling to him with a singing voice through the thick of the trees. If he could get around to the house with the strawberries without running into Devon he could probably sneak down the path without being told off or ordered to clean something else.

  Staying close to the edge of the forest, he walked back, balancing the flats one on top of the other. When he got to the house he went through the side door and down the stone steps.

  "Beth, I got all the berries that were ripe. You were right about—" He stopped when he saw that it wasn't Beth, but Atty standing by the basin, washing the breakfast dishes. "Hello."

  "Good morning, sir."

  He almost laughed. No one had ever called him 'sir' that he could remember. "Good morning. Could you let Beth know I got all the berries?"

  "Yes, sir."

  Seeing Atty, he was reminded of his earlier conversation with Beth and his concern for Catherine began nudging his eagerness to go swimming aside. Derek got himself a drink of water and sat down. "How's Miss Catherine?"

  "She's doing all right. Dr. Crawford is up there with her now."

  "Oh. Does he know what's wrong with her?"

  "I don't know, sir. I came down here when he arrived."

  He nodded, finding it odd that the person responsible for taking care of the woman was left out of the doctor's visit.

  Derek finished his drink and went up the stairs. Just as he was turning down the narrow hall to the side entrance, Mrs. Worthington came around the corner.

  Her eyes rounded and her thin lips began to quiver. "What do you think you are doing? Did I not tell you to stay out of this house?"

  "I had to bring something down to the kitchen, ma'am."

  "None of your excuses!" The woman's voice rang through the house like silvery thunder.

  Derek flinched a little, waiting for the roof to cave in. What happened to being completely quiet? he wondered, though he didn't dare say anything out loud.

  "Sneaking off from your chores!" she continued, pointing an accusing finger at him. "I give you an excellent opportunity—one you don't even deserve, mind you—and you throw my generosity back in my face! Idleness!" she screeched. "It's laziness and I will not have it in my house! Not a moment of it! Out! Out this instant!"

  As he left the house at a half-run, Mrs. Worthington's voice followed him, ranting about ingratitude and insolent, worthless, lazy boys. Idle sinners! That was what lazy boys were. The worst torments of hell were reserved for lazy, idle boys.

  "I'll show her lazy," he muttered. "Let her do something besides sit on her fat rump and pamper her precious sons all day!"

  Without really paying attention to where he was going, Derek pushed his way through the narrow break in the bushes and stormed down the path towards the river. Halfway there, he took a sharp left, marching off the path and through the trees towards his Village.

  Chapter Five

  The empty
buildings stood in two rows down either side of a wide, brush-covered lane that use to be a dirt road. There was a hitching post outside a moss-covered building that was once a meeting hall. The glass was missing from most of the windows. Those panes of glass that were still there were cracked, broken, and dirty.

  The entire town consisted of no more than seven shops, each in varied states of disrepair. Some of them had stood against the weather well and had little wrong with them outside of needing desperately to be scrubbed and have doors put back on their hinges.

  Others were less fortunate. They had large trees branches through their roofs. The holes in the walls gave way to weather, rotting out the floors and the furniture. One building had a tree growing right up through the middle of it.

  In the middle of the shops the lane bowed out around a stone well that stood out of the tall grass. There were more hitching posts beside it.

  In each of the shops was an array of items. There were pictures and old clothes. Furniture, dishes, books, cards, kitchen tools, and boxes and bags whose contents had rotted out through their bottoms. A building that was the town store was full of riffle shots and empty food wrappers.

  It looked like one day everyone just left for no reason, leaving the town trapped in a long-ago moment.

  It was this town that Derek had found several years ago when he was hiding from Mrs. Worthington after accidentally killing her water lilies. Positive he was going to get a beating, Derek had fled to the river, looking for some place to go until the woman forgot what he'd done. By the time he had found the river, the idea of leaving all together suddenly didn't strike him as a bad one. All alone, with no food or change of clothes, he'd struck out down the river.

  When he'd gotten to the beaver dam he crossed to the other side and followed the water farther and farther from the spot where the river bank opened up. After he'd been walking for what felt like hours, Derek had come to an old wooden bridge with several boards missing from its middle. It arched over the river, ending at a flattened out point resembling a road.

  Figuring a road, even one full of grass and small bushes, must lead somewhere, Derek followed it deeper and deeper into the woods until he could no longer hear the rushing river. Just when he had begun to think that maybe he was wrong about roads leading places, he came around a final bend and saw several buildings in the middle of the forest.