Corner Of The Housetop: Buried Secrets

by Leen Elle

  Running the rest of the way, he'd come to a stop in the abandoned town center, staring, awe-struck, at what he saw. It seemed like a place right out of a fairy story where some witch had chased all the people away, then made a forest, thick with underbrush and evil enchantments, grow up right from under the town's foundation, destroying and hiding what remained of the village that had mocked her...

  He'd spent the day rummaging through the ruins, looking at weathered painting and crawling through every crevasse he could fit in.

  It wasn't long before it grew dark. Hiding under the bar in the meeting hall, Derek had curled up, trying to sleep. The night was warm and full of noises. Night sounds of small animals, bats, and much louder things that were probably bears and wolves filled the air. Terrified, Derek had stayed huddled in his spot until dawn broke.

  At the first sign of light, Derek had left his hiding place and run back up the road, down the river bank, waded through the water, and up the path to the backyard. When Mrs. Worthington found him back in his room after being gone she did beat him, both for going missing and for killing her flowers.

  It was two years later that Derek went back into the woods searching for what he called his Village. It was easy enough to find, and from that time on, it was his haven. He went there when he needed to get away from his life.

  During visits he would go through the old things that were lying in the street and the buildings. He even saved a few trinkets and books that he thought were particularly neat to look at.

  One of the books had a green cover with a drawing of a man in a tall hat, wearing a suit with the longest coattails he'd ever seen. Thinking it looked interesting, Derek brought it home and tucked it away in the secret box he'd made in the wall. He'd taken several books from the rubble of the Village, but that was the only one without any pictures for him to look at. All it had were words.

  Someday, he'd promised himself as he flipped through the pages, I'll read this. He just knew it had to say something wonderful and important for a man who looked and dressed like that to be on the cover.

  After stomping through the underbrush for nearly an hour, Derek finally came to a stop at the well. Sitting on the stone edge, he took a deep breath and looked around.

  In his Village, he felt a little better about the past few days. It had been a while since he was there and the soothing chortling of a catbird in the trees put his raw nerves at ease. It was a break he'd needed for weeks.

  When he calmed down and caught his breath, he stood up and started strolling down the street. He glanced at the buildings, noticing a few more branches had fallen in the last storm.

  The front window of the corner store was broken out now and one of the remaining posts that held up the porch roof on the meeting house was leaning dangerously. It looked like one good gust of wind could knock it down completely.

  Sitting on the step by what Derek named The Courthouse, he plucked a blade of grass and twirled it between his fingers. Everything was so simple in his Village. Why couldn't he just live here forever? All by himself? There would be no one to yell at him, or tell him he was doing it wrong. He'd never be wrong because everything in the Village ran on his time, in his way.

  He sat there for an hour. And then another hour. And another. Finally, the cries of the osprey floated down through the woods from the marshes, reminding him what time it was.

  Sighing, Derek stood back up and started towards home as the sun began to set.

  The walk back was slower and a little cooler. When he got to the swimming hole, he stopped for a few minutes before wading up the river and to the sandy ground beyond the blackberry bushes. By the time he got back to the stables it was completely dark. Dinner had long-since passed and Devon's heavy snores could be heard from his bed in the small apartment at the end of the building.

  Climbing up into his loft, Derek got ready for bed. He set the broken lamp on the floor by his chest and took out his night shirt.

  He was asleep almost as soon as he laid his head on the hay.

  In the morning Derek was woken up not by Devon's raspy voice inquiring to the horses' night, but by heavy steps thumping their way up his ladder. Opening his eyes, he saw light streaming in through the cracks around the little door at the far end of the loft.

  What time is it? he wondered, sitting up.

  Just then, Jonathan's head appeared where the ladder leaned on the loft. "You are awake," he said indifferently, climbing the rest of the way up.

  Feeling oddly self-conscious in his tattered night shirt next to Jonathan in his tailored vest and trousers, Derek sat up and asked, "What do you want?" He also became suddenly aware of the fact that the sheet he'd stolen for his bed was from one of Mrs. Worthington's best sets.

  The man looked down at him with a closed expression on his face. After glancing around the loft with its piles of burlap sacks and twine, and at the little chest with its broken lamp, he looked back at Derek. "I'm supposed to whip you."

  A mixture of humiliation and anger swelled in Derek's gut.

  "I'm not going to," Jonathan continued in the same cool voice.

  "Well, just as long as Mother thinks you did," Derek sneered.

  He would almost have preferred a beating to any amount of pity from the man. Did he look like that much of a wreck that Jonathan couldn't bring himself to hit him? Remembering all the times Jonathan the Deacon had hit him with the wooden rod during Sunday school, Derek was struck with how funny it was that his compassion, unlike his public cruelty, should be found when there was no audience.

  Jonathan just studied him, a slow smirk forming on his lips as he shook his head. His eyes were just as hard and impossible to read as they always were. For a moment he seemed like he wanted to say something, but turned and started down the ladder instead.

  "Make sure you tell her I hollered real loud," Derek called nastily. "She'll like that."

  When the sound of Jonathan's footsteps faded, Derek stood up and dressed in silence. He balled up his night shirt and threw it across the loft as hard as he could. It hit the wall and slumped quietly into a pile under the swing arm.

  "Boy!"

  "I'm up!" he yelled angrily.

  "Well git down here then!" Devon yelled back.

  Stomping down the ladder carelessly, Derek glared at Lady Sarah Mary-Ruth before she started in on him, too. The mare's ears went back and she shook her head from side to side complacently, completely ignoring him.

  "Stupid horse."

  "Don' bother with them horses. I fed them already. Your breakfast is over there," Devon added, not looking up from the paper he was writing on.

  Feeling another surge of annoyance mixed with jealousy, he watched the man scratching across the page. "What's that?"

  "Order sheet. Need feed and beddin'. And a couple others things."

  Derek's spirits lifted at the possible chance to get away from the plantation for the day. "Are you going into town today?"

  "Yeah. And you ain't going."

  "Devon, come on. I swear I'll get all my work done today. What do you have for me to do?"

  Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, Devon looked around the stables, his eyes stopping on Lady Sarah Mary-Ruth for a second, then on Blueberry. "Got some stuff needs polishing." He thought for a second. "But you can' do that 'til I git back."

  Hope lit in Derek's chest.

  After a few long seconds, Devon nodded to himself a little, licking his upper lip thoughtfully. "You can go, but you'll make up for it Monday," he told him warningly.

  Grinning, Derek said, "All right."

  "Finish eatin' an' git them brushed down," he ordered, going back to his checklist.

  Uncovering his basket, Derek discovered several honey cakes, a small jar of strawberry jelly, and a few pieces of cold chicken wrapped in white butcher's paper. Biting into the chicken, he watched Devon. "Who taught you to read and write?" he asked around his mouthful.

  "Master Worthington."

  "Jonathan?"

 
"No."

  Lapsing back into silence, Derek poured some of the jelly on one of his cakes. It was odd to hear someone mention Mr. Worthington. Because she didn't believe in talking about people who were dead, Mrs. Worthington never said anything about her late husband and neither did anyone else. All Derek knew of him was what he could remember from a five-year old's mind.

  Jeremiah Worthington, who went by "Jeremy" among his close friends, was a tall man with dark brown hair and slate-blue eyes. He was broad-shouldered with large, muscular arms and angular features. He stood out very much from his blond-haired, light-eyed family.

  Another thing that made him stand out was his good-natured smile and even temper. He was always fair, even when judging between his own sons and Derek. It was Mr. Worthington's soothing voice that would comfort him after being punished by Mrs. Worthington. On several occasions he'd even stood up to his wife in the boy's defense.

  One instance of Mr. Worthington's heroism that stood out in Derek's mind was in the summer after he turned four. It was at age four that children started going to Mr. Millstone's Sunday class instead of sitting with their parents in general congregation. Since it was his first day there, Mr. Millstone seemed to think he needed to make sure Derek knew exactly who was in charge of the class. Over the two hours he sat there, he'd been hit half a dozen times for things like swinging his feet and not turning to the right page in his Bible quickly enough. Most of the children didn't even have Bibles of their own, let alone carry them to church every Sunday.

  That night, when Beth was bathing him and Gabriel, she found the bruises on his shoulders. When she mentioned it to Mrs. Worthington, Mr. Worthington over heard. Derek remembered sitting in the bathtub, wondering why Beth seemed so alarmed. When she returned with Mr. Worthington close behind her, he couldn't imagine what could be wrong.

  "What happened in class today, Derek?" he'd asked in a kind, deep voice.

  Figuring he was going to get in trouble again, he'd remained silent, staring down at his hands. It was Gabriel who spoke up and repeated the nasty comments Mr. Millstone had made to him.

  Mr. Worthington, Derek would find, was a man who believed in firm discipline, but not without cause. Physical reprimand from him only came after a stern warning and a second chance.

  Far from punishing Derek, he had Beth put him to bed with a soft, clean pillow and a cool, damp cloth across his shoulders. The next weekend Mr. Millstone hadn't bothered him at all. In fact, he'd put Derek in a seat at the back corner of the room and didn't look at him once through the entire class.

  Whatever Mr. Worthington had said to him seemed to do the trick for a while. Sundays were much more bearable until his death.

  Shortly after the funeral Mrs. Worthington had gone to Mr. Millstone with expressions of sympathy for his plight of teaching "the boy." When she expressed her approval of the use of any necessary means to "bring him to the fold of God," Mr. Millstone had readily assured her that Derek's soul was safe in his hands. The next few years felt very, very long.

  Thinking back on Mr. Worthington, Derek remembered always feeling the man was on the verge of saying something, but he just couldn't bring himself to it. It was this quality that made Derek think if Mr. Worthington was alive maybe he would know more about his parents. Their names, at the very least.

  I bet he would have let me go to school, too, Derek thought, still watching Devon. "Was it hard to learn?"

  "Not really, but it's hard to do with someone jabberin' in your ear."

  He started to apologize, but stopped himself.

  When he finished his cakes, Derek got out the brush and went to Blueberry's stall. "Hi there, Blue. Ready to go to town?" Leaning over the divider, he hooked the lead to Blueberry's bridle then opened the gate and led him out. He tied him to the post by the empty stalls and started brushing him.

  "I'm gon' git us some lunch, then I'll be back."

  "All right."

  Devon walked out of the stables, shuffling along briskly. He had the rushed, jerky movements of someone who couldn't move fast, but who tried to very hard.

  "It must be hard, doing work like this your whole life," Derek said, brushing down the horse's neck. "I wonder how old he is. A lot older than me, that's for sure."

  "Derek?"

  Looking up sharply, he turned an instinctive glare at Gabriel's voice. "What?"

  Walking a few steps into the shade, Gabriel had a concerned look in his eyes. "Catherine asked me to come down and see if you were all right. She gave Jonathan a right talking to when he got back up to the house."

  "What, did everyone know I was in trouble?" he snapped.

  "Mother was sort of loud when she yelled at you yesterday. We all just figured. Then Jonathan disappeared down here with the whip this morning." His voice trailed off. "Catherine was really mad," he repeated.

  A little surprised at the concern, Derek felt his anger ebb. As much as he liked the thought that Catherine was angry with Jonathan, he couldn't help thinking that it was unfair to worry her. But if Mrs. Worthington ever found out he didn't really get punished, she'd be livid.

  "I'm fine," was all he said.

  Gabriel nodded.

  A heavy silence fell between them.

  It was Gabriel who broke it. Smiling at the horse, he stepped forward to pet him. "Hi, Blueberry. It's been a little while since I've seen you."

  Blueberry shook his head, nudging the boy in the side with his nose.

  Smiling a little, Derek said, "He thinks you've got a snack for him in your pocket. I used to bring him carrots all the time." Brushing down his side, he said, "Can't anymore."

  "I can bring you down some sugar cubes for him later."

  Almost as if she understood that Blueberry was going to get a treat and she wasn't, Lady Sarah Mary-Ruth kicked the wall, snorting loudly.

  Gabriel jumped, looking at her. After a second he laughed. "You're still alive?"

  "Unfortunately," Derek said with a laugh. "You wanna brush her?"

  After a hesitant moment, Gabriel said, "I'll brush him."

  Handing over the brush gladly, Derek went to get the other lead. As much as he was hoping to not have to deal with the stubborn mare he was grateful for anything that would make his work go faster. The sooner he finished, the sooner he and Devon would be on their way to town.

  If Lady Sarah Mary-Ruth didn't like Derek, it was nothing to how she felt about Gabriel. When Derek tied her to the post near him and Blueberry, she snorted and scuffed her hooves on the floor, shaking her head and pulling against the lead, trying to get back in her stall.

  "What did you do to her?" Derek asked, trying to soothe her.

  "She's never liked me. I think she's jealous that I get more of Mother's attention than she does."

  "It wouldn't surprise me." When she settled down, content to shoot glares at the boy, her ears back, her teeth bared, Derek brushed her quickly. "Maybe if you gave her a sugar cube she'd forgive you," he suggested with a smirk.

  Gabriel laughed.

  From the time they were young, Lady Sarah Mary-Ruth had been a noisy addition to their lives that both boys felt they would rather do without.

  "I don't know why Mother keeps her. She never rides anymore and it's not like Lady does anything useful." As he spoke, he brushed Blueberry's back. "I think she'd do better at a glue factory, myself."

  They both looked at her for a second then laughed.

  It was times like these that Derek really hated Anthony Clayton and Marcus Baxter. It was Gabriel's friendship with those two that ended his relationship with Derek. Without their influence, the two could have still been just as close as they were as children. He was sure it had to be some sort of socialite poison that Anthony was spooning into Gabriel's impressionable mind that ruined him.

  Suddenly, Devon shuffled into the stable. "You done, boy?"

  "Yes, sir. I just have to put her back and Blue'll be ready to go."

  "Where are you going?"

  "Into town. We need to pick up
a few things at the store." The envy on Gabriel's face was almost as satisfying as the fact that he was allowed to go in the first place.

  "Too bad I couldn't go."

  "Why not? Devon won't mind, will you?"

  Grunting, Devon untied Blueberry and led him out of the stable. "I'll met you over there when you're done pickin' up here," he called back, disappearing around the front of the building.

  "Yes, sir."

  "Wish I could go," Gabriel said longingly. "But Aniline and Mrs. Clayton are coming over for tea today."

  "That's nice," Derek said flatly.

  "Aniline's nice," the other boy defended feebly.

  "Yeah, if you like people like your mother. If I were you, I'd just bring a random string of girls home and marry the first one she didn't like. That's the surest way of getting a good wife."

  Despite himself, Gabriel chuckled a little. "Well, I should go back to the house."

  Derek nodded, still smiling. "Yeah. Make sure to tell Catherine I'm fine."

  "I will. She'll be glad to hear it."

  After Gabriel left, Derek cleaned up the brushes and double-checked the latch on Lady Sarah Mary-Ruth's stall gate. Climbing the ladder to his loft as quickly as he could, Derek opened his chest and dug through for the few coins he'd been saving. He didn't think he'd get a better chance to spend them.

  "See you later, old lady," he said as he pulled the door closed on his way out.

  Walking over the hill, Derek crossed the front yard towards the carriage house where Devon was waiting with Blueberry hitched to the wagon. As he went, he noticed Catherine sitting on the porch. Atty was close beside her, fanning her lightly.

  Feeling a surge of bravery at knowing she'd been angry on his behalf, he smiled, tipping his hat to her. "'Afternoon, Miss Catherine," he said.

  Smiling back, Catherine said, "'Afternoon, Derek."

  She still looked sickly pale and there were dark circles under her puffy eyes, but somehow she was beautiful again.