Corner Of The Housetop: Buried Secrets

by Leen Elle

Turning it over, expecting to see an old family picture or an out-dated portrait of Jonathan, Derek was startled to see a girl with dark eyes, long, brown curls, and very handsome features staring out of the frame at him.

  Perhaps somewhere around his own age, she had a glint in her eye that suggested confidence, independence, and almost defiance. Most of her hair was pulled out of her face with a pink ribbon. Her dress was light green with mint trim and a lot of lace and ruffles. Her hands were folded in her lap complacently; but it was a gesture that didn't seem to match the spirit in her eyes. The curves of her face were gentle despite the stern line her lips were set in. The loose textures and soft lines flowed all the way from the girl's curly hair to the laces on her white boots. In their own way, her independence and strength made her even more beautiful that Catherine.

  Derek brought the painting closer to the light, studying it. It was dusty and its frame was cracked probably from the fall. There was a small tear in the canvass near the bottom by the girl's left foot and another on the very edge at the top. It didn't look nearly as well taken care of as the other paintings Mrs. Worthington had in the attic, which were covered in white cloth or brown packing paper. This one had been left out in the open, on the very top of the tallest pile of junk in the room.

  "What were you doing up there?" he asked her, leaning it up against the chest of drawers. "All alone. It must be terrible. I know what it's like to be stuck here in the dark by yourself."

  With the painting more in the light, Derek noticed something written at the bottom, just above the edge of the frame. He studied it for a moment, recognizing each of the letters but unable to say what they might mean.

  The humming from the bag was fading but the hornets that were still hovering above him were becoming more and more restless.

  "I better get out of here before they realize I'm the one who took their friends." He debated only a moment about whether or not he should tuck the painting away since Mrs. Worthington obviously didn't want it out, but decided against it. If the old bat had a reason to go up to the attic and was offended at the painting, she could put it away herself. Derek rather liked having it out. There was something comforting in the girl that made the intoxication heat and stifling darkness seem a little less oppressive.

  Picking up his lamp and the bag of hornets, Derek went down the stairs. He set the bag down and went back for the ladder. When he was sure he had everything, he closed the door firmly, feeling the tightness in his chest finally subsiding.

  Walking back down the hall, Derek saw that Catherine's door was still closed. The house was deathly quiet, even as he went down the stairs. Crossing through the parlor, Derek was surprised when he didn't see anyone.

  Where did they all go? Did they think the house was going to cave in on them when that dresser fell? he wondered with a smirk.

  If he'd known that all he needed to do to get rid of everyone was drop a couple things in the attic he would have done it years ago.

  Walking out the side door, he heard Gabriel laughing. The family, with the exception of Catherine, was sitting by the pond on a wide blanket with food set on dainty glass plates among them.

  Thank goodness, Derek thought, going around the carriage house to put the ladder away. If they had been inside to hear all that racket, Mrs. Worthington probably would have closed the door on me and left me there.

  Feeling a little guilty about not checking on Catherine after more-likely-than-not waking her, Derek took his buzzing bag over the hill and to the stables. He'd dig himself a nice hole in the sand to burn it in so he could just bury it when he was done.

  Devon was just opening a new bag of oats as Derek walked up with the burlap bag. "What you got there?"

  "Hornets," he answered, setting the bag on the cover of the rain barrel. He went in to get the shovel and a match. "They were in the attic," he continued, walking back out the door. "I guess they found a way down into the house because Catherine was complaining about them being in her room."

  "That's a big nest."

  "Yeah. At least it's down. I just don't see how Beth didn't notice it. She's been staying in my old room."

  Digging the nose of the shovel into the ground, Derek leaned his weight on the handle. He winced a little, his back still sore from the fall. It was a long way down the ladder, especially when he had to worry about dodging falling paintings and knickknacks after he hit the floor.

  When he was finished with the hole, he dropped the bag into it and poured some of the oil from his lamp over it. "Goodbye, little guys." Striking a match, he set the bag on fire.

  Hefting the open oat bag up on his shoulder, Devon glared at him. "Make sure that goes all the way out. Don' need you settin' fire to the buildin'."

  "Wouldn't dream of it," he answered, listening as the buzzing grew louder then faded away.

  He let most of the fire burn itself out as he raked out Blueberry's stall. When he finished, he did Lady Sarah Mary-Ruth's, then hung the rake on the wall again. Going back to check on the bag, he found a smoking pile of ashes that glowed red every time a breeze blew over it. Derek kicked the dirt back into the hole, stamping it down with his foot.

  "Now that that's done, did Beth send us out anything for lunch?"

  "Nope."

  Derek's stomach growled. "I'm gonna head back down and get something. Maybe a sandwich. Do you want anything?"

  "Sandwich sounds fine to me."

  Shaking his head, Derek went back to the house. If Mrs. Worthington told him to go in to get rid of the hornets' nest, who's to say he hadn't just finished? Walking down the stairs, he peeked into the empty pantry. Feeling a little sorry that he wouldn't get to see Beth, he made a couple tomato sandwiches and took some dried meat off the hanging line. He'd see her later when she brought them their supper.

  The night was cool and quiet as Derek lied in his bed of hay, curling his legs close to his body under the lap blanket he still hadn't returned to the carriage house. As the wind picked up, he slipped into a dream.

  Part 2

  Chapter Nine

  "Find me."

  "Where are you?"

  "Derek. Find me."

  Derek pushed his way through the tall grass, unable to feel frightened by the scratching and howling of the night around him. There was something following him. He could hear its breath, but it wasn't important. He knew if he could find where that girl went he would be all right. She'd run into the field of grass and disappeared.

  "Derek." She laughed.

  "Where are you?" he called again, pushing thick branches away from his face, making his way through the thickening grass.

  As he finally came to end of the dark field, he broke through the last of the tall grass into a bright meadow. There were hills rolling as far as he could see and right in the middle was a pond surrounded by round rocks and violets.

  Standing by the pond was the girl. Her dress was as white as snow, as bright as the star at the center of the sun. Her hair was in two braids, which were curled up on top of her head, soft, pink apple blossoms tucked between the pleats.

  Smiling at him, she pressed a finger to her lips. With her other hand she beckoned him closer.

  As he walked farther into the meadow, Derek felt safe, just noticing that the dark noises of the night were gone. When he was only a couple feet away from her, he stopped. His hands were shaking and there was an ache in his chest and the back of his throat.

  Taking two graceful steps to him, the girl wrapped her arms around him and put her face close to his. Their lips only inches apart, she whispered softly, "Find me."

  "Boy!"

  Derek woke with a start, sitting straight up. "Where are you?" he called.

  "Where you think I am, boy? I'm down here waitin' for you!" Devon yelled back gruffly.

  Realizing that he was awake, Derek looked around the loft for a moment. What a weird dream, he thought, standing up and getting out his clothes. He didn't quite remember all of it, but there was something about his village an
d that girl from the painting in the attic. She'd been calling to him. She wanted him to find her….

  This wasn't the first time he'd had the dream. In the days that had passed since he'd found the girl in the attic, Derek was haunted by the memory of her eyes. She seemed so familiar, and yet like no one he'd ever met before.

  "Boy!"

  "I'm coming!" Derek yelled, shaken from his thoughts.

  If nothing else had improved over the past week, at least the conditions under which Derek woke had. He no longer had to sweep or rake in the dark hours of the morning. It seemed as if something in their days together had formed an understanding between him and Devon. The man still didn't seem to be his biggest advocate, but he was hardly the hellish tormentor he had been. Derek was especially grateful since he was staying up later and later practicing his writing.

  Climbing down the ladder, Derek stepped onto the dirt ground, glancing at Blueberry. "Morning, Blue. Sleep good?"

  The horse swished his tail happily.

  "Glad to hear it."

  "What are we doing today that's so special you had to wait for me to get up?"

  "We're pickin' strawberries. Plants came in a fair bit after yesterday's rain an' Beth wants help gittin' everythin' in before the heat picks up again."

  Dumping the pail of oats into Blueberry's trough, Derek smiled to himself. It felt like it had been a very long time since he and Beth were together long enough to talk.

  "I'm gon' load up the cart with some flats. When you're done here, meet us in the field."

  "All right," he answered, stroking the horse's mane for a moment before going back to the oat bag to get Lady Sarah Mary-Ruth her breakfast.

  When he finished, he went out and walked across the grassy field towards the strawberry patch. Stopping by the dozen long rows of green, he spotted Beth and Devon, already bent over their flats, picking and dropping berries methodically.

  "Good morning," Derek said, taking a flat from the cart and starting on his own row. "It's been a while since I've talked you. How are things at the house?"

  Beth was quiet for a moment before she said, "Everything's all right."

  Though he got the distinct impression everything wasn't as it should have been, Derek didn't say anything else about it. If something was happening that he should know about she would have said so.

  The three picked in silence for a while, filling several crate tops with ripe, red berries. As they worked, the sun rose higher and higher, heating up the open field. With a heavy sigh, Derek set a full crate of strawberries on the pile and sat on the edge of the cart. He wiped his face, then popped one of the juicy berries in his mouth.

  "We're pickin' those, not eatin' 'em!"

  "I didn't get breakfast, old man," Derek replied, pointedly biting into a second berry. "If you didn't notice. And besides, I picked them. I can eat them."

  Beth dropped another handful into her crate top. "Just don't eat too many of them."

  Looking around, Derek noticed how bright the sun was. "Isn't it getting around lunch time?"

  "As soon as we're done with this we'll get you food," the woman answered.

  "Not just that. Shouldn't you be making Mrs. Worthington's meal?"

  "Atty's been doing the cooking."

  "Why? Shouldn't she be staying with Catherine?"

  "Missus Worthington does just fine without her up there. She sleeps, mostly."

  Taking another berry, Derek chewed thoughtfully. She seemed lonely, he thought, remembering how she'd called to him, thinking he was Jonathan. It must be awful being stuck in that room all the time, no one to talk to. A sudden surge of anger shot through him. If Jonathan was even a half-way decent husband, he'd be sitting with Catherine, keeping her company.

  "Do you ever go up and see her?"

  "Only to bring her food up. And when the doctor comes."

  "He's been back?"

  "A few times."

  "Why doesn't Jonathan spend any time with Catherine?"

  There was a tense silence before Devon said, "Been busy, I suppose."

  "Too busy for his wife?"

  In an attempt to sooth Derek's rising temper, Beth said, "Mr. Worthington has a lot on his mind right now. I think this trip was supposed to be as much for his health as hers. He needs time to rest by himself "

  "And ignore his wife while she's sick?"

  "Master Worthington's had enough of watchin' people he loves die to last any man to the end of his days," Devon broke in. Carrying his crate over and stacking it on the cart, he snapped, "And that's about all about that situation you need to concern yerself with." There was a note of finality in his voice that Derek didn't dare argue with.

  Glowering at the man, Derek hopped off the cart and got another flat. He was getting tired of listening to Devon defend Jonathan.

  "Why don't we go get lunch," Beth said, cutting off any argument that might have started. "Come on," she motioned to Derek, "you can help me carry it."

  Dropping the berry he'd just picked in the crate, Derek stood up and followed her across the field. "Sometimes I think he actually likes that pushy, snobby jerk."

  Beth just sighed.

  "What? You can't say you like him."

  "Master Worthington has his flaws, but so don't we all."

  Unsatisfied with her answer, Derek lapsed into silence as they walked down the other side of the knoll and towards the house. Just as they were going around the side of the building to the servants' door, Jonathan stepped out onto the porch.

  "There you are," he said, looking down at Beth. "Do you know where Devon is?"

  "He's picking strawberries, sir," she answered politely.

  "Fetch him for me. Tell him to get the horse saddled and bring him around front," he ordered in a businesslike tone.

  "Yes, sir."

  With a lingering look at Derek, Jonathan turned and went back in the house.

  "I'll go let him know," Derek volunteered.

  "You two aren't going to start yelling at each other, are you?"

  "Now why would we do that?"

  Beth shook her head. "Sometimes, I swear I think you two hate each other."

  With a small laugh, Derek said, "Never. Devon's my best friend ever." He jogged across to the strawberry field. As he got closer, he stopped and called, "Devon, Jonathan wants to take Blueberry out riding."

  Looking up sharply, the man snapped, "What you tellin' me for? I showed you how to saddle a horse. Or'd you fergit?"

  Derek frowned. "I didn't forget."

  "Well, then what're you botherin' me for when I'm workin'?"

  With a sigh, Derek walked back to the stables. Some things just never seemed to change. "Hey, Blue, you ready to go out for a walk?"

  Stamping her feet, Lady Sarah Mary-Ruth gave Blueberry a jealous glare.

  "Relax, old lady," he told her, leading the horse out so he could put the thick blanket on his back. "I'll take you out to the corral after lunch." When he finished saddling Blueberry, he walked him out of the stable and down to the lawn. "You've been out a lot this week, haven't you?" Derek asked, petting his nose.

  Just as he was approaching the side of the house, Beth walked out with a flat, wide basket covered with a towel. "Lunch."

  "I have to bring him around to Jonathan. I'll be right over."

  "All right. It's not hot so don't hurry."

  He nodded. "Thanks." As he stopped in front of the house, the front door opened and Catherine walked out. She was leaning heavily on Jonathan's arm.

  "Watch the edge there," he said, holding his wife's arm with one hand and propping the door open with the other.

  "I know." She stepped carefully, her eyes trained on the rise in the floor at the door. When she was safely over it, she looked up and smiled. "Hello."

  Jonathan, who obviously hadn't noticed him standing there, looked up, glaring. "Don't just stand there," he snapped. "Come get this door."

  Looping Blueberry's reigns over the post on the railing, Derek took the steps two
at a time and held the door while Jonathan led Catherine to the bench on the porch.

  "Thank you, Derek," Catherine said once she was sitting down.

  "How are you feeling today, Miss Catherine?"

  "Mrs. Worthington," Jonathan corrected sharply.

  Catherine placed a hand on her husband's arm lightly before looking back a Derek. "I'm feeling very well today. Did you visit me yesterday?"

  "Yes, ma'am," he answered, almost beaming at the withering glare he got from Jonathan. Jealous? Derek thought. You should pay more attention to her then.

  After seeing how lonely Catherine had looked on his way up to the hornets' nest, Derek had been sneaking into the house to see her every couple days. Each time he'd found her just as sleepy and just as alone. Most of the time, she didn't even know he was there.

  Smiling, she said, "I thought I remembered talking to you. Thank you. I'm sorry if I was bad company. I was a little tired."

  "Not at all. You needed to rest."

  "Go down to the kitchen and get Catherine a drink. Atty should be about finished with lunch, too." Jonathan didn't look at all happy about the thought that Derek had been visiting with Catherine.

  As he went into the house, he heard Catherine said, "Darling, you sound so cross whenever you talk to him." Far from accusatory, her voice was soft and coaxing, asking an unspoken question.

  Walking down the stairs, Derek thought, If you can figure out why he hates me so much you'll be doing better than me. "Afternoon, Atty."

  "Good afternoon, sir." The elderly woman was just taking a sheet of rolls out of the oven.

  "That smells wonderful. Mind if I steal one?"

  Offering the sheet to him, she nodded towards the counter. "There's butter over there."

  "Thanks." Derek smeared butter on the hot roll and bit into it. "You make the best bread. But don't tell Beth I said that." Smiling at Atty, he reached for a cup and poured himself a drink from the pitcher on the counter.

  "Thank you, sir. I'm glad you like them." As she started taking the rolls off the sheet and putting them in a lined basket, there was something sad in her eyes. She seemed much older than she had just the few weeks ago when she'd stepped out of the carriage. Her shoulders were slumped a little and her wiry hair was just wrapped in a length of clothe, not tied up in the elegant bun she'd had before.