Corner Of The Housetop: Buried Secrets

by Leen Elle

  Derek sighed, feeling impatient and restless. The rain that beat against the windows had been growing heavy and slackening in a steady pulse all morning, and it seemed to be the perfect expression of his mood. Ever since hearing Jonathan's defense of his mother, he had been on a track of ups and downs, and their earlier conversation had done nothing to ease the tension and anxiety he felt. He'd been racking his brain to try and understand the clues Jonathan had given him, but the answers he came to always led him to twice as many new questions.

  Derek punched the arm of the chair he was sitting in.

  "If you aren't going to help me, you can go back out to the stable. You're being distracting," Beth scolded.

  "I'm helping," he grumbled, standing up. He picked up his rag and started wiping the small end table. He had agreed to help Beth clean the house in the hope that it would make the time go faster until the family returned from church. He also hoped he would still be inside when Jonathan came in so he could have a better chance at cornering him.

  Several minutes passed in silence before Beth sighed and said, "Another rainy Sunday."

  "Maybe they'll be back early."

  Peering at Derek suspiciously, Beth asked, "Why are you suddenly so anxious for the Worthingtons to be home?"

  Derek was quiet for a few seconds. "I thought I might be able to try and talk to Jonathan again. He was willing to talk about my mother last night, maybe he'll be willing today."

  "I thought it went poorly this morning," she observed without tact.

  "Well, yes," Derek confessed, "but I just can't stop thinking about it. There must be more to it. You didn't see how angry he was last night. People don't get that angry over plain servants."

  "I'm sure Master Worthington was just riled about the wine being spilt."

  Derek could only glare at her.

  Beth sighed. "Derek, I don't want you to get your hopes up that he's going to tell you anything you don't already know."

  Not replying, Derek continued to wipe the table in slow, thoughtful circles.

  He had told Beth everything that had happened in the house after Jonathan had hauled him inside while she washed the breakfast dishes that morning. He had also shared the conversation in the dining room. If he wanted comfort or sympathetic indignation, he had gone to the wrong place. After listening to the events, Beth had shaken her head at him and told him how foolish he was for starting the fight with Anthony in the first place. When he had pointed out Jonathan mentioning his mother, she had shaken her head again with a look of pained longsuffering.

  It was clear from her short, non-answers that she was still being resolutely objective, and it was starting to annoy Derek beyond words.

  Just as Derek finished dusting the table and putting the small vase of tea roses back in its place, Atty walked into the room, wiping her hands on her apron. "Mrs. Worthington is asking if we're all going upstairs and to read with her today."

  Not bothering to look at Beth, Derek stuffed his rag into his pocket and walked towards the main staircase. He heard Beth and Atty walking behind him as he stomped up to the second floor hall. As he approached Catherine's door, his steps slowed and softened. He knocked lightly.

  "Come in." Her voice was breathy.

  Derek pushed the door open and stepped cautiously into the room.

  Catherine was sitting up in her bed. Her face was ghostly, but she smiled and Derek thought she was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. "Good morning, Derek."

  "Good morning, Miss Catherine."

  "Come and sit down."

  As Beth and Atty filed into the room, Derek sat in the chair beside Catherine's bed.

  "I was thinking about your questions from last week, and I found something that might help you understand better. I think we should talk about Deuteronomy." Catherine stopped suddenly, looking around the bed. She turned and smiled when she saw her Bible on the bedside table. "Derek, will you please hand me my book?"

  Wordlessly, Derek handed it to her and waited while she turned pages.

  She began to read: "'If there be among you a poor man of one of thy brethren within any of the gates in thy land which the Lord thy God giveth thee, thou shalt not harden thine heart, nor shut thine hand from thy poor brother:

  But thou shalt open thine hand wide unto him, and shalt surely lend him sufficient for his need, in that which he wanteth.'"

  "That was beautiful, Mrs. Worthington." Beth smiled wistfully and Derek wondered momentarily what she was remembering.

  Catherine smiled again. "We are commanded to give to any who are in need, no matter what their need is for. Some people need food, or clothing. Other people need attention, understanding, and love. There are many kinds of 'poor' in the world. Every man is poor of something. Because we all have needs, we are all equal in God's eyes. Derek, you asked if He could really love every single person, and the answer is yes, He can, because each of us is the same to Him."

  "Just because someone needs something doesn't mean they have to be mean or do bad things. Why does he love people who sin?"

  "People have motivations that we don't always know. Most always, people cause pain because they feel pain themselves. Only God can see why a person is doing something."

  Derek peered at the Bible Catherine was holding in both her white, papery hands. He didn't see how one book could tell a person the answer to every question, but it seemed that Catherine had found a way to make it work.

  Her expression becoming thoughtful, she continued, "Sometimes the gentlest man in the world can be cruel. And there is no way to know why. But you have to understand and trust that God knows why, and just love him and try to give him what he needs." Catherine seemed to be talking to someone who wasn't there about something only they two knew. "Do you understand?"

  Derek nodded slowly. Though he wasn't entirely sure he really did, it seemed very important in his mind that he tell Catherine he did. Hearing that he understood seemed to be what she needed. When Catherine smiled again, Derek knew he had done the right thing.

  Derek was startled when Atty stirred behind him. He forgot the women were in the room also.

  "Thank you, Mrs. Worthington. It was lovely."

  "Thank you for coming."

  As the others left, Derek stood reluctantly. "Thank you."

  "You can stay if you want to. This is a very thick book and I'm sure we can find at least a little more reading in it."

  Derek sat back down, pulling the chair closer beside Catherine so he could pretend to read with her. The pages weren't quite the jumble of meaningless symbols that they were last time, but he was still nowhere near being able to understand the words.

  "This is another one of my favorites. 'In the Lord put I "

  Suddenly, an idea struck Derek as if a bolt of lightning came to him from the sky. "Umm, sorry, but where are you reading?"

  "Oh, right here." Catherine pointed to a small verse near the bottom of the page.

  "This one?" Derek confirmed, pointing.

  She nodded. "Yes. 'In the Lord put I my trust: how say ye to my soul, Flee as a bird to your mountain?'"

  Carefully, not looking at the book, Derek began to recite: "In the Lord put I my trust..." He stopped to think.

  "...how say ye to my soul, Flee as a bird to your mountain?" Catherine finished for him.

  "I like that one, too. Do you have a paper and pencil? I'd like to write it so I can find it in my book."

  "In the side table drawer."

  Derek opened the drawer and took out a sheet from Catherine's stack of green stationary. Taking a pencil, he carefully began to copy the letters he saw, repeating the words in his mind so he would remember what each word sounded like. He copied then studied the heading of the chapter so he would be able to find it in his own Bible when he went back to the stables. As long as he could remember what the verse said, he would know what the words were, and then he could find those words in other places. It was a feeble plan, but it was much better than what he'd been able to accom
plish so far with his studying.

  After what felt like a very long time, Derek set the pencil back in the drawer and folded the paper. "Thank you." He pushed it into his hip pocket with the shed key.

  Catherine was smiling. "You're welcome."

  In the Lord put I my trust: how say ye to my soul, Flee as a bird to your mountain, he thought again. He was sure he would remember it.

  "Do you have any favorites?"

  "Oh, umm, not really. I mean, I like so many, I couldn't pick just one."

  "I know what you mean."

  Derek felt very bad about lying to Catherine, but he couldn't seem to bring himself to admitting to her he couldn't read. She seemed to take it for granted that he should be able to and he hated the thought of disappointing her.

  "Another I like is "

  "Catherine, are you "

  Just like the previous week, Derek felt like he'd been caught doing something wrong as he looked over his shoulder and into Jonathan's hard, green eyes.

  "Hello, darling," Catherine said. She was still smiling, but tentatively and expectantly.

  Jonathan, visibly tense, was quiet for a moment. "Should I leave and let you two finish?"

  "You could join us." There was a hopeful note in her airy voice. "Derek and I were just reading some of our favorite verses."

  A cold, amused light sparked in Jonathan's eyes and he smirked. "Why, isn't that amazing? Derek was reading? Well, I didn't know you could do that. The secrets you do keep."

  "I'll go," Derek said quietly.

  "Please stay," Catherine asked gently. She turned to her husband. "Jonathan "

  "Yes, Derek. Stay. Come along now. Let's hear you read your favorite verse."

  His cheeks flushed bright with humiliation, Derek stood up clumsily, muttering a mixture of "I'm sorry's," "goodbye's," and "thank you's." The jumble of unintelligible words died on his lips as he pushed by Jonathan and fought to keep his growing pace at only a fast walk as he made his way down the hall to the servants' stairs. The thought that he'd stayed in the house so late on purpose so he could try to talk to Jonathan suddenly seemed ridiculous, and he couldn't imagine ever being able to look Catherine in the eye again.

  Feeling tired beyond the early hour of the afternoon, Derek trudged up the ladder to his loft and flopped onto his bed with a defeated huff. Jonathan won. Derek just didn't have the energy to fight with him anymore. The silent battle that had been raging between the two of them since they were children was finally decided.

  Derek lied in his self-loathing for nearly an hour, replaying the terrible moment in Catherine's room over and over.

  "Boy!"

  Scowling into his pillow, Derek sat up just enough to yell, "Go away, old man!"

  "Got chores to be doin'!"

  "You do 'em!"

  There were several indignant huffs followed by furiously shuffling footsteps heading out the stable door.

  After another couple minutes, Derek sighed and sat up so he was kneeling on his bed. He spotted his pad of paper and Bible sitting on is trunk. He sighed again.

  In the Lord put I my trust: how say ye to my soul, Flee as a bird to your mountain.

  Thought it embarrassed him all over again to think about the morning, Derek refused to let himself forget the verse. Determined, he took the green piece of stationary out of his pocket, then grabbed the Bible, his paper, and pencils and settled back onto his bed. He flipped slowly through the book, searching for a heading that looked like "PSALMS." It was several minutes before he found it. He then started looking for the part that looked like "Chapter 11." He had to check the green paper a couple times to make sure he'd found the right spot. When he was pretty sure he was in the right place, he started comparing his own handwritten verse to the one in the Bible. Noticing they matched, Derek felt a slight jump of elation in his gut. Finally, he would be able to actually read something.

  "'In the Lord put I my trust,'" he recited slowly, pointing to each group of letters in turn as he spoke each word. He continued repeating the first phrase of the verse for a minute. When he was sure he had what each of the words looked like memorized, he started scanning the rest of the page for them. He underlined each word he recognized with a dark pencil line.

  Just as he was about to start working on the second phrase in the verse, Devon's angry shuffling returned. "Boy!"

  In a considerably better mood, Derek set his book aside, crawled to the edge of the loft, and hung his head over. "Yeah?"

  "If you don' git down here "

  "I'm coming, I'm coming. Just let me put my things away."

  Devon grumbled and shuffled a few steps, but didn't say anything else to Derek, who ignored the grumbling and shuffling, and went to put his Bible and papers in his trunk.

  Half an hour later, Derek was reciting the verse to himself as he raked out Blueberry's stall. He didn't want to let himself forget those words for anything.

  "When you're done with that, go tend the carriage. Covered in mud."

  Derek stopped working and leaned on his rake. "Now that I'm out here, what do you do for work, old man?" he asked with amusement.

  "I do my work."

  "I just bet you do."

  Devon jabbed a withered finger at Derek. "You mind your own business an' do yours."

  Derek laughed and started raking again.

  "Puttin' up with you all the time is work like I never done before."

  "I'm not that bad."

  "Don' fergit to git dinner when yer up the house."

  "Yes, sir."

  Glaring, Devon grunted something and shuffled down to his apartment. He went inside and slammed the door. Derek watched the drifts of hay floating down from the loft, trying not to laugh again. He was suddenly very fond of Devon and he couldn't seem to remember what life was like when he lived in the house.

  If I still lived in the house, I'd have to see Jonathan and Catherine every day, he thought, sobering.

  Derek finished his raking in thoughtful silence. He laid down fresh hay, then walked down to the spare stall he'd shut Blueberry in. "Come one, Blue." After the horse was back in his stall and the gate latched, Derek hung the rake in the wall and looked out the open door.

  The rain had stopped, and the last of the gray clouds were making their way towards the coast. The sky that peeked through was rich, cornflower blue.

  "There's some good news, then," Derek muttered, stepping out into the warm air.

  The temperatures were still high when the wind died down, but there was a steady breeze and the rain had, at least for the moment, broken the humidity; that was something to be grateful for, if nothing else was.

  Derek spent nearly twenty minutes scrubbing and scraping the drying mud off the sides of Mrs. Worthington's carriage. When it was finally clean, he left the carriage house and dumped the bucket of murky water in the potted bush by the house. Derek put the bucket in the shed and went to rinse his rag at the well.

  When his rag was tucked into his back pocket and he was sure everything was finished, Derek pushed the side door open slowly, peeking to make sure the coast was clear. He only wanted his dinner: he didn't want to have to talk to anyone. Ducking into the hall and closing the door as quietly as he could, Derek jogged down the kitchen stairs. He expected to see Beth and Atty cooking or washing. What he didn't expect was the strange looks they gave him as he walked across the room.

  "What?"

  "Nothing. Here for you and Mr. Devon's supper?"

  "Yeah."

  Beth nodded to a basket on the table. "And there's a jug of milk for you two to share on the counter."

  Derek took the jug and slipped it under the towel that covered the food in the basket. All the while, Beth and Atty watched him as if waiting for him to grow another body part.

  "What is it?"

  The women looked at each other.

  Slowly Atty said, "Mrs. Worthington was saying you started a fight up in Mrs. Worthington's bedroom. We were just wondering if that's true."

&nb
sp; Scowling, Derek picked up the basket. "It wasn't so much a fight as Jonathan bullying me."

  "Whatever it was, it had Missus Worthington in a right state."

  "She's always in a right state," Derek answered moodily.

  "Not her," Atty corrected. "Master Worthington's wife."

  "Oh." Derek felt even worse knowing his lying had upset Catherine that much, which did nothing to improve his aggravation. "Well, Jonathan started it," he stated after a second, then jogged up the stairs without waiting for a response. Not bothering to check the hall, he yanked the side door open and stalked around to the front of the house.

  "Derek?"

  Derek nearly dropped the dinner basket at Catherine's voice. She was sitting on the porch with Mrs. Worthington, Mrs. Smithfield and Abigail. Jonathan was just coming out the door. Everyone in the group seemed to be glaring at Derek even Abigail was scowling. Catherine was the only one who didn't seem angry to see him: her blue eyes shown with concern.

  Blushing, Derek muttered, "I still have chores to do," then hurried past the porch. When he reached the far edge of the drive, he glanced back.

  The two older women had their heads bent together, talking; Jonathan was still staring at Derek, his expression unreadable; and Catherine was looking off towards the apples trees.

  Derek stalked the rest of the way to the stables. Walking through the door, he dropped the basket on the hay bale by the door. "Dinner!" he called. Taking the rungs two at a time, Derek climbed to his loft and dropped onto his bed.

  Devon's door opened and closed. Shuffling steps moved below and the towel over the basket rustled against butcher's paper. Pause. "Yer not eatin'?"

  "Not hungry."

  "More fer me," Devon intoned.

  Derek just ignored him as he lied back and rubbed his eyes wearily.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Monday passed quickly and with relative peace. The weather was mild and the family was gone most of the time. The Smithfields wanted to spend some time in town and sightseeing, and Mrs. Worthington decided to play their tour guide.

  Derek took the opportunity to get extra chores done, go swimming, and groom the hedges without having to worry about running into Jonathan, who went on the family outings more often than not. There was also no concern about running into Catherine again. He'd been banished from the house once more because Mrs. Worthington claimed his presence was conducive to an ill spirit which would certainly be the very death of poor Catherine if she had to endure it any longer. As such, he didn't have to serve or clean up meals, and Catherine never sat outside on the porch unless Jonathan was home to help her down the stairs.