by Leen Elle
"I suppose I can pretend I didn't see you," Gabriel said reluctantly.
Derek smiled a little."And if anyone asks, I didn't see you stealing the strawberries."
Gabriel's pale cheeks reddened.
Taking the basket, Derek started back up the stairs but stopped when he heard voices in the hall.
"It's unacceptable!" Mrs. Worthington was saying in a harsh whisper.
In a hesitant voice, Beth responded, "You could call Derek up to fix it, Missus."
"No! I promised Mrs. Smithfield I would not have that boy in the house again as long as her poor Catherine was ill, and I will not! If Devon has not found it, he'll just have to look harder."
"He says the attic is all jumbled up, Missus," Beth pleaded.
"Well, then he will just have to un-jumble it!" she stated tersely.
She had him in the attic all day? Derek thought. Poor old guy...
The sound of her boot heels clicking furiously down the stone hall echoed in the stairwell where Derek still stood, his back pressed to the wall, his lungs burning in protest of his held breath. When he was sure she was gone, Derek let out his breath.
As Beth turned down the stairs, she jumped and yelled, obviously not expecting to see anyone in front of her.
"What is all the racket?" Mrs. Worthington cried in exasperation.
Derek looked up at Beth pleadingly and put his finger in front of his lips. "Shh!"
Beth glared at him for a moment, then looked down the hall. "I-I'm sorry, Missus. There- There was a mouse on the stair. It startled me."
"A mouse?"
"Y-yes, 'am. I just didn't expect to see it," she answered, glaring at Derek for a second before turning back to look apologetically at Mrs. Worthington.
"Well, see to it that you're not startled again. There are people trying to rest."
"Yes, Missus Worthington. I'm sorry, ma'am." Beth stepped into the stairwell and pushed Derek back down into the kitchen. "Derek!" She spotted Gabriel, who, in the process of trying to hide his bowl, spilled milk on the floor and himself. "Gabriel! You two!"
"I'm sorry. I just came here to get dinner since Devon didn't even come back with lunch yet," Derek defended, holding up the covered basket as evidence.
"I only wanted a small snack before supper," Gabriel said when Derek had finished. "I didn't think anyone would mind."
"Didn't think anyone would notice, is what you mean!" She rounded on Derek. "And you! I could get in serious trouble for knowing you were here, and not telling Missus Worthington! Out of here, both of you!"
Gabriel scooted by Beth and Derek followed him.
"Check the hall for me," Derek whispered.
"Now I'm covering for him," Gabriel groaned, jogging up the stairs. "She'll whip me for sure if she finds out."
"Finds out what?"
Gabriel stopped dead, then lurched forward and fell on his hands and knees as Derek bumped into him.
Looking past the other boy, Derek felt his insides turn to ice.
Mrs. Worthington was standing at the top of the stairs, glaring down at Gabriel, who had milk down the front of his shirt. When her gaze flicked to Derek, her eyes bulged and she took a deep breath, puffing herself up like a majestic bullfrog.
"You!" she breathed out in an angry hiss.
Derek groaned.
"I was just coming to tell you he came in," Gabriel said quickly.
"Go upstairs," she ordered in a deathly calm voice.
With a last look at Derek, Gabriel scurried up the rest of the stairs, rubbing the palms of his hands where they'd hit the stone steps.
"Beth, I should have known you would let him in here against my wishes!"
"No, Missus "
"I came in on my own," Derek interrupted. "She didn't know. She was just bringing me up stairs."
Mrs. Worthington stared into Derek with outrage, swelling even more. "A mouse?" she screeched at him, unable to hold it in any longer.
Derek winced, staring at the floor.
Heavy footsteps came down the servants' stairs and the panel door swung open violently. Jonathan stepped out into the hallway, his eyes blazing with a raw anger Derek had never seen before. Staring at the man, he took a step back down the stairs.
"Mother, if you do not stop your yelling this instant " Jonathan stopped as he spotted Derek and Beth huddled on the stairs.
Shrinking almost immediately in her son's fury, Mrs. Worthington bit out in shaking syllables, "The boy is in the house. You know how he upsets Mrs. Smithfield and Catherine."
His temper in check, Jonathan eyed Derek and the spilled basket of bread, butter, and jam that lay strewn on the stairs. He turned to his mother and answered coolly, "Your tantrums upset Catherine much more than his coming in the house to get food." Once it was obvious that Mrs. Worthington was not going to make any farther argument, Jonathan looked at Derek. "Take your dinner and get out."
Sounding braver than he felt, Derek said, "Beth isn't in trouble, is she? She didn't know "
"No one is in trouble," Jonathan said. The words, which could have been soothing, came out in a dark whisper.
Picking up on the silent threat all too clearly, Derek scooped the fallen food into the basket and hurried up the stairs past Mrs. Worthington. He all but ran through the side door and down the steps to the stone path.
When Derek got back to the stables, he left the basket by the door and climbed the ladder. With a heavy sigh, he dropped onto his bed, his mind reeling as much from Jonathan's behavior as from the fact that he'd gotten out of that unpunished. He sat there for several minutes and just as he thought that he should go out and insist that Lady Sarah Mary-Ruth come in, the stable door opened and the tell-tale shuffle of feet announced that Devon was back from whatever he'd been sent to do in the attic.
"Hey, Devon," Derek called, standing up and walking to the edge of the loft to peer down at the old slave. "What did Mrs. Worthington have for you to do in the attic?" For the first time in days, he thought of the girl in the painting.
Instead of answering, Devon pulled off his hat and said gruffly, "Come down here, boy."
His brow knitting with confusion at his odd tone, Derek climbed down the ladder and walked over to the man. "Yeah?"
Devon shuffled a little more, then said, "Oh hell, there's nothing' fer it."
"Nothing for what?"
"Nothin', only Mrs. Worthington says I'm suppose to whup ya."
That being the last thing he'd expected to hear, all he said was, "What?"
"Fifteen stripes, she says, an' no less." Devon paused for a moment, then added in a lower voice, "Or it comes out of my hide."
This statement could have been an attempt at an apologetic excuse, or just a way of stalling. Either way, hearing it brought a bitter taste up from the back of Derek's throat.
Jonathan wouldn't play along this time, so she threatened the old man into it? For a second Derek didn't do anything, then his surprise gave way to annoyance and anger. Fine, he thought. Let her have her victory if she wants it that bad. Without word, Derek stripped his shirt off and looked at Devon expectantly.
The old man obviously had expected a little more of a fight because he only stared for a moment as if unsure of why Derek had done that. "Well," he commented as though he felt he should say something, but didn't know what.
He didn't say anything else after that and Derek was grateful.
Chapter Seventeen
The next morning, the sound of a light rain patting the roof lazily slowly brought Derek out of his haze of sleep. He breathed in deeply and cool, thin air filled his lungs. He tried to roll onto his side, but only turned a little before he was gripped with pain. Letting out an involuntary groan, he slumped back onto his stomach, his muscles going weak and limp without his permission. Derek sucked in a few shallows breaths, letting them out slowly. As the muscles heaved with the motion the stripes on his back pulsed and throbbed. It had been several months since he'd last been beaten this severely and he was now wond
ering how he could have forgotten how much it hurt.
At least now I know he doesn't feel sorry me, Derek thought dryly, preparing himself for another attempt to sit up. He could have gone a little easier, though.
It took another two tries before Derek was sitting on the edge of his bed, his back arched forward, his elbows on his knees, in an effort to keep his muscles from moving. Normally, he would have had Beth to put cool ointment on his wounds, but at this point he wasn't even sure if he could make it to the house.
Derek scowled at the floor. Forcing himself to his feet despite every sense telling him to stay still, Derek walked stiffly to the little chest and drew out his clean shirt. He struggled with his shirt for a minute before he finally got it on, the warm fabric brushing brutally over the sores.
Climbing jerkily down the ladder, Derek muttered, "Stairs are definitely easier than ladders."
As he reached the ground, Derek stopped for a moment to look at Lady Sarah Mary-Ruth, who was peering at him shrewdly, her tail swishing listlessly from side to side. She seemed almost smug in an understanding assessment that something wholly unpleasant had happened to her nemesis.
Derek glared at her.
Unaffected, she turned away from him and started slurping water from her trough.
"Stupid mare." Grabbing his hat more roughly than was necessary, but ignoring the pain, Derek marched out into the morning air.
The thin clouds that dripped on the plantation were moving quickly away and the sun kept peaking out through breaks in the gray. With the rain passing, the humidity started to return.
Looking across to the corral, Derek saw Devon exercising Blueberry. He walked to the fence and rested his elbows on the top rail. "Hey, old man, I was gonna do that."
"Already done," Devon answered without looking at him.
"Why so early?"
"Master Smithfield is gon' take 'im out again."
"Oh. Did you get breakfast already?"
"By the door."
Derek scowled a little. He had the distinct impression that the man was avoiding any real conversation. "Did you eat yours?"
"Yep."
Shaking his head, Derek walked away. "So I'll just finish what's left then," he said to himself. When he stepped back into the stables, he took the little towel off the basket. There was ham and bread with a small jug of milk. Derek settled down on one of the hay bales and started eating.
Lady Sarah Mary-Ruth snorted, looking at him with wide eyes.
"Oh, you shut up. I have half a mind to set you loose out in the woods."
"Good morning, Derek."
Derek nearly fell off his hay bale as he turned sharply, barely suppressing a groan as his muscles tore. "Mr. Smithfield. Good morning, sir," he said, standing up.
Mr. Smithfield was smiling. "Is she giving you a hard time?"
"She usually does."
Mr. Smithfield glanced at the food set out on the towel then back at Derek. "I just came in to get the riding equipment."
"I'll have Devon bring Blueberry in and get him ready for you." He stepped outside and called to Devon, who was already pulling Blueberry out of the corral by a short lead. "It'll just be a minute."
Nodding, Mr. Smithfield folded his arms behind his back and looked around. "Is this where you stay?"
"Up in the loft, actually." Derek eyed his breakfast hungrily. He didn't think it would be polite to keep eating, though.
"Have you always been out here?"
"No, sir. I used to have the room Beth and Atty are sharing. But when Jonathan came back I mean, I don't mind giving up my room. It was a lot smaller than what I have out here, and it got awful hot in the summer. This suits me fine."
Just then, Devon shuffled into the stable. "Git the blanket and bit. I'll git the saddle on 'im."
"It's too heavy for you," Derek said without thinking.
"I'll manage."
"I'm sorry I took you away from your breakfast," Mr. Smithfield said, watching as Derek took down the equipment.
"No trouble," Derek said, gritting his teeth against a howl of pain as he stretched to reach the bit and bridle that hung on the wall.
"Are you all right?" Mr. Smithfield asked, his brow drawn in concern.
Walking to Blueberry, Derek nodded. "Yes, sir." With jerky motions, he threw the blanket over the horse and smoothed out the wrinkles.
"You seem a bit stiff."
"I might have slept wrong," he lied.
"You work very hard for a young man your age."
Pushing the bit into Blueberry's mouth, Derek shrugged a little and regretted it. "Not too much. I get time to go for walks and things like that."
"Gabriel was telling Abigail about a path through the woods to the river."
Traitor. "Yeah. It's a nice walk, but the water is a little fast right there for swimming. Farther downstream is all right, though." I should go for a long swim later, he thought, imagining the cool water on his back.
"He's all ready," Devon said, interrupting farther conversation.
"Thank you." Mr. Smithfield took the lead, nodded to Derek, and walked outside. He mounted Blueberry and started across the field.
"When he comes back I'll take care of the horse."
"I can do it," Derek answered.
"Mrs. Worthington wants you to do the bushes by the porch."
Derek scowled. "I did them last week. They can't need trimming again. It hasn't really rained for days."
"Her orders, not mine." With that, Devon walked up the center of the stable and went through the door into his living quarters.
Derek rolled his eyes and sat down to finish his breakfast. He partially hoped he would see Mrs. Worthington while he was at the house. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of knowing he was hurt. He wouldn't let her see him suffer. He would go and do his chores as if there was nothing wrong. And if that doesn't spite her, he thought viciously, I'll tell her I hope she has a good day.
Now that he was thinking about Mrs. Worthington, Derek's chewing slowed as he mulled over the previous night thoughtfully. Ideas that he'd been too tired and preoccupied to examine were coming to him at a rapid pace. The look in Jonathan's eyes. The way the old woman shrank away from her beloved son. Not that Derek blamed her he wasn't even the subject of the man's fury and he'd nearly thrown himself down the stairs just to get out of sighting distance.
I guess maybe he is protective of Catherine, he mused, recalling his earlier thoughts that Jonathan did not pay his wife nearly enough care or attention.
Smirking a little, Derek recalled the look of abject terror on Mrs. Worthington's face. It wasn't something he ever expected to see again, and so he wanted to make sure he had a complete recollection of it.
"It's weird, though. You'd think pet Jonathan would like being in Mother's good graces. He always used to care a lot about what she said and thought of him."
Lady Sarah Mary-Ruth looked at him quizzically.
"He was a lot like Gabriel, only not so stupid," he mused. Derek sighed. "Oh, well." Eating the last of his bread in two, large bites, he stood up and hunched his shoulders to stretch his aching muscles as much as he could. As sore as they were, the stiffness that was settling into them felt worse.
Derek rested the shears on the ground and wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. This was hardly turning out to be the triumphantly defiant event he'd planned to himself over breakfast. Instead of marching out to the bushes and trimming them with perfect precision, he'd found himself struggling to lift the bulky shears enough to cut back the offshoots on the top of the line of shrubs. Luckily, Mrs. Worthington hadn't been out to see him doing his chores. Somehow, he didn't think his, "Have a good day," comment would be as effective coming with a wince while sweat poured down his face.
"She'd have a right good laugh," he grunted bitterly. Sweat was trickling down between his shoulder blades, making his lash marks itch and burn.
When the bushes were trimmed, he started towards the shed to put the shears a
way.
Then, a swim, he told himself consolingly. A very long, uninterrupted swim.
Derek took out his shed key and unlocked the door. He didn't bother lifting the shears to their hook, but instead leaned them against the wall. He'd hang them later. He did take the time to search the disorganized mess for a new shovel. The one in the stables that he used to clean the stalls was rusting and the nose was jagged and useless. At last, after several minutes in the sweltering heat of the shed, he found what he was looking for. Stepping back out into the relative cool, Derek closed the door and locked it. He started around the front of the porch, but missed a step as he heard Catherine's voice.
"I feel better today. I want to have a picnic lunch. It would be nice to be on the lawn, sitting in the grass."
"It rained this morning, darling," Jonathan answered gently. "You'd get all wet. See how it is tomorrow."
"I want to picnic before my parents leave."
"Tomorrow," he repeated.
Trying not to look at them in the hopes that they wouldn't look at him, Derek kept his head down, eyes trained on the ground in front of him, as he hurried across the drive in front of the porch.
"I'd like to have Derek? What's that on your "
Pretending he hadn't heard her wispy voice, Derek quickened his pace (effectively telling her that he had, indeed, heard her) until he reached the top of the knoll. Safely on the other side, he breathed a shallow sigh, because a deep sigh would have hurt too much.
When he reached the stables, he leaned the new shovel against the wall by the door and climbed to the loft. His wounds were stinging even more than earlier. While the thought of cool water was tempting, he couldn't help but think that the effort of actually getting down to the river might not be worth it. Derek fell onto his bed on his stomach and he could not for the life of him think of any reason good enough to get back up.
Several minutes passed, or several hours: Derek wasn't sure. He was too lost in a haze of pre-sleep to notice the passing of time.
He was jolted out of his doze by a deep voice.
"Derek?"
Derek looked towards the ladder and sat up quickly, unaware of pain due to the start of seeing Jonathan standing at the edge of the loft. How had he not heard him come up?
