Corner Of The Housetop: Buried Secrets

by Leen Elle

  I express my condolences and may God comfort you in your mourning.

  Rev. Patrick Harbor

  After a minute, Derek set the letter aside. There was one more and he wasn't sure he dared read it. His fingers would not turn the flaps of paper back. The candle was burning low.

  A knock came at his door. "Derek," Gabriel hissed in a loud whisper, "I know you're not asleep. I see the light under your door."

  Derek didn't respond immediately.

  "Derek!"

  Sliding the letters under the bed, he stood and went to unlock the door. "What?"

  "What did Mr. Todd want?"

  With a sigh, Derek stepped back so Gabriel could enter. He closed the door and sat on the bed. He wasn't sure he wanted to share his news just yet, though he knew the other boy would probably learn it the next day.

  "Derek."

  "I don't feel like talking about it."

  "Are you in trouble?"

  "No." He sighed again. "Mr. Todd wants me to work for him on his father's farm." He was embarrassed to admit that Jonathan was paying for his training, so he left that fact out.

  Gabriel's eyes lit with excitement. "With horses?"

  "Don't yell," Derek hissed. He had to admit that he was a little jealous that Gabriel could be so unabashedly pleased for him when he himself could not find the emotion.

  "Aren't you happy, though? It's what you wanted."

  "I know."

  "Are you scared of going?"

  He glared at Gabriel. "No," he said truthfully. "It's just strange."

  "I'll miss you."

  "Shut up." Derek hadn't meant to say it, but it was all he could think of.

  Gabriel looked hurt.

  Looking out the window, Derek waited for the moment to pass then said, "You should go to bed. The funeral is early tomorrow."

  "Are you going?"

  "I doubt I'll be allowed."

  Gabriel casted about for a moment as though looking for a reason to stay longer. At length he said sullenly, "Well, good night."

  "Good night." When Gabriel had left, Derek locked the door again. He supposed he would miss Gabriel, but he couldn't say why. Mostly out of habit: he was used to him being there.

  Walking around the bed, he took the letters out and riffled through them until he found the one he hadn't read. The writing was thin, wiry, and rushed, but had an elegancy and feminine curl that the other hands lacked. There was no name on the outside and it was not addressed to anyone:

  I am sorry I have to leave you and I will miss you. When next we meet, you will be wiser and know that I was never what you thought me to be, but I hope you will also be patient and still love me as you do now. Yesterday I asked a heavy favor of you. I am sorry to have done so, and I hope we speak before I go. If not, I want you to know I trust you to do your best. I love you dearly. More than I have loved anyone.

  Yours always, more than anyone else's,

  Kylie Mae

  A minute passed and Derek was startled to find tears dripping from his cheeks onto the page. He wiped the paper on his blanket before they smudged the ink then scrubbed at his face dry with his sleeve.

  Derek did not know who the letter was too, but he envied the love Kylie Mae had for that person. Until now he held claim to all her affections because he could believe he was the only one who knew her. Just the two of them by her little pond.

  Taking the rest of the letters, Derek reread each one twice. They painted a very bleak story and he wondered where Kylie Mae went to, and what became of her child.

  With a last look at them and a resolve to sneak them back to the attic while the family was at the graveside, Derek put the letters back under his mattress and changed into his night clothes. Sleep eluded him for nearly an hour.

  In the night he dreamed fitfully, but did not remember it when he woke the next morning.

  Derek stood by his bedroom window and watched as the funeral procession marched across the front drive and over the little knoll. When the last person disappeared, he took the letters from his mattress and hurried down the hall.

  Beth and Atty were with Devon by the stables to watch the casket go by even though they were not permitted to attend the burial, and Derek was sure the women would return soon.

  Propping the door open, he climbed the attic stairs, his fears pushed aside in light of his haste. He barely noticed his pulse quicken until after he'd replaced the letters and closed the drawer. His task complete, he was free to notice the heat and smell. He retreated to his room and waited several minutes.

  Growing restless, Derek roamed down the hallway and stopped at the top of the stairs. In a day he would be gone. He wouldn't have to worry about main stairs or servant stairs. He would be a fulltime stable boy on a farm in Connecticut.

  Derek walked down the stairs and out to the porch. No one was coming back yet and he felt impatient to know what was taking so long. He wasn't sure how funerals generally worked, but there couldn't be much to do. When he grew too impatient, he started towards the stables. From there he'd at least be able to see when they were finished.

  As he crested the little hill he saw Beth, Atty, and Devon standing by the fence. They were talking in subdued voices.

  "I just can't believe it," Atty was saying as he walked towards them.

  "Are they nearly done?" Derek asked tactlessly.

  "Just sayin' a few words, by the looks," Devon said, squinting into the distance. "Some of the men are pickin' up their shovels."

  Derek watched the forms moving. It was a very small group: only the family, Mr. Todd, Reverend Marks, and Mr. Millstone, who was there to help carry the coffin and fill in the grave. Several minutes passed: the grave was filled, a few more words were said, then the people started in a solemn walk back across the field.

  "We best get the tea and refreshments ready," Beth said with a resolved sigh.

  Atty nodded.

  "Are you coming?"

  Tea with the reverend didn't sound like much fun. Derek shook his head. "I think I'll stay out here a while. I haven't visited Blue very much lately."

  As the women walked to the house and Devon went to his own quarters, Derek climbed over the fence and went to the stables. He sat with the horses for nearly half an hour, petting them, feeding them sugar, and talking to them. When he could avoid it no longer, he left, prepared to meet Reverend Marks if he hadn't left yet.

  As Derek opened the gate then turned to close it, he saw a lone figure walking the perimeter of the field by the partially constructed slave houses. It was Jonathan and he seemed to be taking the longest possible route back to the house.

  Derek thought a moment, then started in the direction of the cemetery, hugging his own side of the field. He hadn't intended to see Catherine's grave for the same reason he never went to Mr. Worthington's, but given the choice between that and the main house when even Jonathan didn't want to be there, he'd rather say his final goodbyes.

  The walk was long and lonely. Despite the appearance of closeness, it took nearly five minutes to reach the low wrought iron fence that circled the plot.

  Derek unlatched the gate and stepped through. It felt strange to be in a cemetery all by himself. The plot was only about twenty feet wide and thirty feet back, but with only two little headstones in it, it looked massive.

  Walking forward with even, slow steps, Derek stopped in front of Catherine's grave. It read:

  Catherine Marie

  Worthington

  August 6, 1837

  The letters and numbers carved into the white stone were so final and undeniable. She was here now, beneath the fresh-turned ground. Beside her was Jeremiah Worthington, whose death the stone told to have been in 1828.

  A chill passed through Derek and he shivered despite the heat. Looking around, just to be looking anywhere but at the headstones in front of him, he noticed a small lump in the far left corner of the plot. It was barely two feet high and could have been mistaken for a large rock which had simply not been remo
ved when the rest of the plot was cleared, except for the fact that it was smooth and uniformly rounded.

  Derek walked towards the stone, once again led more by his curiosity than his senses. As he drew near it, he began to make out several very familiar words:

  Kylie Mae Neilson

  wife & mother

  April 18, 1805

  November 13, 1823

  Derek's insides turned to ice and he felt sick.

  Find me.

  She's here, he thought numbly, dropping to his knees and reaching out a shaky hand to touch the warm, smooth stone. She's been right here all along.

  "What are you doing here?"

  Derek jumped to his feet and turned quickly, staring into Jonathan's lifeless eyes. He meant to make a defense, but it died on his lips.

  "Go back to the house."

  "What happened to her child?" As soon as he asked, he regretted it, but the question came unbidden and he could not pretend he hadn't said it. Derek waited to be yelled at. Or hit. Or anything.

  A minute passed in silence as Jonathan stared at him blankly. When he decided on his answer, it was snide and callused, laced with uncaring distance: "If you haven't worked that much out, I don't think you deserve to know."

  Derek's throat tightened. "Who was she?" he asked in a hoarse whisper. He both felt sure he would get an answer and was terrified at what it might be. A woman with a child to whom Mr. Worthington felt responsible….

  Jonathan studied him again. "You went back and read the letters."

  "Yes," he confessed. It was no use lying now.

  "You think my father did something terrible, don't you?"

  Voice shaking, Derek admitted to himself as much to Jonathan, "I don't know what to think."

  With a sigh, Jonathan approached the small headstone. "Kylie Mae was my sister," he said evenly, not looking at Derek. "And she was your mother."

  "How—"

  "Before you jump to conclusions and start asking stupid questions, be quiet for two seconds and let me explain. It will save time, and I'm sure I am already missed for lunch."

  His cheeks tinged red with anger at Jonathan's attitude, but Derek remained silent, partially from shock, though he was also eager to hear what Jonathan would say.

  "Kylie was seven years older than I, but we were…very close. She pitied me, I think, and now that I am here, watching Gabriel be there, I understand why, though I did not back then. She was not Mother's favorite, to put it mildly. Too strong-willed.

  "When she was sixteen, she met a doctor who was traveling through town. He was much older than she was. Well into his thirties. I don't know if she loved him or just wanted him to take her some place far from here. Whatever it was, they were married despite Mother and Father's disapproval. Since you read the letters, you know how that turned out." Jonathan's voice was bitter.

  "When Mother found out Kylie's husband died and Kylie had no place to go, she agreed to let her stay in the house as a servant. Father wasn't happy, but Mother insisted and Kylie agreed, mostly because she had no other way to provide for her son. She died two months later. Fever, illness, stress…heartbreak from being back here when she'd finally escaped. I don't know what killed her in the end, and it really doesn't matter. Whatever the cause, she died and left her son." He stopped speaking and looked at Derek for the first time. "And you know all that's relevant of the rest of that story."

  Derek stared at the headstone again. His mother. But that would make Mrs. Worthington his…. He opened his mouth but no words came out. He closed it and just stood there, staring into the gray stone between the carved letters.

  "Now you know." The man was silent for a moment, then said with forced calm, "But I must be going for lunch. I'm sure Mother will hold the meal until I arrive."

  When Jonathan was gone, Derek sat on the ground. He could not believe what he'd learned, and yet he could not deny it felt true. And what did it mean? Nothing. It didn't matter that he knew because he was going away tomorrow. And he would never have to come back. He was getting everything he'd ever asked for: answers, his freedom. But he only felt sick and cold inside.

  One final question burned in his mind and he knew he would have to ask it before he left, no matter what the consequences. No matter how far away he traveled or how long he went without being there, he would never be able to forget the plantation or the Worthingtons until he had the answer.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Derek Neilson lied in bed almost all afternoon, thinking. Mostly he thought about the fact that his last name was Neilson, but other thoughts crept in as well. He was interrupted at five o' clock by a knock at the door.

  "Dinner," Gabriel called.

  Pushing himself up, Derek left the room and walked downstairs. It would be his last dinner with the family. The next morning he and Mr. Todd would leave. When he got downstairs he sat in his seat without a word of greeting. The air seemed lighter though, now that the funeral was over. Only Mrs. Worthington seemed in a worse mood than the previous dinner.

  "This meat is not cooked," she complained.

  "It tastes fine to me, Mother," Jonathan answered evenly.

  The woman did not speak again for a very long time.

  When he finished eating, Jonathan said, "I suppose now is as good a time as any for a formal announcement." All heads turned in his direction. "As of tomorrow, Derek will begin his training under Mr. Todd."

  Derek felt an odd twist in his stomach. Beth looked surprised but didn't say anything.

  "And whose idea was that?" Mrs. Worthington asked sourly.

  "Actually it was mine, ma'am," Mr. Todd said.

  Gabriel poked at his food moodily.

  "Surely my dear son has warned you what kind of boy he is."

  Derek glared at his plate, wishing he had stayed in his room. The meat was poorly cooked, or tasted so, and he didn't feel like eating any more.

  "I have seen for myself what kind of boy he is," Mr. Todd answered. He was smiling and his tone was friendly, but something about the way he spoke dismissed further conversation on the subject.

  The woman did not bother to reply, a dark glare towards her son quickly, and no doubt correctly, accessing that any protest she made would be rebuked. Mrs. Worthington defeated by a guest in her own dining room was a sad sight indeed, and one Derek had never even dreamed to see.

  "May I be excused?" he asked, not looking up from his plate.

  After a second, Jonathan said, "Yes."

  Leaving his food mostly untouched, Derek left the room. At a loss for where to go, he ended up sitting on the porch bench, watching the sun set. He stayed there quietly until the door opened. He looked up then away as Jonathan and Mr. Todd came out.

  "This is where you disappeared to," Mr. Todd remarked.

  "Yes, sir."

  "None of this 'sir' business. Mr. Todd or just Todd is fine."

  Derek nodded his understanding.

  "You should gather your things, if you need to. We'll be starting for town early."

  Realizing he had nothing to gather—all he owned had burned in the stable fire—Derek answered, "It shouldn't take me long."

  Jonathan looked at him.

  "Well, I'm going to make sure Sky will be ready tomorrow. She doesn't like trains, but I could hardly make her carry two all the way home." Mr. Todd pushed his hat onto his head and walked lightly down the steps. He was a very carefree man and Derek admired him.

  "Derek."

  "Yes?"

  "Here." Jonathan held a small brown envelope out to him.

  "What's that?"

  "Your travel allowance. You'll need to purchase a few things, I'm sure. And food on the train isn't free."

  Taking the envelope, Derek stared at it for several seconds. He wondered how much money was in it—it felt like a lot—but thought it would be too rude to ask or look while Jonathan was still standing beside him. He supposed he should thank the man, but he did not feel it was Jonathan who was really responsible for the care he was r
eceiving. "You're doing this for Catherine, aren't you?

  "No." Jonathan did not hesitate in his reply.

  Frustration swelling in him, Derek scowled, demanding, "Then why are you bothering with me so much? The annuity, this money."

  "It is what is owed to you," he stated simply.

  "My father's money?" he guessed tentatively.

  Jonathan gave a short, dry laugh. "Daniel Neilson was a poor doctor in a country town. He was paid in cow corn and chickens. He had no money," he sneered with great contempt. "This is a debt I owe you through your mother."

  "My mother?"

  "She asked that I look after you in her place and I said I would. I was young then. I did not know what I was promising." Jonathan's voice was suddenly distant, but not in the cold way it usually was. It was warm with thought and swollen with something similar to regret. "I never kept my promise to her. This is, perhaps, my way of making restitution. I have come to realize my morality and finally understand that I will truly one day face her and have to account for my charge. I couldn't stand it if she doesn't smile when she sees me."

  Recalling the girl's face from his dream, Derek thought, She has a beautiful smile. I sort of hope I see it, too. He couldn't believe as firmly as Jonathan that he would meet her, but he let himself hope a little.

  After several moments of silence, Derek spoke: "Can I ask you a question?"

  "What?"

  Derek swallowed thickly. It was something he had wanted to ask Jonathan for years, but had never dared. He had never thought he could stand to know the answer, no matter what it was. And now that he knew about Kylie Mae, he wondered even more. "Why did you hate me? I understand Mrs. Worthington not liking me, but you said you and Kylie Mae were close. Why didn't you tell me about her? Why—" He choked on the words and did not bother to continue.

  Jonathan waited for a minute then said thoughtfully, "First of all, I never hated you. I just wanted my sister and you were a poor substitute. I was very childish."

  "Was?" Derek retorted with annoyance.

  Jonathan made no defense. "Second, I never told you about her because Mother forbade anyone from speaking Kylie's name. She even convinced Father that it would be best for you not to know, though what reasoning she used on him, I cannot fathom."