Corner of the Housetop: Buried Secrets (25 page)

"That's not too bad, then."

"If you aren't doing anything right now, could you slice some bread?"

"I brought the bread up."

"For tomorrow," Beth clarified. "Missus Worthington wants four trays of sandwiches and two of toast and jam."

Derek whistled. "How many people does she think are going to come to this party of hers?"

"Apparently, she invited the whole town at church last Sunday."

Atty shook her head.

Derek took several fresh loaves from the basket on the mantle and set out the bread board by the sink. "She's only doing this to impress the Smithfield's, you know." He fished in the cutlery drawer for the bread knife. "She's ridiculous."

Beth didn't reply. She had left the rest of the buns to Atty and was flouring a baking sheet to put her rolls on. When she started twisting the dough, she seemed to do so with a little more force than was necessary.

The little bell on the wall tinkled.

Wiping his hand on his pants, Derek took the tray of sugared buns and strawberries up the stairs.

"I hope you aren't doing this on our account," Mrs. Smithfield was saying kindly.

"Oh, dear, of course not." Mrs. Worthington's voice was sweet and girlish. "I always put on some little get-together in the summer."

"Pardon me," Derek muttered to Jonathan, pushing aside the man's empty plate with the edge of the tray so he could rest it on the table while he took the serving dishes off.

"Derek, of course you'll be there, won't you?"

Startled at being spoken to, Derek looked at Mrs. Smithfield with surprise. "Where?"

"The party. You'll get to spend the day outside with all of us, won't you."

"Oh, um, I " At a loss, Derek looked at Mrs. Worthington.

Her crystal eyes seemed to do some quick calculating before she said, "Of course he will. I'm sure Beth and Atty will be able to manage the refreshments."

Mrs. Smithfield was smiling at Mrs. Worthington, but Mr. Smithfield, who seemed to have understood the old woman's hesitation to mean exactly what it did mean that she'd been trying to think of a reason out of letting Derek off working only looked unamused and like he wanted to say something he knew he shouldn't.

Feeling like he should say something more since most of the family were still looking at him, Derek muttered, "Thank you, ma'am," before he began piling the tray with the used salad bowls.

When he'd stomped down the stairs, Derek shoved the tray onto the counter carelessly. Several bowls and glasses toppled over, clinking loudly.

"Derek, be careful!"

"She's making me go to her stupid party," he snapped, ignoring Beth's warning.

"Why would she do that? I'm sure she doesn't want you there."

"No, she doesn't. But Mrs. Smithfield seems to think I should want to go, so Mrs. Worthington said I could meaning I
have
to so she wouldn't look like such a bullying, old hag!"

"Derek!"

Crossing his arms and glowering at a spot on the stone floor, Derek leaned against the wall, momentarily forgetting his bread-cutting responsibilities.

"She could leave you in the stables all day and not let you out at all."

"All the better for me." Marching back to the bread board, Derek picked the knife up and started sawing the loaves viciously. It wasn't that he didn't want to go to the party, really. He just knew Anthony would be there. With Anthony, Jonathan, and Mr. Millstone, he was sure it would make for a very long day.

Saturday morning dawned bright and heavy. The sunlight that leaked into the loft brought with it a sense of impending torment that kept Derek in bed more than coaxed him out. As he peered out the open hay door, he fought the urge to pull his sheet over his head and pretend the day would pass without him. It became obvious very quickly that he would have so such ability.

"Boy!"

"Coming!" he called thickly, pushing himself up with more effort than it rightly should have taken.

"Yer wanted up at the house to set up tables!" Devon called in reply.

Derek combed his fingers through his hair as he looked around for where he'd tossed his clothes. Once he was dressed, he descended the ladder with heavy, automatic steps. He looked at Devon, who was feeding Blueberry.

"You don't think I could pretend to be missing, do you?"

"Not if you know what's good fer ya," Devon growled indifferently, not looking at him.

"Thought not." With that, Derek strolled out into the yard where he met the sound of Mrs. Worthington's voice, quivering closely towards impatience.

"Right over there, Gabriel!"

Oh, she's already started,
he thought dejectedly, trudging towards the knoll.

As he reached the top and looked down at the main lawn, he was surprised to see how much it had transformed already. The big table from the kitchen was in front of the porch to the right of the driveway, and two smaller tables were near the honeysuckle bushes on the other side of the carriage house. What appeared to be the dining room table was floating back and forth between the well and some place closer to the tables by the honeysuckles as Jonathan and Gabriel, who were supporting it, stepped back and forth at Mrs. Worthington's indecisive directions.

"It is very heavy, Mother," Gabriel said between gritted teeth.

"Oh, just leave it there," she conceded with a note that suggested she'd have them try moving it later.

Derek made his way over to Beth, who was spreading a table cloth over the kitchen table. "Where do you need help?"

"I think the refreshments can start coming up from the kitchen, to start," Beth said. "That's it for the moment, unless you want to see if you can find more chairs. Missus Worthington doesn't want the good ones brought out." She sounded distinctly ruffled.

"Derek! There you are, you lazy boy!"

Derek stopped climbing the steps to the side door and his shoulders slumped. He'd been spotted. Turning slowly, he faced Mrs. Worthington, who was striding towards him in a very disturbing manner. Old ladies just shouldn't be able to walk that fast...

"Yes, 'am?" he asked wearily.

"Where have you been? Sleeping in, I suppose, while the rest of us are hard at getting ready. Well, don't just stand there. Go and find some of the old chairs to bring out. I believe there are some in the attic or the carriage house. And don't you smirk at me!" she snapped.

Derek, who'd been trying to smile complacently in an attempt to appease the woman, scowled as she turned her back. Mrs. Smithfield was a very nice lady, but Derek hoped she never tried to intercede on his behalf again.

Several hours later, most of the working party were still laboring under Mrs. Worthington's fevered direction.

"No, no, no! That one goes by the water! And I want a row of chairs back against the porch. And move that plant by the house. Yes, just there...cover that paint spot."

Derek grunted under the weight of the potted bush he was working down the porch steps. Since the side of the house hadn't come clean, Mrs. Worthington had insisted on disguising the white patch.

Taking a short break to wipe his forehead, Derek looked at the plantation grounds. Gabriel, Jonathan, and Beth were moving the chairs and tables that had been placed earlier in the day.

Mrs. Worthington, who couldn't seem to make up her mind about anything, was standing on the porch like the conductor of a great orchestra, pointing to people, furniture, and places with her pink, tasseled fan. Every few minutes, she would stop and fan herself, then start giving orders again.

Giving the bush a final heave into place or rather,
out
of place: it looked ridiculous, being the only shrubbery so close to that side of the house Derek wondered, not for the first time, why they hadn't done at least a little of the set up the day before. He sighed as he examined the bush for a moment. He shook his head, then went to help Beth set chairs near the refreshment tables.

Setting the last chair in place, Derek stretched his arms. "I'm going to start bringing up the food."

"I'll be down to help you in a minute," Beth said, taking a blue table cloth from the pile in the grass near the refreshment tables.

After several trips up and down the kitchen stairs with wide, heavy trays, Derek dropped onto one of the chairs by the dirt drive. Slumping forward, he wiped his face again. The air was so thick with humidity, breathing was like taking gulps of hot water right into his lungs. He suppressed a groan as he noticed Mrs. Worthington and her pink fan marching towards him.

"If you're finished, go get cleaned up. You look a mess and the guests will start arriving any time now."

"Yes, 'am."

"And do something with your hair!"

Derek trudged across the lawn. He would have given anything to be able to skip the party and go for a swim. Climbing the knoll took much more effort than it should have, and the sound of the river rushing just minutes away through the trees did nothing to inspire him to climb faster. Maybe he could just show up at the party and say a quick hello, then leave...

When he reached the stables, a wave of heat billowed out over Derek as he pulled the door open as wide as it would go. Stepping inside was nearly unbearable. The heavy rank of old hay and horse manure choked him. Luckily for the horses, they were out of the heat and odor all morning: Mr. And Mrs. Smithfield had taken Abigail and Bartholomew on one of the riding trails through the back meadows.

Derek climbed the ladder to his loft with heavy steps. When he found his good clothes at the bottom of his trunk, he laid them on his bed and started unbuttoning his shirt. He'd just pulled it off and tossed it onto his trunk when a wonderful thought come to his mind.

She
did
say to clean up. What's cleaner than a bath?

Derek scooped up his shirt and yanked it back on. Forgetting the oppressive heat to thoughts of cool water, he scurried down the ladder and ran out into the sunlight. He could get in at least fifteen minutes at the river if he hurried.

He ran across the lawn, careful not to be seen by the working party still setting out food and center pieces on each table. Ducking through the bushes, he charged down the path, into the jungle of Spanish moss and wilting leaves. The canopy of the forest acted like a greenhouse, making the air even thicker and harder to swallow into his lungs, but Derek barely noticed as the sound of the river grew louder.

When he arrived at the muddy slope of bank, Derek kicked off his shoes and plunged into the icy current. Between his new responsibilities in the stables and the Smithfield's' arrival, he hadn't had time to go swimming in nearly two months.

When he'd waded in the water for as long as he could justify, Derek trudged out, onto the bank. He didn't bother putting his shoes on, just started at a jog up the path. When he pushed through the bushes, he spotted Gabriel standing by the corner of the house. He turned at the sound of the bushes parting.

"No fair!" Gabriel whined as he took in Derek's wet clothes and dripping hair. He, himself looked hot and sticky in his fine suit, his round cheeks and forehead red with heat and sun.

"Your mother said to clean up," Derek answered indifferently. "Figured a bath was as good a clean-up as I could get."

"You could have gotten me."

"She would have noticed. Beside, you and your friends'll go swimming after the party, I bet. I'll have to help put stuff away."