Corner of the Housetop: Buried Secrets (39 page)

Clenching his fists at his sides, Derek was unable to find an immediate response. Withholding food was nothing new, but for Mrs. Worthington to sneak behind Jonathan's back to do it seemed infuriatingly childish and Derek did not want to believe there was nothing he could do about it. At least when he'd lived in the house he could creep to the kitchen in the night and find bits of bread and meat that Beth would purposely forget to throw out. In the stables, he was helpless unless he wanted hay and oats.

"You may leave. And do not enter this house again. Jonathan has made it very clear, I think, that he does not want you upsetting Catherine."

Turning sharply, Derek left the parlor and walked out the front door. A savage rain was pounding the earth. Holding his hat down against the rising wind, he jogged down the porch steps and ran until he was safely in the stables and out of the storm. The oatmeal suddenly seemed heavy in his stomach, though oddly insubstantial.

Climbing to the loft, he strode to the pile of empty burlap sacks and took the top one. If he ran quickly enough, he could make it to the blackberry bushes by the river before the heavy rains knocked all the ripe berries off the branches.

By Friday afternoon the idea of starving to death did not seem nearly as bad as that of having to eat any more blackberries. They and water were all Derek had eaten in two days.

"You done yer chores?" Devon called up to the loft.

"Been done for hours, old man," Derek called back sleepily. He actually hadn't watered the horses yet, but that could wait another few minutes. His brain was pulsing painfully and all he wanted to do was sleep. He was allowed to lie in the silent humidity for nearly an hour more before the sound of footsteps on the ladder forced him to open in his eyes. He peered at Gabriel with annoyance.

"How are you feeling?"

Derek sat up. "About sick of berries. You?"

Walking across the loft, Gabriel pulled a small piece of bread out of the loose cuff of his sleeve. "Here," he said, holding out the bread. "It's small, but it's all I could sneak without Mother noticing."

After a wrestle between his stomach and his pride, Derek took the crumbly bread. He ate it in two quick bites then wished he'd taken his time. He sighed. "Why does she hate me so much?" he wondered out loud, painfully aware of his pitiful situation. Taking handouts from Gabriel….

Sitting on the mattress, Gabriel didn't answer immediately. When he did speak, he said, "We haven't gone over that last passage from page fifteen."

Snorting with cynical laughter, Derek reached over and took the stiffened, bloated book from the top of his trunk and offered it to the other boy.

"What happened?"

"Jonathan doesn't want me reading his book."

Gabriel scowled. He took the book and pulled the pages apart carefully. "You know, sometimes I really "

"Believe me, I know," he interrupted impatiently, glowering. He'd been over every possible phrase of dislike on his own. He wasn't in the mood to listen to Gabriel have his turn.

Looking tentative, he asked, "So, do you want to stop?"

Derek snorted again. "When has Jonathan scared me?" He was only half-serious.

Flexing the binding and turning a few more pages, Gabriel said, "The ink isn't too bad on most of the pages. You should be able to read most of it without any problem." His eyes flicked down page fifteen. "Any trouble spots?"

"Yeah." Scooting closer to Gabriel, Derek leaned over to look at the passage. "I had a little trouble here and here," he said, pointing.

"The 'k's are silent. That's 'know.' Remember?"

"Oh yeah. That one, too?"

"Yeah."

"So it's what?" Derek stared at it for a moment. "Knot?"

Gabriel nodded.

The two sat looking at the book. When Derek finished the comprehension questions, he read the next two pages aloud, then closed the book. "I'm done for today." His headache had gotten worse and his stomach was churning uncomfortably.

"All right. Write out and answer the questions from that section and I'll look at them tomorrow."

Derek nodded as he set the fragile book aside. He stretched and rubbed his forehead.

"How long do you think you'll be punished for?" Gabriel asked quietly.

He wanted to make a snide comment about the fact that he didn't think he was being specifically punished so much as cruelly tortured, but he didn't have the energy to be sarcastic and his guts were starting to ache to the point that he didn't want to talk at all. "Don't know," was his short reply.

"You don't look so good."

Derek scowled. "You go two days without eating and see how you look."

"Should I let you sleep?"

Too annoyed to be touched at the concern in the other boy's voice, Derek just nodded a little and lied back on his bed with his forearm thrown over his eyes to block out the light.

Without further conversation, Gabriel left.

Derek lied on his back for several minutes, unable to sleep. His skin felt hot and he knew he was going to be sick. Annoyed at his dizziness, he crawled towards the new junk pile that had been growing over the previous weeks to look for the rusty bucket he remembered putting there. When he found it, he went back to his bed and sat down, waiting. Just as he contemplated that he might not have enough in his stomach to vomit, his abdomen contracted violently and he was sick. After a moment, he was sick again, then the burning in his skin subsided into a shivering cold.

Lying back once more, Derek took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He wiped the cold sweat off his face and waited for the dizziness to pass. After a few minutes his illness was gone and he sat back up. He reached for the glass milk jug he had filled with water and sipped from it. It was warm and thick-tasting, but it settled in his empty stomach comfortably. Another minute passed. He decided that he hated blackberries, then stood up, took the rusty bucket, and walked towards the ladder at the edge of the loft. His legs shook a little.

Descending the ladder, he took the new watering bucket in his empty hand and strolled out into the sunlight. It warmed his cold skin and made him feel oddly detached and content. Spotting Devon by the corral, he called, "I'm going to draw water for the horses."

Devon nodded without looking at him. He was hammering on one of the fence railings that was starting to lean in the muddy ground.

Should build a new fence
, Derek mused.
That one's been falling over since I can remember.
Noticing the full rain barrel, Derek decided against the long walk to the well. Setting the rusty bucket on the ground, he dipped the clean one into barrel. He dumped the first bucketful into the rusty one then refilled the first from the barrel once more and took it to the trough in Blueberry's stall.

"Hey, boy."

Blueberry's tail swished and he peered at the bucket hungrily, waiting.

He emptied the bucket, then returned to the barrel and filled it again for Lady Sarah Mary-Ruth, who only seemed annoyed that he had given Blueberry water first. When he was done, he hanged the bucket against the wall and went to finish rinsing the other one. Picking it up, Derek walked around to the back of the stables, swirled the dirty water and dumped it in the grass.

When he walked back to the front of the stables, he set the bucket down and wandered towards Devon. He rested his forearms on the top rail of the fence. "That pile in the loft is getting bad again. Can I hitch up Blue and dump some of it?"

"Good a time as any, I s'pose."

Derek nodded. He still felt a little sleepy, but his hunger was wearing off and he wanted to keep busy. "You should talk to Mrs. Worthington about putting in a new fence. This one has seen its days."

Devon grunted uninterestedly.

Shrugging, Derek started back to the stables. "Or not," he conceded easily. Feeling comfortable, he returned to the stables. He had always found it funny that after a couple days of demanding food and not receiving any his body would give up its request and leave him to do his chores in peace. It always made him wonder if a person really needed food at all, or if the impulse was a desire of habit, satisfied out of tradition and for pleasure.

The hours passed quickly as he worked, sorting the pile and throwing most of it out the hay door. When he was done, he drew Blueberry out of his stall and towards the flatbed wagon. Loading the garbage in the heat was exhausting, but it occupied his mind and, as that was his purpose, he tolerated the fatigue with little complaint. Climbing into the wagon himself, he drove to the dump at the far side of the field, passed the dead strawberry rows. With as much effort, Derek heaved the items over the bank into the woods where many years of junk already set, decaying from time and weather. When the wagon was empty, he directed Blueberry back towards the stables.

Once everything was put away and the horses were fed, Derek climbed to the loft and surveyed it with critical interest. His sense of accomplishment was almost enough to overpower the sense of bitterness that crept into him at knowing that Devon was at the house eating his dinner. He wasn't sure if it was because of Beth's insistence, Devon's consideration, or Mrs. Worthington's paranoia, but the old slave had been taking most of his meals in the kitchen.

He sighed and sat down. Glancing around, Derek found his book and picked it up. He took his pad of paper from the top of his trunk and retrieved the nub that was left of his pencil. He would have to get another soon.

Flipping open to the new passage, he started copying the first question with improved penmanship:
Why did the Gates family move from New York?
He scanned the passage then wrote an answer.

Derek finished the first four questions before the light grew too dim. Pushing his homework aside, he leaned over to fish a match out of his trunk. Once his lamp was lit, he returned to his work.

Four days of Derek's "punishment" passed and Mrs. Worthington still showed no sign of being willing to let him eat. If anything, she seemed pleased and smug at his lethargic steps as he had made his way from the carriage into the church building Sunday morning.

At their study session on Saturday, Gabriel had brought him a ham sandwich on toast, which he managed to keep down. Saturday afternoon, Gabriel tried to offer Derek a blackberry muffin which made him ill to look at, never mind trying to eat it. He only drank water for the rest of the day, and when he was sick again Sunday morning, nothing but thin liquid came up. Though he could have claimed illness and been allowed to stay home from church, it would have meant a visible victory for Mrs. Worthington and, in his ill mood, Derek could not allow that; not even to ease his own discomfort.

Besides
, he'd reasoned when the idea first came to his mind,
she'll probably tell me I have to go anyway thinking I'm going to try to steal food while she's out. Not that I
wouldn't
….

Stifling a yawn, Derek glanced sideways at Gabriel, who was dutifully staring at Reverend Marks, though his jaw was slackening and his eyes were unfocused. Derek, too, was only feigning any interest, preoccupied with the heaviness in his stomach.

When Reverend Marks finished, they sang a hymn and he offered a prayer.

The sound of shuffling and yawning filled the room followed by a growing din of greetings among the congregation.