Corner of the Housetop: Buried Secrets (4 page)

Moving forward to pull out Mrs. Worthington's chair, Derek nodded to her. "Good evening, Mrs. Worthington."

"Yes, it is," she replied tartly, as if he had no right to be suggesting as to the state of the evening to anyone, least of all her. She turned her attention back to her son. "She should come over with her mother for tea. I haven't seen Mrs. Clayton in many weeks. She wasn't at church yesterday. I can only hope she's well. But our supper is getting cold. Gabriel, darling, will you say grace?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Bowing his head until Gabriel began, Derek looked up a little, glancing around at the others as Gabriel spoke. There was nothing more interesting than watching people when they were praying. He wasn't sure if he, himself was praying or not when he didn't have his eyes closed, but, according to Mrs. Worthington, he was already as evil as it was possible to be, so a little infraction like not joining meal prayer couldn't effected his standings with God too much.

As Gabriel continued to pray, Derek watched with mild amusement as Mrs. Worthington clutched her bony, wrinkled fingers together, her long nails resting on her protruding knuckles. She bent her head so far forward, her forehead was nearly resting in her plate. This, she'd told him when he was younger, was the most acceptable way to pray. With humility and supplication, not pride nor with a stiff neck. She looked like she might fall pig-style into her salad any moment.

Gabriel also leaned forward, but not nearly as badly. His hands were folded together easily, his forearms on the edge of the table. There was a time when they would both be looking up at prayer, staring together at Mrs. Worthington as she slumped into her plate in reverence. Now, distanced from the friendship, Gabriel kept his head bowed, his eyes dutifully closed.

Beth, standing beside Derek, held her hands in front of her, clasping one in the other. Her head was bowed forward, her eyes, which rounded out from her face in a permanently frightened expression, were closed.

"We ask to be bearers of Thy will and love, to bring peace to our fellow men. We also ask for Thy blessing upon this meal. We are so grateful for Thy loving spirit, which does bless us in all things, even so much that we have such great abundance and security. This blessing we ask upon ourselves, our lands, and this meal, in the most holy name of Thy Beloved Son, Jesus Christ. Amen."

Derek dropped his chin to his chest quickly so Mrs. Worthington wouldn't see him looking around. "Amen," he croaked a few seconds late of the others' chorus, caught off guard with the prayer ending so much sooner than usual. Mrs. Worthington didn't seem to notice.

After the blessing, conversation went back towards prospective girls for Gabriel to get to know.

Derek and Beth, being dismissed by habit until dessert, slipped out of the room. They made the short trek down the stairs into the basement kitchen in silence. Neither spoke until Derek sighed and sat on a short, wooden chair.

"I guess she must be in a good mood. She didn't even yell at me when she must have known I wasn't paying attention during prayer."

At his admission, Beth gave him a stern glare. She was much more a mother-figure to him than Mrs. Worthington had ever even pretended to be, so her disappointment was more effecting, though not enough so to inspire a verbal apology. Derek did have the decency to look away sheepishly at her glare.

He said hastily, before the lecture could start, "Do you know why she's in such a good mood?"

Wiping the counter, Beth shook her head. "She did get a letter today, but she didn't say much about it. She just took it to her room and stayed there all day."

"So I stayed out of the house for no reason." Derek smiled winningly at the glare he got from Beth, snatching a strawberry out of the bowl on the table and biting into it.

"I almost feel like I should be worried. You know, she was saying something was wrong with her son last week."

"Gabe?" he asked around his mouthful.

Beth shook her head solemnly.

"You mean the great and all-knowing Jonathan?" he asked, swallowing. "I didn't know anything could go wrong for him. Imagine that." He reached for another berry.

"Stop picking at those. They're for Missus Worthington's dessert." Taking the bowl away, she replaced it with a plate of bread, cheese, and meat. "That's your dinner."

"Looks wonderful. So, what was it about The Great One that has her in such a tizzy?"

"I really don't know. She just mentioned something about having Reverend Marks put his wife's name in the prayer circle."

Finishing the bread in two bites, Derek swallowed thickly. "Because we know Mr. Perfection could do with a blessing or two more." Despite his throw-away attitude, hearing Jonathan's wife mentioned piqued his interest.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you didn't like Mr. Worthington," Beth said with mild sarcasm.

Shaking his head, Derek ate the rest of his dinner quickly. "How was the day around the house? Besides quiet."

"It was nice. Like I said, Missus Worthington had mail come. Young Gabriel's friends were over from town for the afternoon. They had tea. They're very calm, polite boys."

Derek snorted, crossing his arms over his chest with an ironic smirk.

"Then I did the laundry and hung the linens..."

Tuning out her talk, Derek retreated to his own thoughts.

To say he didn't like Jonathan Worthington was an understatement. If it weren't for Martha Worthington, Jonathan would be number one on that list of people Derek hated.

Yes, even higher than Anthony Clayton.

Jonathan was conceited and snobbish with an overly high opinion of himself just because of his last name.

Luckily, Mrs. Worthington thought her eldest son was too talented and intelligent to go to a regular senior school. A year after Derek was born, Jonathan was on his way north to a prestigious boarding school in Richmond that the Claytons, who at the time had just moved to town, recommended. After that, Derek only had to see the other boy for two months in the summer and two months in the winter. However short they may have been, those four months a year were plenty enough to put a sour taste in Derek's mouth. When Jonathan graduated and announced his plans move to Charlestown, several hours away from the Worthington Plantation, Derek was so glad that he even shook the man's hand goodbye and wished him luck.

Then, shortly after Jonathan's much-anticipated move, there came a letter bearing news that he was getting married and he wanted the whole family to be there. Of course, Mrs. Worthington was overjoyed. She had begun making arrangements for travel the very next day. Two months found them all packed up and rattling down the road in a bouncy carriage on their way to the city.

Why Mrs. Worthington thought that bringing the "whole family" meant he should be included, Derek couldn't imagine. Perhaps she thought if she left him alone in her precious house her good, kind, and gentle nature wouldn't be there to balance his evil, idle ways, and that God would rain brimstone down from the sky on her home in an effort to get rid of him. All things considered, Derek would have preferred a two-week break from the woman, even at the risk of fiery showers of God's wrath from Heaven.

The days leading up to the wedding had been a tense time for Derek. It seemed every time he turned around Jonathan was glaring at him, or suggesting he do something constructive. Derek was shuffled around the man's large home, going from one menial task to another. It seemed that whatever room Jonathan was in, Derek couldn't be in. If Derek was hanging decorations in the rented hall and the groom wanted to oversee the tables being placed, Derek was suddenly desperately needed outside. If he was outside helping lay out the carpet from the walk up the steps to the chapel and Jonathan happened through the door, it instantly became imperative that Derek dash to the baker's down the street and check on the cake. It was worse than working for Mrs. Worthington.

And, as with everything else in the man's life, Jonathan's future bride would turn out to be nothing less than absolute perfection. Her name was Catherine Cindal and she had golden hair and smooth, glowing skin. Her green eyes were wide and constantly sparkled with merriment. She was kind and helpful, and any number of other adjective Derek could have thought up.

Among those adjectives, however, was the fact that she was "Jonathan's." Their wedding day was a heartbreak that Derek, ten-years old at the time, thought he would never recover from.

"Derek?"

"Hmm?"

"I asked if you got your clothes out of the washroom."

"Not yet. I'll do that after we eat."

Beth busied herself clearing the tray she used to bring the food in and began stacking it with dessert: the bowl of strawberries, a small cream mug of honey, little silver forks, and two small, clean, white China plates.

"I'll bring it," Derek said, popping another strawberry in his mouth and taking the tray out of Beth's hands with a smile. He would do anything, even put himself at the mercy of Mrs. Worthington, if only to get out of the deadly heat of the kitchen. Walking up the stairs, down the hall, and into the room, he set the dishes and bowls on the table between the two and started piling the dinner dishes onto the tray.

"Derek, after we've finished I would like to see you in the parlor," Mrs. Worthington said stiffly, pouring a lot of fresh honey onto her plate.

"Yes, ma'am." When he was back in the kitchen, Derek set the tray on the table and sighed heavily.

"What is it?"

"I think I'm getting extra chores, so don't bother with the rugs tonight. She'll have me beating them tomorrow."

Smiling a little, Beth set the dishes in the wash basin. "What did you do?"

"Gabriel and I shared a moment and he must have gone running straight to Mother about it."

"A moment?" She shook her head. "I remember when you two were so close."

"And that was a long time ago," he stated testily, picking up the rag and tossing it into the basin.

"Beating rugs isn't the worst chore," she reasoned, pouring water into a kettle then swinging it over the low fire.

"Hmm. Why do you have to heat that? It is too hot in here already!"

Beth shook her head. "It will be hotter in minute. It's your turn to wash."

"I think I hate dishes."

"Without them, you would have to eat off the table."

"Without them, I wouldn't be stuck in this room, boiling on the hottest day of summer."

Taking the kettle away from the fire, Beth wrapped the rag around the handle and lifted it off the hook. She poured the water over the dishes. "It isn't summer. It's May."

Scowling, he slumped back in his seat. Leaning forward again, Derek asked in a decisive voice, "Did you know that there are places in this world that are cool and sunny with hardly any rain, all year round?"

"I'm sure there are."

Derek walked over and leaned against the counter, taking the rag from her. "It's real."

"And some day you'll go there."

"Yes. If you stop being mean to me, I might let you come along. If not, I'll write you a letter from some beach-front hut."

Chuckling, Beth said, "I'll look forward to that letter."

Derek sighed, trying to imagine the what a letter written to an illiterate slave by an illiterate boy might say. He supposed they could both just pretend it said whatever they wanted and no one would know the difference.

As the sun set, the reedy sound of crickets singing filled the air. Sitting on the porch, Derek watched the fireflies as they floated in the darkening sky, their lights blinking steadily. If he hoped the night would bring any relief from the heat and humidity of the day, he was sadly disappointed. If anything, the blanket of moisture that hung in the air thickened and settled deeper, flooding his lungs with each breath. Summer wasn't even there yet and Derek already wished it was Fall.