Corner of the Housetop: Buried Secrets (48 page)

Tuesday night passed, slow and sleepless. There was a nearly constant rustle of movement in the hallway and Derek could do little more than lie on his back and stare at the ceiling. It was as if time had stopped and when the light of morning crept into the room it seemed fake and cold. When he finally forced himself to get up, breakfast was far past and none of the family or Mr. Todd was anywhere to be seen.

Wandering out onto the porch, Derek stopped when he saw Gabriel sitting on the bench. "'Morning," he muttered.

"'Morning." The boy looked as though he had not slept either.

"Where's everyone?"

"Mr. Todd and Jonathan are at the cemetery plot, digging. Mother went to town with Devon to buy a coffin and a nice dress."

A coffin and a nice dress?
Derek wondered, mildly shocked at the morbid imagery. Recalling Devon's absence from the stables, he asked, "Do you know where Devon is staying now?"

"Jonathan is having two new slave houses constructed behind the strawberry field. One is finished so Devon is staying there."

"Slave houses?"

Gabriel nodded. "He's been making plans to go to Charleston and buy three or four more."

"Why?"

"Because we need them?" Gabriel suggested obviously, as though Derek was stupid.

Derek
had
noticed a lack in hands, but it just seemed odd. In fourteen years there hadn't been any new slaves.
What will they do with me when they have more slaves?
he wondered. He could not imagine Mrs. Worthington would keep him when all of his chores could be handed out to less demanding help. Of course, Jonathan was obviously assuming his position as master of the plantation, and so Mrs. Worthington's desires were of no more account than suggestion in her son's ear. Perhaps the man would see fit to keep him….

After a moment, Derek muttered something about horses and started down the steps and across the yard at a slow pace.

Climbing the knoll at a short distance from the trees, he scanned the open strawberry field for signs of new buildings. All the way at the far end stood a small shack beside which stood the frame of what would be a second. Derek walked towards the structures, wondering how many new slaves there would be. The buildings were small, but Derek knew slave quarters weren't built for comfort. Six could fit in the finished one, and probably the same in the other. Would he be made to move out there and live in one of those tiny houses?

His insides churning with discomfort, Derek turned from the sight and started away from the field. He considered going to the family cemetery and offering to help, but thought better of interrupting Jonathan and stopped when he reached the stables.

As he leaned on the fence post, he watched the moving figures of the two men from across the wide field. Derek had never visited the little fenced plot by the edge of the forest where Jeremiah Worthington was buried, and it seemed odd to him that anyone would visit a grave. He had pleasant memories of the man's caring face and did not want to replace them with one of a cold, gray stone and dead flowers.

The mare, who had not yet been named, cantered towards him. She pushed her nose into his outstretched hand.

"Still no sugar," Derek told her dejectedly. "Maybe later." Rubbing her nose absently his thoughts returned to the previous day.

No one had mentioned Kylie Mae in the wake of Catherine's death, but her name hung in the air like a fog of tension. She seemed to hover and watch the proceedings as if waiting for her turn to be the focus of attention. Derek wished he would dream of her again. He hated the dreams because of the forest and its night creatures, but it had been many days since he'd seen her. Why hadn't she called to him again?

Derek stood there until the shapes of the men in the cemetery began to stir and emerge from the fenced area. They moved across the field with slow steps. As they neared the corral, Jonathan looked up at Derek. His face was pale, his features drawn with strain. He seemed not to see Derek, looking through him and then past him as he continued to walk silently.

Mr. Todd afforded Derek a slight nod and followed his friend.

Later that afternoon the wagon returned with Devon, Mrs. Worthington, and a large load covered by a burlap blanket. Seeing their arrival, Derek sauntered towards the house. A she went, he mused over the quiet day. Even the weather was mild and seemed sad.

When he reached the porch, he asked, "Should I help unload the wagon?" It was the first time he'd seen Devon since the attic and he was curious as to how the man would react to him.

Looking down at him, Devon said in a rusty voice, "Might's well. It's goin' in the parlor."

It took Derek, Devon, Mr. Todd and Jonathan to move the long, narrow casket, but eventually they managed to get it into the room at the end of the downstairs hall. The parlor had been rearranged, the chairs and couch pushed against the wall. There was a low stand for the casket to set on and a small table by the door with a guest book for those who visited.

Derek felt deeply disturbed as they finished setting the casket. It had been strange enough to know Catherine's body was still in the bed in her room upstairs, but when she was dressed and moved to the parlor for visitors it would be impossible not to see her every time he left or entered the house.

"Thank you for your help, Eli."

"It's no problem at all. I wish I could do more."

Jonathan wiped his forehead and asked, "Will you stay until the funeral?"

"I'd hate to impose."

"It wouldn't be an imposition. As long as your father doesn't need you home until the weekend."

Mr. Todd shook his head. "It should be fine. I have two brothers still at home—Evan and Michael—and my mother and sister are fairly helpful. Ann's eleven now and can manage most of the house chores, which frees Mum to tend the garden."

"Is there anything else you need?" Derek interrupted. He wanted to leave the room. The smell of the pine was making his nose itch and his stomach turn.

Looking at him as though he'd forgotten he was there, Jonathan stared for a second then said, "No, thank you." His tone was worn.

As he left the room Derek heard Mr. Todd comment, "For a stable boy he spends a lot of time in the house."

Derek didn't hear the response. He went up the servant's stairs—he did not have to pass Catherine's room from that end of the hall—and into his bedroom. Sitting down with a sigh, he took the books from under his pillow and started flipping through one of them. Musing at his good luck that Mrs. Worthington had not continued on the line of his sudden ability to read, Derek settled on a story and began deciphering the words.

The hours passed quickly and before he'd finished learning what happened to the shepherd boy who went into the enchanted mountains to find his lost sheep there was a light knock on his door. Sliding the book under his pillow out of habit, his called, "Come in."

Beth entered. She looked tired. "Dinner will be ready in ten minutes."

Derek nodded.

"Are you feeling better?"

"Mostly. How are you?"

She shrugged a little. "We're dressin' Missus Worthington tonight." She said it as though it should have been a conversation starter, but the comment only left a still coldness in the air. "Well, I'll see you downstairs."

When she was gone Derek lied back on the bed. He didn't feel like eating. He didn't feel like sitting at the table with Jonathan and listening to tense conversation, or making tense conversation.

Derek waited another five minutes before standing and leaving the room. He walked towards the servant stairs, but stopped when he heard noise from Beth and Atty's room. They should have been downstairs, setting up for dinner. The door was ajar and Derek pushed it lightly to open it farther. He peered in cautiously and was surprised to see the attic door open. What would someone be doing up there?

Derek crept into the room and peered up the stairs. A wave nausea swept over him at the stench of rot and mold. He covered his mouth with his hand and swallowed the feeling, his curiosity greater than his trepidation. He took the lamp from the low table by the mattresses and used it to secure the door from closing by accident then started up the stairs with light steps.

When he could see the attic floor he leaned forward, peering around the corner for the source of the sound. A dull glow came from the right side of the room: a lit candle sat on top of an uncovered desk. One of the drawers was pulled open. Casting his eyes to the left of the room, Derek spotted the cause of the noise: Jonathan was just barely visible, half wedged between a tall bookshelf and a gilded full-length mirror. Wondering what the man was doing, Derek leaned farther, his arm resting on a creaky board.

Jonathan turned at the sound. "What are you doing up here?" he demanded, extracting himself from the corner with ease.

"I heard a noise and wondered if someone needed help getting something," he explained in a ready half-truth.

With a glare, Jonathan stalked across the room, deposited something in the open drawer, closed it, and said, "Go downstairs." He marched towards the stairs and Derek retreated, barely staying ahead of the man as they entered the hall. "Do not go in the attic again." With that, Jonathan strode to the main staircase and disappeared.

Peering back into the bedroom, Derek felt troubled and torn. It should have been the easiest order he'd ever had to follow as he had no desire to be in the attic, but the very fact that he'd been told to stay out piqued his curiosity. Maybe it was nothing, but what was Jonathan looking for? The painting he seemed to want so badly?

Trying to push away the disturbing curiosity, sure it could only get him into trouble, especially with Jonathan so on edge already, Derek walked down the small staircase and to the dining room.

Mrs. Worthington glared as he entered and took his seat, the meal already served and, no doubt, well-blessed. "How kind of you to join us."

"I'm sorry." Derek dared not give any excuse because the truth would be damning and Jonathan would know any lie. He started on his food, eating slowly and dutifully. He was not the only one who seemed not to enjoy the meal.

Gabriel only picked listlessly at his potatoes while Jonathan did not bother with the pretense of hunger. His fork never moved from the side of his plate as he watched his food with distracted eyes.

"Dear, you'll make yourself ill," Mrs. Worthington chastised when she noticed his lack of movement. She seemed to have no trouble finding her appetite and the way she chewed so carelessly made Derek hate her all the more.

With dull eyes, Jonathan looked through the woman. "I don't seem to want food, Mother. Surely you understand."

Derek silently dared her to start her speech of how "the dead are useless and so warrant no thought": that same infuriating reasoning she used to not talk about her husband and Derek's parents.

She did not speak, but returned to her meal with more dainty bites.

When the food was gone and the dishes cleared Atty brought in dessert: biscuits with blueberry preserves and sugar. Still Jonathan did not eat. Taking his cue from the man, Derek did not bother to pick up his spoon.

Mrs. Worthington finished her biscuit and said to Derek and Gabriel in a fussy tone, "Boys, we will begin receiving guests tomorrow, so see that you clean yourself properly."

Jonathan pushed his chair back from the table without excuse and stood. Mrs. Worthington seemed about to scold him, but caught her tongue in time and only scowled as he left the room silently.

When even the untouched plates were cleared, Derek said, "Excuse me," and stood. He left the house and walked towards the stables. He was beginning to miss the quiet of being there all the time. How he dearly wished he would be sent from the main house for good.