Corner of the Housetop: Buried Secrets (49 page)

Walking with slow steps he approached the gate and pulled it open, then walked to the stable door. Entering the thick darkness, he reached for the lamp and lit it. Derek sighed and leaned his forearms on the edge of Blueberry's stall.

"Boy, I wish I was you."

Happy with his company, Blueberry neighed and nodded his head enthusiastically before moving forward and nuzzling Derek's shoulder.

"Have you been fed? Probably not." Derek took the new grain pale and filled both troughs then retrieved several cubes of sugar from the little box. When he was done feeding Blueberry he moved down to the mare's stall and offered her the treats she'd been so craving.

She ate anxiously.

Smiling, Derek said, "It's a shame you don't have a name yet." He scratch between her ears with his free hand. "How about I call you Kylie until they decide? I like it."

The horse seemed content, but he could have suggested anything to her as long as she was eating sugar cubes, he realized.

When he was finished visiting, Derek climbed the ladder to the loft and looked around. It was nearly empty except for several neatly stacked bales of hay, a shiny new pulley arm, and a few spare tools. With a sigh, he sat on the hay and leaned back against another bale. He would have happily stayed there forever if he could.

Hours slipped by while Derek was lost in some thoughtless place where movement was not required.

When he finally stirred light no longer streamed in between the boards of the hay door. Moving forward, he unlatched the little door and swung it out, peering into the evening. It wasn't quite dark, but it would be in a matter of moments. He started to stand but stopped when he saw a lone, dark figure wandering across the field towards the strawberry patch.

Though the man had no lantern or even a candle stub, Derek recognized Jonathan's smooth gait despite its uncharacteristically ebbing nature. He watched him wander along, transfixed by the dark settling and the man's mournful stride, unbroken by fear of the night noises that whispered around him. He marveled at how oblivious Jonathan was to the dangers hidden just feet from him in the underbrush of the forest.

Watching him continue farther from the safety of house and stables, a thought occurred to Derek: Jonathan did not seem oblivious at all. His steps, though slow, were purposeful, and he was probably quite aware of the beastly hunger their sound may stir as he passed near the trees. He possibly even hoped his dark loneliness would draw some terrible creature out of the forest to devour him.

Derek shivered at the thought, recalling that he still had to transverse that darkness to get to the house. Scrambling down the ladder, he blew out the lantern and stepped into the night. He closed the stable door and ran across the corral and towards the house. His heart pounded as his chest constricted in the all-too-familiar way, but he reached the porch safely, as he always did.

Walking into the house, Derek wandered towards the parlor, wondering if Catherine had been dressed and laid out yet. He almost didn't want to see, but he couldn't help looking. He peered into the darkened room.

As he crept towards the coffin he was relieved to find it closed. Whether she was in there or not did not matter, only that he did not have to see her dead eyes.

Over the next day a steady stream of visitors came and went. It struck Derek as odd that so many of them did not know Catherine, but he supposed the viewings and greetings were more for the living than the deceased, and each person who came knew Jonathan well.

Because there was no set time for visitors, Derek was forced to stay in a set of Sunday clothes he'd borrowed from Gabriel all day. The shirt was too big and the trousers too short, but Mrs. Worthington seemed only to care that he looked clean and well cared for. Fortunately, he only had to look presentable when he was in sight.

Jonathan, however, had to make himself available for all the well-wishers and condolence-offerers as they appeared. He spent most of the morning sitting in the parlor by the open casket, his eyes on the floor in front of his feet. He wore his best dress shirt and a smart green and tan vest, his hair immaculate, his expression one of dignified melancholy: he was the picture of organizational perfection even in his distress. Whatever had broken in the moment Catherine died seemed to have been fixed and put back in place, and Derek was sure he would not see the man so openly wandering into the darkness again.

As Derek passed the parlor door early in the afternoon he felt compelled to stop and say something to Jonathan, but that would mean entering the room far enough to see Catherine, and he was trying to avoid that at all costs. Instead he hovered in the doorway until Jonathan looked at him, then hurried up the stairs to his room.

With a deep sigh, he dropped onto his bed and closed his eyes. He could see Catherine's face. And then it was not hers any more. It was Kylie Mae's, but only for a moment, then she, too, disappeared.

Opening his eyes, Derek sat up, suddenly restless. He was curious. Curious why Kylie had not called to him again. Curious why Jonathan wanted her portrait so badly. Curious what Jonathan had been doing in the attic. Surely not looking for the painting.

His restlessness finally getting the best of him, Derek stood and strode down the hall towards Beth's bedroom. He knew the women were busy in the kitchen baking and keeping the refreshments full for guests. He peered into the room and across at the closed attic door. He began to feel sick and nearly abandoned his curiosity, but then he heard steps on the main stairs climbing towards him. He slipped into the room and pulled the door closed so he would not be found and questioned.

His heart pounded as he listened to the movement in the hall. He glanced at the attic door again. Just a moment…. It wasn't as if he would stay. Just to see what Jonathan had put in that drawer….

Derek inched the bedroom door open and checked that it had not been Jonathan coming up the stairs. The hallway was empty. Closing the door again, he turned towards the attic, stepping carefully. The door opened with a small whine, then settled. Sliding the lantern in front of it, he took the candleholder from the little table, lit it with a match from the drawer, then began to climb the rickety steps, his hand tracing the wall as if to remind him of reality as the panic swelled in his chest and his throat tightened.

When he reached the top of the stairs, Derek walked towards the desk which was now covered by a white cloth. He lifted the edge of it, set the candle down on the dull surface, and pulled open the drawer Jonathan had opened the previous day. It glided out smoothly revealing a small pile of folded papers tied together with withered, yellowing string.

"What are you?" he murmured, lifting the stack out with shaking fingers. Holding the pages near the flame he saw words written in a tight, sharp hand:

Mister Jeremiah Worthington

Shady Meadows, Virginia

It took several moments for him to work out their pronunciations, but when he did he stepped back from the light a little and glanced around the dark room.

A letter? For Mr. Worthington? What did Jonathan want with this?

Derek suddenly felt like he was being watched. He looked around again, noticing the crevasses and shadowed spaces more closely, waiting to see the glow of night eyes or the gleam of bared teeth. Nothing. But that did not settle him. He shoved the letters under his shirt and tucked it in quickly, then took the candle, closed the drawer, and dropped the cover.

Derek's heart pounded as he made his way towards the stairs. He was sure he was being watched. The hairs on his arms prickled and stood on end. He nearly ran down the stairs, heedless of the noise he was making. Bursting into the room, he kicked the lantern out of the way and slammed the attic door, leaning against it, waiting for the pounding from the other side as something tried to get out at him.

A few seconds passed and the pounding did start, but not from behind the attic door. There were heavy steps coming up the stairs. Derek blew out the candle, set it down, and checked that the letters were properly concealed just as the bedroom door opened.

Gabriel looked in at him with suspicious curiosity. "What are you doing up here?"

"I tripped." Gabriel didn't believe him, but Derek didn't care. He pushed by him and started towards his room.

"Mother says for you to go downstairs where she can make sure you aren't causing a ruckus."

"I'll be down in a minute." A line of sweat trickled down between his shoulder blades making him itch.

"Don't be long," the other boy warned before walking back to the stairs.

It was with surprising calmness that Derek opened his bedroom door and took the letters out from under his shirt. He lifted the mattress and set them on one of the cross sections of rope that adjusted the tension of the bed. When the mattress was back in place and he felt confident that the letters were safe, Derek straightened his clothes, brushed his hair back off his sweaty forehead, and left the room.

Derek was grateful when dinner finally came. The doors were closed to visitors and he was allowed to undo the top button of his over-starched, over-sized shirt. As the meal was served, silence seeped into the room. It seemed everyone was more aware of Catherine being in the other room than those who sat at the table across from them. At least, Derek was: he barely saw Gabriel as he ate.

When the food was cleared, Derek stood, his mind on the letters hidden on his mattress cords. "Excuse me," he said quickly, starting for the stairs without waiting for a response.

He stopped as Jonathan spoke, "Actually, you are not excused. Sit."

Derek turned and looked at Jonathan as though he'd never seen him before. With annoyance and wary curiosity he went back to the table and dropped onto his chair.

Mrs. Worthington was watching him with sharp, predatory eyes. She obviously did not know the meaning of this odd occurrence either.

Tea was poured and ignored by all. When he could stand sitting there in the tense silence no longer, Derek asked with a scowl, "May I be excused now?"

"No. Mr. Todd would like to speak with you."

Gabriel, who had been stretching and looking longingly towards the stairs and bed, stopped and watched them. "What about?"

Jonathan scowled at his brother. "That is between the two of them. You are excused."

Gabriel pouted and appealed to his mother with an annoyed look, but she did not contradict and he was forced to leave the room.

He'll be knocking on my door as soon as I get upstairs
, Derek thought. He waited for Mr. Todd to begin, but it was Jonathan who spoke again:

"You are excused as well, Mother."

Her eyes widened and she was very near retorting, but once more kept her mouth closed. With a huff, Mrs. Worthington stood and marched out of the room.

Alone with the two men, Derek felt his palms grow clammy. This seemed very formal and important and it made him nervous.

"Mr. Todd and I have been discussing you," Jonathan said at length.

"Yes, sir?"

Smiling a little, Mr. Todd said, "How would you like to come and work for my father?"

"What?" he asked stupidly.

"Don't be rude," Jonathan commanded.

"There would be no pay for the first two years while you are being trained, but starting the third year you should be useful enough for some wage."

Several thoughts passed through Derek's mind and, of course, it was the most graceless that made its way out: "Why?"

Jonathan glared at him again.

Mr. Todd only smiled patiently. "My father is getting older and though I'll have my brothers to help me, their minds are on things beside horses. I could use someone reliable and I'm told you are just that."