Corner of the Housetop: Buried Secrets (6 page)

Swinging the hammer as hard as he could, praying that he wouldn't hit Mr. Millstone's hands, which were fearfully close to the peg, Derek pounded the peg half way into the hole.

Without word to him, Mr. Millstone pulled the hammer out his grasp and, with one swing, set the peg in the hole flush with the board. "Hold this." He pushed the joined wood so it was standing up, shoving the corner post roughly into Derek's stomach. "Hold that tight and don't let it fall," he ordered again, standing and picking up the other sideboard.

Ten minutes and several more grunted commands later, there was a bed frame standing under the window. The bed was a little larger than Derek's mattress, with ropes strung from one side to the other. By the time they got the heavy, feather mattress on top of it and the ropes tightened, the medium-sized room looked much smaller, and Derek's curiosity had grown to twice its original size.

Why was Beth getting a new bed? Mrs. Worthington didn't like colored people that much, let alone wasting so much good money on a slave. And if it was for Beth, why did they need to move all of her other things out into the hall? They hadn't taken up that much room putting it together.

Just as he was stepping back to survey the room, Derek heard Mrs. Worthington's voice over his shoulder. "Good, you did get up."

"Yes, ma'am."

"He was just helping us put this together, Mrs. Worthington," Mr. Tucker said with a smile.

Mrs. Worthington smiled gently, her face suddenly kind. "He is a very helpful boy. Thank you for coming out so early, Mr. Tucker. And you, too, Mr. Millstone."

In the old woman's presence any image of dominance Mr. Millstone might have carried melted away. Smiling and nodding, he said, "Any time we can be of any help to you, just let us know."

"You're too kind, taking up your whole morning like this. Would you come down and join Gabriel and I for breakfast?"

"We'd be delighted, ma'am."

Stepping aside, Mrs. Worthington swept the men out of the room with a graceful wave of her arm. As they descended the main stairs, she turned back with a stern stare. "When you've finished bringing your things out to the stables and gotten yourself cleaned up, there's some food in the kitchen for you." Not waiting for a response, she fixed her smile back in place as if it were a physical effort and walked down the stairs after her guests.

"Which won't be soon enough," Derek told her quietly, going back to where he'd set his chest. Hefting it onto his shoulder, he walked down the wide, polished stairs. Leaving the house behind him, Derek found himself looking forward to moving in with Devon and Blueberry. Having to put up with Lady Sarah Mary-Ruth couldn't be as bad as having to put up with Mrs. Worthington. If the old mare got too bossy he could just leave her tied up in her stall. Mrs. Worthington didn't come with that luxury. He only hoped Devon had been told that he was getting a roommate.

"Devon?" Derek called, walking through the stable door.

"You here?" The old man chewed thoughtfully on the inside of his cheek for a moment, studying the boy, before barking, "You gon' stand there all day?"

"No. Where do you want me to put my things?"

Grunting like an angry boar, Devon shuffled away. "You 'n put your stuff in the loft."

So I'm sleeping in the loft
.… With a heavy sigh, he readjusted the chest on his back and climbed up the ladder. "At least it's warm," he muttered sarcastically as he stepped off the ladder into the thick heat. "Do I get a blanket?" he yelled down.

The only reply he got was another grunt.

"Crazy old man." Derek pushed his chest back against the wall and took his candle holder out, setting it on the closed lid so he wouldn't have to hunt for it later in the dark. Kneeling and looking around, he took in his new surroundings.

There were several wide spaces between the boards underneath him and small drifts of hay fell down when he shifted. The walls and ceiling were solid though, and with hurricane season fast approaching that was definitely a good thing. At one end of the loft was a pile of crates and boxes. Several oddly shaped pieces of metal stuck out from the mass. There was a rusted out bucket sitting right on top of a stack of burlap sacks, making the peak of the junk pile.

At the other end there was a wide, short door. Beside it, screwed securely into the wall, was a swinging arm and pulley for bring up hay bales.

Aside from the pile, the loft was clean and open. The pulley was tied up out of the way. There were tie cords strewn on the floor, but they blended enough to not matter. With his chest by a small lump of hay—which he thought would make the perfect bed—and his candle holder set on top of it, Derek already felt a comfortable familiarity about the space.

"Welcome home," he told himself, his heart lightening.

Taking a last look around, Derek climbed down the ladder. Devon was nowhere to be seen and Blueberry was gone, too. Lady Sarah Mary-Ruth snorted at him.

"Don't you start," he told her. "It's not like I asked to be here."

She didn't seem to accept his excuse because she turned away from him, but not before sniffing at him, her nostril flaring in annoyance.

Derek looked at her for a moment then laughed out loud. There was nothing that could ruin this day for him. He was home. He was one step away from that house. One step closer to being free. He could come and go as he wished, not having to worry about tripping over others, or being tripped over. He felt quite certain the amount of lectures and punishments he received would decline as well. He was even willing to bet he could go days without seeing Mrs. Worthington, if he put the effort into it. As he contemplated these new thoughts, he was sure nothing could upset him, least of all Lady Sarah Mary-Ruth.

Resting his hands on the gate and leaning close to the mare, Derek grinned and said, "Nothing could make this a bad day. Not even you." Laughing once more, he walked out into the sunshine.

The humidity had spiked, coating the land in a nearly visible layer of moisture. There was no reprieve from yesterday's heat wave and it was still morning. Strolling up the small hill, Derek made his way to the kitchen. A little bit of breakfast, some cool water, and then he could start his chores. With only the back lawn to clip and the carriage house to tidy, he would have plenty of time to slip off for a long, swim.

As he opened the side door of the house, the sound of large objects being moved could still be heard from the upstairs hall. Thuds and skids were mingled with swear words and grunts. He ducked down the steps to the basement kitchen before anyone could drag him into helping again. He'd always been content in knowing he didn't have to see Mr. Millstone outside of church and the more that could get back to normal, the more he would like it.

"Beth?"

"Hmm?" Beth was just pouring cornmeal into a bowl.

"What's going on upstairs?"

"It seems I get to move into your old room."

Sitting on the edge of the chair, Derek shook his head a little, his brow furrowed in thought. "Why?"

A moment of silence passed as the slave woman busied herself as if she hadn't heard him. She pushed up her sleeves and began to turn the contents of the bowl over on itself with her hands. Scraping dough off her fingers, she turned the bowl and folded the thickening mixture a few more times.

"Beth?"

She sighed. "I take it you haven't heard then."

"Heard what? From who?"

Wiping her hands off on her apron and scattering flour on the counter, she replied in a get-it-over-with sort of voice, "Gabriel told me what was in Missus Worthington's letter. Mr. Worthington and his wife are going to be staying with us for a time."

"Jonathan?"

"That's what I said."

Despite what he'd said to Lady Sarah Mary-Ruth, Jonathan could certainly ruin his day. "What are they moving things around for? Jonathan's room hasn't been touched since he left for school. They can stay in there."

"I don't know. All Gabriel said was they'd be coming here today to stay for a little while. That's why I'm making extra bread." Not bothering to let it rise, she twisted a lump of dough off the huge ball, rolled it into a biscuit, and set it on the baking sheet beside her. "You're breakfast is over there by the hearth."

Walking to the table, Derek picked a roll off the plate. "When are they getting here?"

"By lunch, I expect. Mr. Devon left just a few minutes ago to wait for them at the train station."

"I'll make sure to have my chores done by lunch then." He poured some honey onto his plate. "That way I can go for a good, long walk or something."

"Missus Worthington will want you here to help take their things in."

"Jonathan can carry his own bag," he sneered, violently grinding the bread into the small pool of honey.

"Are you still going to do the rugs for me?"

"Sure. I don't have much else today." Derek looked over when he heard footsteps on the stairs.

Stepping into the warm kitchen, Gabriel stopped short at the glare he got from Derek. "I thought you'd be down here. Mother wants to see everyone upstairs. Now."

Tossing his bread back on the plate, Derek walked past the other boy and up the stairs without a word. The others followed close behind him, stopping in the main hall where Mrs. Worthington stood waiting.

Dressed in her finest blue dress, a string of pearls around her throat, Mrs. Worthington was the very picture of supremacy. Her eyes were turned down her nose at the three who stood before her, her gloved hands clutched together in front of her.

"You will all notice that we will be having company for the summer. Jonathan and Catherine will be staying with us. I will expect quiet, polite behavior from everyone. There will be no loud noises in the house," she stated directly to Derek, "nor too near the front lawn. Catherine has been ill and she's coming here to rest. If her health is disturbed there will be severe consequences. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Mother."

"Yes, Missus Worthington."

"Yes, 'am," Derek chorused

Narrowing her eyes at Derek, she said in a cold voice, "I'd do best to keep you out all together. Without permission directly from me, consider yourself banned from the house until further notice."

Fighting an odd, mixing feeling of dread, indignation, and relief swell in his stomach, Derek nodded slightly. "Yes, ma'am."

Turning to Beth, Mrs. Worthington said curtly, "You will have Mrs. Worthington's slave to assist you in the kitchen. You are all dismissed. But you, boy, don't go too far. You'll be helping them in with their luggage when they arrive."

"Yes, ma'am," Derek repeated.

When Mrs. Worthington swept up the stairs towards the thuds and grunts, it was Gabriel who broke the tense silence.

"It's been a while since we've seen Jonathan," he said in a falsely cheery voice.

Clenching his fists, Derek walked back down to the kitchen. Not only was he sent to the stables, he was now banished from the house. The next logical step would be for Mrs. Worthington to send him away completely. While he didn't like being under her rule, the idea of being homeless and without a useful trade scared him.

Beth's soft voice came from the stairwell. "I'll hang those rugs out back for you."

"Yeah. I'll get them after I clean the carriage house." He stopped by the table where his bread and honey still sat, but his appetite had vanished.

Leaving the rest of his meal untouched, Derek left the house, feeling for the shed key in his hip pocket. He unlocked the door and pulled it open.

Tossing a couple rags into the bucket on the shelf, he picked it up and closed the door. As he filled it with water and walked back to the carriage house, his mind raced with Mrs. Worthington's announcement.