Corner of the Housetop: Buried Secrets (28 page)

"This is another one of my favorites. 'In the Lord put I "

Suddenly, an idea struck Derek as if a bolt of lightning came to him from the sky. "Umm, sorry, but where are you reading?"

"Oh, right here." Catherine pointed to a small verse near the bottom of the page.

"This one?" Derek confirmed, pointing.

She nodded. "Yes. 'In the Lord put I my trust: how say ye to my soul, Flee as a bird to your mountain?'"

Carefully, not looking at the book, Derek began to recite: "In the Lord put I my trust..." He stopped to think.

"...how say ye to my soul, Flee as a bird to your mountain?" Catherine finished for him.

"I like that one, too. Do you have a paper and pencil? I'd like to write it so I can find it in my book."

"In the side table drawer."

Derek opened the drawer and took out a sheet from Catherine's stack of green stationary. Taking a pencil, he carefully began to copy the letters he saw, repeating the words in his mind so he would remember what each word sounded like. He copied then studied the heading of the chapter so he would be able to find it in his own Bible when he went back to the stables. As long as he could remember what the verse said, he would know what the words were, and then he could find those words in other places. It was a feeble plan, but it was much better than what he'd been able to accomplish so far with his studying.

After what felt like a very long time, Derek set the pencil back in the drawer and folded the paper. "Thank you." He pushed it into his hip pocket with the shed key.

Catherine was smiling. "You're welcome."

In the Lord put I my trust: how say ye to my soul, Flee as a bird to your mountain,
he thought again. He was sure he would remember it.

"Do you have any favorites?"

"Oh, umm, not really. I mean, I like so many, I couldn't pick just one."

"I know what you mean."

Derek felt very bad about lying to Catherine, but he couldn't seem to bring himself to admitting to her he couldn't read. She seemed to take it for granted that he should be able to and he hated the thought of disappointing her.

"Another I like is "

"Catherine, are you "

Just like the previous week, Derek felt like he'd been caught doing something wrong as he looked over his shoulder and into Jonathan's hard, green eyes.

"Hello, darling," Catherine said. She was still smiling, but tentatively and expectantly.

Jonathan, visibly tense, was quiet for a moment. "Should I leave and let you two finish?"

"You could join us." There was a hopeful note in her airy voice. "Derek and I were just reading some of our favorite verses."

A cold, amused light sparked in Jonathan's eyes and he smirked. "Why, isn't that amazing? Derek was reading? Well, I didn't know you could do that. The secrets you do keep."

"I'll go," Derek said quietly.

"Please stay," Catherine asked gently. She turned to her husband. "Jonathan "

"Yes, Derek. Stay. Come along now. Let's hear you read your favorite verse."

His cheeks flushed bright with humiliation, Derek stood up clumsily, muttering a mixture of "I'm sorry's," "goodbye's," and "thank you's." The jumble of unintelligible words died on his lips as he pushed by Jonathan and fought to keep his growing pace at only a fast walk as he made his way down the hall to the servants' stairs. The thought that he'd stayed in the house so late on purpose so he could try to talk to Jonathan suddenly seemed ridiculous, and he couldn't imagine ever being able to look Catherine in the eye again.

Feeling tired beyond the early hour of the afternoon, Derek trudged up the ladder to his loft and flopped onto his bed with a defeated huff. Jonathan won. Derek just didn't have the energy to fight with him anymore. The silent battle that had been raging between the two of them since they were children was finally decided.

Derek lied in his self-loathing for nearly an hour, replaying the terrible moment in Catherine's room over and over.

"Boy!"

Scowling into his pillow, Derek sat up just enough to yell, "Go away, old man!"

"Got chores to be doin'!"

"You do 'em!"

There were several indignant huffs followed by furiously shuffling footsteps heading out the stable door.

After another couple minutes, Derek sighed and sat up so he was kneeling on his bed. He spotted his pad of paper and Bible sitting on is trunk. He sighed again.

In the Lord put I my trust: how say ye to my soul, Flee as a bird to your mountain.

Thought it embarrassed him all over again to think about the morning, Derek refused to let himself forget the verse. Determined, he took the green piece of stationary out of his pocket, then grabbed the Bible, his paper, and pencils and settled back onto his bed. He flipped slowly through the book, searching for a heading that looked like "PSALMS." It was several minutes before he found it. He then started looking for the part that looked like "Chapter 11." He had to check the green paper a couple times to make sure he'd found the right spot. When he was pretty sure he was in the right place, he started comparing his own handwritten verse to the one in the Bible. Noticing they matched, Derek felt a slight jump of elation in his gut. Finally, he would be able to actually read something.

"'In the Lord put I my trust,'" he recited slowly, pointing to each group of letters in turn as he spoke each word. He continued repeating the first phrase of the verse for a minute. When he was sure he had what each of the words looked like memorized, he started scanning the rest of the page for them. He underlined each word he recognized with a dark pencil line.

Just as he was about to start working on the second phrase in the verse, Devon's angry shuffling returned. "Boy!"

In a considerably better mood, Derek set his book aside, crawled to the edge of the loft, and hung his head over. "Yeah?"

"If you don' git down here "

"I'm coming, I'm coming. Just let me put my things away."

Devon grumbled and shuffled a few steps, but didn't say anything else to Derek, who ignored the grumbling and shuffling, and went to put his Bible and papers in his trunk.

Half an hour later, Derek was reciting the verse to himself as he raked out Blueberry's stall. He didn't want to let himself forget those words for anything.

"When you're done with that, go tend the carriage. Covered in mud."

Derek stopped working and leaned on his rake. "Now that I'm out here, what do you do for work, old man?" he asked with amusement.

"I do my work."

"I just bet you do."

Devon jabbed a withered finger at Derek. "You mind your own business an' do yours."

Derek laughed and started raking again.

"Puttin' up with you all the time is work like I never done before."

"I'm not that bad."

"Don' fergit to git dinner when yer up the house."

"Yes, sir."

Glaring, Devon grunted something and shuffled down to his apartment. He went inside and slammed the door. Derek watched the drifts of hay floating down from the loft, trying not to laugh again. He was suddenly very fond of Devon and he couldn't seem to remember what life was like when he lived in the house.

If I still lived in the house, I'd have to see Jonathan and Catherine every day,
he thought, sobering.

Derek finished his raking in thoughtful silence. He laid down fresh hay, then walked down to the spare stall he'd shut Blueberry in. "Come one, Blue." After the horse was back in his stall and the gate latched, Derek hung the rake in the wall and looked out the open door.

The rain had stopped, and the last of the gray clouds were making their way towards the coast. The sky that peeked through was rich, cornflower blue.

"There's some good news, then," Derek muttered, stepping out into the warm air.

The temperatures were still high when the wind died down, but there was a steady breeze and the rain had, at least for the moment, broken the humidity; that was something to be grateful for, if nothing else was.

Derek spent nearly twenty minutes scrubbing and scraping the drying mud off the sides of Mrs. Worthington's carriage. When it was finally clean, he left the carriage house and dumped the bucket of murky water in the potted bush by the house. Derek put the bucket in the shed and went to rinse his rag at the well.

When his rag was tucked into his back pocket and he was sure everything was finished, Derek pushed the side door open slowly, peeking to make sure the coast was clear. He only wanted his dinner: he didn't want to have to talk to anyone. Ducking into the hall and closing the door as quietly as he could, Derek jogged down the kitchen stairs. He expected to see Beth and Atty cooking or washing. What he didn't expect was the strange looks they gave him as he walked across the room.

"What?"

"Nothing. Here for you and Mr. Devon's supper?"

"Yeah."

Beth nodded to a basket on the table. "And there's a jug of milk for you two to share on the counter."

Derek took the jug and slipped it under the towel that covered the food in the basket. All the while, Beth and Atty watched him as if waiting for him to grow another body part.

"What is it?"

The women looked at each other.

Slowly Atty said, "Mrs. Worthington was saying you started a fight up in Mrs. Worthington's bedroom. We were just wondering if that's true."

Scowling, Derek picked up the basket. "It wasn't so much a fight as Jonathan bullying me."

"Whatever it was, it had Missus Worthington in a right state."

"She's always in a right state," Derek answered moodily.

"Not
her
," Atty corrected. "Master Worthington's wife."

"Oh." Derek felt even worse knowing his lying had upset Catherine that much, which did nothing to improve his aggravation. "Well, Jonathan started it," he stated after a second, then jogged up the stairs without waiting for a response. Not bothering to check the hall, he yanked the side door open and stalked around to the front of the house.

"Derek?"

Derek nearly dropped the dinner basket at Catherine's voice. She was sitting on the porch with Mrs. Worthington, Mrs. Smithfield and Abigail. Jonathan was just coming out the door. Everyone in the group seemed to be glaring at Derek even Abigail was scowling. Catherine was the only one who didn't seem angry to see him: her blue eyes shown with concern.

Blushing, Derek muttered, "I still have chores to do," then hurried past the porch. When he reached the far edge of the drive, he glanced back.

The two older women had their heads bent together, talking; Jonathan was still staring at Derek, his expression unreadable; and Catherine was looking off towards the apples trees.

Derek stalked the rest of the way to the stables. Walking through the door, he dropped the basket on the hay bale by the door. "Dinner!" he called. Taking the rungs two at a time, Derek climbed to his loft and dropped onto his bed.

Devon's door opened and closed. Shuffling steps moved below and the towel over the basket rustled against butcher's paper. Pause. "Yer not eatin'?"