Corner of the Housetop: Buried Secrets (38 page)

Later that afternoon, when Derek had just finished bringing the horses in, the stable door opened.

"Brought the muffins. They came out really good."

Shooing Lady Sarah Mary-Ruth the rest of her way into her stall and dropping the latch, Derek said, "I'm starving."

Gabriel offered him the basket and sat on the hay bale by the door.

Taking a muffin and sitting himself, Derek ate hungrily. "How are things at the house?" he probed, hoping for a little news on Catherine. He hadn't seen her out on the porch for over a week.

"Not too bad. A little busy with party plans. Mother wants everything to be settled soon."

"Sounds like fun."

"Yeah." Gabriel was thoughtful for a moment, then said wistfully, "I really wish Aniline could come."

"She's still not allowed over? It's been weeks."

"Mrs. Clayton was really mad, Derek," he stated accusingly.

Derek's eyes narrowed. "Should I point out that Anthony and I have gotten into plenty of fights before, and the only thing different from all those other times was Jonathan butting in? Maybe Mrs. Clayton won't let her visit because she's mad at him, not me."

"I'm not blaming you, Derek," Gabriel said, scowling. "Besides, what Anthony said was out of line. But still."

"Still what?" he challenged.

"Well, you have to admit he "

"Don't finish that sentence unless you want me to punch you in the face," Derek warned.

Gabriel bristled a little, his face turning red. After a second, he gave up any retort he might have been formulating and changed the subject: "Speaking of Jonathan, he's leaving for Charlestown tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Derek asked thickly, his annoyance evaporating immediately at the news. He finished chewing his blackberry muffin and swallowed with effort. "Why so soon? I thought he wasn't going until after your birthday. That's almost three weeks early."

"Don't know what changed." Gabriel reached for another muffin. "Probably has to finish things with his lawyer."

"Wasn't that why he kept writing to him?"

Gabriel shrugged. "He might have to sign something."

"Might. How long will he be gone for?"

"A week. I asked to go, but Mother said it would be too long. She wants me home as much as possible before I have leave for school."

Leaning his back against the wall, Derek thought for a moment. He hoped this sudden change in schedule didn't reflect Catherine's health. It couldn't. Besides, if she was becoming more ill, Jonathan would want to stay closer to home, right? "Dr. Crawford hasn't been up in a bit that I noticed," he commented casually.

Gabriel shook his head, chewing. When he swallowed, he said, "Came on Monday while you were out grooming the trails. He's supposed to be around again on Friday."

"I'm surprised Jonathan isn't waiting until after his visit to leave then. It's only one more day."

"Maybe he wants to get back sooner. Besides, Catherine's not doing any worse than she has been. Not that I've been told, anyway."

Derek made an indistinct noise in his throat, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. After a moment, he said, "Well, I need to oil the leather equipment, so unless you want to help…."

"No thanks. I need to get ready for dinner."

"Thought as much." Derek stood up, plucked the last muffin out of the basket, and started down to the final stall where the bottles of oil were kept.

Gabriel stood up, taking the basket as he stepped out the door. Turning, he said, "I probably won't see you until tomorrow. If you want, you can read the passage on page fifteen. Circle anything you have trouble with."

"All right."

The wind blew through the trees and made the wheat sway. We walked around the crop, hopeful at its promise. Like a field of gold, it stood before us, fulfilling all our dreams. We were finally on our own land, and we were happy.

With the light rain tapping the stable roof, Derek didn't hear the door open or the footsteps that would have told him he was no longer alone. He was sitting on the gate between the stalls, reading from page fifteen. He was so lost in reading that he didn't even notice Jonathan when he was only a couple feet away from him until the man spoke.

"Derek, I'll need Blueberry ready in the " Jonathan stopped, staring at Derek with a mixture of amusement and confusion. "What, exactly, is that?"

With annoyance, Derek looked up. Now caught in his plight, he weighted his options, then answered smartly, "It's called a book, Jonathan." He was sure he was in for it, so why not make it worth his while?

Striding forward, Jonathan plucked the book out of his hands and flipped through it carelessly, as if checking that it really contained words. He looked back at Derek. "Watch your tone," he said sternly, jabbing the book at Derek's chest.

There was a faint odor of tobacco and drink and Derek wondered when Jonathan had started such habits.

"It's no wonder everything is going to hell," the man spat, "with the help spending working time reading."

His voice was hard and angry. Derek hadn't heard him sound like that in years. It was his deacon voice, and Derek's stomach was twisting with nerves only old memories could touch.

"What do you think you're going to do? Go off to school? Be a banker or a politician?" He sneered. The smell of alcohol was strong on his breath. "You're not going anywhere. You're not doing anything. You're going to be here shoveling horse manure until the day you die."

"Give me back my book."

"
Your
book? It's got
my
name in the cover." Jonathan waved the book in front of Derek's face then surveyed him for a few minutes. "Keep your grubby hands off my personal belongings."

Anger swelling inside him, Derek jumped down from the gate, his stance firm, his fists clenched at his sides: it was more a position to defy the fear and nerves inside himself than Jonathan. "Even if it used to be yours, it was Gabriel's last, and he gave it to me. It's mine, and I want it back."

"You'll do what you're told and stop wasting work time on things like this." Jonathan marched to the door, stopped for a second, then dropped the book in the barrel of rain water that was collecting from the eaves. Derek started forward, but Jonathan turned to him with hard eyes and a warning tone: "Leave it."

Derek glared at him, not trusting himself to speak.

His voice even once more, Jonathan said, "I want that horse ready to go to town first thing in the morning. No later than eight o' clock." He stood and looked at Derek for a moment longer before stepping out into the rain.

Derek kicked the side of the gate, making both horses jump and neigh in complaint. Stomping to the door, Derek peered into the filling barrel. He reached in, getting his clothes wet. When he withdrew the book from the barrel, its pages stuck together as water dripped from the cover. He sighed and walked back into the stables, closing the door.

"I hope the train wrecks," he told Blueberry viciously, trying to separate some of the pages without tearing them out of the binding. "I hope something happens and he never comes back."

When the book was laid out as much as it could be, Derek climbed to the loft. He was too angry to settle down, and so contented himself with stalking back and forth like a caged animal plotting an attack on its keeper when next the gate was opened for feeding.

He's wrong,
Derek thought firmly.
I won't be here until I die.

Derek sighed as he led Blueberry across the muddy driveway. The clouds that loomed above were gray and threatened a storm. The wind whipped furiously through the trees. It was a perfect reflection of his mood.

When he reached the carriage house and had Blueberry hitched, he walked back out into the rain. Content to return to the stables for an hour of studying while Devon was in town bringing Jonathan to the train station, Derek started back across the lawn. He'd only passed in front of the porch when he heard the door open.

Mrs. Worthington stepped out onto the porch, her pink fan flapping quickly, making tendrils of her white hair flutter as the humid air was forced off her face. "Derek, come here." She looked down at him, her wide eyes sparkling with some alarming emotion. She might have looked kind and delighted to see him, if her tone wasn't so calculating.

Climbing the porch steps gloomily, he said, "Yes, ma'am?"

"I'll want to see you later. Go in and get your breakfast. You may eat in the kitchen. When you finish, come to the parlor." She sounded as if she were offering a final meal to a man who would die shortly, and thereby have no benefit from the generosity.

Staring at her warily, but thinking of no reason to disobey, Derek said, "Yes, ma'am."
I'll bet she's poisoned it and she wants to watch me die
, he thought, half wondering if it might not be true.

As Derek turned to enter the house, the door opened again and Jonathan stepped out, fixing his hat in place. He glanced at Derek, not meeting his eyes, then turned to his mother. "All will be quiet, I trust."

"Of course, dear," Mrs. Worthington said sweetly, smiling with genuine love. "Your Catherine will be just as you left her when you return."

"Is Devon up?"

"Shortly. He had to take care of one thing."

"Very good. I'll see you in a week, Mother."

"Have a safe trip."

Jonathan didn't reply. With a final warning glare at the two, he marched down the stairs and towards the carriage house.

Mrs. Worthington watched her son until he disappeared into the carriage house, then turned to Derek. Gently, she said, "Go on, get your breakfast before it cools."

"Y-Yes, ma'am." Derek walked into the house slowly and made his way to the kitchen. The room was empty, but there was a setting of food on the table. It was warm oatmeal with dollops of blackberry jelly. He sat down and ate slowly, wondering what could be about to happen. He heard the first crash of thunder from the storm.

When he was finished, Derek put his bowl in the wash basin and went upstairs. Taking the familiar walk to the parlor, he couldn't help but recall the last time Mrs. Worthington had wanted to see him. Stepping into the room cautiously, he asked, "Yes, ma'am?"

"You've finished your breakfast?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And cleared your dishes, too, I suppose." Mrs. Worthington was smiling at him and he couldn't read her expression.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good." Mrs. Worthington shifted so she was facing him more squarely. She took her time rearranging the folds of her dress, then looked up at him. Her face was not unkind as she began to explain, "I have told Beth not to bother packing you food in with Devon's meals."

Derek's brow creased. Was he moving back into the house?

"I have informed her that I will be checking the basket to see to it that she does not attempt to give Devon extra food, either." Her tone sharpening, she continued, "Gabriel has been made aware that
anyone
caught bringing you food will be punished severely. Am I making myself quite clear, Derek?"

He didn't reply.

"Derek?"

"Yes, ma'am," he answered through clenched teeth.

Mrs. Worthington's kind smile widened. "Good. You've had quite the reign around the house for quite long enough. We'll have you back in your place before long."