by Leen Elle
"It's idleness," Derek told himself out loud, mocking Mrs. Worthington as he jumped over a fallen branch. "And idleness is evilness." He laughed suddenly. If it wasn't for the fact that he hated the old woman, he might find her to be the most hilarious person he had ever met.
Pushing aside another branch, Derek came out on the edge of the river a few yards down from an old, stone mill. The waterwheel stood still, moss growing on its paddles and between the outside gears. The wood was rotting and several sections had been split or broken from being climbed on. When they were younger, it was always a fun game to see who dared climb the highest and jump off into the running water.
The few windows that the building had were missing glass and shutters. The doorway was nothing but a gap between two boards that had fallen from the inside ceiling. Balanced on top of the stone walls was a concaved mass of wood and tree branches that was barely recognizable as a roof. In all the daring adventures Gabriel and Derek had been on, neither one had managed to find a way to get more than two feet inside the old mill.
Derek sighed. "You've seen better days, old friend," he told the building as he sat on a flat rock near the edge of the river. He pulled off his shoes and set them side-by-side on the ground. He stuffed his socks inside them, then took his sweat-soaked shirt off and draped it over the rock to dry.
The bank was slippery and warm, dark mud seeped up between his pale toes as he made his way to the water. Because there were thick blackberry bushes all the way up the both sides of the river bank, the only way to the swimming hole was by wading down through the water. As he made his way downstream, weaving around the larger rocks, he slipped occasionally on smooth stones and patches of moss.
As he walked farther, the current slowed and the river widening out into the swimming hole, which was a deep pool that had formed behind a beaver dam. He had never actually seen a beaver near it, so Derek thought it must be very old, its constructors long since moved out.
As he came to the swimming hole, Derek walked onto the far bank and climbed up a large, round rock which loomed over the right side of the dam. Taking a deep breath, he jumped off, sinking into the cool water. It was the first real break from the heat he'd had all week.
Derek spent several minutes swimming back and forth from one bank to the other. Diving to the bottom of the deep pool, he brushed his fingertips on the sandy rocks below before kicking to the surface, and then diving back down again. He jumped off the boulder several more times—his favorite pastime while at the swimming hole. He took no notice as he stubbed his toes and scraped his fingers on his way up the jagged, sloped stone to his diving platform. Though he knew he had stayed longer than he should, Derek was still surprised to hear an osprey cawing in a far-off tree.
Is it really that late? he wondered, sinking back into the water. With a sigh, he climbed back up the rock for one more jump before he forced himself to leave.
On his way back upstream, Derek took his time and kept close to the bank, scanning the bushes for ripe blackberries. Aside from a couple small ones, the bushes were bare of edible fruit.
"Figures. Just because I'm hungry."
When he reached the break in the sticker bushes, Derek climbed out of the water and walked over to where his shoes and shirt still set. He pulled a lady bug off his shirt and put it on, then dried his feet with his socks and slipped them into his shoes.
His socks knotted in one hand, he followed the winding path back up through the woods. As he came around the final wide bend, there was a low rustle of leaves and the crunching of footsteps on fallen tree limbs ahead on the path.
"Derek, are you down here?"
He groaned at Gabriel's voice. "Yes. I'm just coming up now."
"Better hurry. It's nearly supper. Mother hasn't noticed you're gone yet, but she will soon."
Walking around the finally large tree, Derek saw Gabriel standing at the entrance to the forest, his clean clothes slightly rumpled from having crawled through the little break in the hedges.
"Thank you so much for your concern," Derek said coldly.
"Don't be like that. I just don't want you to get in trouble."
"Shut up."
Gabriel's eyes narrowed and he swelled like an angry bullfrog. "I could have told her that you'd left your chores "
"Which would have been a lie. I finished everything. And that's not what I'm mad about anyway, so just shut up about it." Derek pushed by the other boy and ducked through the bushes, his sleeve catching on a branch and tearing more.
Gabriel pushed his way out a second after him, being painfully careful not to snag his own good clothes. "Then what is it?"
Not looking back at him, Derek walked down the lawn towards the house.
"I can ignore you, too!" he called.
Please do, he thought venomously. If he had already forgotten what happened earlier with Anthony, Derek didn't feel like explaining it for him.
As if hearing Derek's thoughts, he asked, "Is this about what Anthony said? Because if it is, you can stop being angry with me about it. I did not say anything."
Turning on him, Derek sneered, "No. You didn't."
"What would you want me to say?"
"Absolutely nothing, Gabriel."
"He didn't mean anything by it," Gabriel said by way of a weak defense.
"Like I already said, shut up."
Derek walked into the house through the side door, kicking his shoes off in the hallway so they wouldn't track mud up the stairs. Taking the narrow, short steps two at a time, he pushed open the door at the top of the stairs, peeking out to make sure Mrs. Worthington wasn't in the hall. When he saw that the coast was clear, Derek slipped through the door and closed it quietly, then walked into the small room across the hall, which he'd lived in all his life.
It was about the same as it had been for as long as he could remember. There was the same straw bed pushed against the same wall, the window over its head to give him extra light in the evenings. A single candle holder with a wilting bee's wax candle stood on the low table near the far side of the room, which really wasn't that far from the near side of the room. A small chest sat in the corner, holding nothing more than a second set of clothes and an old Bible that, according to Mrs. Worthington, had belonged to his father.
The only part of the room Derek really liked was the section of baseboard that he had pried off when he was eight. He had built a small wooden box with scraps from the shed and nailed it into the crawl space behind the wall so when he pulled the board out he had a secret store box where he could put anything he didn't want anyone else to find. It was another of the few things he never shared with Gabriel.
Unbuttoning his shirt so quickly that he popped off one of the buttons, Derek tossed his clothes down the laundry shoot and took the clean set out of his chest. He was pulling on his second sock as he hopped out of his room, scurrying to get downstairs in time for dinner. It was one of his regular duties to help Beth set out the dishes, and Mrs. Worthington was as bad as Lady Sarah Mary-Ruth if she didn't get her supper on time.
Chapter Two
As he walked into the dining room, Derek nodded a greeting to Beth. He started taking plates out of the China cabinet.
"Where were you?" Beth was standing at the far end of the oak table, polishing a small pile of forks and knives with the corner of her apron.
"I went swimming." He set the two large plates on the table and went back for the salad bowls.
Setting the silverware on the table, she said, "I thought I'd have to listen to Missus Worthington talking about how irresponsible you are again."
With a dry smile, Derek asked, "When don't we get that pleasure?"
She scratched at a spoon with her fingernail. "You aren't the only thing she complains about."
"Yes," he agreed, wiping dust off the plates with one of the pressed napkins. "Sometimes she comments on the insects. Or taxes."
"She must like you at least a little."
"Right up there with taxes," he agreed heartily.
Beth walked over to him and yanked the napkin away. "Well, I guess can't deny her dislike for you," the woman conceded, straightening the napkins briskly, "but if she hated you at least half as much as you seem to think she does, she'd just get rid of you."
"I'm not a slave, Beth," Derek answered with a scowl. "She can't just put me on the block and sell me to the highest buyer."
Beth looked hurt as she said, "Well, no. But she could turn you out of the house."
"But that would be unchristian," he said in mock horror.
"Perhaps, but she could still do it."
He sighed at her lack of understanding. "And she hasn't. I should thank the good Lord for my abundant fortune," he sneered.
Beth shook her head.
Though he joked about it, and even acted as though he desired it at times, Derek could not deny to himself that the possibility of being sent away seemed very real and more than a little frightening. He did not need Beth reminding him how likely it was to happen at any turn of ill manner in Mrs. Worthington.
After a second of thought, he walked to the stairs at the far end of the hall near the side door and went down to the basement where the spare dishes were washed and stored on shelves facing the root cellar and pantry. A minute later, he returned to the dining room with two glasses.
"I don't eat much," Derek added as if there had been no interruption in their conversation. "That might give her a little bit of a reason to like me."
"Liar. You eat more than the rest of us put together."
As Derek peered thoughtfully into his reflection in Gabriel's dinner plate, the nagging voice that plagued him when he had nothing else to think about returned. It was the voice that asked, "Why?" all the time. Why did his parents die? Why did they have to be Mrs. Worthington's servants? Couldn't they have worked for someone else? Anyone else? And why, if Mrs. Worthington liked them so much, did she seem to despise him?
"For someone who's so fond of me," he began thoughtfully, "she sure can be a cow some times."
"Derek, she's done you a great kindness! You should be grateful."
"I am. And I'll be even more grateful when I get out of here." Derek set the glasses down. "I'll be grateful as I'm walking down the driveway. I'll be grateful as I'm waving goodbye to her back over my shoulder."
Beth smiled. "I'll miss you."
"I'll send you letters at Christmas," he said flatly, walking back down to the kitchen for the butter.
When the table was completely set with clean linens and several sparkling dishes and shiny pieces of freshly-polished silver, Derek and Beth stood back by the wall, their arms at their sides, waiting for Mrs. Worthington and Gabriel. As the clock over the mantel chimed the hour, the lady of the house and her youngest son walked into the room.
"We'll have to set up a date with you and Aniline. She's such a sweet young girl."
Gabriel forced a smile at his mother and took his seat. "Yes, Mother."
Moving forward to pull out Mrs. Worthington's chair, Derek nodded to her. "Good evening, Mrs. Worthington."
"Yes, it is," she replied tartly, as if he had no right to be suggesting as to the state of the evening to anyone, least of all her. She turned her attention back to her son. "She should come over with her mother for tea. I haven't seen Mrs. Clayton in many weeks. She wasn't at church yesterday. I can only hope she's well. But our supper is getting cold. Gabriel, darling, will you say grace?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Bowing his head until Gabriel began, Derek looked up a little, glancing around at the others as Gabriel spoke. There was nothing more interesting than watching people when they were praying. He wasn't sure if he, himself was praying or not when he didn't have his eyes closed, but, according to Mrs. Worthington, he was already as evil as it was possible to be, so a little infraction like not joining meal prayer couldn't effected his standings with God too much.
As Gabriel continued to pray, Derek watched with mild amusement as Mrs. Worthington clutched her bony, wrinkled fingers together, her long nails resting on her protruding knuckles. She bent her head so far forward, her forehead was nearly resting in her plate. This, she'd told him when he was younger, was the most acceptable way to pray. With humility and supplication, not pride nor with a stiff neck. She looked like she might fall pig-style into her salad any moment.
Gabriel also leaned forward, but not nearly as badly. His hands were folded together easily, his forearms on the edge of the table. There was a time when they would both be looking up at prayer, staring together at Mrs. Worthington as she slumped into her plate in reverence. Now, distanced from the friendship, Gabriel kept his head bowed, his eyes dutifully closed.
Beth, standing beside Derek, held her hands in front of her, clasping one in the other. Her head was bowed forward, her eyes, which rounded out from her face in a permanently frightened expression, were closed.
"We ask to be bearers of Thy will and love, to bring peace to our fellow men. We also ask for Thy blessing upon this meal. We are so grateful for Thy loving spirit, which does bless us in all things, even so much that we have such great abundance and security. This blessing we ask upon ourselves, our lands, and this meal, in the most holy name of Thy Beloved Son, Jesus Christ. Amen."
Derek dropped his chin to his chest quickly so Mrs. Worthington wouldn't see him looking around. "Amen," he croaked a few seconds late of the others' chorus, caught off guard with the prayer ending so much sooner than usual. Mrs. Worthington didn't seem to notice.
After the blessing, conversation went back towards prospective girls for Gabriel to get to know.
Derek and Beth, being dismissed by habit until dessert, slipped out of the room. They made the short trek down the stairs into the basement kitchen in silence. Neither spoke until Derek sighed and sat on a short, wooden chair.
"I guess she must be in a good mood. She didn't even yell at me when she must have known I wasn't paying attention during prayer."
At his admission, Beth gave him a stern glare. She was much more a mother-figure to him than Mrs. Worthington had ever even pretended to be, so her disappointment was more effecting, though not enough so to inspire a verbal apology. Derek did have the decency to look away sheepishly at her glare.
He said hastily, before the lecture could start, "Do you know why she's in such a good mood?"
Wiping the counter, Beth shook her head. "She did get a letter today, but she didn't say much about it. She just took it to her room and stayed there all day."
"So I stayed out of the house for no reason." Derek smiled winningly at the glare he got from Beth, snatching a strawberry out of the bowl on the table and biting into it.
"I almost feel like I should be worried. You know, she was saying something was wrong with her son last week."
"Gabe?" he asked around his mouthful.
Beth shook her head solemnly.
"You mean the great and all-knowing Jonathan?" he asked, swallowing. "I didn't know anything could go wrong for him. Imagine that." He reached for another berry.
"Stop picking at those. They're for Missus Worthington's dessert." Taking the bowl away, she replaced it with a plate of bread, cheese, and meat. "That's your dinner."
"Looks wonderful. So, what was it about The Great One that has her in such a tizzy?"
"I really don't know. She just mentioned something about having Reverend Marks put his wife's name in the prayer circle."
Finishing the bread in two bites, Derek swallowed thickly. "Because we know Mr. Perfection could do with a blessing or two more." Despite his throw-away attitude, hearing Jonathan's wife mentioned piqued his interest.
"If I didn't know better, I'd say you didn't like Mr. Worthington," Beth said with mild sarcasm.
Shaking his head, Derek ate the rest of his dinner quickly. "How was the day around the house? Besides quiet."
"It was nice. Like I said, Missus Worthington had mail come. Young Gabriel's friends were over from town for the afternoon. They had tea. They're very calm, polite bo
ys."
Derek snorted, crossing his arms over his chest with an ironic smirk.
"Then I did the laundry and hung the linens..."
Tuning out her talk, Derek retreated to his own thoughts.
To say he didn't like Jonathan Worthington was an understatement. If it weren't for Martha Worthington, Jonathan would be number one on that list of people Derek hated.
Yes, even higher than Anthony Clayton.
Jonathan was conceited and snobbish with an overly high opinion of himself just because of his last name.
Luckily, Mrs. Worthington thought her eldest son was too talented and intelligent to go to a regular senior school. A year after Derek was born, Jonathan was on his way north to a prestigious boarding school in Richmond that the Claytons, who at the time had just moved to town, recommended. After that, Derek only had to see the other boy for two months in the summer and two months in the winter. However short they may have been, those four months a year were plenty enough to put a sour taste in Derek's mouth. When Jonathan graduated and announced his plans move to Charlestown, several hours away from the Worthington Plantation, Derek was so glad that he even shook the man's hand goodbye and wished him luck.
Then, shortly after Jonathan's much-anticipated move, there came a letter bearing news that he was getting married and he wanted the whole family to be there. Of course, Mrs. Worthington was overjoyed. She had begun making arrangements for travel the very next day. Two months found them all packed up and rattling down the road in a bouncy carriage on their way to the city.
Why Mrs. Worthington thought that bringing the "whole family" meant he should be included, Derek couldn't imagine. Perhaps she thought if she left him alone in her precious house her good, kind, and gentle nature wouldn't be there to balance his evil, idle ways, and that God would rain brimstone down from the sky on her home in an effort to get rid of him. All things considered, Derek would have preferred a two-week break from the woman, even at the risk of fiery showers of God's wrath from Heaven.
The days leading up to the wedding had been a tense time for Derek. It seemed every time he turned around Jonathan was glaring at him, or suggesting he do something constructive. Derek was shuffled around the man's large home, going from one menial task to another. It seemed that whatever room Jonathan was in, Derek couldn't be in. If Derek was hanging decorations in the rented hall and the groom wanted to oversee the tables being placed, Derek was suddenly desperately needed outside. If he was outside helping lay out the carpet from the walk up the steps to the chapel and Jonathan happened through the door, it instantly became imperative that Derek dash to the baker's down the street and check on the cake. It was worse than working for Mrs. Worthington.