Corner Of The Housetop: Buried Secrets

by Leen Elle

  And, as with everything else in the man's life, Jonathan's future bride would turn out to be nothing less than absolute perfection. Her name was Catherine Cindal and she had golden hair and smooth, glowing skin. Her green eyes were wide and constantly sparkled with merriment. She was kind and helpful, and any number of other adjective Derek could have thought up.

  Among those adjectives, however, was the fact that she was "Jonathan's." Their wedding day was a heartbreak that Derek, ten-years old at the time, thought he would never recover from.

  "Derek?"

  "Hmm?"

  "I asked if you got your clothes out of the washroom."

  "Not yet. I'll do that after we eat."

  Beth busied herself clearing the tray she used to bring the food in and began stacking it with dessert: the bowl of strawberries, a small cream mug of honey, little silver forks, and two small, clean, white China plates.

  "I'll bring it," Derek said, popping another strawberry in his mouth and taking the tray out of Beth's hands with a smile. He would do anything, even put himself at the mercy of Mrs. Worthington, if only to get out of the deadly heat of the kitchen. Walking up the stairs, down the hall, and into the room, he set the dishes and bowls on the table between the two and started piling the dinner dishes onto the tray.

  "Derek, after we've finished I would like to see you in the parlor," Mrs. Worthington said stiffly, pouring a lot of fresh honey onto her plate.

  "Yes, ma'am." When he was back in the kitchen, Derek set the tray on the table and sighed heavily.

  "What is it?"

  "I think I'm getting extra chores, so don't bother with the rugs tonight. She'll have me beating them tomorrow."

  Smiling a little, Beth set the dishes in the wash basin. "What did you do?"

  "Gabriel and I shared a moment and he must have gone running straight to Mother about it."

  "A moment?" She shook her head. "I remember when you two were so close."

  "And that was a long time ago," he stated testily, picking up the rag and tossing it into the basin.

  "Beating rugs isn't the worst chore," she reasoned, pouring water into a kettle then swinging it over the low fire.

  "Hmm. Why do you have to heat that? It is too hot in here already!"

  Beth shook her head. "It will be hotter in minute. It's your turn to wash."

  "I think I hate dishes."

  "Without them, you would have to eat off the table."

  "Without them, I wouldn't be stuck in this room, boiling on the hottest day of summer."

  Taking the kettle away from the fire, Beth wrapped the rag around the handle and lifted it off the hook. She poured the water over the dishes. "It isn't summer. It's May."

  Scowling, he slumped back in his seat. Leaning forward again, Derek asked in a decisive voice, "Did you know that there are places in this world that are cool and sunny with hardly any rain, all year round?"

  "I'm sure there are."

  Derek walked over and leaned against the counter, taking the rag from her. "It's real."

  "And some day you'll go there."

  "Yes. If you stop being mean to me, I might let you come along. If not, I'll write you a letter from some beach-front hut."

  Chuckling, Beth said, "I'll look forward to that letter."

  Derek sighed, trying to imagine the what a letter written to an illiterate slave by an illiterate boy might say. He supposed they could both just pretend it said whatever they wanted and no one would know the difference.

  As the sun set, the reedy sound of crickets singing filled the air. Sitting on the porch, Derek watched the fireflies as they floated in the darkening sky, their lights blinking steadily. If he hoped the night would bring any relief from the heat and humidity of the day, he was sadly disappointed. If anything, the blanket of moisture that hung in the air thickened and settled deeper, flooding his lungs with each breath. Summer wasn't even there yet and Derek already wished it was Fall.

  The front door opened and Beth stuck her head out. Obviously sleepy from the day, she announced in a subdued voice, "Missus Worthington is waiting for you."

  Derek stood up and walked inside, closing the door tightly behind him. With the sunset came the mosquitoes and the more of them they could keep outside, the better Derek liked it. With the marshes just a couple miles away on the other the side of the river, bugs were a definite drawback to the spacious plantation. Derek couldn't help but wonder if it really was that the Worthington's owned all the land in the area, or just that no one else was stupid enough to battle the insects that caused the rest of the townsfolk to build out in the opposite direction from them.

  Walking into the parlor, he said softly, "Yes, ma'am?"

  Mrs. Worthington was draped on her chaise, fanning herself rapidly with a pink, tasseled fan. And there was her customary, after-supper glass of sherry on the table beside her. Several candles in holders on the walls and shelves threw the woman's features into an odd relief, making her pale skin glow and a deep light reflect in her eyes. She looked like an exotic prophetess from a wealthy, ancient civilization.

  "Have a seat, child."

  Derek sat on the chair across the room from her, his back straight, holding his hands together in his lap. Whenever she started out in a polite way it usually ended up badly for him.

  "Did you enjoy caring for the horses, dear?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "That is good." She smiled at him, the light from the lamp on her side table making her white lips shine and her blue eyes sparkle. "I'm very glad to hear that because you'll be helping Mr. Devon on a more permanent basis starting tomorrow."

  A smile broke across his face. I wonder why, he thought. It couldn't have been the brilliant report Devon would have turned in to Mrs. Worthington about his performance in the stables that day. "Thank you."

  "You are very welcome, Derek. You may move your belongings first thing in the morning."

  "My belongings, ma'am?"

  "Yes. If you're working in the stables full time, you'll be sleeping there as well. Mr. Devon will be kind enough to share his space with you."

  Torn between joy and despair, Derek just nodded.

  "That is all."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  Derek got numbly to his feet and walked out of the room. He would be leaving his room? Why? What for? And he had to share a room with Devon? The man obviously didn't like him very much and Derek would stake his life on the fact that he wouldn't be very happy when he heard the news about his new roommate.

  As much as he disliked his small room with its thin walls and low ceiling, it was all he'd known since he was very young. To suddenly be moving was odd. To have a bedroom without a little store box hidden behind the base board was odd.

  Beth met him as he turned down the hall towards the side door. "How did it go?"

  "All right," he answered, walking by her.

  He opened the door and went around the back of the building, his mind still reeling. Gathering his clothes from the washroom, he went back inside and came face-to-face with Beth once more.

  "Are you in trouble?"

  "No. Not at all."

  "All right. You just don't seem like you feel well."

  "I feel fine," he answered.

  "As long as you're sure."

  "I'm fine," he repeated with more conviction.

  After looking at him for a few moments longer, Beth nodded to herself. "Goodnight, then."

  "'Night."

  Walking up the stairs, Derek studied the way the light bounced off the walls of the narrow passage. The steps underneath him creaked and groaned with his weight. He definitely would not miss walking up and down these stairs. When he got to the top, he opened the door and crossed into his room, pushing his own door closed on the outside hallway.

  In his room, away from the rest of the house, Derek changed slowly, thinking about the opportunity this would present him with. If he got to work closely with Devon and learn all he could about horses he could do that for a living.
He could train and sell horses. That was a very good business from what he'd seen. Mrs. Worthington had never bought a horse from a shabbily dressed man.

  On the opposite side, Devon may not even have been aware that he was getting a roommate and find a nasty shock in the morning. In that situation, Derek highly doubled the old man would be in the mood to teach him anything except how to shovel manure.

  Derek folded his clothes carefully, piling them on his little stand. He pulled his night shirt on and walked towards his bed. As he stepped, he felt a little lump under his foot. Lifting it, he saw the small, brown button from his shirt lying on the floor. With a sigh, Derek picked it up and put it by his clothes. He would have to have Beth sew that back on in the morning.

  Finally settling on his bed, Derek wrestled with himself. He loved being out with the horses, and this would keep him away from Gabriel and Mrs. Worthington. But he would have to leave his room...

  Taking the over-given advice of Mrs. Worthington, Derek crawled over to his chest. He flipped the latch up and opened the lid. He took out the old Bible and picked up his bee's wax candle. Striking a match, he lit it and set it beside his bed, then sat down, opening his Bible to a random page.

  "If you ever need answers, or if there is ever anything in your life that's troubling you, you just open this Good Book and all your worries will melt away from you. It's the secret to happiness, wisdom, and peace." Mrs. Worthington had told him that a million times over the years. Every time he seemed upset and she was in a caring mood that was what she would say: "Just open your Bible, and all will be well."

  Derek sat there, staring at the open book, not really seeing the words. He supposed it would be a more effective method of problem solving if he knew how to read, but as he wasn't very intelligent where spiritual things were concerned, he decided to trust the woman and take her advice. Looking at the letters in the dim light, Derek found little help or comfort. He was getting very bored and sleepy, though.

  He closed the book and laid it on the floor by his candle. I wonder what Father would do if he was in this situation. He was a good man. He must have known a lot about life and those sorts of things.

  Feeling alone and simple, and lost in a way that only the darkness of night could bring on, Derek blew out his light and tucked his legs under the blanket. With all the new possibilities that were suddenly open to him still parading around his head, he fell into a fitful sleep.

  Chapter Three

  As the light began to peek in through the window, Derek woke with a start. The early morning was bright and noisy. Aside from the usual cardinal outside his window, there were shuffling noises and gruff voices in the hallway.

  Heavy steps passed his door. "She say she wanted it down here?"

  "I think so. Just outside that door, there."

  A dull thump! echoed through the house, making Derek's bedroom door rattle on its hinges. Were they tearing the house down?

  Derek climbed out of bed and pulled on his patched pants and wrinkled shirt. Opening the door a little, he peered out. There were several pieces of furniture lining the wall. A small chest of drawers stood to one side of his door, a mattress leaned against the wall to the other. Across from him, blocking the servants' stairs, was a wooden trunk.

  Two men were shuffling around the furniture, stubbing their toes on corners and catching their feet on the rug. They were shifting the bulky objects farther up the hall, closer to Derek's room.

  "Do you need help with that— Oh, good morning, Derek. I didn't even see you over there."

  The man who spoke was tall with silver hair and a sun burned face. His large hands were braced against the chest of drawers. He was Mr. Tucker, a gentleman who went to church with them. Out of his Sunday best, his sleeves rolled up passed his elbows, his hair askew, Mr. Tucker looked much more friendly than he did when he was looking down from his station beside Reverend Marks at the pulpit.

  "Good morning, sir," Derek replied, leaning to get a look at the other man who was just coming out of Beth's room at the other end of the hall.

  It was Mr. Millstone, another man Derek saw every Sunday. He was the head of the children's class at church. Not the nicest nor most well liked man, Mr. Millstone had a stern glint in his eye at all times, especially when he was telling the children about how much Jesus loved them.

  It had been a few years since Derek was in his class, but he was still fearful of the man. It wasn't rare for someone to get a sharp rap on the back of the head if Mr. Millstone thought they weren't paying attention to his lesson. Derek figured he must just have an expression that naturally looked uninterested because no matter how hard he'd tried to pretend he was following along, at least once every week one of the deacons who stood vigil in the back of the room would walk up the aisle by his seat and hit him with a wooden rod.

  Technically, they weren't supposed to use the rods on the children, just to get their attention by tapping their chair backs. However, more often than not, they "missed." Though the sermons in general congregation were much more boring, Derek found them easier to keep up with because he wasn't trying so hard to make himself look like he understood what was being said. Nor was he straining his ears to hear which direction the footsteps were walking when someone started moving around behind him.

  Thinking back to those days, Derek's list of reasons to hate Jonathan suddenly returned to him. Frequently, the older boy had served as a deacon during the summer months when he was home. Derek scowled inwardly as he recalled the many days he'd spent taking cruel reprimands and discipline from the older boy which Jonathan himself had always admitted, with a grin, were unwarranted.

  Mr. Millstone glared around the chest of drawers at Derek. "You wanna come out here and give us a hand, boy." It was more of an order than a request.

  "Uh, yes, sir." Sliding his shoes on and lacing them as fast as he could, Derek went out into the hall, closing the door behind him. "What do you need me to do?"

  "We're just moving the things from that room into this one," Mr. Tucker explained, motioning towards Derek's door.

  She already had plans for my room? I should move my things before they get in there, he mused, thinking of his hiding place. "I'll clear out what's in here now."

  "All right. When you finish, come down and help us with the bed frame."

  "Yes, sir."

  Making sure the door was closed all the way, Derek dropped to his knees by his store box. He dug his fingernails behind the board, pushing in on the bottom with his other hand. With a small squeak, it popped out of the wall and fell forward. Scooping out several dirty coins and a couple old, leather books with water-damaged pages, he pushed the board back in place. After his treasures were collected and stowed in the bottom of his chest, it was a simple matter of putting his candlestick and Bible in the box, closing the lid, and snapping the latch down. Derek looked around the room for a moment, content with the fact that he was packed.

  "Goodbye," he said softly, double checking that the baseboard was wedged tightly back into its spot before lifting one end of the trunk and dragging it from the room. Leaving it by the blocked stairs, he walked down the hall and into Beth's room, which was now empty accept for the two men and several boards that were starting to look like a bed.

  "Get that hammer," Mr. Millstone said gruffly as Derek entered the room. He had one board braced over his knee while Mr. Tucker held the other one in its place, fitting the wide peg over the round holes of the headboard and the sideboard. "Just hammer that in real quick."

  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.