by Leen Elle
Chapter Six
On the way to town Derek couldn't get the picture of Catherine out of his head. The way she was sitting there on the porch with her oddly white hands folded in her lap, her dull hair pulled away from her pale face. Despite it all, the thing that stood out most was the way her eyes could still light up when she smiled. Even if it was only a small light.
Trying to make conversation, he asked, "Do we need to stop at the general store?"
"Yeah."
Derek looked at him for a minute before glancing at the brook they were passing. So that was all the answer he was going to get? All right. He sighed contently, leaning against the low seat back. The heat seemed to finally be breaking and as they got closer to the coastal town a cool breeze was blowing in more strongly off the water.
"I bet Catherine would feel better if she could get off that farm. Jonathan should bring her out to the ocean for a couple hours."
"Girl's lucky she can git out of bed," the man grunted, clicking the reigns a little.
"She didn't look so bad this morning when I saw her. A little tired, but that's about it."
Devon made an indistinct noise in the back of his throat by way of answer.
Ignoring him, Derek looked back out over the brook, smiling to himself as they passed the Chandler Farm. It was the widest farming property in the area, supplying most of the needs of the people of Shady Meadows, as well as producing enough for Mr. Chandler to send shipments north to Charlestown and Richmond once a week. The sprawling fields and healthy vegetable patches spread along both sides of the road, covering the flat landscape with squares of green and gold as far as the eye could see.
"Nice day, isn't it?"
"I suppose."
Derek looked at him and laughed. "You suppose? It's a perfect day." Already feeling better from his morning with Gabriel and his smile from Catherine, Derek had all but forgotten his conversation with Jonathan. Looking sideways at Devon again, he couldn't help but notice how unaffected the man seemed at the perfect weather.
"Are you still mad at me for yesterday?"
No answer.
"I'm sorry about the thing with Blueberry. And I know, I know. 'Sorry never did nothin','" he said in a poor imitation of Devon. "But I am. I swear I won't drop anything on either of the horses. No matter how tempting it might be," he added, thinking of Lady Sarah Mary-Ruth.
"We'll see," was all he said.
Derek leaned back, his fingers laced behind his head, and watched the clouds. There weren't many of them, but they were dark around the edges and gathering fairly quickly. It looked like they were finally going to get the storm Derek felt they so desperately needed.
Devon seemed lost in his own thoughts, not offering any conversation.
Wonder what he thinks about when he's so quiet all the time, Derek mused.
"When we git into town you just stay by me. Don' need you wanderin' off and causin' trouble."
"Me? Cause trouble? You've got some sense of humor, old man." When Devon glared at him warningly, he just laughed a little. "I'll be a model citizen," he promised.
Grunting in what might have been skepticism, Devon snapped the reigns once more to hurry Blueberry along.
They rode the rest of the way to town in silence.
As they came into town, Derek looked around. There were people in the shops, and hurrying from building to building. Children and horses dotted the street. The sunlight that streamed from between the gathering clouds sparkled off the glass of the shop windows. There were lively conversations on every street corner. In the declining heat everyone seemed to be in as good a mood as Derek, laughing and chatting. A small group of girls stood by the salon, giggling to each other.
Derek recognized most of the people from church. Out here, away from the hot, stuffy chapel, they seemed much more amiable. They also seemed much more awake.
After an hour or so, however, some of the magic of the town started to wear thin. At their first stop they loaded heavy bags and crates into the back of the wagon, then moved on to the next store on the list…then the next and the next. At each stop there was a higher stack of heavier items for them to pick up. By the time they were done, Derek was exhausted and starving.
"What'd Beth send us for lunch?" he asked, climbing into the back of the wagon where the large basket was waiting.
"Didn' look."
Derek smirked. He doubted that. Pulling the cloth back, he found several sandwiches, more honey cakes, and some over-ripe strawberries. Taking a sandwich, he sat back on a pile of grain bags, leaning back against one of the crates, and started eating. "You want anything?"
"One of them cakes sounds good."
As they ate, Derek looked around at the town once more, enjoying the occasional cool breeze on his tired muscles. He felt a surge of pity for Gabriel, who was stuck in the sweltering plantation house with no one for company but his mother, Mrs. Clayton, and Aniline.
Glad Mrs. Worthington doesn't care who I marry, he thought, taking another sandwich. If she'd marry her precious baby off to someone like Aniline, just imagine what kind of a woman she'd want me to get. He shuttered inwardly.
When he finished his a second sandwich, Derek reached for a cake. "So, did we get everything?"
"Yeah."
"That was pretty quick. We should be home in time to unload everything before supper."
Devon studied him quietly for a moment before saying, "I have a couple other things to do. You can go 'round town some, but be back here at four."
"Really? Thanks!" Not giving the man any time to change his mind, Derek hopped off the wagon and hurried down the street.
"Four o'clock, boy. No later!" Devon called.
"All right!"
Feeling as if he was truly free, Derek walked down the street, trying to decide where he wanted to go first. Outside of Sunday mornings, he'd only been to town a handful of times in the last few years. And during none of them had he been given permission to just go anywhere he wanted.
Listening to the afternoon noises, Derek began to appreciate the fact that his Village might be missing one thing—people. Busy, smiling, laughing people. Watching the women in their nice dresses and the business owners in their clean trousers and suspenders, he felt a renewed longing for something bigger than little Worthington Plantation, with its nagging mare and man-eating insects.
As he went by the train station, Derek saw half a dozen people milling around the platform, looking down the track for their train. The barber shop was full of men in clean shirts and nice pants; the women's salon right next to it still had its group of giggling girls.
Farther down the road a group of children, who Derek recognized from church, was playing tag down the side of the street. An occasional horse would have to go around them as they darted from one side of the road to the other.
"Derek, we don't see you out and about much."
Looking towards the friendly voice, he saw Mr. Cutter standing on the stoop outside his shop holding a broom.
"No, sir," he answered.
Mr. Cutter was one of those nice people who always seemed happy. He had brown hair and shiny, green eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled. When Mrs. Worthington needed general things like canning jars and salt, he was usually the one who delivered them.
"What brings you to town?"
"Just picking up some things for the stables," he answered importantly. "Feed and things like that."
Mr. Cutter smiled. "How's Mrs. Worthington? I heard Dr. Crawford was up your way the other afternoon."
"Yes, sir. Mrs. Worthington's fine. It was Jonathan's wife, Miss Catherine, that he came up for."
"We didn't know Jonathan was back in town."
Derek nodded. "They're staying with us for a while."
"Nothing too serious the matter, I hope." Mr. Cutter sounded very much as if he was fishing for more information.
Suddenly feeling uncomfortable that he'd even mentioned Jonathan and Catherine being in town, Derek r
eplied, "She just wasn't feeling well." He hoped that would be the last of the conversation about the doctor's visit.
"I hope she's doing better."
"She looked better this morning," Derek told him truthfully.
"Good. Glad to hear it." When Derek didn't offer any more information, the man said, "Tell him I say hello."
"Yes, sir. I will." The feeling that he'd said more than he should still twisting in his gut, Derek started to walk away and Mr. Cutter resumed his sweeping.
Derek got a couple yards down the road, but stopped when the jingle-jangle of his money sounded again. Thinking of Devon, he suddenly knew exactly what he wanted to buy. Walking back to the stoop outside Mr. Cutter's store, he said, "Excuse me, sir."
The man looked up at him.
"Do you sell paper in your shop?"
"I most certainly do." Leaning his broom against the doorframe, Mr. Cutter led Derek into the dim store and down the back aisle. "There's loose paper here, or ledgers."
Hoping he had enough money, Derek picked up one of the ledger pads and took a pencil out of the box beside the stacks of paper.
"Those are two for a penny," the man told him. "Just in case you wanted another one."
Picking out another pencil, he said, "I'm pretty sure this is all I need."
Leading the way to the front of the store, Mr. Cutter rang the prices into the cash register. "That's six cents." He put the pad and pencils in a small, brown paper bag and set it on the counter.
Reaching into his pocket, Derek fished out several silver coins. He looked at them for a second before picking the largest one, hoping it was enough.
When Mr. Cutter smiled and took the money, Derek figured he got it right and picked up his bag, heading towards the door.
"Derek," the man called. "Don't forget your change."
"Oh. Thank you," he said, walking back to the counter and taking the coins.
Mr. Cutter smiled at him again. "Have a good day, Derek."
"You, too, sir."
Derek spent the rest of the hour walking around, looking in the different shop windows. Carrying his bag in one hand, he felt very important and involved in the usual town community, as if it was perfectly natural for him to spend a breezy day in town shopping.
When he passed the salon, one of the girls in the group looked at him and smiled. When he smiled back the rest of them started giggling.
Confused, Derek just kept walking.
As the time went by, the clouds gathered more thickly, periodically casting the entire town in shadow for minutes at a time. The humidity began to rise as well, spiking as the church bells rang, signaling the hour.
"It looks like it's going to be some storm," one man was saying to his friend as they came out of Mr. Cutter's shop.
"Yep. Best git home an' make sure the rows are covered. If it's as bad as the last one all my berries'll blow away."
"Don't feel like a hurricane, thank God."
"Too early fer that," his friend agreed.
The streets emptied quickly as Derek jogged the rest of the way to the wagon where Devon was standing, waiting for him. "Do you think we'll make it home before this starts?"
"Probably not," Devon said, climbing slowly up into the wagon.
Hopping up with a fair amount of ease, Derek looked back over his shoulder at the quiet town as they pulled away. Blueberry seemed eager to get home as well. He chomped at his bit, trotting along as fast as he could with the heavy load he was pulling.
By the time they turned up the drive, it was pouring. Cold rain came down in solid sheets, soaking the wagon, the boxes, the horse, and the riders. Instead of driving around to the stables to unload the packages, Devon steered Blueberry right to the carriage house.
As Derek jumped down and ran to open the doors, a bolt of lightning shot across the sky, followed immediately by a snapping crash of thunder. Throwing up the latch, Derek pulled the door as hard as he could, slipping in the mud a little. The wind blew up, trying to push the door closed. Digging his heels into the soggy ground, Derek held the door open just long enough for the back end of the wagon to disappear before sliding around and pulling it closed behind him.
Sighing and wiping the water off his face with wet hands, Derek said, "Well, I have been complaining about the heat." He took one of the lap blankets off the shelf and used it to dry his arms and hair.
"We'll git this later. For now just git him back to the stables."
"All right."
"What you standin' there for? Git over here, boy," Devon snapped.
Startled, Derek walked over and stood beside him.
Another crash of thunder shook door on its hinges.
"Hold that," Devon said, shoving the oil lamp into his hands. "When you're unhitchin' the wagon you loosen up this strap first," he explained. He continued to walk Derek through the steps of undoing the wagon and storing the straps so they dried properly.
"Git that lead, boy, and bring him back down the stables. Git him dried off and fed."
"Yes, sir," Derek said, hooking the rope onto Blueberry's bridle. He opened the door and led the horse out into the storm. Ducking down against the wind, he beamed inwardly.
Not only had Devon shown him how to unhitch the wagon, he'd trusted him with putting Blueberry away; something he never would have done before. When it came to his horses, he trusted very few people with very little of their care. It was highly likely that the only reason he even let Derek feed them was because Mrs. Worthington ordered him to.
Once he was safely in the stable, he left the door open while he tied Blueberry to the post and lit the oil lamp. Getting a couple towels, Derek dried him as quickly as he could. That finished, he unlatched the gate and directed him into his stall. The horse looked very relieved to be home.
"That's better, isn't it?"
While Blueberry seemed to calm down, Lady Sarah Mary-Ruth looked edgy, stamping her front hooves and shaking her head. Her eyes were wide as she looked out the open door, her tail swishing from side to side almost convulsively.
Another flash of lightening lit the sky.
Shivering from the cold wind on his wet skin, Derek hurriedly dumped oats into the horses' troths and then climbed up to the loft to change his clothes. Despite the cooler air and the chilly wind, the solid walls insulated the loft, keeping it as warm as it had been that morning. It was nice to feel the heat on his cold, goose-bumped flesh as he peeled the soaked shirt off.
He heard the door slide closed, then Devon's voice yelling over the wind. "I got yer supper down here when you're ready for it!"
"All right," he called back, pulling on his dry clothes. Looking forward to something hot to eat, he climbed down the ladder, taking the rungs two at a time. "What'd Beth make?"
"Weren't Beth," Devon said, holding out a bowl with a saucer over it. "Atty made soup."
Taking the bowl, Derek sat on a stack of grain bags. "She's been in the kitchen more and more, huh? You'd think she'd be with Miss Catherine. Maybe that means she's doing better." He took the spoon Devon held out to him and tasted the steaming soup tentatively. It was chicken broth, with chunks of vegetables and meat. "This is really good."
Devon grunted, hungrily slurping from his own bowl.
Not bothering with the spoon after the soup cooled off, Derek drank the rest of the broth in several gulps. If Beth ever asked, he'd swear up and down that her soup was the best, but, truth-be-told, Atty could give her a run for her money.
When they were finished eating, Derek stacked the bowls in the basket and sat back on the grain bags. He was feeling sleepy and content until he thought of the bag with his paper and pencils that he'd left under the seat in the wagon. He thought only briefly of going to get it when the rain started to pound harder on the roof and another roll of thunder rumbled through the building.
I'm too tired to do anything with it tonight anyway, he told himself.
"Best git to bed, boy," Devon said, wiping his hands on his pants. "Gotta git up early
if your gon' git the carriage ready to go to town."
"I get to do it?" he asked, surprised.
"You think I showed you so I could hear myself talk? It's the same thing to hitch 'em, just goin' the opposite order."
Grinning, Derek nodded. "All right." Maybe he hadn't blown his entire chance at learning something from the old man.
"You gon' git up on time, ain't you, boy?"
"Yes, sir."
With a start, he realized he'd left his good church clothes hanging in the cupboard in Beth's old room. Since he didn't have any place to hang them in his own room, she'd kept them for him so they'd stay decent for Sundays.
"Are you going to get breakfast in the morning?"
"Suppose I am," Devon said with a wide yawn as he shuffled towards his apartment at the end of the building.
"Could you ask Beth for my Sunday clothes? I left them up there."
"Suppose I could," he answered.
"Thanks."
Grunting something under his breath, Devon closed his door sharply, causing drifts of hay to float down from between the floor boards of the loft.
Chuckling a little, Derek walked over and patted Blueberry's nose. "'Night, boy."
Lady Sarah Mary-Ruth, who'd fallen asleep almost as soon as Devon had walked through the stable door, opened one eye and glared at him.
"Goodnight to you, too," Derek said, walking by her and opening the small box that was nailed to the wall by Devon's door. He took out one of the spare wicks, a match, and the bottle of lamp oil.
Holding them in one hand, he climbed up to the loft and set to work cleaning up his lamp. When the wick was in and the oil well filled, he struck the match. Smiling at the light that spread through his room, he went back down to put the oil away.
Too excited from the day and the knowledge that he was going to start teaching himself to read soon, Derek took his Bible out of his chest and flipped through it. He decided the best thing to start with was how to write. Looking at the pages there seemed to be a million different letters.
"I guess if I just learn to write them I can worry about what they sound like later," he mused, closing the book. After all, he couldn't learn to read letters if he didn't recognize them.