Corner Of The Housetop: Buried Secrets

by Leen Elle

  It howled in pain and rage.

  The second came at him again. Try as he might, he could not escape and they took him, holding him with their claws. He struggled in vain.

  They had him. The night creatures clawed at his clothes and tore at his flesh.

  Derek tried to kick against them. He tried to scream. His voice was gone to ten million years of thirst. He wished he could have gotten to the pond in the meadow. Just one drink before he died….

  Thinking of the girl of Kylie Mae determination sparked in his chest and his struggles renewed. Twisting against the claws that held him, Derek looked into the green-eyed face of the first and largest night creature.

  He'd seen it before…. It must be the same one that ate him last time. With a final burst of energy, Derek broke free: he tried to run, but fell even as he stepped. The creature plucked him from the ground as though he weighed nothing. It was over. He would die again.

  Maybe I'll wake up. Maybe it's a dream again….

  It was a lie. The claws felt too real. He was suddenly blinded by light and pain and he knew it was the end. From inside the light came darkness and he fell into it.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Derek woke slowly and jumped when he felt something touch his arm. He sat up, black dots bursting before his eyes, blinding him.

  "Lie down."

  His head spinning, Derek complied. When the spots disappeared, he looked around the room as much as he could. His senses swam from the motion. "I don't feel good," he slurred. He felt a cold, wet cloth mop over his forehead and he shivered.

  "Shh." It was Beth's voice that tried to soothe him. "Just rest."

  "Beth, I don't feel good," he repeated. He tried to sit up again, convinced by the woman's calm tone that she wasn't taking him serious enough. She didn't understand what he meant when he said he didn't feel good.

  Gently pushing him back down, Beth whispered, "Don't talk. Just try to sleep."

  "I kinda feel sick," he told her. Warm tears spilled down his cheeks. He couldn't say why he was crying. He wasn't hurt. He just had a bit of a headache.

  "That's because you are sick. Now try to sleep."

  "How did I get sick?"

  "You were " she started, but was interrupted.

  "He's awake? How is he?"

  Derek looked towards the door and tried to glare when he saw Jonathan. All he managed to do was make his head hurt more with the effort.

  "Not well," Beth answered. "He has a fever and I can't get him to stay still. He keeps trying to sit up. I think the doctor took him off the medicine too soon."

  A little annoyed that Beth was ignoring his question, Derek repeated, "How did I get sick?"

  "Should I send for him?" Jonathan asked with no visible concern.

  "It might be best. Maybe more of the sedative "

  "I don't need a sedative," Derek cut in angrily. He tried to push himself up again. His arms shook.

  "I told you to lie down," Beth scolded gently, guiding him back to the pillow with firm hands on his shoulders.

  Having her attention again, he asked, "How did I get sick?" stubbornly refusing to let them ignore what he considered a reasonable question.

  "You were in the heat for too long," Jonathan answered with the tone of one placating a child who kept interrupting conversing adults.

  "I was?"

  "Yes."

  "I did my chores early because I knew the afternoon would be too hot," he recounted drowsily, his mind hunting for the first solid memory it could find.

  Jonathan walked closer to the bed Derek was lying in. "If you don't rest, you'll only stay sick, which would be a bother to everyone. I will call for the doctor to bring you more medication unless you settle down on your own and do as you're told. Do I need to send for him?"

  Derek rocked his head from side to side in his pillow, exhaustion returning and keeping him from making any more of a gesture.

  "Then never mind how it happened and sleep so you can get better." Jonathan's eyes were distant, his tone oddly gentle.

  "Don't tell me what to do," Derek mumbled. His eyes fell closed and he sank back into his fevered sleep.

  The familiar sound of a noisy cardinal coaxed Derek out of sleep. As he opened his eyes, he became aware that his headache had lessened and he could look around the room without discomfort. Once he identified himself to be in the guest room, he relaxed back into his pillow and tried to recall how he'd come to be there.

  He remembered a bit of Saturday and a haze of Sunday manifested in annoyance at Gabriel. Beyond that everything was too distant and fuzzy.

  No, there was the dream, he thought. He suddenly recalled the girl in the attic. The painting had a hole in it…. Kylie Mae. At the recollection of the name, everything from Sunday night rushed back to him. The fire. The attic.

  Sitting up carefully, Derek looked out the open door. There was no one in the hall and he didn't dare call to anyone in case he disturbed Catherine. He lied back, awake and anxious for a person to walk by.

  Ten minutes passed, then footsteps came from the far end of the hall. As Gabriel walked by his door, Derek called, "Gabe?" He was startled at the croaking rasp that came out.

  Gabriel stopped and peered in curiously. "You're awake?"

  Nodding slightly, Derek shifted so he was sitting up more. "What happened?"

  Stepping carefully, Gabriel entered the room and stood by the door. "What? With you?"

  "Yeah. With anything."

  "Well, you were in the attic for a few days."

  "Days?"

  Gabriel nodded, still keeping his distance. "When Jonathan got home and he found out about the fire he was furious. Then he found out about Mother not letting you eat and locking you up. That made him even more mad."

  Derek was silent.

  "He went to take you out of the attic, but you were pretty sick. The doctor said it was heat poisoning. I guess you didn't recognize Jonathan or Beth." Grinning a little despite his obvious nerves, he added, "You even kicked Jonathan in the face and gave him a nice black eye."

  "I did? He looked fine earlier."

  "It's had a week to clear up."

  "What day is it?" he demanded disbelievingly.

  "Tomorrow is August first. It's been a week and a half since…you know."

  Surprised, Derek leaned back against the headboard. "Really?"

  Gabriel nodded, his stiffness easing a bit. "You've been delirious for five days. Kept screaming and having fits. Dr. Crawford wasn't sure you'd get better. He had to keep giving you medicine so you wouldn't try to get out of the room. He thought you might have gone mad. Jonathan was so angry."

  "Why? Because I was disturbing Catherine?"

  "Not at you. At Mother."

  Annoyed that his headache was returning, Derek said, "Stop hovering by the door like you're scared to come in. I'm not crazy."

  Ignoring him, Gabriel said, "The doctor came this morning and said you'd be fine with some more rest. You're not to be out of bed for another couple days though, no matter how you feel."

  "Did he ask why I was in the attic?"

  His cheeks glowing red with something that might have been humiliation or shame, Gabriel confessed quietly. "I, umm, don't think Mother told him that part. I think she said you were working too late in the afternoon. A really bad heat wave came in last Thursday. No one was out, really."

  Derek snorted with contempt.

  "Well, I should go downstairs. We're having lunch in a few minutes. I'll let Beth know you're awake and have her bring you up something."

  Derek didn't feel hungry, but he nodded and slid down in the bed so his head was on the pillow again.

  Several minutes passed and he just started to doze again when Beth walked into the room with a bowl of soup. She set the soup down on the nightstand and pressed her hand to his forehead. "A bit cooler. How do you feel?"

  "I have a headache and I think I don't ever want to sleep again," Derek replied.

  Beth smiled. "At le
ast you sound like you're getting back to yourself. We were worried for a little while."

  Derek pushed himself up in the bed and took the bowl. It seemed unpleasantly warm and his stomach groaned in protest even as he contemplated taking a bite. "Is it really the last day of the month?"

  "It is. Now eat up, but not too quickly. I'll be up for the bowl later." Beth hurried from the room and Derek felt bad that she had to take the time to care for him when she was already so busy.

  Sighing, Derek took a spoonful of broth. He stared at it for several seconds before he could put it in his mouth. He gagged a little, but swallowed. It wasn't that it tasted bad: his body was just so content with not eating that to do so seemed perverse. He forced down two more spoonfuls then replaced the bowl on the nightstand.

  The days passed in a slow haze. Beth wouldn't allow Derek to get out of bed and his neck, back, and legs were starting to ache as if he was lying on a pile of rocks instead of the little-known luxury of the thick mattress.

  With little else to do, Derek spent most of his time thinking. It wasn't until Friday afternoon that Gabriel caved to Derek's demands and sneaked him a book to read. It was a simple children's book of fairy tales and nursery rhymes, but it was better than hours alone with his thoughts.

  Saturday morning dawned bright and warm and brought Dr. Crawford.

  Derek was reading when the man came up the main stairs, talking to someone. Rushing to look natural and bored, he shoved the book under his pillow and pulled the blankets up around him. He smiled at the doctor as he entered the room. He was followed by Jonathan.

  "Good morning, Derek."

  "Good morning, sir," he answered, hoping he'd pushed the book far enough out of sight. He was surprised to note that this was the first time he'd seen Jonathan since the first morning he'd woken up.

  Dr. Crawford smiled warmly. "How do you feel?"

  "All right. Ready to get out of bed."

  The doctor's smiled broaden with understanding. "I suppose you would be." He took out several instruments and checked Derek's throat, lungs, heart, eyes, and temperature. When he was finished, he turned to Jonathan. "Everything looks to be in order. He still has a little bit of a rattle in his lungs, but it's nothing nearly as bad as it was. It was probably from the smoke. You say he was in the barn when it caught on fire?"

  "Yes, Doctor."

  "Well, it should clear up. I'm surprised it stayed around this long."

  Jonathan didn't reply. He seemed weary and taxed by the mere act of having to stand in the room and answer simple questions.

  Dr. Crawford looked back at Derek. "You'll need to stay in bed for the rest of the day. Tomorrow you can get up; take a short walk around the house; sit on the porch for a few minutes. I want you taking it easy for the next couple days, though. Do you understand?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "I'll come by and see you Monday."

  "Thank you, sir."

  With a quick nod, Dr. Crawford returned his attention to Jonathan. "And how is Mrs. Worthington this morning?"

  Not answering, Jonathan gestured him out into the hall and followed, pulling the door closed as he went.

  With Jonathan and Dr. Crawford gone, Derek relaxed a little and took his book out from under his pillow. He was annoyed with Jonathan for hiding Mrs. Worthington's cruel actions. At the same time, Derek could not seem to bring himself to confess what had happened, though the doctor had had him recount the events that led to his illness at nearly every visit.

  Opening the book, Derek began to read slowly. He continued until he heard a light knock on the door fifteen minutes later. Hiding the book, he said, "Come in."

  Atty walked into the room. She looked tired and worn. "The doctor said you could have something more than broth, so I brought you some toast."

  "Oh. Thank you." Looking at the food made Derek's stomach convulse in protest.

  "I'll just leave it for you."

  "Thank you," he said again, wishing she wouldn't.

  Smiling tightly, Atty nodded and left the room.

  After studying the toast for a few minutes, Derek sunk down into the bed, pulling the blanket up to his chest. He felt suddenly cold and sick. He comforted himself by closing his eyes and thinking about the fact that he was free of church for at least one more week.

  I wonder if they're praying for me, he mused sleepily.

  Derek sighed. It was a beautiful Saturday morning with no clouds, little humidity, and dry warmth in the air that cradled rather than smothered, and he was spending it ignoring another monologue about Aniline from Gabriel. If it wasn't for the fact that he would have to go back to bed if he said anything and annoyed the other boy, he would have told him to shut up. As it was, he stayed quiet, occasionally staring towards the grassy knoll. He use to be able to see the top of the stables from the porch, but now it was just thick green meeting clear blue where the old slanted roof once peeked over at the main house.

  Interrupting without excuse, Derek asked, "Have the new stables been built?"

  Started from his thoughts, Gabriel paused for a moment before answering. "Yes. Mother hired Mr. Whitmore and Marcus Baxter's two older brothers to do it. They finished yesterday afternoon."

  "Is it in the same spot?

  Gabriel shook his head. "It's back a little bit. She's having the corral re-fenced, and she wants it to connect to the new stables."

  "Oh." Derek's tone was bland and he wished he hadn't asked. The morning air was suddenly somber.

  In an effort to break the mood, Gabriel said with genuine excitement, "Mother's buying a new horse. Jonathan sent for it yesterday. It's a female, a little less than Blueberry's age. He wants to train them to team so we can get a larger carriage."

  Interested, Derek asked, "When is the seller coming?"

  "Tuesday, I think. Early. If you can come out, I'll let you know when he arrives."

  "All right." Inexplicably content once again, Derek lapsed into a comfortable silence.

  After a moment, Gabriel started talking again this time about his birthday.

  Still happy to ignore him, Derek only nodded slightly when he felt he should. He was glad he would miss the party. It was a little over a week away, but he was sure he could convince Dr. Crawford to tell him he shouldn't attend it. He felt all but back to normal with the exception of a terrible headache that refused to leave and the pressing need to never see food again, but a few well-timed moans of anguish and a confession of his distaste for eating would surely earn the doctor's recommendation that he stay in bed for a few more days, and take it easy for several more after that. Undoubtedly, Mrs. Worthington who had not been to see him once would consider Dr. Crawford's suggestion to be fitting enough evidence to dissuade Gabriel from wanting Derek included in the festivities.

  Derek was jostled out of his thoughts when Gabriel elbowed him gently in the side. "I'll be older than you again," he teased.

  "For three months," he intoned automatically. Though it was a popular taunt and reply, it never ceased to amuse Gabriel and annoy Derek. He sighed. "I think I'm ready to go in."

  "Tired?"

  Derek shook his head slowly and stood up. "I just want to lie down."

  As he walked up the stairs with Gabriel at his side, he fought the urge to knock on Catherine's closed door.

  Noticing Derek's glance and pause, Gabriel whispered, "She's been sleeping a lot."

  "Is she much worse?"

  "Jonathan doesn't really talk about her, and no one besides him and Atty are allowed in her room."

  A cold sense of dread filled Derek and he longed even more to see her. Tomorrow, he promised himself. When everyone else is gone for church. Without comment, he walked into the guest room and sat on the bed.

  "Do you want anything?"

  Half dying of thirst, but annoyed with having to endure the guilty, pitying light that had been in Gabriel's eyes for the past three days, Derek replied, "Just to be left alone."

  "All right."

  Once Gabriel was go
ne, Derek fell back on the bed, his mind consumed with thoughts of Catherine. He lied there for several minutes, still and thoughtful. He still didn't quite feel like himself and there was something odd and surreal in the thought that someone across the hall from him might be dying. For the first time he allowed himself to reflect upon the treatment he'd been receiving, and think that he, himself, might have been very close to dying just days earlier. How strange it was that he should have been able to get better while someone like Catherine could not.

  With these things on his mind, he fell asleep.

  Derek stood at his bedroom window, watching as the carriage disappeared down the road towards the chapel on Sunday morning. When it was out of sight, he left his room, stepping carefully, leaving his door cracked an inch so the latch did not click. He approached Catherine's door as a superstitious person might approach a tomb.

  He knocked.

  There was no answer.

  Turning the knob slowly and wincing as the door clicked open, Derek peered into the room. It was still and cool, the shades closed against the harsh sun.

  "Catherine?" he whispered.

  There was still no answer.

  Recalling his encounter with her the night he went to the attic, Derek swallowed thickly. He did not want to upset her by waking her, but he did want to see her. Creeping forward as a child trying not to startle a deer in a meadow, he went to Catherine's bedside. Nestled in the pillows and blankets was her pale face. Her lips were white and drawn, her face tense with pain or nightmares.

  Derek watched her for several minutes, unable to leave her. When he grew tired of standing, he sat in the familiar chair, his eyes still trained on her face. He wanted to wake her from whatever was causing the pain in her features, but he dared not try.

  The minutes passed slowly.

  Catherine's breathing grew gradually less shallow until she breathed deep and gasped, as thought shocked that she could still do such a thing.

  "Catherine?"

  She was quiet for a moment, then her eyes opened. "Derek?"

  He couldn't help but smile at the sound of his name. "Yes."