by Leen Elle
Tipping her head, Catherine looked up at him and smiled. "It is good to see you. It's been a very long time."
"I I was a little sick. But I'm better now." Once again, he felt embarrassed when he thought of what had happened and he couldn't quite bring himself to worry Catherine over it.
"I'm so glad. Have you come to read with me?"
Derek nodded. "I can, if you want."
"The book is "
"In this drawer."
"Yes."
Opening the drawer in the bedside table with solemn ritual, Derek took out the old, well-read Bible and held it out to Catherine. With effort, she pulled her arms from under the mound of blankets and took it from him.
"What shall we hear today?"
Derek thought for a moment then said, "Something happy."
"Happy? John is happy." Catherine opened the book and stared at the pages for several seconds. "I don't think the light is quite good enough for me to read."
"I could open the curtains," Derek offered.
"They are closed?"
"Yes." Reaching behind him, Derek pulled the folds of fabric just enough to let in a few inches of noon light. It infused the air with a sudden warmth that seemed unnatural in the stale and somber setting.
Catherine looked at the page a little longer. "It seems I must still be sleeping." Her eyes were sad.
Derek cast about his mind for something that would make her feel better. "Gabriel's been teaching me to read," he finally said, sure the secret would be safe enough with her.
Catherine set the book down and smiled. "Really? That's wonderful."
"I can't read enough for a proper Sunday service, but I can recite something if you like."
"I'd like that very much."
It took a moment of thought before Derek found the beginning of the verse Catherine had taught him those many weeks ago, but when he recalled it, the rest came easily: "In the Lord put I my trust: how say ye to my soul, Flee as a bird to your mountain?"
"That is one of my favorites."
"I know." Derek looked at her for a second. "I'm sorry I don't know any others."
"It is all right. That one is all I needed, and more than I expected. Thank you."
Derek smiled. He didn't know what else to say, and was about to excuse himself, but was stopped by Catherine's airy expression of joy as she looked beyond him, to the door, and said, "Jonathan."
His recollection of their previous such meeting returning clearly, Derek steeled himself for whatever would come this time. Whatever it was, he did not regret coming to see Catherine for what he couldn't help but feel might be the last time.
Jonathan looked at Derek for a moment, his eyes weary. He sighed as though defeated. "Have you had a good Sunday school?" His tone was neutral and dutiful.
"Yes. We heard Psalms." Catherine seemed suddenly even more tired.
"Are you finished?"
"Could you read to us from John?" She tried to sit up as though the importance of the request would be minimized by asking it while slouched under blankets.
Jonathan didn't try to stop her and Derek questioned the wisdom in letting her move so carelessly.
"I would," she continued when she was off her pillow a bit more, "only I can't seem to see the words."
Jonathan was quiet for a minute. Derek was certain he was going to refuse, but then he walked into the room and took the book from Catherine's white hands. He opened it in a way that suggested he either did not care what page he stopped on, or he had made the turns so many times that he trusted his fingers to find the right place on their own. When he found what he wanted, he stopped and read in deep, soothing tones:
"'Martha said unto him, I know that he shall rise again in the resurrection at the last day.
'Jesus said until her, I am the resurrection and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die. Believest thou this?
'She saith unto him….'"
As Jonathan continued to read, Derek watched Catherine's eyes close slowly. She sunk into her pillows and her pained smile eased into the gently unreadable expression of one about to dream.
"'…The Master is come and calleth for thee. As soon as she heard that, she arose quickly, and came unto him.'"
Alarmed, Derek touched her arm and started at how cold it was though it had been lying in the patch of sunlight. "Catherine?"
At Derek's voice, Jonathan stopped reading. Leaning past the boy, he brushed straw-like hair out of his wife's face tenderly. "She is still breathing," he told Derek in low, unaffected tones.
Derek looked at him disbelievingly.
"We had better go and let her sleep."
Suddenly angry, Derek demanded, "Don't you care? You know she's dying. How can you just "
"Derek." The gentle calmness of the man's voice brought silence. "Let's leave her. It troubles her sleep to hear voices in the room."
Startled from his anger, Derek looked back at Catherine briefly, then stood up and left as Jonathan put the Bible on the bedside table and followed him out into the hall. When they were safe from the possibility of waking Catherine, Jonathan turned a cool stare at Derek.
"Do not disturb her again," he ordered, his voice once again hard.
Still unsure of what to make of Jonathan, Derek only nodded mutely and returned to his room. There was a bowl of soup waiting for him. He ignored it for a moment, trying to think as he sat in the quiet, but he was too distracted to find any sense in his thoughts. Sighing with resolve, he took the spoon and tried to eat so Beth wouldn't scold him later.
Chapter Twenty-four
Monday crawled slowly by like the moments between dreaming and waking. Part of Derek could not stop thinking about Catherine: he sought to recall every second of their previous interaction in the hopes of remembering her. But even as he tried to recall her voice, it seemed to slip away from him. He tried to look in on her early Monday morning, but Atty was with her and he did not want to risk anyone telling Jonathan he'd bothered Catherine again. He considered it his good fortune to still be in the house, and he could not help but attribute it to Jonathan, though he had no evidence of it.
As the noon heat rose in the house, Derek was sitting at the desk in the guest room which he'd come to refer to as his own. He wasn't sure if it was from being sick or not, but the previous months were faded and shadowy in his mind, as if they might not have happened. He might never have left the house, but only dreamed he had.
Derek shook his head as the familiar line of thinking began in his mind. It disturbed him to contemplate and he always ended up disproving himself by digging the fairy tale book from under his pillow and reading several lines.
There was a careless knock on the door and then it swung open without waiting for reply. Gabriel stepped into the room. "Do you want to have lunch downstairs today?"
Unable to find the energy to give the smart remark that popped into his head, Derek asked in a subdued voice, "I'd be allowed to eat with the family?"
"Mother said you could. I think she wants to see how you're feeling."
Because as soon as I'm well enough, I'm back out in the barn, he thought. "I suppose if it's Mother's invitation, how can I refuse?"
"Don't be that way."
Derek glared, but stood and walked past Gabriel into the hall. It seemed Gabriel's realization of Mrs. Worthington's evil nature had been reverted to its old ignorance. "Do you know what we're having?"
"Sandwiches, I think. Nothing hot."
Derek's stomach churned and he couldn't have said if it was in revolution or hunger. He'd come to a place where he knew he was hungry he was all the time but just the sight of food chased away any desire to eat. He was sure his lack of interest in lunch would be pointed out as ingratitude.
When the two reached the dining room, Gabriel sat in his usual chair and Derek slid into one beside him. They were the only two in the room for several minutes and Gabriel struggled against
the cool atmosphere to make conversation.
"So, Doc Crawford hasn't stopped in yet, has he?"
"He didn't say what time he was coming," Derek replied, looking towards the hallway. He felt guilty at knowing Beth would be serving him lunch, though he wasn't sure why: she'd been serving him lunch in his room for days. It was different to be sitting with the family as though he was one of them.
"You seem to be doing really well. A little pale, but that's probably from being inside." Gabriel sipped his water. "Do you think he'll clear you as healthy?"
"Maybe. The only thing wrong that I know of is I feel tired all the time. But that's probably from lying in bed so much."
As Gabriel nodded in sympathy, Jonathan and Mrs. Worthington walked into the room. It was the first time Derek had seen Mrs. Worthington since he'd gone into the attic. She stared at him with loathing as she flapped her fan at her face rapidly.
Staring back, suddenly too numb to care, Derek watched her walk around to her seat and drop into it carefully. She folded her pink fan and set it beside her plate, then fixed Derek was a cold smile and asked, "How are you feeling today?" with no amount of sincerity.
Derek wanted to say something that would make her feel guilty, but all the things that came to his mind seemed childish, petty, or whiny. Opting for the safer road, he simply stated, "Fine."
"I'm very glad to hear it."
Derek took a drink of his water to be doing something that would excuse him from needing to reply.
Jonathan made no remark. Indeed, the only sign that he even noticed Derek's presence was a slight glance of narrowed eyes.
The meal passed in painful quiet and Derek could only force himself to eat a few bites of food. The broth was too heavy and the bread swelled in his dry mouth until he felt he'd choke. Despite these facts, Derek felt he was doing comparatively well until Beth brought out tea and a tray of blackberry tarts. Thinking he would be ill, Derek excused himself from the table and wandered out onto the porch to get what little air there was to be found in the stifling afternoon heat.
Sighing, he dropped onto the bench and leaned his head back against the side of the house. The nausea was passing, but slowly. He closed his eyes and tried to think of other things.
Before long, the sound of clopping hooves roused Derek, and he peered down the drive at the doctor and his black horse. When he reached the porch, Dr. Crawford climbed down from his horse and looped the reigns over the railing post.
"Good afternoon," the doctor said cheerfully, walking up the steps.
Not able to force the appearance of wellness, Derek answered thickly, "'Afternoon."
"You seem to be on the better side of well."
"Yes, sir. I just had lunch," Derek answered. It felt like a lie when he said it, but he had been at the table and he had swallowed something, as evidenced by the uncomfortable turning in his gut.
Dr. Crawford smiled and nodded. "Very good, very good. Have you been out often?"
"A bit. Usually in the morning when it's cooler."
He nodded once more. "I am glad to hear it. And since you are well, I should check in on my other patient."
Derek stood carefully it would not due to vomit on the porch in front of the doctor and opened the door for the man. "I think the family is still having tea, but I'm sure they won't mind if you interrupt." He didn't even need to announce the guest as he walked into the dining room: Jonathan was already standing and nodding in greeting.
"Good afternoon, Doctor."
"Good afternoon, Mr. Worthington. And Mrs. Worthington."
Mrs. Worthington smiled like a saint and offered him tea.
"Oh, no, I couldn't, thank you. I have an appointment with the Claytons shortly, so I mustn't be leisurely."
"Nothing too serious, I hope," Mrs. Worthington said. Her voice was sweet, but Derek saw the narrowed pleasure in her eyes to think that something terrible might have befallen the only family in town who would speak against her own.
"I'm sure all will be quite well," Dr. Crawford answered discreetly with his own smile.
Jonathan, who had been standing by the door, interrupted further conversation, "Catherine was awake earlier, so you might find her well today."
A chill went down Derek's spine and he felt sick again.
Still smiling, Dr. Crawford nodded to Mrs. Worthington and Gabriel, then followed Jonathan out of the room.
Derek waited a moment then pretended he was going to his room and went up the stairs after them. When he reached the hallway, he crept the closed door across from his own and listened. The voices were no more than hushed tones, maddeningly teasing in their refusal to rise to a coherent level. When at last he could strain his ears no more, Derek retreated to his room and threw himself onto his bed, regretting it immediately as the meager contents of his stomach protested so violently that he was ill in the chamber pot. His head spun and swam and he tasted bile on the back of his tongue.
Derek's stomach clenched once more as he heard the doctor's worried voice behind him, "Are you well?"
Looking over his shoulder, Derek hoped the heat he felt in his skin had not risen in his face. "Yes, sir," he said with coarse voice. "I think I might have eaten too much at lunch."
Jonathan, who stood slightly behind the doctor looking into the room without interest, did not bother to correct the misinformation.
"That's no good at all, my boy. You're very weak and sensitive still. You must be careful of yourself." He looked at Jonathan. "I don't think I've seen so sensitive a boy. Were his parents disposed to illness?"
Though he looked opposed to answering, Jonathan said, "Not particularly. At least, no more than any other person."
"But they died of illness, didn't they?"
"Many people die of illness."
"Very young-"
"Either way, the boy looks fine now," Jonathan said with candid impatience. "Or at any rate, he does not appear to be dying. Shall we return to other matters?"
"Yes, certainly." Looking at Derek, Dr. Crawford said, "But I'll want to see you again before I leave. Why don't you lie in bed a moment while it passes? There's a good boy."
Left to himself, Derek lied on his back and looked at the ceiling. He was growing very weary of being sick. Closing his eyes, he let the exhaustion of his sickness lull him to sleep. He woke to the clicking of the door knob only moments after falling asleep, though he felt like he'd been dreaming for hours.
"Now, let's have a closer look at you."
Yawning, Derek pushed himself up and peered blearily around the room. Jonathan must have decided he'd been enough help for one day because he was nowhere to be seen. His absence put Derek more at ease, though he would have liked to witness Dr. Crawford questioning Jonathan about his parents a little longer.
As he drew the chair near the bed, Dr. Crawford set his bag down. Drawing out his stethoscope, he said, "Lift your shirt."
All too familiar with the examination process, Derek complied with requests even as they were given, and soon found himself waiting while the doctor looked at him with a puzzled expression.
"You seem all but well. A little rattling in the lungs, but better than before. Have you had any pain in your chest?"
Derek shook his head. He wondered if explaining about the blackberries might ease the man's concern for his sudden sickness, but that might lead to questions he didn't want to answer, like why he was living on only blackberries for so long to begin with. Instead, he said, "I feel much better. I'm sure it was just a passing thing. I haven't been sick all weekend besides that."
"Really? Well, I suppose if you look fine now I can't do much. I do want to hear you've been eating a bit more. You seem like you've lost weight instead of gaining it."
What happened to my looking well? he wondered crossly. "Yes, sir. I'll try to eat more."
"There's a good boy. What's more," Dr. Crawford added, standing, "try to keep it down. It does no good otherwise."
"Yes, sir."
"I left word
with Mr. Worthington that he's to contact me if you have any other turns like this. It could be a sign of something more serious, or it could just be your stomach getting used to having food in it after so long. Either way, I'll keep in touch. Until I see you again, be careful and don't go out by yourself. In fact, you'd do better to stay inside, especially in the heat."
His spirits dropping even more at the continued confinement, Derek muttered, "Yes, sir."
He smiled. "Good boy. I'll leave you to rest a bit. I dare say you'll want it."
With a final "Yes, sir," Derek watched the man walk out of the room, then lied down again. He sighed and thought of the new horse coming and how he wouldn't get to go out and see it. After several moments of thought, he decided to sneak out anyway. It wasn't as if anyone kept too close a watch on him.
With his own visit with the doctor over and his thoughts casting about for something to think on, Derek discovered a heightened concern for Catherine growing in his mind. Making up his mind to go and see her while everyone else was distracted with the horse the next morning, he stretched his arms, which were oddly stiff, and rolled over to look out the window, suddenly too awake and alert to rest.
Tuesday morning came with a haze of visible humidity that strangled the plantation. No one seemed fully awake at breakfast (which Derek had been "invited" to take at the table with the family) besides Gabriel, who spent more effort talking about the new horse than eating his food.
"She's chestnut brown," Gabriel told Derek as though he'd already seen her. "We might breed her with Blueberry."
Unable to be completely uninterested, Derek said, "That might make a pretty colt."
Nodding energetically, Gabriel said, "We're probably going have a few more horses, too. With the crops so poor-"
"Gabriel," Jonathan cut in. "It's rude to talk about business matters over a meal. If you don't finish your breakfast in time, you won't go down when Mr. Todd gets here."
Jonathan's turning this place into a horse farm? Derek wondered, his interest piqued even more. That would be quite a change, and a good one, too, he couldn't help but think. Glancing at Mrs. Worthington, who had stubbornly refused to seek other means of income beyond the withered berries and meager garden, Derek noted that her lips were pursed in distaste and she seemed to want to make a comment she knew better than to make.