Corner of the Housetop: Buried Secrets (29 page)

"Not hungry."

"More fer me," Devon intoned.

Derek just ignored him as he lied back and rubbed his eyes wearily.

Monday passed quickly and with relative peace. The weather was mild and the family was gone most of the time. The Smithfields wanted to spend some time in town and sightseeing, and Mrs. Worthington decided to play their tour guide.

Derek took the opportunity to get extra chores done, go swimming, and groom the hedges without having to worry about running into Jonathan, who went on the family outings more often than not. There was also no concern about running into Catherine again. He'd been banished from the house once more because Mrs. Worthington claimed his presence was conducive to an ill spirit which would certainly be the very death of poor Catherine if she had to endure it any longer. As such, he didn't have to serve or clean up meals, and Catherine never sat outside on the porch unless Jonathan was home to help her down the stairs.

Whether caused by Derek's ill manners, or some other things entirely unrelated, the heaviness surrounding the house would have been noticeable to anyone. It was, in fact, a mark of the seriousness of the situation that even Gabriel, who was usually childishly blind to all happenings outside his own entertainment, seemed aware of the tension. Despite the fact that everyone noticed it, they were all doing a wonderful job of smiling and acting like there was nothing wrong. It was as ridiculous as if they'd all been sitting to dinner and pretending not to notice an elephant standing in the room.

When Tuesday came the family went to the ocean, and Derek was grateful to be left to pick strawberries without Abigail sneaking after him, eating everything he put in the flat.

Standing up, Derek arched his back and wiped his forehead. He'd been picking for the past two hours and his muscles were starting to ache. "How's your row looking?" he called over to Beth.

"Almost done. Just a couple more plants and I'll be at the end."

"Me, too. Think Atty'll have lunch ready in half an hour?"

"Probably. Mrs. Worthington usually eats right at noon."

Derek shielded his eyes and looked up at the sun. It looked close to noon. "Let's go in for lunch when we finish these rows."

"All right."

They both started picking again. Derek's pace picked up at the thought of food and he reached the end of his row in a quarter-of-an-hour. Hefting the crate flat onto the cart, Derek looked back at Beth. "About done?"

"Be another minute. You head off to the house with what's there and have Atty start some wash water on the fire."

"You got that last one?"

"Yeah. It's nowhere near full. I'll just carry it over when I come."

"All right. See you at the house." Derek leaned the handcart up onto its two wheels and pushed it across the field.

Bumping and creaking, the old cart groaned at the dips in the lawn, its axle bending under the weight of a dozen full flats.

Better replace that before it bothers breaking on me,
he thought.
Fine thing if I dumped a full load of berries right on the lawn.

At the house, Derek propped the door open with one of the boots in the hall and carried in the first crate flat of berries. He walked down the stairs, balancing the flat carefully. "Atty, do you have lunch?"

"I was just putting Mrs. Worthington a tray to bring up. You can pick over what's left in the pot."

Derek set the flat on the table. "I have to carry the rest of the berries in. Before you go up to Miss Catherine, could you put some water on the fire for washing? Beth wants to get these berries canned today."

"All right. Do you need help carrying the berries?"

"No, I'll be done in a minute." Derek jogged back up the stairs to get the next flat. By the time Atty walked into the kitchen with Catherine's empty tray, he was finished stacking the crates and had pulled out the large mixing bowl to put the berries into after he pulled the hauls.

Atty tipped the dishes into the basin. "Make sure to eat before it gets cold."

"I will. I just wanted to get that bowl out so Beth doesn't tell me to when she gets here." Derek took a bowl and poured himself some soup, then sat at the table. It was still warm and it tasted delicious.

A few minutes later, Beth walked in with the rest of the berries. She set them on the table beside Derek and sat down, wiping her face. "Soup? Atty, it's too hot!"

"It's what Mrs. Worthington asked for, so it's what I made."

"Mrs. Hardy stopped by yesterday with fresh dairies. Have some strawberries with cream," Derek advised, eyeing the ripe bulbs.

"They're for canning."

Derek took one. "Gotta taste 'em. Can't can them unless you know they're good."

Taking the berry out of Derek's hand and tossing it back into the flat, Beth said, "I'm sure they're fine."

Derek scowled and drank his soup broth.

"When you're done, will you help me haul those berries?"

"Already got the bowl out for it. Then I need to fix the axle on the cart, so don't bother putting it away."

"Broke again?"

"Almost."

Beth sighed.

When they were finished eating, the three spent the rest of the early afternoon preparing the strawberries for canning. When all that was left was to boil the jars and mash the berries, Derek left the kitchen. He spent the rest of his afternoon working on the handcart axel. By the time he finished and the tools and cart were back in the shed, Blueberry was just clopping merrily up the drive.

Not looking at the carriage, Derek tried to sneak back to the stables, but Devon spotted him before he could get over the knoll.

"Boy!"

Derek stood still for a moment, his shoulders slumped, before turning and trudging back down to the dirt lot. "Yes?"

Devon steered Blueberry up to the porch then clambered down from his perch. "You see to the horse and put away the carriage."

With a sigh, Derek walked around the carriage and flipped the step down.

Abigail, her cheeks rosy with sun, her shoes missing, bounced out first. "Derek, I went swimming!"

Mrs. Smithfield was next out of the carriage. She took Abigail's hand and, without looking at Derek, said, "It's time to get ready for lunch." She'd been almost as cold to him as Mrs. Worthington since the incident on Sunday.

Abigail looked over her shoulder at Derek as she was led towards the house.

Taking the cue from Mrs. Smithfield, Derek didn't respond.

Mr. Smithfield came next. He helped Mrs. Worthington who gave Derek a withering glare down from the carriage step, turned, smiled, and nodded his thanks to Derek, then went up the porch steps.

Bartholomew stumbled out after his father, hurrying to catch up. Derek watched him toddle up the stairs and into the house. He, too, was sun burnt, but it didn't have nearly the same effect on him as it did on Abigail. Instead of looking like a sweet child who'd been to the ocean all day, Bartholomew more closely resembled a choking person, with his round cheeks puffy and crimson.

Last out of the carriage was a weary-looking Jonathan. His eyes drowsy, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up past his elbows, he seemed to want nothing better than to go to bed. When he noticed Derek holding the door for him albeit, grudgingly, he stopped a moment, giving him a closed, somewhat appraising look. After a moment, he turned to take Abigail's sandy shoes off the carriage floor, then walked by Derek, up the stairs, and into the house without a word.

Scowling, Derek slammed the carriage door. He patted Blueberry on the head. "Come on, Blue. Get you put away." Derek walked Blueberry into the carriage house, unhitched the carriage, then lead the horse back outside and across the lawn. "Only three more days, Blue," he said conversationally. "Then they'll be gone and you can rest a bit."
And so can I.

Once the horse was put in his stall, Derek climbed to the loft and took out his books. He had a couple hours before he'd be wanted to do anything, and he was still working out the sounds in relation to the letters in the verse he'd memorized. The time crept by as Derek copied and studied, reading and analyzing, though, admittedly, not making much more of it than he had by the third or fourth time he'd looked at the words. After nearly an hour, Derek's studying was interrupted by the opening of the stable door and a call from below.

"Derek?"

Not immediately recognizing the voice, Derek closed his books and set them on the floor by his bed. "Coming!" he called in response, climbing down the ladder.

Mr. Smithfield was standing by Lady Sarah Mary-Ruth's stall, rubbing her nose as she chewed lazily.

"Yes, sir?" Derek asked.

Mr. Smithfield turned to him, smiling. "I wanted to go out for a ride before dinner, and Jonathan said you'd be free to saddle the horse for me."

"Yes, sir." Derek went to get one of the saddle blankets from the rack on the wall.

As Derek walked back to Blueberry's stall, Mr. Smithfield asked, "I don't recall seeing this horse outside at all."

"That's Mrs. Worthington's horse. She's very old, so she doesn't do much."

"Really?"

Derek unlatched Blueberry's gate and led him out. The horse stamped his feet in a mild protest. Spreading the blanket over his back and patting the horse's side soothingly, he whispered, "Relax. It's nice outside and you get to go out for a walk."

"You are very good with him."

"Blueberry? Oh, he's easy to get along with."

"Are you planning on working with horses when you're older?"

His cheeks coloring a little at how absurd his hope sounded coming from someone else's lips, Derek just mumbled, "I doubt it." He busied himself getting the saddle put on and the straps tightened.

"How long have you lived with the Worthingtons?"

"All my life, as far as I know."

"Do you like it here?"

Derek forced the bit into Blueberry's mouth and pretended not to hear the question.

Mr. Smithfield stepped a little closer and started stroking Blueberry's neck. "I've enjoyed being here. It's nice to be away from the city for a little while."

"Yes, sir," Derek agreed, though he wouldn't know the difference. Smoothing down Blueberry's mane as he looped the reigns up over his head, Derek said, "There you go."

"Thank you."

"Do you know where the trail head is?"

Nodding a little, Mr. Smithfield said, "I believe I remember. Shall I just bring him back here when I'm finished?"

"Yes, sir. I should be here for a little while, but if I'm not, just leave him in his stall and I'll take care of him when I finish my chores."

Mr. Smithfield seemed to want to say something, but decided against it. Nodding a slight thank you, he led the horse outside before mounting him and starting off at a slow walk towards the break in the far trees that led to the riding paths through the woods.

Derek sighed then climbed back up to the loft. Now he'd have to find things to do around the stables until Mr. Smithfield returned. As he thought once more about how similar Mr. Smithfield and Mr. Worthington were, he felt a strange loneliness fill him. It had been a very long time since he'd really thought about Mr. Worthington, and now that he had, he wished the man was still alive.