Corner of the Housetop: Buried Secrets (44 page)

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."

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.

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."