Corner of the Housetop: Buried Secrets (50 page)

By who?
Derek wondered, not daring to look at Jonathan. Surely this was not his doing…. Then it occurred to him: Jonathan was buying slaves. He would not want Derek under foot, especially now that he'd decided to stay at the plantation for good.

If I say no, Jonathan will probably throw me out anyway,
he mused
. And besides, it's just what I wanted….
Derek took a deep breath. "Thank you, sir."

Derek didn't feel as happy as he thought he would at such an opportunity. Seeing how fully Jonathan Worthington hated and wanted to get rid of him that he would pass him off on a poor, visiting boyhood friend dampened his elation. He'd always known he was nothing to the Worthingtons, but to see it so plainly….

"It's Mr. Worthington you should be thanking. He's the one who'll pay your annuities for the first two years."

"Annuities?"

"Fees paid to a master for training an apprentice," Jonathan answered stonily. His eyes were clouded, his voice unaffected.

Fees? He's paying money for me to do this?
Derek suddenly wanted to ask why again, but wisely stopped himself. If it did nothing else, it proved one thing: Jonathan truly wanted him gone. Numbly, he said to Jonathan, "Thank you."

"We'll be leaving the day after tomorrow."

Derek nodded, unable to think of anything to say.

"It's late and we've an early morning," Jonathan said when the silence went on for several seconds. "Go to bed."

"Yes, sir." Still not believing what just happened, Derek stood and climbed the stairs. He closed and locked his door and when Gabriel came knocking he ignored him.

Derek lied on his bed for a long time staring at the ceiling. He felt much like he had the night he'd been told he would move to the stables. He felt oddly homesick though he hadn't left yet.

It was a while before Derek recalled the letters. Thinking he had better replace them before Jonathan found them missing, he climbed out of bed and lifted the mattress. He lit a candle and sat on the floor hunched over the flame as he leafed through the papers. They stank of attic rot.

He chose the top one addressed to Mr. Worthington Senior and unfolded it carefully. The same cramped writing filled the page and it took him a while to decipher the words. Some he could not make out for smudges, but the message of the correspondence was clear enough:

To my esteemed Mister Worthington:

It has been a very long time since last we met, and unfortunately our parting was less pleasant that I would have preferred. However, I write now to make a humble request.

I have been treating an outbreak of fever here in our hometown. I had hoped it would be easily contained, but the symptoms have spread even to the residents who live at the edge of town. I have been fearful for Kylie's health, and tried to persuade her to write and ask to stay with you until these events pass. I am sure you are not aware, but she has recently given birth and could be especially susceptible to the extremes of illness. My concern is also with the child, and I hope you will consider taking them both in. I anxiously await your reply.

Yours in haste and sincerity,

Dr. Daniel Neilson

Derek reread the words several times to be sure he understood them, squinting at the difficult hand. When he finished, he took the second letter, one addressed to Dr. Daniel Neilson of Gorge County, Mississippi, and began to read:

To Dr. Neilson:

It is true that our final encounters prior to your departure were less friendly than some we shared before, and I hope you will understand a continued disengagement of our friendship.

Notwithstanding, I will concede to keeping Kylie Mae and the child until their return to Mississippi is safe. Despite our lack of personal geniality, I have certain obvious ties that I cannot in good conscience severe, and as such feel a responsibility for the child's welfare.

I have enclosed train passage for the mother and infant. Please send a letter with the travel schedule and I will arrange to meet them in town.

Good luck in your work and may God bless those you serve.

Jeremiah Worthington

His brow wrinkled in thought, Derek reread, "Certain obvious ties?" Many thoughts came to his mind concerning Mr. Worthington and the woman, and he felt ashamed of them all.

He set the letter aside and sought answers in the third page of writing. He was disappointed by how short the correspondence was, and even more disappointed and saddened when he learned the meaning of its contents:

To Mrs. Daniel Neilson:

I am writing to inform you that your husband was taken ill of the fever last week. On the 16th of October his body succumbed to illness and he passed away in the night.

Pending other instruction, his body will be transported to his family home in Claremont, Mass. for burial.

I express my condolences and may God comfort you in your mourning.

Rev. Patrick Harbor

After a minute, Derek set the letter aside. There was one more and he wasn't sure he dared read it. His fingers would not turn the flaps of paper back. The candle was burning low.

A knock came at his door. "Derek," Gabriel hissed in a loud whisper, "I know you're not asleep. I see the light under your door."

Derek didn't respond immediately.

"Derek!"

Sliding the letters under the bed, he stood and went to unlock the door. "What?"

"What did Mr. Todd want?"

With a sigh, Derek stepped back so Gabriel could enter. He closed the door and sat on the bed. He wasn't sure he wanted to share his news just yet, though he knew the other boy would probably learn it the next day.

"Derek."

"I don't feel like talking about it."

"Are you in trouble?"

"No." He sighed again. "Mr. Todd wants me to work for him on his father's farm." He was embarrassed to admit that Jonathan was paying for his training, so he left that fact out.

Gabriel's eyes lit with excitement. "With horses?"

"Don't yell," Derek hissed. He had to admit that he was a little jealous that Gabriel could be so unabashedly pleased for him when he himself could not find the emotion.

"Aren't you happy, though? It's what you wanted."

"I know."

"Are you scared of going?"

He glared at Gabriel. "No," he said truthfully. "It's just strange."

"I'll miss you."

"Shut up." Derek hadn't meant to say it, but it was all he could think of.

Gabriel looked hurt.

Looking out the window, Derek waited for the moment to pass then said, "You should go to bed. The funeral is early tomorrow."

"Are you going?"

"I doubt I'll be allowed."

Gabriel casted about for a moment as though looking for a reason to stay longer. At length he said sullenly, "Well, good night."

"Good night." When Gabriel had left, Derek locked the door again. He supposed he would miss Gabriel, but he couldn't say why. Mostly out of habit: he was used to him being there.

Walking around the bed, he took the letters out and riffled through them until he found the one he hadn't read. The writing was thin, wiry, and rushed, but had an elegancy and feminine curl that the other hands lacked. There was no name on the outside and it was not addressed to anyone:

I am sorry I have to leave you and I will miss you. When next we meet, you will be wiser and know that I was never what you thought me to be, but I hope you will also be patient and still love me as you do now. Yesterday I asked a heavy favor of you. I am sorry to have done so, and I hope we speak before I go. If not, I want you to know I trust you to do your best. I love you dearly. More than I have loved anyone.

Yours always, more than anyone else's,

Kylie Mae

A minute passed and Derek was startled to find tears dripping from his cheeks onto the page. He wiped the paper on his blanket before they smudged the ink then scrubbed at his face dry with his sleeve.

Derek did not know who the letter was too, but he envied the love Kylie Mae had for that person. Until now he held claim to all her affections because he could believe he was the only one who knew her. Just the two of them by her little pond.

Taking the rest of the letters, Derek reread each one twice. They painted a very bleak story and he wondered where Kylie Mae went to, and what became of her child.

With a last look at them and a resolve to sneak them back to the attic while the family was at the graveside, Derek put the letters back under his mattress and changed into his night clothes. Sleep eluded him for nearly an hour.

In the night he dreamed fitfully, but did not remember it when he woke the next morning.

Derek stood by his bedroom window and watched as the funeral procession marched across the front drive and over the little knoll. When the last person disappeared, he took the letters from his mattress and hurried down the hall.

Beth and Atty were with Devon by the stables to watch the casket go by even though they were not permitted to attend the burial, and Derek was sure the women would return soon.

Propping the door open, he climbed the attic stairs, his fears pushed aside in light of his haste. He barely noticed his pulse quicken until after he'd replaced the letters and closed the drawer. His task complete, he was free to notice the heat and smell. He retreated to his room and waited several minutes.

Growing restless, Derek roamed down the hallway and stopped at the top of the stairs. In a day he would be gone. He wouldn't have to worry about main stairs or servant stairs. He would be a fulltime stable boy on a farm in Connecticut.

Derek walked down the stairs and out to the porch. No one was coming back yet and he felt impatient to know what was taking so long. He wasn't sure how funerals generally worked, but there couldn't be much to do. When he grew too impatient, he started towards the stables. From there he'd at least be able to see when they were finished.

As he crested the little hill he saw Beth, Atty, and Devon standing by the fence. They were talking in subdued voices.

"I just can't believe it," Atty was saying as he walked towards them.

"Are they nearly done?" Derek asked tactlessly.

"Just sayin' a few words, by the looks," Devon said, squinting into the distance. "Some of the men are pickin' up their shovels."

Derek watched the forms moving. It was a very small group: only the family, Mr. Todd, Reverend Marks, and Mr. Millstone, who was there to help carry the coffin and fill in the grave. Several minutes passed: the grave was filled, a few more words were said, then the people started in a solemn walk back across the field.

"We best get the tea and refreshments ready," Beth said with a resolved sigh.

Atty nodded.

"Are you coming?"

Tea with the reverend didn't sound like much fun. Derek shook his head. "I think I'll stay out here a while. I haven't visited Blue very much lately."