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the ropes tightened, the medium-sized room looked much smaller, and Derek's curiosity had grown to twice its original size.
    Why was Beth getting a new bed? Mrs. Worthington didn't like colored people that much, let alone wasting so much good money on a slave. And if it was for Beth, why did they need to move all of her other things out into the hall? They hadn't taken up that much room putting it together.
    Just as he was stepping back to survey the room, Derek heard Mrs. Worthington's voice over his shoulder. "Good, you did get up."
    "Yes, ma'am."
    "He was just helping us put this together, Mrs. Worthington," Mr. Tucker said with a smile.
    Mrs. Worthington smiled gently, her face suddenly kind. "He is a very helpful boy. Thank you for coming out so early, Mr. Tucker. And you, too, Mr. Millstone."
    In the old woman's presence any image of dominance Mr. Millstone might have carried melted away. Smiling and nodding, he said, "Any time we can be of any help to you, just let us know."
    "You're too kind, taking up your whole morning like this. Would you come down and join Gabriel and I for breakfast?"
    "We'd be delighted, ma'am."
    Stepping aside, Mrs. Worthington swept the men out of the room with a graceful wave of her arm. As they descended the main stairs, she turned back with a stern stare. "When you've finished bringing your things out to the stables and gotten yourself cleaned up, there's some food in the kitchen for you." Not waiting for a response, she fixed her smile back in place as if it were a physical effort and walked down the stairs after her guests.
    "Which won't be soon enough," Derek told her quietly, going back to where he'd set his chest. Hefting it onto his shoulder, he walked down the wide, polished stairs. Leaving the house behind him, Derek found himself looking forward to moving in with Devon and Blueberry. Having to put up with Lady Sarah Mary-Ruth couldn't be as bad as having to put up with Mrs. Worthington. If the old mare got too bossy he could just leave her tied up in her stall. Mrs. Worthington didn't come with that luxury. He only hoped Devon had been told that he was getting a roommate.
    "Devon?" Derek called, walking through the stable door.
    "You here?" The old man chewed thoughtfully on the inside of his cheek for a moment, studying the boy, before barking, "You gon' stand there all day?"
    "No. Where do you want me to put my things?"
    Grunting like an angry boar, Devon shuffled away. "You 'n put your stuff in the loft."
    So I'm sleeping in the loft .… With a heavy sigh, he readjusted the chest on his back and climbed up the ladder. "At least it's warm," he muttered sarcastically as he stepped off the ladder into the thick heat. "Do I get a blanket?" he yelled down.
    The only reply he got was another grunt.
    "Crazy old man." Derek pushed his chest back against the wall and took his candle holder out, setting it on the closed lid so he wouldn't have to hunt for it later in the dark. Kneeling and looking around, he took in his new surroundings.
    There were several wide spaces between the boards underneath him and small drifts of hay fell down when he shifted. The walls and ceiling were solid though, and with hurricane season fast approaching that was definitely a good thing. At one end of the loft was a pile of crates and boxes. Several oddly shaped pieces of metal stuck out from the mass. There was a rusted out bucket sitting right on top of a stack of burlap sacks, making the peak of the junk pile.
    At the other end there was a wide, short door. Beside it, screwed securely into the wall, was a swinging arm and pulley for bring up hay bales.
    Aside from the pile, the loft was clean and open. The pulley was tied up out of the way. There were tie cords strewn on the floor, but they blended enough to not matter. With his chest by a small lump of hay—which he thought would make the perfect bed—and his candle holder set on top of it, Derek already felt a comfortable familiarity about the