Garters.htm (21 page)

When they reached the preacher, her father at her left, his fiddle tucked neatly under his arm, and her sisters at her right, attractively and identically turned out in their Sunday best, Esme focused her attention on Reverend Tewksbury.

But Cleavis focused his attention on her.

"Dearly Beloved," the reverend began. His voice was hoarse and caught unexpectedly. After clearing his throat, he began again. "Dearly Beloved. We are gathered here in the presence of God to unite this man and this woman in the bonds of holy matrimony. An honorable estate…"

Cleav was not listening. His eyes and his thoughts were on Esme standing barely a yard away. He would never have chosen her, he reminded himself. But perhaps it wouldn't be so bad. He remembered the warmth of her kisses, the feel of her body pressed close to his, and—oh heaven of heavens— those long, lovely legs. He reminded himself that she was bright and hardworking. Although she certainly would not be an asset on his arm, he thought she might clean up well and wouldn't look too bad in decent clothes. He was willing to make the best of it. "Who gives this woman in marriage?'' Reverend Tewksbury boomed across the crowd as if he didn't know the person to answer was standing right in front of him.

"I do!" Yohan shouted right back.

Stepping back, Yo placed Esme's hand in Cleav's. The two shared a brief, blushing glance before returning their attention to the preacher.

Yohan, however, was not finished. To the amazement of everyone, he put the fiddle to his chin and began to play a slow, sweet, romantic tune of the mountains.

Esme recognized it as the one he'd written the day she'd gone down the mountain to ask Cleav to marry her. That wonderful day, so long ago now, when she'd learned what sweetness was desire.

Cleav looked at his bride, surprised to see tears forming in her eyes. The song
was
tender, he had to admit. Too tender for the loveless wedding it commemorated. But then, perhaps it was not loveless for Esme. A woman who so brazenly chased, offered, and even begged for attention was without a doubt infatuated with the man of her pursuit. Maybe it was more than a girlish fancy. She could be deeply in love with him. That pleased him more than it should have.

To have Esme Crabb, with her sweet smile and seductive legs, striving to win his favor. And she'd certainly never be any trouble to him. A woman so desperately in love would be easy to handle.

"Do you, Manfred Cleavis Rhy, take this woman, Esmeralda Joleen Crabb, to be your lawful wedded wife? Do you promise to protect, honor, and cherish her, keeping yourself only unto her as long as you both shall live?"

Cleav swallowed hurriedly and then stated with conviction, "I do."

"And do you, Esmeralda Joleen Crabb, take this man to be your husband? Do you promise to love and obey him,keeping yourself only unto him as long as you both shall live?"

Esme turned to look at Cleav. There was fear in her eyes but resolution, too. Facing Reverend Tewksbury, she replied with calm determination, "I do."

Cleav brought out the ring. The wide gold band had been in his store for two years. He'd paid a fast-talking drummer too much for it and had never been able to sell it. Although it was too much to hope that it might fit Esme, when he placed it on the third finger of her left hand, it was perfect.

"By the power vested in me by this church and the State of Tennessee, I pronounce this couple husband and wife."

Slipping his hands around Esme's waist, Cleav pulled her close and leaned down to capture her lips with his own.

"What God has joined together, let no man put asunder.''

There were congratulations and slaps on the back as the young couple stepped out in the churchyard for a cup of punch. Cleav had engaged Sarah Mayfield and her daughter-in-law to manage the refreshments: pink lemonade punch and white layer cake decorated with burnt sugar on the icing. Cleav had told Mrs. Mayfield to spare no expense, and the congregation considered these treats luxurious. Esme Crabb might be a simple hill girl, but her wedding would be remembered as a lavish affair.

Unfortunately, Esme had hardly had time to take stock of her surroundings when Armon Hightower separated her from her new husband. He grabbed her around the waist and forcefully pulled her from the party.

"What are you doing?" she asked, more startled than annoyed.

Armon's grin was wicked. "Miz Rhy, I suspect you'd call it being 'kidnapped.'"

Esme only allowed a second for the meaning of his words to sink in. "
Cleavis!''
she screamed.

"What's going on there?" Cleav called angrily as he watched in shock as Armon Hightower hoisted Esme on his shoulder and began to head toward the mountain.

"Hightower! Come back here!" he hollered.

His reaction earned him some derisive laughter from Armon's fellow kidnappers. "You can buy her back for three dollars' worth of sorghum and a jug of moonshine!" one of the Roscoe brothers called to him as he followed Armon and the squealing bride.

"What are you talking about?"

"We're talking about a shivaree ransom," Will Gambridge called back with a laugh.

"Three dollars' worth of sorghum would be about a whole barrel," Cleav said incredulously.

"Rolling a barrel up the mountain with a jug of whiskey in one hand will be a trick worth any bridegroom's price," Gambridge taunted.

"Yahoo!" the Roscoe brothers called as they hurried after Hightower.

"Shivaree!" Will added as he rushed past the spectators, now over their surprise and laughing in alliance with the kidnappers.

Cleav stood staring after them, rooted to the spot. With the unusual and hurried circumstances of the wedding, the last thing he'd considered was a shivaree. Yo Crabb, his new father-in-law, hurried up behind him.

"Good Lord, son," he said. "Go after her."

Cleav started after them, but the culprits divided up as soon as they reached the cover of trees.

Wandering around without picking up a trail for the better part of an hour, Cleav decided that striking a bargain was his best chance of getting his wife back before morning.

Hurrying back to the General Merchandise, he found Mort Riggly, the local moonshiner, waiting for him on the porch of the store.

"Evenin', Cleavis," Mort greeted him amiably. "Was it a nice weddin'? Sorry I missed it."

"It was fine," Cleav answered distractedly. "How'd you know to be here?"

"Armon tole me you'd be needing another jug for the ransom when he bought his."

Cleav's eyes widened in concern. "They already have one whole jug?"

Mort heard the worry in his tone and waved it off."Don't get yourself in a dither," Mort told him. "I admit that, drunk or sober, Will and those Roscoe boys could throw all their good sense together and wouldn't have enough to make change." Mort chuckled at his own little joke. "But Armon's up there with her. He's wild, but he ain't stupid. And he's got feelings for the gal anyway."

"Feelings?" Cleav felt the inexplicable rise of jealousy, and his question was harsher than he intended. "What do you mean by that?"

Mort found Cleav's agitation downright amusing. "I sure don't mean what you think I'm meaning," the whiskey seller assured him. "He's been courting those twins now for nigh on a half year. I suspect he's thinking your gal is practically his in-law." Mort laughed out loud. "Now, that's something I never woulda thought to see. You and Armon being practically relation."

"Armon Hightower is not a member of my family," Cleav stated tightly.

"Not yet, maybe," the old moonshiner admitted. "But when you marry up with folks like the Crabbs…" The man shook his head. "Hell, Mr. Rhy, you probably got shirttail relation from here to Memphis, each poorer than the next."

"I married Miss Esme, not her family," Cleav said coldly. "Now, do you want to sell me that jug of liquor or just talk to me all afternoon?"

In full knowledge of the situation, and perhaps a bit of spite for Cleav's attitude, Mort asked three times the going rate. Cleav had no choice but to pay for the whiskey. And because he never drank spirits himself, he couldn't
even threaten to take his business elsewhere in the future.

Counting his money contentedly, Mort Riggly became encouraging. "Don't you worry about a thing, Mr. Rhy," he said. "That little gal of yours is as safe on that mountain as if she was in her daddy's arms. Shivaree's a good thing for weddings. A woman getting married, well, she gets a little bit scared of her husband, that's natural. When some other men come along and steal her away, well, then she's even scareder of them. Her man comes and rescues her, she ain't nothing but grateful."

Mort patted Cleav's clean white shut consolingly with a grimy hand. "Shivaree gets a marriage from 'him and me' to 'us and them' in a hurry." Elbowing a playful dig to Cleav's ribs, he added, "About midnight tonight you'll be downright beholden to those kidnappers."

Cleav's expression was stony.

Mort slapped his thigh with hilarity and with a lusty laugh headed off into the night. "Mark my words," he called back to Cleav. "You'll be thanking those boys afore morning."

Cleav ignored his words. Those boys would be lucky if he wasn't
killing
them before morning. What on earth was he doing tracking a gang of ne'er-do-wells through the mountain with a cask of sorghum molasses because of a pagan custom!

Attaching the handle of the whiskey jug to a piece of rope, he hung it over his shoulder like a quiver of arrows, then went to retrieve a barrel of molasses from the store.

Ransom assembled, Cleav gave a sigh of resignation and began the grueling task of rolling a full and heavy cask of sorghum molasses up one of the steepest inclines in eastern Tennessee.

The week before having been wet and rainy, the ground had reached saturation point. His shoes repeatedly slipped in the fresh mud, but he managed to catch himself each time. At least he hadn't ended up sprawled in the mud. He could imagine what a disaster that would have been with a barrel of molasses rolling over him and back down the mountain.

It was far too dark to see "signs" on the trail. Cleav just assumed, and rightly so, that the men would have taken the roughest, most difficult path.

"Is this woman worth it?" he asked himself more than once. He never bothered to answer that question, he just braced his foot in the next slippery step and pushed the cask a few feet higher.

He never did actually find them. Will Gambridge finally stepped out from behind a tree, startling him.

"You've done better than I thought," the hill boy commented with a modicum of respect. He asked Cleav for the whiskey and, after taking a good long swig, offered the jug to Cleav.

"No, thanks," Cleav answered, not even tempted. The ordeal wasn't over yet, and he needed to keep his wits about him for Esme's sake.

Will led the way to the clearing where they held Esme, laughing and talking as if this were the best game he'd ever played.

"
Ahhherhea
!" Cleav heard her cry before he saw her.

Esme was tied to a fallen tree, twisting and squirming in the mud. A red bandanna was tied on her mouth. Her eyes were bright and wide, but more with anger than with fear.