Garters.htm (27 page)

"Not quite," Cleav corrected as he snapped the remaining garter.

"I guess it's 'cause I've been spending so much time trying to show you my legs, I plumb lost my modesty," she said.

"You've been trying to tempt me?" Cleav asked in mock outrage.

She had the good grace to blush.

"Well, I… that first day… well, I saw that you liked my legs…"

"Did you pull your skirt up to see if I would?'' he asked.

"Of course not!" she snapped. "It was an accident. At least, it was that time," Esme admitted.

"For shame," Cleav chided. "Trying to lure me into sin just so I'd marry you."

"Well, how else…" she began, but as Cleav moved from her, she cut off her words.

Esme was dismayed as he pulled away from her to rise.

"I'm sorry, Cleav, I…"

Folding his arms across his chest, Cleav leaned against the counter and raised a condemning eyebrow.

"Well, it didn't work, young woman," he stated flatly. "I resisted all your temptation and I'm sure heaven has properly noted the fact and marked it down in my favor."

"But you
did
marry me," Esme pointed out as she pushed herself up into a sitting position.

"But not because you beguiled me to it," he said.

That was true, Esme realized. All of her attempts at seducing him had been thwarted. He'd never sinned with her; people only thought that he had.

"You married me because of the town gossip," Esme said quietly.

Cleav leaned down and pulled up her chin to face him.

"Because of these garters," he said, pointing to the only clothing she wore.

Esme ran a hand across the one remaining guilty, pretty, pink and white confection of ribbon and lace.

"I guess you regret giving them to me," she whispered, a lump in her throat making it strangely difficult to speak.

Cleav didn't answer. He turned from her. Naked, he strolled to the far end of the store and opened one of the drawers in the counter.

Blushing, Esme assumed the precious moments of closeness were over and began to reach for her clothing. So quickly it was over. Just moments ago she'd felt so secure, so prized.

Cleav turned toward her, but Esme couldn't look at him. Now she felt naked. Now she felt ashamed.

Walking back to her, the counter drawer in his arms, he called to her.

"Sit still, Esme."

At his words she stopped searching for her camisole.

"Don't dress yet, Hillbaby," he said softly.

Coming to a stop beside her, Cleav stared down at his new wife, naked, on a remnant of rose crepe de chine. He gave her the smallest of smiles before upending the drawer over her head.

"What?" Esme started with surprise, then giggled with delighted laughter.

It was raining garters.

Cleavis stepped out of the hatching house and spied Esme lying lazily and contentedly beside the brooders' pond.

"Shirker!" he called out as he casually headed toward her direction.

Esme rolled onto her back and held an arm across her forehead to block out the sun's glare. "I'm just resting, Mr. Rhy," she told him with a teasing lilt to her voice. "Save to graces, I've only been married three days, and I swear to you, my husband doesn't let me get a wink of sleep all night!"

With a widening grin, Cleav dropped down on the grass beside her. "You bragging or complaining, ma'am?"

"Just stating the facts, sir," she responded with a snappy challenge.

Cleav reached over to give a playful tug to a loose strand of hair near her ear.

"Some of the facts, ma'am, but not all of them,'' he said lightly. "You forgot to mention how you wake up two or three times a night to come crawling all over the poor abused man."

Esme's smile brightened. "Us mountain folk are used to sleeping nine to a bed. Snuggling just comes natural for us," she declared.

Cleav leaned forward and placed a kiss on the end of her nose.

"It's getting to be pretty natural for me, too."

Having already decided that people didn't call the first month of marriage "honeymoon" for nothing, Cleav was content. Any hesitation he'd had about marrying Esme had evaporated like mud holes in a drought. She was loving, affectionate, fun to banter with, and eager for his touch. Surprisingly, he felt more relaxed around her than anyone he'd ever known.

There was a lot to be said for a relaxing woman. With Esme he was free to say and do what he wanted. She didn't know or care what was "proper behavior." She listened to his opinions, but she definitely had her own. But more than her good humor and her easygoing ways, she genuinely liked Cleav for himself and never hesitated to say so. That was a heady novelty.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked. "Except for grumbling about your new husband."

Esme's grin was downright naughty. "Just daydreaming a little. Wondering how scandalized the good people of Vader might be to catch a pair of newly weds sparking in the grass in
the middle of the afternoon."

Cleav raised an eyebrow."Well, Mrs. Rhy, we will never know," he stated with firm good humor. "Not that you aren't an extreme temptation," he admitted. "But those fish are very hungry."

"Then let's feed them!" Esme agreed and hurried to her feet, holding out her hand to help him up.

He took it and kept it when he got to his feet. The two walked hand in hand to the meat house.

"I've been looking over all the fish," Esme told him. "Trying to get to know
them better."

Cleav smiled.

"I still think they should have names," she said, then continued with a shrug. "But we've got more fish here than there's names in the Bible."

"Oh, I don't know. We could go through all the 'begats' and probably get enough," he said. "But I'm not about to call one of my fine trout Jehoshaphat."

Esme giggled.

Together they gathered up a bucket of the ground meat and carried the smelly mix back to the water's edge.

"These are my favorites," Esme told him as she indicated the full-grown fish swimming leisurely in the water. "They are just so pretty."

"The Rainbows," Cleav said, nodding his understanding. "They are a very pretty fish, and good fighters. But for my table, I prefer the Browns. Not much to look at, but fine eating."

"I can't even think about eating them!" Esme said, dismayed.

"That's what they're for."

"I know. No use getting sentimental about where your food comes from. But they are mighty pretty."

While he scattered in the other ponds, Cleav let her hand-feed. She loved feeding the brooders, and it pleased Cleav to watch her.

For her part, Esme thought that caring for his fish was a lot like caring for Cleav.

"What are these gray ones?" she asked him. "The ones that always run with the Rainbows." He looked to where she pointed. "That's a Steelhead," he answered. "It's the same as the Rainbow."

Esme looked up quizzically. "What do you mean the same? They look completely different."

Cleav nodded as he squatted down beside her.

"The Steelheads are the exact same fish as the Rainbows," he said as he watched a big silver gray Steelhead take a bite of meat from her hand. "They just grew up to look different."

"Why?"

"Well, you know that all the trout migrate."

"Migrate?"

"They go to other places downstream," he said. "That is, unless you've got them penned up in ponds like these."

"Why do they do it?"

Cleav shrugged. "Curious maybe," he suggested. "Or looking for the right mate. Nobody knows really, the trout just do it," he said. "But they always return to their spawning waters, the place where they were born."

Esme nodded.

"Now, all the trout travel," Cleav said. "But the Steelheads go the farthest. At one time in his life this big gray fish was swimming in the ocean."

"In the ocean?"

"Yes," Cleav told her. "It's the salt water that changes the Rainbow's pretty colors to gray."

"And his colors never come back?"

Cleav shook his head. "No, once he's been to the sea he's changed forever. The Steelhead can come back home here, stay for the rest of his days, and live among the other Rainbow trout, but he'll always be different because of where he's been."

The Steelhead came up for another bite and Esme watched him with a strange sadness in her eyes.

"He's like you, Cleavis."

"What?"

"He's like you. He'll never be a sea fish, but he's seen the ocean, and he's been marked by it."

She turned her head to face him. "You went to the city,and it changed you, too." Glancing around, she indicated her surroundings. "You'll always live here in Vader, but the city put its mark on you, and you'll never be like the rest of us."

Cleav was silent, staring at her.

The silence between them lengthened.

Esme looked down at the Steelhead swimming in the pond. "I'm gonna name this fish."

Cleav's eyes went to the streak of swishing silver beneath the water.

"All right," he said. "What name are you going to give him?"

A broad and bittersweet smile brightened her face.

"I'm gonna call him the Gentleman."

Together they finished the feeding. Esme hummed softly to herself, but Cleav was quiet, almost troubled. He'd come to care deeply for Esme, but it unsettled him that she could read him so easily. It made him feel uneasy. He should never have told her about his time in the city. He'd not shared that with a living soul. But at the time it seemed right to talk to Esme. And it felt so good that she could understand. It felt too good.

He wanted to be with her constantly, to tell her everything that happened, every curious word that was said, and every foolish thought or dream he had. It wasn't natural for a man to feel that way, he was sure.

Or maybe it was natural. Looking across the room at her examining the items stored at the far end of the hatching house, he wondered if this is what it was to be in love.

Esme Crabb was not at all the kind of woman he'd thought he could be in love with, the kind of woman he'd want for a wife. But it wouldn't be the first time he'd been wrong. That was the way of natural science. Each scientist had perceptions that he tried to prove. As often as not, a scientist proved himself wrong.

Had he proved himself wrong? Could he love Esme Crabb? Maybe he could.

"What is this thing?" Esme asked as she examined a large wood rectangular contraption with a metal crank.

"That's a roller spawning box," he answered, crossing the room to show it to her.

"A spawning box?"

"It's how I collect the fertilized eggs from the trout," he said. "It's a new idea, but I like it a great deal. It seems more natural for the fish."

He turned the crank to show her how it worked.

"The fish lays her eggs here on top. Once they are fertilized, the roller carries them down to this end compartment, where you can remove them to the hatching house without disturbing the fish."

Esme examined the box more closely. It was really three boxes within a box. The top layer was a mesh screen obscured by coarse gravel. Under this was an endless apron of fine wire-cloth that passed over rollers at the ends of the box that were turned by the crank. Esme was impressed by the ingenuity but curious about the purpose.