Garters.htm (30 page)

"Pa," she said with a fine edge of authority. "Play Mother Rhy something a bit more soothing to the nerves."

Giving Eula a disapproving look, Yohan nevertheless began a soft sweet strain, and the twins sang the impromptu duet.

"In the sky the bright stars glittered.

On the grass the moonlight shone.

From an August evening party,

I was seeing Nelly home."

At first Eula Rhy's face was stony, then the music slowly seeped into the old woman's veins. By the time Yohan had reached the third and final verse, Eula's contralto had joined the sweet soprano of the girls.

"You got a right fine singing voice, Miz Rhy," Yo complimented. "Do you know 'Old Oaken Bucket'?"

The singing continued as Esme fixed her mother-in-law's tea and resumed her work. She was just bringing in the sheets from the line when Eula Rhy suddenly stood up to help her.

"Oh, ironing!" the woman exclaimed, with the excitement of a child with a new toy. "Let me do that."

"You're feeling better?" Esme asked, genuinely stunned by the woman's apparent good mood.

"It's the amusement," Yo told them both with conviction. "Now, my ladies," he continued, with the hill version of courtly manners, "I'm going to play this fiddle so well, why, your chores gonna float by like leaves on a lazy river."

And he did. Esme was sure that she hadn't heard her father play so cheerfully since he'd moved to the house. She suspected that recently he had walked up to the mountain when the music mood struck him.

"Can you play 'The Bear That Yearned for Buckshot'?" Eula asked.

Crabb's grin was his only answer as he struck up the lively tune.

Within minutes the twins had brought their sewing into the kitchen and were simultaneously sewing and helping with chores as they laughed and clapped and jigged with the music.

Mrs. Rhy actually showed the girls some fancy clogging steps. "I used to be quite a high-stepper in my day," she confided to the group. "Of course, that was before Mr. Rhy and I became Free Will Baptists," she explained with only the hint of wistfulness in her voice. "We used to go to all the dances and just tear up the floor!"

Esme was amazed. Since dancing of any kind was considered inherently sinful by the Free Will Baptist Church, neither Esme nor the twins had ever danced a step.

As Yo had warned, the chores passed easily and quickly. And it was with genuine surprise that Esme looked up to see her husband standing in the doorway.

"What in heaven's name is going on in here?" His question was thunderous. "I could hear you all the way out at the gate."

"We're just having some fun, Cleavy," Mrs. Rhy told him. "Yohan said he would play us a tune, and I thought I'd show the twins some real country clogging."

"It's kindy a celebration that your mama is feeling more herself," Yo added helpfully.

"Oh." He was clearly at a loss for words. "Well, I'm glad you are better, Mother," he said finally.

"Dinner's almost on the table," Esme told him. "I fixed your favorite, roast chicken."

Her husband's expression was strangely cold. "Roast chicken? Is it Sunday and no one told me?''

The afternoon was a long one for Cleav. He had been as grouchy as a bear at noontime, speaking in monosyllables. He attacked the succulent roast chicken with the finesse of a mountain lion and the manners of a billy goat. Not one word of appreciation passed his lips. The chill in his own heart froze the phrases to his tongue.

The memory of his mother flushed and laughing, and the Crabbs all caught up in the gaiety, contrasted sharply with his own black mood. Since that fateful Sunday, Cleav had been chafing with the knowledge that his wife, Esme Crabb Rhy, had married him for his house. That was the fact, he reminded himself. And Esme Crabb didn't even have enough taste to appreciate the ambience of the structure he'd built. She wanted it painted blue!

Why should he care? he asked himself over again. He'd married her because he'd
had
to. Nothing less than public censure could have compelled him to align himself with a snappy little baggage like Esme Crabb.

No one in Vader should have expected a love match, least of all him. But he had. He'd thought that she loved him, desired him, needed him, for himself.

She'd needed him, all right. Needed him to support her father and sisters and put a roof over their heads.

Part of him was furious, but part of him understood. Just as he had felt obliged to give up his schooling to help his mother get through her grief, Esme felt responsible for her family's needs. She was the one who'd seen that there was a roof over their heads and food on their table. He could hardly blame her for seeking a solution that would ensure both of those things. Marriage to him was that solution.

He remembered that long-ago day when she'd come into the store and asked him outright if he wanted to marry her.

Of course she wasn't in love with him. She hadn't even known him then.

Cleav shook his head in self-derision. He'd been so fanciful.

It all made perfect sense, and he couldn't even fault Esme. She'd seduced him
with her naive, countrified wiles, and he'd fallen in with the scheme easily
enough.

So why did it hurt so much to think about it? Pride? Being bamboozled by a woman? Yes, that was part of it. But he'd been in business a long time and had taken his share of skinnings, enough to know that every man can be a fool at times.

There was more. Something that hurt worse than injured pride. He hesitated to put a name on it. But it was there.

Esme's duplicity hurt because he loved her.

There was no other explanation. He'd suspected as much earlier but had rejected the suggestion. But the pain in his heart could be interpreted no other way.

Remembering those first sweet days of self-deception, Cleav sighed for their loss.

Then he slammed the feather duster against the row of washtubs with a vengeance.

"Damn it!" he complained bitterly. Certainly another woman might have loved him. But other women no longer mattered.

He wanted Esme. He wanted her to love him.

And he was determined to win her. The question was how.

He could give her anything that she might want. But she wasn't the kind of woman who cared for "things" too much. They were good together in bed, he reminded himself. Was that enough to win a woman's love?

Not the way he was going about it, Cleav muttered to himself aloud.

He hadn't taken her in his arms for days. He was afraid that in the heat of passion he would declare his feelings for her and embarrass the both of them.

But he couldn't stay away. He wanted her. Even now he wanted her.

That could be a start, but he also had to try to make her his friend—to try to understand her. To share her problems and her life.

The bell over the door jingled, and Cleav looked up to see who was the customer. It was Yohan Crabb.

"What you need, Yo?" Cleav asked him with as much patience as he could muster.

The old man shrugged. "Not a dang thing," he answered easily. "They's just so busy at the house, I thought I'd come down here and see what you were up to."

Cleav made a split-second decision and reached for the ties at the back of his apron.

"I need you to handle the store for a couple of hours for me."

"What now?" Yo asked, nearly dumbfounded.

Cleav handed him the apron.

"There's a price book in the money drawer beneath the counter. If somebody wants to buy something that's not marked, look it up in the book."

Yohan, clearly stunned, attempted to choke out a refusal. "I cain't hardly read."

"Just do the best you can," Cleav said with a wave of unconcern. "I've got something important to do."

"You going to see about them fish?" Yo's question was almost an accusation.

"No," Cleav replied as he headed out the door. "I'm going to see about my wife."

The moon was on the rise as Esme sat before the vanity brushing her hair. The fancy store-bought soap—Mrs. Rhy called it shampoo—left her hair as soft and silky as an egg wash. But Esme's thoughts were not upon the long strands of hair she pulled her brush through. They were on her husband, Cleav.

That afternoon in the sewing room, she had been laughing at a joke Mrs. Rhy had made and wondering at the sudden change in her mother-in-law when Cleav suddenly appeared at the door.

"Mother, sisters," he greeted the other women with polite nods. "If you will excuse my wife, I need to speak with her for a moment."

Esme didn't wait to hear their answers. She immediately hurried toward him.

"What is it?" she asked, but he'd ignored her and simply taken her arm to escort her up the stairs.

His silence worried Esme. She knew he'd been angry at noon. And why not? He'd spent years trying to be a perfect gentleman and live in a gentleman's house with gentlemanly manners. And in a few weeks his new wife had turned his kitchen into a dance hall and his mother remembering her own hill upbringing.

Cleav probably saw her behavior as some horrible breach of conduct. Was he angry with her? Planning to chastise her privately?

Cleav opened the door of their room and gestured for her to enter. Esme did, with some trepidation.

When she heard the door close quietly behind them, she turned to question him.

She hadn't had a chance to say a word.

Cleav's arms came around her. His mouth found hers in a kiss that was hot, passionate, hungry.

Fire leapt in Esme's veins, and she eagerly returned the kiss. Allowing her fingers to weave through his hair, she moaned in delight and pressed against him.

Cleav couldn't seem to get close enough. "Sweet Hillbaby, my Hillbaby," he groaned against her. "I want you too much," he said.

Their kisses were as sweet and tender as they were urgent and passionate. Both speaking their feelings so clearly and neither hearing the other.

Cleav eagerly undid the buttons at her back, and Esme, her hands free, quickly lowered her bodice as a temptation for his lips.

"You're so beautiful, Hillbaby," he had told her roughly. "And you're mine, Esme, forever mine…"

Tonight, as Esme stared blankly at her image in the mirror, she still shuddered in remembered pleasure. This afternoon had been heaven. But all of marriage was not spent in bed.

Cleav teased and pleased and satisfied her. But the closeness of their first days together eluded them. He no longer spoke of his days and his dreams. Somehow she had pushed him away. All her life she had managed to provide for the needs of the people she loved, but she wasn't sure she knew what Cleav needed.

A throaty giggle outside the window captured Esme's attention. Although she couldn't hear what was said, she recognized the voices of her sister and Armon.

It had been Agrippa's night to walk out with him, and she and Adelaide had worked furiously that afternoon to finish her new blue percale.

Her sister had looked positively charming when she'd come downstairs. Esme hoped that a rakish, overbearing clod like Armon could appreciate all their work.

The sounds from the yard ceased. But Esme didn't hear the door open. Curiously she made her way to the window.

Looking down, she saw Armon and Agrippa locked in a passionate embrace on the front path. He was holding her far too closely for a couple who were not engaged, and her sister was not complaining.

Disapproving, Esme was just about to call out a sisterly rebuke when the kiss ended and Armon set her at arm's length. Although their conversation was spoken too softly for Esme to hear, apparently Armon bade her good night. With one last longing look, Agrippa hurried to the door.

"For heaven's sake," Esme muttered to herself. "That was entirely too close."

She would definitely have to speak to Agrippa about her behavior. Certainly this time Armon had acted like a gentleman, but Esme was pretty sure that he could not be counted on for continual chivalrous behavior. She was just about to move away from the window when a movement behind the chestnut tree caught her eye.

"What are you up to?" She heard Armon's voice clearly. "Spying?"

With a naughty giggle Adelaide emerged from behind the tree. Esme couldn't hear her sister's reply but watched in horror as the other threw herself into Hightower's arms.

Adelaide's kiss was much like Agrippa's. Too close, too intimate, too long, and far too dangerous.

"Save to graces!" Esme exclaimed to herself. This had to stop. If someone didn't do something soon, those two would be planning a double wedding before she knew it, and with only one groom!

She was so stunned, Esme didn't hear Cleav come up behind her until he touched her on the shoulder.

"What are you looking at?" he asked.

When she didn't answer, Cleav leaned forward out the window.

"Hmm…" She heard him spot the object of her interest "Good night, High tower," he called out calmly.

The couple in the darkness of the chestnut tree jumped apart guiltily.

"Come on in the house, Agrippa."

As Adelaide rushed down the path and into the front door,Esme almost corrected him. Cleav still could not tell the twins apart. Then she saw the very cold glare that Cleav was offering Armon. He'd stated more than once that he didn't approve of the twin spark.

"I'm sorry, Cleavis," she told him as they watched Hightower disappearing into the night. "I swear I'm going to have a talk with those twins tomorrow. I won't have them making a scene on your front lawn."

Cleav shook his head and chucked his wife affectionately under the chin. "Don't worry about that, Hillbaby. I'll have a talk with young Mr. Hightower," he said. "Sometimes a man needs a bit of prodding to make his choice."

"Oh, you don't have to do that," Esme said, horrified. After she'd forced him into an unsuitable marriage and made him support her entire crazy family, did he think she expected him to help raise and marry off her two foolish sisters? "The twins are my responsibility. I would never ask you to take that on."

Cleav placed the palms of his hands on Esme's cheeks and tilted her head to look at him.