Garters.htm (36 page)

Turning his head, he gave Sophrona a glance.

"I ain't been saved," he told the crowd. "But I have decided to change my ways."

With a warm smile he held out his hand, and Reverend Tewksbury's daughter stepped up to his side. The big-bosomed beauty was flushed and pretty as she shyly kept her eyes down, holding Armon's hand tightly, as if for strength.

"I done give up being a wild hill boy," he announced. "No more liquor, cards, or ladies for me. Now I'm just another dour-faced old married man."

Sophrona grinned broadly.

"I want you all to be the first to meet my new bride, Sophrona Hightower. We was married in Russellville this afternoon."

If the boys in knee-pants on the back row had been waiting for excitement all evening, they got it now.

Granny Hightower clapped her hands above her head and cried, "Hallelujah!"

The Crabb twins screamed in harmonic horror.

And Mabel Tewksbury fainted dead away.

The next few weeks in the biggest house in Vader, Tennessee, were seen differently by different people.

The twins, Adelaide and Agrippa, could only be described as in mourning. Armon Hightower's fickle heart and unexpected marriage was their only subject of conversation. The two cried in each other's arms and vowed off men for a lifetime. Esme quashed their hastily made plan to join the sacred sisters in Bletherton when she advised them that they had to be Catholics to become nuns.

Pa settled into "life in town," as he called it, with ease. Mornings he began joining the old men at the General Merchandise. Too lazy to play, he spent hours watching the endless games of checkers. Afternoons, between naps, he sat on the shady side of the porch and played his fiddle until suppertime. Typically, he was content to accomplish nothing.

Eula had strangely taken up a liking for the old man. His laziness only seemed to bother her in the abstract. She'd leave her flowers when the sun was the hottest and sit on the porch with him. Yo would continue his music, unconcerned.

And Eula would ponder aloud whether she should weed out the canna bulbs on the south side of the house and plant
impatiens.

Cleav and Esme were a little too self-absorbed to worry much about the changes occurring. Daytime they worked together as often as they could. Esme would rush through
the housework to join Cleav at the store. Cleav hurried through the fishtending to return to her side.

Evenings they sat together in the fresh coolness at the ponds and named all the brood fish. Holding each other's hands tenderly, they talked of the future. The improvements they could make on the ponds, the added attractions they could bring to the store, and the changes they could make in the house.

"It ought to be blue," Esme told him, not for the first time.

"Hillbaby," he answered her, gently nibbing the nape of her neck as he sat behind her on the grass looking up at the house. "Houses are meant to be white. Someday I'll take you to Knoxville and you'll see. Practically all the fine houses in town are white."

Esme shrugged unconcerned. "I couldn't care a flip about houses in Knoxville," she told him. "That house ought to be blue like the sky, not white as death."

Cleav shook his head and laughed lightly. "You are not getting your way on this, Esme," he said with mock severity. "If you want to paint something blue, we can paint the store. My house is going to be white and nothing else."

"The store can be blue," she said, nodding. "At least for now. I suspect we'll be building a bigger store in a few years anyway. It will have to be brick, of course."

Cleav nuzzled her neck and gave her a playful bite on her throat "Of course," he agreed with a chuckle.

Since the night of love in the hatching house, Cleav had given up his late evenings in the library. As soon as it was decently dark the young couple hurried to the privacy of their room. Romping like children, they wore the bedsheets thin.

If in the still, sated silence of the darkest part of night Esme doubted she could make him happy, she never let it show.

If the dark circles under his eyes indicated a habitual lack of sleep, Cleav never complained. But he did wonder to himself if having her love him could be any better.

Cleav could no longer even imagine life without Esme. And Esme felt that she had never lived before she lived with Cleav.

They were easy together.

Sorting the barrels in the store together, their conversation strayed to both commerce and fish breeding.

"If we could figure out a way to keep the ice from melting, we could take a wagonload of fresh trout down to the city and make a pretty penny," Cleav suggested.

Esme, standing on a small stepladder beside the shelves, looked down at her husband.

"And if we had wings, we could just fly over the mountains, too," Esme replied with feigned impatience.

Cleav refused to be daunted. "We could store the fish in a mesh sack and drag them downriver in a boat," he said, his eyes thoughtful as he considered the possibility.

Esme nodded hopefully. "And what the gators didn't eat, the folks in the city could?" she suggested.

"There are no gators in the Nolichucky River," Cleav answered.

"Well, save to graces," Esme exclaimed. "Let's raise some and put them in there!"

That remark earned Esme a gentle slap on the fanny.

With a snort of disapproval. Pearly Beachum stopped examining the nickel powders and stormed out of the store in protest.

The two, finding themselves unexpectedly alone, glanced at each other guiltily before good humor overwhelmed them.

Laughing, Esme jumped down into her husband's arms, wrapping her long, stocking-clad legs around his waist.

"We are shocking the neighbors," she declared as she rubbed her bosom wantonly against his chest.

"It isn't the first time," Cleav answered, his hands cheerfully cupping her bottom. "That's how we got together in the first place."

"Are you sorry?" Esme asked, surprised at her own candid question.

Cleav's expression momentarily turned serious and then a mischievous smile brightened his face. Rubbing himself lewdly against her, he answered, "Only if you're going to make me wait until after supper."

Esme playfully reprimanded him with a slap on the shoulder. "I most certainly am going to make you wait. You have got to get back to work, Mr. Rhy. You've got a family to support."

Cleav shook his head in mock solemnity. "You're right about that," he said. "I've got a garden-grubbing mother, a fiddling father-in-law, a set of lovelorn twins, and a positively wicked wife with the longest, lustiest legs in Tennessee."

Esme giggled and then gave a flirty swipe of her tongue to his ear.

"I do promise, Mr. Cleavis Rhy, my dear husband," she stated baldly, "to make myself absolutely worth the wait."

And she was.

It was on a Thursday when the mail arrived that Cleav, brimming with excitement, left the store in the not very dependable hands of his father-in-law and rushed to the house.

"Esme!" he called, banging open the front door with atypical unconcern for the fine piece of oblong beveled glass in its middle. "Esme! Where are you?"

Her hair tied up in a kerchief, Esme stepped out of the back parlor, feather duster in hand. "Save to graces, Cleav. What has happened?"

As if in answer, he held up a long, slim envelope.

Esme looked at it curiously.

"What is it?"

"A letter from Mr. Simmons of Springfield, Massachusetts," Cleav replied, his eyes bright with enthusiasm.

"Who?"

"The gentleman of the American Fish Culturists Association." Cleav's face was wreathed in smiles that were instantaneously contagious.

"Oh, yes," Esme said finally. "One of your trout friends from up north."

"Well, he's not
a friend
," Cleav corrected her modestly. "Although the gentleman is a frequent correspondent" Smiling broadly, he added, "And today he sent some very thrilling news."

Esme grinned. "Well, are you going to tell me or make my bile choler trying to guess?''

"Mr. Simmons is coming to Vader," he said, hugging her to him.

"What?"

Cleav laughed out loud at his wife's expression.

"Mr. Theodatus G. Simmons of Springfield, Massachusetts, is coming to Vader, Tennessee, to"—Cleav opened up the envelope and read from the letter inside—" 'survey the trout-breeding experiments of a fellow pisciculturist'— that's me."

Esme's face paled and she stood speechless before him.

"Surprised?" he asked but continued without waiting for a reply. "There's more. On his way down here he'll be stopping in Washington, D.C., to meet his friend, Mr. Benjamin Westbrook of the U.S. Deputy Fish Commissioner's office, to accompany him."

Cleav laughed with genuine joy. "Can you believe it? Two of the most important gentlemen in the fish-culture movement are coming to Cleavis Rhy's little trout farm in Tennessee!"

"That's wonderful," Esme said. Her words rang flat and toneless, but Cleav was too excited to notice.

"I suggested such a visit months ago," he explained. "But never in my most optimistic dream did I imagine that they would actually accept my invitation."

Laughing again, he pulled Esme close and held her tightly. "Do you realize what this means, Hillbaby?" he said. "It means recognition of my accomplishments, validation of my work." He shook his head with delighted disbelief. "It means that maybe, just maybe, my achievements will see acknowledgment. Pisciculturists all over the country"—he raised his arms in a broader gesture— "maybe all over the world will hear about my experiments, my ponds, my trout."

"That's wonderful," Esme tried again more enthusiastically, but something about her reply still didn't ring true.

"Three weeks," Cleav told her excitedly. "Just three weeks and we'll have those esteemed gentlemen right here in this very house!" With his arms wrapped tightly around her waist, Cleav lifted Esme right off her feet and spun her around like two children playing Whirling Dizzy.

"Yes!" Cleav hollered as he spun.

Esme found herself pushing back the block of cold fear as she tried to join her husband in laughing at his foolish antics.

When he finally stopped, they both weaved in place for a moment as the room continued to spin. Then Cleav lowered his lips to hers in a sweet, joyful kiss that, with a quick flick of the tongue, turned to naughty loveplay.

Esme basked in the hot sensuality for a moment before hearing a giggle from the doorway of the sewing parlor. Pulling away from her husband, Esme gave Adelaide a disapproving look.

"Mind your own business!" she told her huffily.

"Business!" Cleav said and slapped his palm against his forehead as if his brain didn't work perfectly. "You mind
your
business, Miss Snoopy Crabb," he told the twin. "And I'd best get back to minding my own," he added to Esme with one last hasty kiss. "Your daddy is probably fiddling as the store burns!"

With a wave and a promise he was off.

Esme closed the door behind him and watched him take the steps down two at a time as he hurried off toward the General Merchandise. There was no smile on Esme's face as she watched him go.