Garters.htm (37 page)

"Three weeks," she whispered aloud. "In three weeks two of the most important gentlemen in the fish-culturist movement will be coming to Vader, Tennessee, to meet Cleavis Rhy." Tears stung her eyes, and she bit her lip to hold them back.

They were going to find some fancy ponds and some dandy fish, she thought. And they were going to discover that their friend—no, their correspondent—Mr. Rhy, was married to an ignorant hill cracker.

"Oh, Cleav." She sighed aloud. "You've wanted this so long. You've wanted to be one of them."

Weaving her hands together in a double fist, she placed them earnestly at her chin.

Oh, please.
Don't let me ruin it for him
.

Two days later Esme determinedly reminded herself that "the Lord helps those who help themselves'' and sought out her mother-in-law.

Eula Rhy was not hard to find. A large floppy hat on her head, her voice was raised in a loud off-key rendition of "Why Are You Weeping, Sister?"

Esme interrupted her right in the middle of "I was foolish and fair and my form was rare."

"Mother Rhy," she said. "I need to talk to you about something."

The older woman looked up from the impatiens she was carefully replanting in the shady spot next to the house. "Why, what's wrong with you, girl?" the woman asked. "You're not looking quite yourself today." The older woman eyed her up and down curiously. "You're not in a 'delicate condition' already?"

"Oh, no," Esme assured her quickly. "It's just that… well…"

Eula Rhy sighed loudly with impatience. "For mercy's sake, child, say what you have to say. These plants don't have time to waste on your nonsense."

"Well," Esme tried again. "I'm not really sure what to say."

Mrs. Rhy snorted in disbelief. "If there's one thing no one would accuse you of, it's not being able to speak your mind!"

Tightening her jaw bravely, Esme finally blurted out, "You know that these fancy fish folks are coming to visit my Cleavis."

"Lord, yes," Eula answered with an unconcerned wave of her arm. "I may be old, but I'm not deaf. That's all that boy can talk about these days."

Deciding that Esme's interruption was unimportant, the older woman kneeled forward again and began working the dirt through her hands.

Esme raised her chin in shameful defiance and admitted the worst "This-is-very-important-to-Cleav-he's-been-waiting-for-a-chance-like-this-ever-since-he-came-back-from-Knoxville-and-these-gentlemen-just-have-to-like-him-and-accept-him-as-a-gentleman-too-and-I-don't-know-one-blame-thing-about-being-a-lady- or- how- to-serve-gentlemen-or-what-to-serve-gentlemen-and-it's-just-like-you-said-I-won't-be-any-good - as - a- wife- to- Cleav- and -I'm - going - shame - him- and -ruin-it-for-him-and-I-just-can't-do-that-to-him-and-you've-got-to-help-me."

It was enough to capture her mother-in-law's attention. The older woman studied her curiously. "You're worried about being an embarrassment to Cleavy?" she asked.

Biting her lip painfully, Esme nodded.

Eula Rhy shook her head in disbelief and chuckled lightly. "Esme," she said. "Dear girl, there was a time when I worried about just the same thing." With a smile of amused remembrance, she continued. "I told you the night you married that you weren't the wife for Cleavis." The older woman's smile was broad now. "But you've proved I was wrong."

Esme looked up, startled, "What?"

"I said you've proved me wrong," she repeated. "I thought my son wanted—no,
needed
to be a gentleman." She sighed heavily. "Lord only knows what happened in Knoxville to change him so, but he did come back a very different boy than the one I sent."

Picking up one of the flowers, she examined it for insects. "He came back so stuffy and proper," she said. "Truth is, I didn't quite know what to make of it. But I love that boy, and like you, I didn't want to let him down."

Leaning back on her knees, Eula Rhy pulled off one very dirty glove and held her hand up to Esme. "Help me up," she ordered. "One thing about getting old, no matter how much you enjoy doing a thing, your bones do get stiffened up by the time you stop doing it"

Esme helped her to her feet, and the two walked together to the front of the house. In the distance could be heard the rhythmic melody of tree felling. The smell of fresh-cut pine was in the air, wafting along with honeysuckle in bloom.

The piece of sky overhead was exactly the color Esme wanted to paint the house, and a couple of high white clouds floated along it.

Down near the river Yohan had found a piece of shade and was playing a soft summer tune that had the power to bring a smile to anyone's face.

It almost brought a smile to Esme's until she remembered the errand she was on and the danger and disappointment she saw for the man she loved. For herself, she didn't care. She'd been facing shame for who she was since she was big enough to walk under a wagon. She'd learned how to ignore it, accept it, make herself stronger for it.

But Cleav was different. Cleav fought it. Like Esme, for years pride had stuck in his craw. But unlike her, he'd never swallowed it.

This time, for his sake, Esme wasn't swallowing it, either. She was as good as anyone else, she'd told herself from childhood. Now, for Cleav, she was going to have to prove it.

They'd walked to the front of the house, and Mrs. Rhy removed her other glove and tucked both carefully into her gardening apron. Reaching the shade of the porch, Eula untied the ribbons on her hat and gestured for Esme to sit with her on the swing.

"Just like you are thinking," she said, as if no lull in the conversation had existed. "I wanted to be a help to Cleav. I wanted to see that he got the kind of life that he wanted.

"He built this big old house, too big by half, when we'd been living fine for years in the one his granddaddy built He filled it up with city things and talked about city people and city ways until it nearly scared the life out of me."

Eula shook her head and patted Esme's hand in comfort. "I'm really just a hill girl, not much better off than you," she said. "I've probably had more book learning, but I never thought about being a lady or taking up fancy ways until Cleav came back from Knoxville."

The woman sighed wistfully.

"I hated for him to give up his schooling like that, but after my man died"—Bula looked off into the distance, her expression one of remembered pain—"I just couldn't seem to make it on my own."

Eula's expression was one of self-contempt. "I made him come home from school. Everyone thought it was because I couldn't run the store and didn't have money."

Eula shook her head, and her next words were low and had the ring of sincerity. "I could have managed by myself. But I didn't," she said firmly. "Because I didn't want to."

The confession was hard won. Never having voiced her shameful truth aloud, Eula's eyes momentarily misted, and she wiped them quickly on the cleanest corner of her apron.

"Here was my quiet, confused only son," she said. "He was no longer a boy and not quite a man. And I thought only of what
I
wanted. He tried to do the right and honorable thing."

Eula shook her head with both sadness and pride.

"Not only did my boy lose the daddy he loved, he lost the life that he loved, too. I stole it from him."

"Oh, Mother Rhy," Esme interrupted. "I'm sure…"

Eula turned to the younger woman as if to will her to understand. "You're Cleavy's wife now. Let the others believe the kinder lies, but we need to have truth between us.

"When I finally realized how spoiled and selfish I'd been," she continued solemnly, "it was too late to change
things."

There was a sad, quiet moment of silence as Esme tried clumsily to comfort the mother of the man she loved.

"I wanted to make things up to him, you see," she explained. "I wanted to do those things that would make him happy. So," she said evenly, "I tried to be a fancy lady."

With a toss of her hand, Eula laughed lightly in self-derision. "Lord knows, I wasn't much good at it."

"You
are
a lady!" Esme protested.

"No, girl," the older woman insisted. "I pretended to be one. It worked, more or less, but it made me miserable."

"Miserable?"

"Clearly, I admit it," she said. "There were days after days that I couldn't even get up and face myself in the mirror."

"You were sick," Esme insisted.

Eula nodded. "Yes, I think I was," she said. "I was sick in my heart I was living the life of a pure hypocrite. I couldn't be who I am, and I couldn't be who I tried to be, either."

She gave Esme a hopeful smile. "I was just waiting for the day when Cleavy would marry himself a real lady."

Esme's cheeks stained with fire, and she looked down with shame.

"I wanted him to marry dear little Sophrona," Eula said, "because I thought she was what he needed. She'd never have to pretend the way I did."

"She was perfect for him," Esme whispered dejectedly.

Mrs. Rhy laughed at her words. "Seems that you're as wrong about that as I was," she told Esme, chucking her lightly under the chin.

"Wrong?"

"Completely, totally, a mile off, wrong."

Esme considered her words for a moment "You mean because Sophrona fell in love with Armon?" Esme asked.

With a spurt of mirthful laughter Eula wrapped an arm around Esme's shoulder and squeezed, "Now, that
was
a sight, wasn't it? Lord, I thought I'd die laughing for sure when Old Man Tyree threw that bucket of water on Mabel Tewksbury, and she came up spurting like a hog in vermin dip."

Laughing with Eula, Esme recalled the last evening of the revival vividly. Armon had quickly gone to his mother-in-law's aid, but after he'd helped Mrs. Tewksbury to her feet, she'd taken one look at her rescuer and slugged poor Armon in the stomach like a prizefighter at the county fair.

As their laughter faded away, Eula said, "That isn't why I was wrong about a wife for Cleavy."

"Then why?" Esme asked.

Eula smiled brightly, and Esme noticed for the first time that the mother's eyes were just exactly like her son's. They were the eyes that Esme wanted to give to her own children.

"Because Cleavy's done fallen in love with you," Eula said simply.

"What?" Esme was momentarily stunned to silence.

"Can't you see it? It's right in front of your nose, young lady. Have you taken a good look at that man that you've married lately?" Eula asked.

"Cleav doesn't…" Esme sputtered with embarrassment. "I mean, it's not like… well,
I know he has the highest regard for me and—"

"Regard!" Eula hooted with laughter. "That boy is calf-eyed crazy about you, and everybody in town knows it."

Staring mutely at her mother-in-law, a vehement denial came to Esme's lips. She forced herself, however, not to voice it. Eula Rhy loved her son. No matter how she'd acted in the past, it was clear the woman genuinely cared for Cleavis Rhy. Undoubtedly it eased her mind to think that he was blissfully happy in his marriage.

Esme would not, could not, be so cruel as to dampen Cleav's mother's contentment. Especially since she'd been so cheerful and healthy these last couple of months. It would be the worst type of unkindness to reveal the sad truth.

"Still," Esme began tactfully, "I do feel that I should properly entertain these city folks when they're here," she said. "They probably eat special food, on special tablecloths with special utensils. And what they must talk about is a pure-d mystery to me. I plainly have got no idea about any of it, and I really need your help."

Eula laughed and shook her head with determination. "Don't you give that nonsense another thought," she said. "I don't want you trying to be anybody but Esme Rhy," she stated firmly. "If those northern gentlemen are offended by a sweet, open young woman like yourself, then heaven knows, I want to be around to watch when that son of mine and husband of yours kicks their fancy behinds right out his frontdoor!"