Garters.htm (9 page)

Reverend Tewksbury was a short, round little man, nearly as wide as he was tall. His sparse hair was a mix of bright carrot and glistening silver. He had an easy smite and sparkling green eyes that could be warm as June or freeze a body in place when he got wound up on hellfire and damnation.

"I truly enjoyed your sermon today. Pastor," Eula Rhy said as she rocked contentedly in her cane-seat chair.

"Indeed, the reverend was in his best form," Mrs. Tewksbury agreed. Although Mrs. Tewksbury nearly matched her husband in height, she retained a youthful figure. Her round face was flat as a pie plate, her nose only a minor protrusion. She was not at all a handsome woman, but she carried herself with dignity and assurance. The small, frequently blunt woman was never hesitant to proclaim herself as the power behind the man.

"When Reverend Tewksbury gets wound up, it pure stirs the heart," Eula Rhy declared.

Cleav nodded absently but refrained from comment. Seated on the slatted porch swing, he languidly stretched his long legs before him. There was something intrinsically placid about a quiet Sunday afternoon spent quietly at your sweetheart's side. Occasionally he would allow his glance to slide across to Sophrona. Adorned so attractively in her Sunday best, Cleav couldn't help but imagine her as the perfect choice for Mrs. M. C. Rhy, Jr.

She was perfect: so young, pretty, and blushing with innocence, the faultless adornment of a civilized gentleman.
His
faultless adornment.

She cast him a shy glance, and he returned it with a warm and welcoming smile. Encouragingly he reached over to pat her tiny pale hand. She looked up quickly, wide-eyed and blushing, to see if her father had noticed.

Reverend Tewksbury was totally wrapped up in a rather long-winded explanation of his choice of verses for the service and hadn't noticed a thing.

Cleav saw Sophrona's shoulders visibly relax. For her sake he clasped his hands casually against his stomach.

"Well, anyway," Mrs. Rhy assured the reverend, "I think the Crabbs were very
pleased with the basket, and a good deal luckier than they deserved."

"Yo Crabb has always been a faithful member of the church," Mrs. Tewksbury
said. "Although I could never approve of his laziness, I think of him as just another burden
that the congregation must assume."

The three elders nodded in agreement.

"The Crabb family is Vader, Tennessee's cross to bear," the pastor declared. "They can't take care of their own selves, and heaven knows,'nobody else will."

Sophrona's sweet singsong voice piped in. '"Wealth maketh many friends; but the poor is separated from his neighbor.'"

Mrs. Rhy and Sophrona's parents smiled proudly at the pretty young woman in the swing.

"How correct you are, my dear," the reverend said.

"And how lucky," Cleav added.

"Lucky?" Mrs. Tewksbury eyed the young man curiously. "Whatever do you mean, Mr. Rhy?"

Cleav had gone cold still when the conversation had turned to the Crabbs. In his memory he could still see Esme, her chin up high… daring… yes, daring the congregation to try to look down on her.

"I was just thinking of Miss Esme," Cleav said with
studied
nonchalance. He
saw the
preacher's eyebrow raise.

"I couldn't help but notice," he explained with a casual glance toward Sophrona, "how the gift seemed almost a blow to Miss Esme's pride."

"Pride!" Eula Rhy scoffed. "There never was a Crabb with a lick of pride," she declared, looking to Mrs. Tewksbury, who gave her an answering of agreement. "If she was thinking herself too good for our charity, well, she should have said so, and we'd have given it to someone deserving!"

"That's right," the preacher added. "Pride and poverty don't mix. That girl is looking for trouble, I hear."

"Just like those useless twin sisters of hers," Mrs. Tewksbury agreed.

"Trouble? What kind of trouble could involve Miss Esme?" Cleav asked, genuinely worried.

Mrs. Tewksbury made a tutting sound and looked gravely at Eula Rhy. The preacher was flushed with embarrassment and silence reigned for a full minute or longer.

"Sophrona honey," Mrs. Tewksbury said finally. "Why don't you step into Mrs. Rhy's house and check your hair in the vanity. I swear the breeze has nearly swept you away!" This last Mrs. Tewksbury added with a cheery laugh. It fell so false that discomfort was universally felt.

Sophrona dutifully rose from the swing, and with formal politeness excused herself. Cleav watched her go warily as he found all three pairs of eyes focused sternly on himself.

"Cleav," his mother began. "Mrs. Tewksbury tells me that there has been talk."

"Talk?" Cleav shifted uncomfortably, folding his arms across his chest.

"Folks are saying that Esme Crabb has been seen with you every day for the last week."

Cleav stared dumbstruck. A hasty denial stuck in his throat, and he choked slightly. Of the three the preacher appeared the most sympathetic. Cleav, therefore, directed the reply to him. "Miss Esme may have been seen
near
me," he said distinctly, "but she has not been seen
with
me, I can assure you."

The pastor nodded, willing to let him split hairs. "The fact remains she has been spending a good deal of time in your vicinity."

Cleav shrugged with feigned casualness. "I have no control over where Miss Crabb chooses to spend her time."

The preacher pulled thoughtfully at the scruff of his chin.

Eula Rhy sighed loudly in exasperation. "What in heaven's name is she following you around for?" his mother asked, refusing to couch the question in more politely vague terms.

"She and her sisters are interested in anything in trousers," Mrs. Tewksbury said firmly.

"Now, that's unfair, Mabel," the reverend corrected his wife. "The twins never seem to seek the attention of the-boys, the boys are just drawn to them like flies to honey."

"Well, that's not true of this one," she declared. "She's never had a beau at all. Now all of a sudden she's making herself Mr. Rhy's shadow."

"Gossip," Cleav said bluntly. "You shouldn't waste a minute's time on such."

The preacher gave a slight inclination of the head. "If it were just old Pearly Beachum wagging her tongue, I would have let it go in one ear and out the other. That dear old lady has nothing to do but mind other people's business."

The ladies nodded in agreement.

"But I've heard it from several people not prone to nosiness," he continued. "And truth to tell, this morning I saw it myself. That girl's eyes fairly bore a hole in your back through half the sermon."

Cleav choked slightly, trying to clear the embarrassment from his throat.

"What is she up to?" Eula asked.

"I'm not sure, Mother," Cleav replied. "She seems… well, she seems interested in my life. The store, the fish… she—"

"The fish?" Mrs. Rhy fairly cackled at that. "No doubt she's thinking to try a pole in one of those pools when you're not looking!"

Cleav's cheeks puffed out in anger. His first thought was to defend her. Esme
was
interested in the fish, and she was a lot less likely to "try a pole in one of those pools" than the people sitting across the porch from him.

What could he tell them? That the young woman in question had openly expressed a desire to marry him? Maybe a week ago he could have told them that, and they could have all had a superior little laugh about the foolish mountain girl. But not now, not after today. When he'd seen her in church, so brave, so unbowed, he'd felt a keen admiration. He understood what she felt. He'd felt it, too. Not for the life of him would he do anything to bring her low. Pride might
not
go with poverty, but it set well on Esme Crabb.

He kept those thoughts to himself and tried another tack. "I think Miss Esme finds me a curiosity. A sort of entertainment, I suppose."

The reverend was momentarily stunned by the statement. Having seen his share of the evil in men, he immediately thought the worst. "What kind of
entertainment
are you up to, young man?" The pastor's voice was stern for the first time.

Cleav was undaunted. In fact, he felt on surer ground now. He was telling the absolute truth, just not
all
of it.

"I think she's entertained by civility and politeness."

The preacher's look was skeptical.

"She told me she loves to hear me talk 'prissy.'"

A momentary silence followed. Then Reverend Tewksbury roared with laughter. "Prissy?" he asked, throwing his head back, laughing. "She actually called you prissy to your face?"

"She didn't say
I
was prissy," he stated firmly. "She thought my manner of speech prissy."

Slapping his thigh with his hand, the reverend actually hooted. "Prissy!" He could barely get the word out. The older man's face was florid, and his eyes had completely disappeared in waves of grinning wrinkles.

The preacher continued to laugh. And laugh. Cleav watched him cackle with growing annoyance.

"There is nothing wrong with Mr. Rhy's speech," Mrs. Tewksbury said, noticing Cleav's disgruntled visage and clearly confused at her husband's sense of humor.

"Of course not," Eula Rhy agreed. "He learned to talk that way in that school in Knoxville. That's just the way a gentleman talks. It isn't really prissy, it just sounds that way."

His mother's feeble defense exasperated Cleav further. Somehow he'd managed to make himself the butt of his own joke, and for the life of him, he couldn't imagine how it had happened.

Well, of course he knew what had happened. Esme Crabb had happened. That female was enough to give a man the hives. She'd been following him around like a bad reputation for a week. Throwing herself at him like a spinster going for the bridal bouquet, interfering in his work, and exposing him to idle talk around town. Now, finally, when she was nowhere to be seen, he found himself in the awkward situation of defending himself—and her.

"I'm delighted that I'm equally as entertaining to you, Reverend," Cleav said with a discernable edge to his voice.

Reverend Tewksbury might have continued laughing forever but for his wife's timely jab in the ribs. The Rhys were, after all, the most well-to-do family in Vader, and Mrs. Tewksbury had hopes for a match with Cleavis and her daughter.

"Sorry," the preacher told him after a pained grunt and a deadly look from his wife. He tried, without a lot of success, to wipe away his wide grin.

"Now, Cleav," Reverend Tewksbury began, forcing himself into more clergylike behavior, "I'm sure that it would be a great comfort to your mother if you would just simply tell her that all this talk among the congregation is just that, talk. Just tell us honestly that nothing untoward has occurred between you and that pitiful Crabb girl."

Cleav opened his mouth to do just that.

Unbidden, memories assailed him. Esme's long, slim leg, its soft skin so indecently bared in broad daylight in his store. The sweet, clean smell of her as she sat in his shadow beside the pond. The wild, eager touch of her lips against his own. And the hot, urgent surge of his body pressed so intimately against hers.

As he sat open-mouthed and silent, a damning flush spread across his face and neck.

The bacon popped and sizzled in the pan as Esme poured the cold cooked beans in on top of the grease.

"I don't know why we have to eat bacon beans when we've got two hams to serve," Adelaide complained.

"Because I'm the one that's cooking!" Esme replied with more than a little snap to her tone. "When you do the cooking, you can eat what you like!"

"Esme don't wanna waste that good ham on me, Sweet-ums," Armon Hightower said, reaching out to grab Adelaide's hand and pull her down to his side. Esme
spied him giving her sister a familiar squeeze.

The young, good-looking charmer sat on the Crabbs' kitchen bench, one arm around Adelaide and the other around Agrippa. He squeezed the two girls close, causing both to simultaneously snuggle and giggle.

"You see, little pretties, your sister don't care for me at all," he told the twins, his eyes focused jovially on Esme. "I swear if she got the chance, that gal would bake me up a nice fresh ground-glass pie!"

The girls tittered daintily. Agrippa laid her pretty head against Armon's shoulder.

"Esme just don't know you like we do," she told him in a breathy whisper against his ear.

"And she ain't about to, neither," Armon whispered back, just loud enough for Esme to hear. "But truly, Esme,'' he said, his bright smile near blinding."I'm enough man for the whole bunch of you. Ain't no call for jealousy among family."

Esme's grip on the spoon tightened, and she was sorely tempted to turn around and use it to knock some brains into Armon Hightower.

"I know you can't imagine this," Esme told him between clenched teeth. "But I'm not suffering a desperate longing for your company, Armon Hightower."

Armon laughed pleasantly, clearly disbelieving.

"And you'd better watch your hands, mister," she continued sternly. "Pa comes in here, you'll find yourself a married man afore you know what hit you!"

The twins squealed at that and, if humanly possible, actually wiggled closer to the man of their dreams.

Armon paled slightly and actually did readjust the location of his left hand from the fleshy curve of Adelaide's hip to the less dangerous tuck of her waist.

Yo was, of course, not about to come in and take care of his proper responsibility of chaperoning the twins. He was sitting outside, and the sweet sound of the fiddle was drifting through the woods and down the mountain. It was a lively tune today, full of happiness and joy. Pa was still thrilled over the church basket.

"See, Esme-girl," he'd told her on the walk back up the mountain. "The Lord does provide."

"The
Lord
didn't provide this, Pa." Her voice was harsh with criticism. "It's charity from our neighbors."

Pa shook his head. "I know it don't sit well with you, girlie. But it don't just put food on our table. It provides a chance for those good folks to do good works."