Garters.htm (13 page)

The twins had done wonders for the dress. It fit her perfectly now. The neat little bodice pleats beautifully accented her waist, which was attractively girded with a sash made from the leftover material from the outrageously oversize bustline. The kickflounce at mid-calf was also the twins' design. The flounce not only made the petite little gown long enough for Esme, it also served to draw attention to her legs, which she'd just recently discovered were her best feature.

Lifting her skirts slightly, she stared down at her old worn work shoes. It was the only mar but couldn't be helped, she decided. It was work shoes or barefoot, and work shoes were infinitely better. Raising her chin in mock haughtiness, she daintily raised one side of her skirt, the way she imagined great ladies did, and began to promenade resolutely down the mountain path.

Raising her voice in triumphant challenge, she sang,

"Oh Katy was pretty

And so was her legs.

She sewed up her stocking with needle and thread.

The thread it was rotten, the needle was blunt…"

As far as Esme was concerned, this was the most important night of her life. She'd been hoping all week that Cleav would ask her to the taffy pull. He hadn't, and she'd been a little disappointed about that. He was, however, letting her help in the store and with the fish. Sometimes too much. The jobs that would keep her away from him the longest were always the ones that he wanted her to do.

But she'd done them uncomplainingly. Whatever he'd asked, Esme Crabb had barreled right in and done whatever was necessary to please him. Esme thought it strange, however, that he never seemed too pleased.

She knew he'd be pleased tonight. How could he not? She was prettier than she'd ever been in her life. Why, she was just about as pretty as anybody she'd ever seen. The twins had seen to that.

They'd woken her early this morning to take her bath in the creek. Afterward they'd rinsed her hair in rainwater and crushed violets. While it was still damp, Adelaide had curled it up in rags. It had taken nearly all day to dry all tied up that way, but the result was worth it. Now dark blond ringlets flowed freely down her back like a waterfall with nothing to stay their course but the loosely tied satin ribbon that Armon had given Agrippa last Christmas.

The twins, too, had plans for the taffy pull. Since it was Saturday, Armon was to escort Adelaide, and Agrippa was coming with Pa. Pa had been rosining up the bow all afternoon, so Esme knew to anticipate plenty of music.

A pretty dress, fancy hair, and a satin ribbon. The only thing missing was a handsome beau to take her arm. Esme was confident she'd have that, too.

Her evening was laid out perfectly in her mind. Cleav would be attending the taffy pull at the church tonight. Esme would show up, as always, to follow him. As pretty as she looked tonight, he'd be pure-d foolish not to just let her walk along next to him. Once all the folks had seen them arrive together, it'd be the same as if they were walking out.

She didn't expect him to walk her home, of course. But surely he'd be wanting to see her to the woods path. If for no other reason than to finally get that kiss he'd been thinking about.

Esme knew he'd been thinking about kissing her. For herself, well, she could barely think of anything else! She had to continually remind herself that the kissing part was only a means to an end. She was marrying Cleavis Rhy and moving her family into that big house. But she had to admit that proving to him that she was worth kissing was going to be a whole lot more fun than proving she could take care of the store.

Stopping by the edge of the path, she saw sprigs of wild phlox growing in the shade of a mayapple. That's what she needed, color, she decided. She hastily pulled a handful and slipped a couple into the ribbon at the nape of her neck. Carefully she tucked a half dozen into the sash at her waist. The rest she gathered together in her hand for a small bouquet.

Flowers made a woman so feminine, she thought. And the pale purple would-clear up the muddy blue of her eyes. When she reached the end of the path, she made a hasty adjustment to her drooping stockings, then set off toward the big white house.

"Mr. Cleavis Rhy," she said aloud for the birds and bees to hear. "The maiden of your dreams and the woman of your future is headed straight to your house."

If Cleav had known, he would have undoubtedly slipped out the back door.

Cleav, however, did not know and was at that moment busy thinking of his own pleasant plans for the evening and humming a ditty of his own.

"Kiss me quick! and go! my honey

Kiss me quick and go!

To cheat surprise and prying eyes,

Why, kiss me quick and go!"

The week had been a long and frustrating one. Esme had been a constant companion, and his mother's complaints had become almost frantic. "What in heaven's name is the reverend going to say about her underfoot every day?" Eula Rhy had worried. "And I shudder to even think what Mrs. Tewksbury must be imagining."

"Mother, Mrs. Tewksbury's imagination is truly not a great concern of mine," Cleav had replied.

Ultimately it had all become too much for Mrs. Rhy, and she'd taken her nerves to bed. That had been two days ago, and Cleav hadn't been able to budge the older woman.

Today, however, she had moved from the bed to her sewing rocker, happily contemplating the news that Cleav would indeed be escorting Miss Sophrona to the taffy pull.

"Why don't you join us, Mother?" he'd suggested dutifully.

Eula Rhy had smiled at her son with pleasure but refused his invitation. "I really must save my strength for Sunday. I can't be traipsing out for frolic and then not make it to the Lord's house on the Sabbath."

Cleav had expressed the appropriate degree of disappointment, but now as he straightened his tie before the glass in the downstairs entry way, he was grateful to be going out alone. The walk from the church to the parsonage was unreasonably short, but he expected a moment or two of blessed privacy with Miss Sophrona.

He checked his appearance in the mirror, both in profile and straight ahead. He was no handsome dandy, he decided, but he had the look of a well-groomed, well-tended, prosperous gentleman, exactly the image he chose to portray. He pulled his timepiece out of his watch pocket. Ten minutes before he was due at the Tewksburys'.

After setting his stylish bowler hat at a slightly jaunty angle, he picked up the bright little nosegay of flowers he'd taken from his mother's garden and headed out the door.

There was still a good bit of light; Cleav suspected it was planned that the couples travel to the party in decent sunlight. By the end of the evening it would be up to the ladies, and their fathers, who would be escorted back home through the darkness.

With a smile of self-assurance, Cleav reminded himself that Reverend Tewksbury trusted him completely. His satisfied smile dimmed slightly as he recalled that of late the reverend's attitude was somewhat less enthusiastic.

It was this worry and the woman that caused it that was on Cleav's mind as he headed past the front gate.

Unexpectedly Esme Crabb jumped into his path from behind the chestnut tree.

"Hello!" Her words were slightly breathless with anticipation.

Cleav was at first startled, and then annoyed. Was he never to be free of her constant presence?

Then he noticed there was something different about her. Something far more appealing than usual. He sensed that immediately, his body more quickly than his mind, as a surge of hot desire rolled through him. The sudden need to touch this woman was as unexpected as it was unwanted.

She stood there, staring at him as if waiting for his approval, his flattery, perhaps even
his kisses. He realized the change was a different dress, a ladies' dress. For the first time she really shone to advantage. Then the image blurred. The pristine white lawn and the neatly tucked bodice pleats conjured up a different picture, a picture of the same cloth draped attractively across the lush bosom of another woman.

He was so startled he blurted out the first thing he thought. "What are you doing in Miss Sophrona's dress?" The question was harsh enough to be an accusation.

"It's not…" Esme began. She was so startled at his words that her face paled and the choked denial was forced from her lips.

"It most certainly is!" Cleav's tone was adamant. "I see you've tried to disguise it, but I'd recognize that dress anywhere. Miss Sophrona wore it to the Fourth of July picnic, and I brought her a cup of punch."

Cleav's words clutched at Esme's heart like a vise.

"Have you taken to helping yourself to other women's clothing the way you help yourself to crackers in my store?"

"It's my dress," Esme answered, her voice raw with pain. "It was in the charity basket. Miss Sophrona must have thrown it away."

Esme looked down at the beautiful white lawn garment and fought back the stinging in her eyes. "It's the nicest thing I ever owned," she said quietly. "And some other woman threw it away."

Spying the little bouquet of phlox in her hand, Esme was suddenly horrified at her own presumption. Trying to dress herself up with flowers and ribbons, she was appalled at how comical she must appear in her cast-off charity clothes.

Tears close, she flung her flowers to the ground and turned from him, raising her skirts high as she ran.

"Esme!" he called to her, but she ran on.

Cleav was horrified at himself. He'd been stunned at his reaction to Esme Crabb prettied up. And because of it he'd been deliberately cruel.

"The charity basket," he whispered to himself as he watched her racing away, her shapely legs scandalously displayed. Remembering the raised chin and blush of shame as her family had accepted the handout, he knew with certainty the measure of pride she'd swallowed to wear the dress.

He looked at the scattered flowers at his feet. Squatting down, he picked up one blue-violet blossom and held it before him, examining it closely. The five little petals spread in perfect symmetry from the dark purple center. It was the natural beauty of the mountains, ungilted by human expectation. He compared the discarded phlox to the cut flowers he held in his other hand. The bright mix of roses and hyacinths was very pretty but appeared almost garish and overblown beside the simplicity of the wildflower.

When he looked up again, he could barely make out Esme in the distance. Quickly he shrugged out of his coat and hung it neatly on one white-washed picket, topping it with his hat. The flowers he fit snugly against the rail. Scooping up the rest of the wild phlox, he hurried after the young woman in the white lawn hand-me-down.

Esme's chest was screaming for relief, but her heart wanted to run forever. She might have done exactly that had she not felt her stylish curls suddenly loose and flowing around her.

"Agrippa's ribbon!" she screamed at herself as she stopped abruptly. Frantically she began to backtrack, searching the grass for the plain piece of white satin as the tears continued to hamper her vision. Her mind was numb with pain and shame. She refused to think at all, only to search and weep. She'd crested a small hill and hurried across a just budding meadow, and Cleav's house was at last out of sight. Somehow she felt safer. As if leaving the sight of her humiliation could make her unexpected humbling less acute.

The ribbon was visible, a small expanse of pristine white amid a flourishing patch of vivid green clover. Esme pulled her skirts high out of the staining grass and dropped to her knees in the clover.

The ribbon seemed none the worse for being temporarily lost, and Esme stared at it, determinedly forcing back her tears. She was glad she'd found it; her sisters had been so generous. The dress had been meant for the twins, of course. Sophrona knew how they loved pretty clothes, and she had purposely included it in the basket. The twins would have been unconcerned with the former owner, knowing, with perfect honesty, that the dress would look better on them than any female in Vader.

Esme, however, had no such confidence to rely on. She was a shabby hill girl in another woman's made-over dress. And Cleavis Rhy had found her pathetic, not pretty.

Looking now at the dress she had so admired, she wanted to rip it from her body. She wished she could shred it into a hundred pieces and bury it in a rat hole.

Setting her jaw with practical firmness, she knew she could not do that. Even hating the dress, it was the best she owned. Her sisters had worked long and hard to add the sash she now found tacky and the flounce which seemed ridiculous, so now she would have to wear it until it was no more than a rag hanging from her shoulders. She blinked back more annoying tears, secretly hoping that white lawn would not be a very durable fabric.

As she bravely raised her chin, resigning herself to her fate, she heard the sound of running feet on the path behind her.

Before she had time to scamper into hiding, she turned back to see Cleav topping the hill. When their eyes met, he slowed to a walk.

Esme turned her attention back to the clover in front of her. She couldn't just be sitting here, she thought desperately. She'd die if he knew she'd been sitting there crying over him. Praying that her face was not tearstained, she anxiously sought some purposeful work for her hands.

The clover was rife with young blossoms. As if suddenly returning to younger days, Esme pulled up two. Running a fingernail through the lower stem of the first, she created a narrow slit through which she threaded the stem of the second blossom. Treating it likewise, she pulled another Wooming clover and wove it, also.

As Cleav crested the hill, the sun setting over the mountain in a splash of pink-tinted sky was the perfect backdrop for the young woman in a swirl of white skirts seated in the bright green clover. The vision touched unfamiliar feelings in his heart. Almost casually he approached her until he stood with her at his feet in the grass.

"What are you doing?" he asked as he watched her nimble fingers weaving the tiny white puffs of grass.