Garters.htm (20 page)

"You in a hurry to have her?"

"Mr. Crabb, I'm sure you know what's being said. I—"

"I know exactly what folks are running their mouths about. And I can tell you for damn near certain that I'm even madder about it than you are."

The fury in the old man's eyes convinced Cleav he was speaking the truth.

"But," Crabb continued, "my Esme is only getting married up one time. She's deserving better than a hide-in-a-hole weddin' with a man that thinks she ain't good enough for him."

Cleav suddenly realized that he had merely assumed that Esme would marry him. He certainly hadn't imagined any resistance from the Crabb family.

"You are mistaken, Mr. Crabb, if you do not think that I hold your daughter in high regard."

Yohan looked at him dubiously. "I'm listening," he said.

Cleav hesitated momentarily, groping for words. "Esme… Esme is… bright, yes, very bright and comely, in her own way, and a hard worker," he finished confidently. "She'll make a wonderful wife that any man would be proud to call his own."

Crabb nodded. "You're right about that, Rhy," he told him. "Trouble is, you don't believe it."

Cleav saw his chances and his reputation disappearing before his eyes.

"Mr. Crabb, I—"

Yohan held up a hand to silence him. "You want to marry up with my Esme? Then you're gonna have to do it right," he said.

Cleav nodded weakly, indicating agreement.

"No midnight marriage and sneaking her off to your house," he stated firmly. "She gets a real wedding with music and flowers and the whole town standing in the church to hear you make your vows to her."

Cleav almost choked, clearly not pleased with the prospect. "Do you think that's best?"

"I sure do! It ain't like folks won't hear about it anyhow."

"But," Cleav protested, "the need for haste is—"

Yo shook his head in disagreement. "They's haste and they's foolishness." The older man hesitated, taking measure of his prospective son-in-law. "You get a wedding set up by Sunday," Yo said finally, "and I'll bring her down the mountain to marry you."

"Fine," Cleav agreed. The day after tomorrow was surely soon enough.

"All right," Crabb said and offered his hand to clinch the deal.

"Perhaps I should speak to Esme now?"

"What for?" her father asked him.

"To formally request her hand,'' Cleav told him."To see how she feels about the wedding."

Crabb shook his head. "The way I hear it, you've already seen more of my daughter than a bridegroom is entitled to!"

Cleav's clenched teeth threatened to break, but he didn't back down. "There are things that need to be said between us," he insisted.

"They'll be plenty of time for talk after she's your missus. You got anything to say before then," Yo told him, "you just tell it to me."

Cleav's next words were precise and raw-edged. "Tell her I hope that she's happy about getting what she wanted."

Wearing the white, charity basket castoff of Sophrona Tewksbury, Esme Crabb, head held high, proudly made her way down the mountain to get married.

"It'll be fine," she whispered quietly to herself. "I'll make him real happy. I'll be the best wife a man ever had," she vowed. Just exactly how she was going to accomplish that was not yet clear, but if determination was enough, she would succeed.

Her father's face was worried but determined. Yo had never told her any of the private discussion he'd had with Cleav. But he hadn't needed to. Esme could read disapproval in every line of his face.

She'd been so foolish! She berated herself, not for the first time. This wasn't what she'd wanted. Although marriage to Cleavis Rhy had been her aim for weeks, she hadn't planned on a scandal or an unwilling husband.

Pearly Beachum had caught her off-guard. With honesty as her natural bent, she'd blurted out the truth when a lie would have better served. Looking back, she'd rather have had the whole congregation believe she was stealing from Rhy's store than bring disgrace to him. Nor did she wish to tarnish the shining hope that the fancy, store-bought garters had represented. Remembrance brought a blush to her cheek and the precious pieces of pink and white to mind. She could feel them now fitting smooth and snug against her thighs. Even in her current confusion, a warmth of tenderness suffused her, and a tiny smile quivered at the side of her mouth. It was the sweetest gift she had ever received. Surely he must care for her. Surely he must care a little.

As the church came into sight, she became even more apprehensive. Her forehead broke out in beads of sweat.

"He must care a little!" she said in a desperate whisper. "Please God, I'll never ask for anything else!"

Adelaide and Agrippa, however, were bothered by neither the finality of her marriage nor the circumstances leading to her proposal. Primped and pretty, they were giddy with excitement. For them weddings were the most fun party of all, and certainly the twins had the best chance of catching the wedding bouquet.

"That'd mean that we'd marry next," Adelaide cheerfully informed her father.

Yo did not seem particularly taken with the idea. "How soon is next?" he asked with a disagreeable frown.

"As soon as Armon asks us!" Agrippa answered with a near shriek of delight. And the two young women shared a laughing embrace as they hurried ahead to the church.

Crabb hesitated, touching Esme's shoulder lightly to stop her progress. "I agreed to this wedding 'cause
I'm thinking it were your idea," he said evenly as he studied his daughter. "If you're afeared of this man or you changed your mind, just say so."

Even in her anxious state, Esme managed a smile for her father. Pa was lazy and practically worthless, but she never doubted his love for her.

"Marrying Cleavis Rhy is going to put us in clover, Pa," she answered with more enthusiasm than she felt at the moment. "We're going to move into that big fine house and eat regular year-round."

He shook his head dubiously. "Esme-girl, I'd never be able to choke down a bite if I thought the food was bought with your misery."

Esme managed a halfhearted chuckle. "Being married to a rich, handsome man is the kind of
misery
most girls dream of," she bantered playfully.

"But you sure ain't most girls," Yohan said. "Besides, marriage is more than dreams. Living with the wrong person, even when you love them, can be a world of grief. And truth to tell," he added, "the word
love
ain't never fallen from your lips that I can remember."

Esme forced out a little giggle that didn't quite ring true. "I love you and the twins, Pa. I
respect
the man who's to be my husband. I think that's enough."

Her father shrugged doubtfully. "Respect ain't much comfort in a wedding bed."

Her face flaming scarlet, Esme swallowed the spurt of anxiety and fear as if it were a tangible thing.

"I'll do my duty," she said bravely.

Yo nodded. "I never doubted it," he admitted. "But bedding a man ain't always easy for a woman."

Esme paled slightly.

"I never talked of such with you girls, 'cause it just didn't seem fitting," he said, showing signs of paternal awkwardness. "But if you are going to walk into that church and marry up, I want to be sure that you know what you're doing."

There was silence between them for a moment.

"I want to marry him," Esme whispered.

"You want to bed him?"

Esme nodded. "I ain't never," she confessed. "But when he kisses me, I… I want more."

She'd lowered her eyes with shame, but her father grasped her chin in his hand and raised it to look down into her face.

"That's where most women start their married life," he said, "half-yearning, half-curious."

"I've heard that it hurts?'' Her statement was formed like a question.

There was a perceptible nod of agreement. "Your mama said it hurt some the first time," he admitted. "But I think it's mostly just so downright embarrassing," he said.

Yohan gazed thoughtfully across the meadow toward the church. "A gal is told for twenty years to keep herself decently covered, and men she stands a few moments in front of the preacher and finds herself married up to a fellow she hardly knows." Yo Crabb shook his head in disbelief. "And she's supposed to lift up her nightgown for him like it was nothing!"

Esme covered her own burning cheeks at the thought.

"And the fellow," Yo continued. "He's pert-near as ignorant as she is. The most of what he knows about it is stories he's heard from other men. Nearly all of which are lies and bragging. Now he's supposed to reassure her, comfort her, and please her while his own heart's a-beating so loudly he can't hear himself think and he's touching and squeezing things he's been dreaming about for years."

With a pessimistic sigh, Crabb gently patted his daughter's cheek and carefully smoothed a stray lock of her hair. "What I'm aiming to say, Esme-girl," he told her, "is that it ain't always perfect right away. Things between a man and a woman take time. That's why God made marriage forever."

Yo looked into her eyes seeking assurance. "I'd feel better about this, Esme, if I knew that you loved him."

Esme nearly choked on the words, but she knew they had to be said. "I was thinking to marry him for all of us, Pa. I figured I could get along with just about any fellow with some money." She hesitated. "Truly, I didn't expect to feel nothing special, but I think I really do love him, Pa," she admitted. "I just can't seem to help myself. I just wish he loved me."

Her father's smile brightened. "He will, Esme-girl," he told her. "How can he help himself?"

She was late. Cleav forced himself not to look at his watch again. Everybody was staring at him. Sweat beaded on his brow as a glistening accent to his florid complexion. Grandpa McCray had once told him a story about his boyhood in Scotland, where sinners were made to sit on a chair in front of the church, and the congregation stared at them as a punishment. In Cleav's youth he'd thought they'd gotten off easy. Now he wasn't so sure.

Maude Honsucker, who was every bit of ninety, was providing the music. She had warned Cleavis that she could only play the tunes that she could remember. This morning her memory was apparently not too lively as she'd been playing the same hymn repeatedly for a good twenty minutes. And her very soulful rendition of "Nearer My God to Thee" had Cleavis thinking that rather than standing to the right of the pulpit, he should be lying in a box in front of it.

Scanning the crowd, he noted, not for the first time, that it was an exceptional turnout. He'd had hopes that since his own mother refused to make an appearance, the rest of the community would do likewise. But it looked to Cleav as if Mrs. Rhy was the only living soul within ten miles that was not in attendance.

Even Sophrona, looking brave and beautiful, sat with her mother on the second pew on the left. Her head was held high, and her face betrayed no emotion. He had never anticipated that she would be there. Although there had been no understanding between them, there had been expectation. Perhaps that was why she hadn't stayed away. Community sympathy would have embarrassed her. No doubt she would be the first to wish Cleav and his new bride well.

Cleav cringed with disgust and gave into the urge to check his watch. Maybe she just wanted to be a part of the audience that watched Cleavis Rhy be left waiting at the church!

With an audible creak, the door to the church opened and the Crabb twins sauntered in. Behind him, Cleav heard Reverend Tewksbury sigh in audible relief. Apparently he wasn't the only one who'd begun to wonder.

Swinging clasped hands as they made their way down the aisle, the two pretty young girls hesitated only once to giggle when Armon Hightower gave them a broad wink. As they reached the front of the church, the two gave Cleav a haughty glance before assuming their places.

"Is she on her way?" Cleav whispered to the nearest twin, unable to tell one from the other.

"She's outside talking to Pa," she answered, pausing only an instant to watch Cleav's shoulders relax before she added spitefully, "I think he's trying to convince her to go through with this." This last was said quite loudly.

Humiliation flooded Cleav like Indian Creek in the springtime. The crowd tittered as the Crabb girl's words were hastily repeated and spread like a fire through the sanctuary. He had no idea where to direct his gaze. He didn't want to see his friends and neighbors laughing at his expense. Unexpectedly the memory of the Crabbs' charity basket came to mind. As if it were yesterday, Cleav could see Esme standing proud and strong, her eyes focused on an unseen horizon as she gazed over the heads of the crowd.

Cleav raised his chin and stared at the distant nothingness. If Esme could will herself unashamed, so could he. His mind traveled back in time to his school days in Knoxville. Again he heard the taunts and laughter of young gentlemen in tailor-made suits. Strangely the sting was not as cutting. Had time softened the images of his humbling? Or had experience taught him taunts didn't matter?

The door to the church opened, and Cleav watched the woman who would be his wife step inside. She hesitated for a moment inside the door and then squinted toward the front.

Cleav's face broke into a delighted smile. Esme's vision wasn't good enough to see him, yet, but he could see her perfectly. Her chin raised and determined, she was as ill-at-ease and embarrassed as he was. Somehow that pleased him.

The Widow Honsucker abruptly changed the sad lament she played to a rousing "When the Roll Is Called Up Yonder, I'll Be There."

Taking her father's arm, Esme led, rather than followed him, up the aisle. Brother Oswald stood, detaining her momentarily, as he handed her a small bouquet of lupins, cut from the bushes at the side of the church. The stems were carefully wrapped with white ribbons and a shield of leaves protected the blossoms, since the touch of hands would darken the petals. The sweet pungent odor already filled the room. Esme breathed in a deep fragrant breath.

Looking up, her eyes met Cleav's. They gave each other the cautious look of two people joined more by fate than free will. Esme lowered her gaze discreetly and continued at her father's side, making her way to the front of the church.