Garters.htm (33 page)

A large black cloud had formed on the western horizon, but the moon still shone bright enough to illuminate the summer night as the crowd dispersed down the little knoll and through the tiny town. Esme walked beside Cleav, her hand on his arm in the proper position of the escorted. Behind them, Yohan and Eula were muttering together about the surprising end of the first night of the revival. Agrippa seemed stunned into silence.

When they reached the turnoff for the house, Cleav hesitated.

"Why don't you all go on home," he suggested to his mother and in-laws. "Esme and I are going to check on the ponds."

"Check on the ponds?" Eula asked incredulously.

Yohan chuckled. "What in tarnation can you do for fish in the middle of the night?"

"Looks like a bad storm coming in from the west, and I don't want any of the dams to give. I'd surely hate to lose half my trout downstream."

As they separated from the group, Cleav cast an eye to his wife. Neither knew exactly what to say. Though they'd flirted with each other during the revival meeting, this was different. It seemed so long since they'd truly been alone together. The silence between them continued for several yards.

"You don't have to come with me if you're too tired, Esme," he said, hoping she'd stay.

Esme smiled at him shyly. "I was hoping we'd have a moment."

Cleav nodded with appropriate gravity. "It does seem we are somewhat short on those these days."

She agreed silently.

The moonlight shone across the water like a path to another world. The wind had picked up, and the smell of rain floated on it. They walked together quietly along the shore, lost in their own thoughts. Cleav stopped to inspect each of the earth, wood, and screen constructed dams that he'd built between the ponds.

Having constructed the system with his bare hands, it was solid and strong. Still, because he was a man who took his responsibilities seriously, Cleav tried to check the water-breaks carefully before each rainstorm. He'd learned the hard way that one weak-jointed corner could destroy a whole season's work.

Esme followed along with him, occasionally helping, but mostly just observing. In tonight's thoughtful mood she was amazed to find herself married to Cleavis Rhy.

Only last winter she had hardly given him a second look. Now she couldn't take her eyes off him.

Carefully he made his way from one pond to the next. The ominous rumble of a thunderstorm could be heard now, but it was still far away. And he was so near.

He was quiet again tonight. He'd grown too quiet these days, and Esme worried. When he came to her at night,there was warmth and wonder, but he held himself from her—she felt it.

Was it because she was so unladylike? She feared it might be so. Surely a lady didn't caterwaul until her husband had to cover her mouth to keep her from waking the house.

Still, Cleav never complained about the way she acted. In fact, she got the distinct feeling that he actually liked it.

A tiny thrill of desire spiraled through her. He hadn't sent her on to the house ahead of him. Maybe he had plans for tonight.

"Save to graces," Esme said abruptly, hoping to sidetrack her wayward thoughts with an attempt at lively conversation. "That Grandma Hightower was sure a spectacle tonight, wasn't she?"

Cleav looked up from the wire screen he was inspecting and smiled. "I swear, I don't think I'll ever feel more sorry for Armon Hightower than I did this evening."

They laughed together in remembrance, and their humor bridged the uneasy distance between them.

"He did look a guilty sight, didn't he?"

Cleav agreed.

"Wonder why she did it?" Esme asked more seriously. "Surely she knew it would embarrass the daylights out of him."

Cleav shook his head. "She thought she'd give a little push. People do that sometimes."

Esme nodded thoughtfully. "I'm even guilty of that myself," she admitted, thinking of all the deliberate glimpses of her legs that she'd given Cleav. If she'd waited for the spirit to move Cleavis Rhy, she'd have died an old maid, living in a cave with Pa.

"We all are," Cleav answered, squeezing her hand gently in reassurance before releasing it to wrap his arm familiarly around her waist.

"You can want something so much," he said, his eyes caressing the curve of her jaw, "that you forget that it's what
you
want, maybe not what's meant to be."

Uncomfortable with her own thoughts, and not wanting to pursue this line of conversation, Esme rushed to return to the original discussion.

"You'd think Miz Hightower'd know better," Esme insisted.

"She does," Cleav replied. "But she also knows that sometimes it works. Sometimes it's part of the plan after all."

Esme turned to face him. The silvery moonlight lit his face in handsome heights and hollows. In the distance the rumble of thunder was premonitory.

"Do you think
we
are part of the plan?" she asked, a tremor of concern in her voice."Do you think our marriage was meant to be?"

Cleav gazed down at her, the eyes so wide in worried question, the cheeks so hollow without hint of smile, and the lips, so sweet in his remembrance that he didn't even try to hesitate as he brought down his own for a gentle kiss.

"Our marriage
is
, Esme," he whispered softly.

Esme wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his throat. He'd spoken so sweetly she'd felt overwhelmed, though she wasn't sure if he was happy or sad.

The two embraced tightly, so tightly, as if each could enfold the other to his heart. Both thought the limbs they felt trembling were their own.

With a determined sigh, Cleav released her and attempted to steer the conversation to a lighter vein.

"Well," he began, his face sober, "at least I know that something good will come from Granny Hightower's words."

Esme swallowed, bringing her thoughts back to the present. "You think what happened tonight will lead Armon to salvation?" she asked him, slightly startled.

"No," he answered, the hint of laughter in his eyes. "I think it will lead him to let the twins escort themselves to the rest of the revival meetings."

Esme stared dumbly at him for a moment, and then they both broke into laughter. They began walking again, hand in hand, this time with a more lively step.

When they reached the path that led to the house, Cleav hesitated.

"Are you ready to go in?" His question revealed his own reluctance.

Esme shook her head. "There's no hurry. Though we may end up a little wet."

Cleav glanced into the darkness at the ominous cloud bank coming on them from the west.

"We've got a few minutes," he said.

Walking to the smooth, dry grass near the water's edge, Cleav seated himself cross-legged on the ground and held his hand out for Esme to join him.

She dropped to her knees and scooted up close beside him. He wrapped his arm around her, and they sat companionably together.

They gazed into the gentle ripple across the top of the pond. "What do you think your piscean friend, the Gentleman, is up to tonight?" Cleav asked.

Esme glanced with mock concern at the depths of the water. "I suspect he's sound asleep by now."

"Asleep?" Cleav's question was incredulous and he chuckled lightly. "Do fish sleep?"

Esme gave him a shrug. "Everything sleeps, doesn't it?"

"I don't know," Cleav admitted.

"Folks think that river critters aren't like the rest of us, but I suspect they pretty much are."

She sighed thoughtfully. "We're all made by the same God, so more than likely we're pretty much the same."

Cleav looked at her approvingly. "I'd never thought of 'river critters' that way."

Pulling Esme closer, he set his chin lightly on the top of her head. "You're very likely correct. We are probably pretty much the same."

Smiling proudly at his agreement, Esme snuggled against the man at her side.

"That old Steelhead is sleeping for sure," she said.

"Do you think he's dreaming?"

"Sure enough." Then curiously she asked, "What do you think fish dream about?"

Considering the question, Cleav's lips Finally curved into a smile, and he placed a gentle kiss in the sweet-smelling hair on the top of her head.

"I bet that Gentleman has some long-finned female Rainbow swimming through his dreams."

Esme giggled for a minute and then sobered. "Wouldn't he want a Steelhead?" she asked. "A woman more like himself?"

Pulling back slightly, he raised her chin to look into her eyes.

"Is that what you think?" he asked her softly. As she nodded mutely, he shook his head. "No, Esme," he said. "The Gentleman's memories are for bearing, not for sharing.''

A tensionless quiet settled between them.

"Are we still talking about fish?" she asked.

"No," Cleav replied again.

"I—" Esme forgot what she meant to ask as his mouth came down on hers.

His lips were soft and warm, but they were demanding. No sweet, gentle pressure, but hot urgency guided him. The persuasive movement of his mouth teased and tempted her to respond in kind.

Esme twisted against him, holding his broad shoulders, trying to bring herself as close to him as possible. Side by side was not nearly intimate enough.

Cleav pulled her into his lap facing him. The new position forced Esme's dress indecently upward, baring her legs to him. Cleav's hands took advantage. Possessively, he ran his strong hands along the length of her calves and thighs, making her feel hot and sweet all over.

"Kiss me, Hillbaby," he murmured softly before he plunged his tongue deeply into her mouth.

She did. She was as eager for the taste of him as he was for her.

Cleav moaned in appreciation as Esme teased him even more immodestly to demonstrate her gratitude.

She ran her hands through his hair. She thrilled at its smooth, silky sleekness and breathed deeply of the spicy masculine smell.

He bit her lower lip, teasingly, and she traced the sensitive curves of his left ear with her tongue.

The low mellow sounds of her pleasure could no longer be distinguished from his own.

Cleav's mouth strayed down to her throat.

Esme reveled in the feel of his slightly scratchy beard against the flesh of her neck and wiggled unchastely in his lap.

Moaning, Cleav allowed his hands to explore her long, lusty legs, as her hand boldly guided his up to her bosom.

Cleav was thoroughly caressing her, but Esme was eager. Anxiously she pulled away from his kiss and raised her arms to undo her own buttons at the nape of her neck.

"Help me," she begged him. "I can't wear these clothes another minute."

Unwilling at first to release the warm, silky flesh of her legs, Cleav finally reached up to pull away the fabric covering her bosom. He, too, wanted her naked to see her curves exposed in the moonlight.

The two began pulling at each other's clothing in a rush of youthful abandon. Shirt, suspenders, chemise, and stockings, nothing was seen as necessary covering. Within minutes both were naked and clinging to each other.

Cleav laid Esme out
on
the cool grass. He placed tiny kisses on her eyes and her chin, before putting one distended nipple in his mouth. She parted her legs, impatient for more. He drew himself up and pressed his shaft coaxingly at the crux of her womanhood. But he held back, wanting to prolong the closeness.

Their kisses became deeper and more urgent. Esme squirmed against him, and Cleav nearly lost control like a boy half his age.

The boiling black clouds covered the moon above them, and Cleav could no longer see Esme's face beneath him. Then the first cold drops of summer rain splashed against his back.

"It's raining," he whispered hotly.

"Oh, yes!" Esme pushed her pelvis against him, eager for him to be inside her.

"It's raining," he tried again. "You'll catch a chill."

The droplets of water were now soaking the parts of her his body didn't cover, but she didn't care.

"I want you to always keep me this warm," she begged, pressing her body against his.

Her actions, more than her words, encouraged Cleav to ignore the increasing tempo of rain
that pelted his back, trickled down his limbs, and soaked his hair.

But finally she shivered.

"You're cold," he said, pulling away.

"No!" she declared and pulled his lips back against hers.

Cleav couldn't help but agree as he spread her legs with his knee and ran a loving hand along the swelled sweetness of her sex.

Hearing her plaint of desire, Cleav embedded his finger within her, reveling at the tight heat that surrounded him.

Her jolt of pleasure was mirrored by flashes of fire in the sky above them, and her cry was lost in the crash of thunder.

The rain poured down upon them but failed to put out the fire that blazed. Cleav was hot and hard, and knew she was ready for him.

A wild streak of lightning passed just above them, touching its fiery tip to the juniper tree across the pond. The loud crack of the tree was like a scream of pain.

Instinctively he huddled Esme protectively beneath him. "We've got to get away from here," he said.

With more strength than he would have believed he possessed, he pulled away from Esme.

"No!" she cried forlornly.

"It's lightning, Hillbaby," he explained to her hurriedly over the increasingly loud torrent of rain. "We can't be out in the open like this."

He had moved from her embrace, and Esme felt a loneliness that was completely tangible.

"Please!" she pleaded.

Slipping one arm beneath her shoulders and the other behind her knees, Cleav scooped her into his arms. Holding her tightly against his naked chest, he raced through the night and pouring rain to the shelter of the hatching house.

He unlatched the door, and the wind slammed it open. Stepping inside, he stood holding her securely in his arms as water dripped from their bodies to the rough wooden floor beneath his bare feet. The storm beat a staccato rhythm upon the tin roof.

The tiny room was crowded with tanks and tools and machinery, and there was no place to lay her down. The hatching house, when not in use, was the logical place to store nets and cranks and lumber curing with tar. Jars and buckets, gloves and fish-gutters covered every square inch of the tables.