Homespun Hearts (32 page)

"
I
'm
in the glory land way,

I'm in the glory land way.

Heaven is near and the way groweth clear,

For I'm in the glory land way."

E
sme felt
her cheeks brighten as she felt the perusal of the sixty-some-odd people congregated in the little church. Following her father, who was now clapping in time with the rousing hymn, Esme found a seat in the very back pew of the church. The Crabbs always sat at the back.

As soon as she was seated, Esme looked straight ahead to Brother Oswald. The red-faced, balding man stood behind the pulpit, his arm swinging rhythmically, encouraging the congregation in song. Esme didn't have much of a singing voice, not like Pa and the twins. But she managed to quietly move her lips to the words, giving the appearance of participating, as she listened to the twins' harmonious altos and her father's boisterous baritone.

The church was a straight square building, only one room with a raised platform across the front. The piano sat on the left, directly against the stage. When the twins were little, they had called it the "yellow church" because the walls were clear varnished knotty pine, and the white pine and spruce furnishings all appeared amazingly yellow when seen in the sunlight coming through the cheap borate glass windows.

As the last strains of song died away, Brother Oswald took the seat left of the raised platform, and Reverend Tewksbury, who had been seated at the right, took his place behind the pulpit. "Let us pray!" the man's voice boomed across the sanctuary as if the congregation were hard of hearing.

Esme bent her head piously and for a couple of moments gave her own silent prayer. Then stealthily she raised her head just enough to glance across the room.

Cleavis sat in his usual seat, second pew on the left, next to his mother. From the back Esme could see the fine material of his Sunday dress suit. His dark brown hair was neatly trimmed at the nape of his neck. Beside him his mother was fashionably gowned in a black silk with a smart little hat tied neatly under her chin. Mrs. Rhy always dressed better than any woman in town. And not even the preacher had a store-bought dress coat as fine as Cleav's.

Unexpectedly her gaze continued past Cleavis to the young woman seated primly on the piano bench. Sophrona Tewksbury had removed her tiny little white bonnet and placed it beside her. Her dark, flame-colored hair was beautifully coiffed. Redheads look pasty and freckle too much, Esme silently reminded herself, though the pianist's fashionable hourglass figure was undoubtedly much admired by every gentleman of the congregation. Assessing the young woman's rigidly straight back, Esme was sure that Sophrona's waist must be no less than a foot and a half smaller than her bodice and hips!

"Only cows have bigger teats," Esme reminded herself unkindly. "And her backside is half bustle if I don't miss my guess!"

However the beautiful plum brocade and satin gown she wore was not so easily waved away. Fine materials and Sophrona's skill as a seamstress enhanced her abundant assets.

Esme lowered her head again and studied the worn gray serge that covered her lap and limbs. She ran a hand along the material, testing its strength. There was little serviceability left in the fabric. And it hadn't helped that she'd worn this, her best dress, nearly every day since her decision to court Cleavis.

Clothes had never been an important item for Esme, and when dress material or hand-me-downs turned up at the house, she just naturally gave them to the twins. The two beauties loved pretty things, and a dress made for one fit perfectly enough to share with the other. Usually this pleased the economically minded Esme. Glancing over at her sisters today, one dressed in pink-dotted calico and the other in blue gingham, Esme wished that she'd thought of having something pretty for herself.

The "amen" was shouted and heads were raised. Esme couldn't keep her glance from seeking Cleav. She caught his eye and smiled sweetly. With an appalled expression he immediately turned his attention to the preacher.

Brother Oswald led another hymn and Esme kept her attention focused intently on Cleav. This time he never so much as twitched in her direction, but he knew Esme was looking at him, she decided. That was the only explanation for the bright red hue that crept down his neck. Esme hoped he was thinking about her skinny legs at that exact moment.

Reverend Tewksbury again walked to the pulpit and this time both Brother Oswald and Miss Sophrona moved to take seats in the congregation with their families.

The preacher waited. He stood, hands placed firmly on the sides of the lectern, taking stock of his congregation. Apparently, he liked what he saw, for he was smiling broadly.

Suddenly, startling the congregation, he boomed, “David was beloved of God!"

"Amen." The chorus of agreement came from several comers of the house.

"David was a man after God's own heart, the Bible tells us. Shouldn't we be striving after God's own heart?"

With more "amens" Esme's mind began to wander. Her gaze fixed on Cleavis Rhy's broad shoulders. Vaguely she heard the Reverend Tewksbury giving a quick reminder of the rise of David from shepherd to king. She knew the story well, so she allowed herself the luxury of inattention.

She decided that so far her plan was working well. Cleav had her in his thoughts quite often. He'd even been looking at her in church. For her next move she decided that she should make herself invaluable to Cleav. He worked too hard. A man of business needed help in the store, and a wife would be expected to do her share. Over the past days Esme had watched and learned in her hours of leisure at the General Merchandise. Next week she would show off her quick study and her willingness to help.

It was only when the preacher began reading from the Psalms that Esme's attention turned from Cleav's handsome profile to the pulpit before her.

"'For he shall deliver the needy when he crieth; the poor, also, and him that hath no helper.'"

Esme felt, rather than saw, the covert glances that turned her way.

"He shall spare the poor and needy, that's what David tells us," Reverend Tewksbury told the crowd. "And that is just what the women of our Ladies' Auxiliary have decided to do."

A pleased murmur went through the congregation, and several of the prominent members of the Ladies' Auxiliary modestly shook their heads at the unspoken compliment. Esme saw Pearly Beachum reach across the aisle to take Miss Sophrona's hand, giving it a grateful and appreciative squeeze.

"Oh, no," Esme breathed the prayer desperately through her lips. "Not here! Not now! Oh, please not today!"

The preacher was beaming broadly now.

"Yohan, can you and your girls come up to the front," he asked with a beckoning gesture.

Pa rose to his feet, obviously surprised but delighted. The twins were blushing and giggling at the attention.

Esme thought she might be ill.

"Come on, girlies," Yo said to them, loud enough for the whole congregation to hear. "Looks like the preacher's found a way to make Christmas come in the springtime."

The congregation chuckled good-naturedly. Esme, following trancelike, walked with her family to the front of the church. She forced herself to turn and face the crowd when she reached the preacher, but she kept her eyes steadfastly set against the knotty pine wall on the left side of the church.

"Amens" were being spoken all around. Clearly the congregation was delighted at this evidence of their own goodness.

Yohan was expansive as he shook the preacher's hand and then stepped forward to clasp the hands of the deacons in the front row.

"Lord knows," he told the crowd jokingly. "If I'd imagined something like this, I'd a put on my better shirt."

His humor brought out a titter. But the room quieted as Reverend Tewksbury cleared his throat, signaling a more serious turn of events. The preacher waited, drawing out the drama of the moment. The seconds that ticked by seemed like hours.

Esme quickly glanced at her sisters. The pretty twins had locked arms and were blushing and giggling behind their hands. Looking past them, she saw her father, who continued smiling like the village idiot.

Despite the bombardment of feeling that pounded in her brain and into her heart, Esme raised her chin. With deliberate calmness she stared sightlessly before her.

I'm smart and strong and as good as any of them! she declared silently. No one can shame me but myself.

Bending down behind the piano, the preacher pulled out a big three-bushel basket and held it up before the crowd.

"Looky-here what we got, brothers and sisters," he said with obvious pride.

The large basket was filled to the brim, and the sweat popped out on the preacher's forehead with the strain of lifting it. Peeking out the top was a great, big, sweet-smelling smoked ham.

"Look what the good ladies have come up with for you, Brother Yo," the preacher said. "Here's a baker's dozen of jars of the finest fruits and vegetables our ladies can put by."

He held up a couple of jars to show the congregation.

The members clapped with enthusiasm.

"And here's a twenty-pound sack of flour. And soap— heaven knows we can all use our share of that," the preacher continued with a big smile and a playful poke at Yo's ribs.

"Looks to be some fine yard goods in here, girls." He addressed this comment to the giggling twins, who were now hiding their pretty pink faces.

''And there's a couple of hams and a slab of bacon to get you through till spring comes down."

"Amen!" Yo said gratefully, thanking the congregation as the preacher handed him the basket.

"Brother Yo," the reverend began. "David said that the Lord upholdeth all that fall and raiseth up all those that be bowed down."

Yohan smiled broadly at first the pastor and then the congregation.

"I suspect," the preacher continued, "that there is none in our community, none in our church, so bowed down as you and your little girls."

Murmurs of agreement were churchwide.

"This late in the winter, Brother Yo, the ladies thought you-all'd be low on vittles. David tells us that the Lord givest them in due season. So this ham and the rest is yours."

Resounding "amens" and even a couple of "hallelujahs" were heard as the Crabb family stood in the front of the church publicly and subserviently accepting the charity of the congregation.

Esme struggled to keep her eyes unfocused, gazing sightlessly over the heads of the people so willingly doing their Christian duty.

Unerringly, however, her glance was drawn from its secret refuge to a pair of blue eyes on the left side, second pew.

Cleavis Rhy was looking straight at her. What she saw in his face was understanding.

“
I
declare
it feels like spring to me!" Reverend Tewksbury announced conversationally.

"Trees are beginning to bud," Cleav admitted. "I hope a late frost isn't going to disappoint us all."

The women quietly added their own agreement to the thought.

The afternoon sun warmed the wide hardwood porch that so gracefully adorned the big white house. These five well-fed, well-clothed citizens of Vader, Tennessee, sat idly on the day of rest passing the time in pleasant conversation.

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 smile 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 clergy-like 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.

T
he 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.