by Pamela Morsi
Evenings they sat together in the fresh coolness at the ponds and named all the brood fish. Holding each other's hands tenderly, they talked of the future. The improvements they could make on the ponds, the added attractions they could bring to the store, and the changes they could make in the house.
"It ought to be blue," Esme told him, not for the first time.
"Hillbaby," he answered her, gently nibbling the nape of her neck as he sat behind her on the grass looking up at the house. "Houses are meant to be white. Someday I'll take you to Knoxville and you'll see. Practically all the fine houses in town are white."
Esme shrugged unconcerned. "I couldn't care a flip about houses in Knoxville," she told him. "That house ought to be blue like the sky, not white as death."
Cleav shook his head and laughed lightly. "You are not getting your way on this, Esme," he said with mock severity. "If you want to paint something blue, we can paint the store. My house is going to be white and nothing else."
"The store can be blue," she said, nodding. "At least for now. I suspect we'll be building a bigger store in a few years anyway. It will have to be brick, of course."
Cleav nuzzled her neck and gave her a playful bite on her throat "Of course," he agreed with a chuckle.
Since the night of love in the hatching house, Cleav had given up his late evenings in the library. As soon as it was decently dark the young couple hurried to the privacy of their room. Romping like children, they wore the bedsheets thin.
If in the still, sated silence of the darkest part of night Esme doubted she could make him happy, she never let it show.
If the dark circles under his eyes indicated a habitual lack of sleep, Cleav never complained. But he did wonder to himself if having her love him could be any better.
Cleav could no longer even imagine life without Esme. And Esme felt that she had never lived before she lived with Cleav.
They were easy together.
Sorting the barrels in the store together, their conversation strayed to both commerce and fish breeding.
"If we could figure out a way to keep the ice from melting, we could take a wagonload of fresh trout down to the city and make a pretty penny," Cleav suggested.
Esme, standing on a small stepladder beside the shelves, looked down at her husband.
"And if we had wings, we could just fly over the mountains, too," Esme replied with feigned impatience.
Cleav refused to be daunted. "We could store the fish in a mesh sack and drag them downriver in a boat," he said, his eyes thoughtful as he considered the possibility.
Esme nodded hopefully. "And what the gators didn't eat, the folks in the city could?" she suggested.
"There are no gators in the Nolichucky River," Cleav answered.
"Well, save to graces," Esme exclaimed. "Let's raise some and put them in there!"
That remark earned Esme a gentle slap on the fanny.
With a snort of disapproval, Pearly Beachum stopped examining the nickel powders and stormed out of the store in protest.
The two, finding themselves unexpectedly alone, glanced at each other guiltily before good humor overwhelmed them.
Laughing, Esme jumped down into her husband's arms, wrapping her long, stocking-clad legs around his waist.
"We are shocking the neighbors," she declared as she rubbed her bosom wantonly against his chest.
"It isn't the first time," Cleav answered, his hands cheerfully cupping her bottom. "That's how we got together in the first place."
"Are you sorry?" Esme asked, surprised at her own candid question.
Cleav's expression momentarily turned serious and then a mischievous smile brightened his face. Rubbing himself lewdly against her, he answered, "Only if you're going to make me wait until after supper."
Esme playfully reprimanded him with a slap on the shoulder. "I most certainly am going to make you wait. You have got to get back to work, Mr. Rhy. You've got a family to support."
Cleav shook his head in mock solemnity. "You're right about that," he said. "I've got a garden-grubbing mother, a fiddling father-in-law, a set of lovelorn twins, and a positively wicked wife with the longest, lustiest legs in Tennessee.
Esme giggled and then gave a flirty swipe of her tongue to his ear.
"I do promise, Mr. Cleavis Rhy, my dear husband," she stated baldly, "to make myself absolutely worth the wait."
And she was.
It was on a Thursday when the mail arrived that Cleav, brimming with excitement, left the store in the not very dependable hands of his father-in-law and rushed to the house.
"Esme!" he called, banging open the front door with atypical unconcern for the fine piece of oblong beveled glass in its middle. "Esme! Where are you?"
Her hair tied up in a kerchief, Esme stepped out of the back parlor, feather duster in hand. "Save to graces, Cleav. What has happened?"
As if in answer, he held up a long, slim envelope.
Esme looked at it curiously.
"What is it?"
"A letter from Mr. Simmons of Springfield, Massachusetts," Cleav replied, his eyes bright with enthusiasm.
"Who?"
"The gentleman of the American Fish Culturists Association." Cleav's face was wreathed in smiles that were instantaneously contagious.
"Oh, yes," Esme said finally. "One of your trout friends from up north."
"Well, he's not a friend," Cleav corrected her modestly. "Although the gentleman is a frequent correspondent" Smiling broadly, he added, "And today he sent some very thrilling news."
Esme grinned. "Well, are you going to tell me or make my bile choler trying to guess?"
"Mr. Simmons is coming to Vader," he said, hugging her to him.
"What?"
Cleav laughed out loud at his wife's expression.
"Mr. Theodatus G. Simmons of Springfield, Massachusetts, is coming to Vader, Tennessee, to"—Cleav opened up the envelope and read from the letter inside—" 'survey the trout-breeding experiments of a fellow pisciculturist'— that's me."
Esme's face paled and she stood speechless before him.
"Surprised?" he asked but continued without waiting for a reply. "There's more. On his way down here he'll be stopping in Washington, D.C., to meet his friend, Mr. Benjamin Westbrook of the U.S. Deputy Fish Commissioner's office, to accompany him."
Cleav laughed with genuine joy. "Can you believe it? Two of the most important gentlemen in the fish-culture movement are coming to Cleavis Rhy's little trout farm in Tennessee!"
"That's wonderful," Esme said. Her words rang flat and toneless, but Cleav was too excited to notice.
"I suggested such a visit months ago," he explained. "But never in my most optimistic dream did I imagine that they would actually accept my invitation."
Laughing again, he pulled Esme close and held her tightly. "Do you realize what this means, Hillbaby?" he said. "It means recognition of my accomplishments, validation of my work." He shook his head with delighted disbelief. "It means that maybe, just maybe, my achievements will see acknowledgment. Pisciculturists all over the country"—he raised his arms in a broader gesture— "maybe all over the world will hear about my experiments, my ponds, my trout."
"That's wonderful," Esme tried again more enthusiastically, but something about her reply still didn't ring true.
"Three weeks," Cleav told her excitedly. "Just three weeks and we'll have those esteemed gentlemen right here in this very house!" With his arms wrapped tightly around her waist, Cleav lifted Esme right off her feet and spun her around like two children playing Whirling Dizzy.
"Yes!" Cleav hollered as he spun.
Esme found herself pushing back the block of cold fear as she tried to join her husband in laughing at his foolish antics.
When he finally stopped, they both weaved in place for a moment as the room continued to spin. Then Cleav lowered his lips to hers in a sweet, joyful kiss that, with a quick flick of the tongue, turned to naughty loveplay.
Esme basked in the
hot sensuality for a moment before hearing a giggle from the doorway of the sewing parlor. Pulling away from her husband, Esme gave Adelaide a disapproving look.
"Mind your own business!" she told her huffily.
"Business!" Cleav said and slapped his palm against his forehead as if his brain didn't work perfectly. "You mind your business, Miss Snoopy Crabb," he told the twin. "And I'd best get back to minding my own," he added to Esme with one last hasty kiss. "Your daddy is probably fiddling as the store burns!"
With a wave and a promise he was off.
Esme closed the door behind him and watched him take the steps down two at a time as he hurried off toward the General Merchandise. There was no smile on Esme's face as she watched him go.
"Three weeks," she whispered aloud. "In three weeks two of the most important gentlemen in the fish-culturist movement will be coming to Vader, Tennessee, to meet Cleavis Rhy." Tears stung her eyes, and she bit her lip to hold them back.
They were going to find some fancy ponds and some dandy fish, she thought. And they were going to discover that their friend—no, their correspondent—Mr. Rhy, was married to an ignorant hill cracker.
"Oh, Cleav." She sighed aloud. "You've wanted this so long. You've wanted to be one of them."
Weaving her hands together in a double fist, she placed them earnestly at her chin.
Oh, please. Don't let me ruin it for him.
Two days later Esme determinedly reminded herself that "the Lord helps those who help themselves" and sought out her mother-in-law.
Eula Rhy was not hard to find. A large floppy hat on her head, her voice was raised in a loud off-key rendition of "Why Are You Weeping, Sister?"
Esme interrupted her right in the middle of "I was foolish and fair and my form was rare."
"Mother Rhy," she said. "I need to talk to you about something."
The older woman looked up from the impatiens she was carefully replanting in the shady spot next to the house. "Why, what's wrong with you, girl?" the woman asked. "You're not looking quite yourself today." The older woman eyed her up and down curiously. "You're not in a 'delicate condition' already?"
"Oh, no," Esme assured her quickly. "It's just that . . . well
Eula Rhy sighed loudly with impatience. "For mercy's sake, child, say what you have to say. These plants don't have time to waste on your nonsense."
"Well," Esme tried again. "I'm not really sure what to say."
Mrs. Rhy snorted in disbelief. "If there's one thing no one would accuse you of, it's not being able to speak your mind!"
Tightening her jaw bravely, Esme finally blurted out, "You know that these fancy fish folks are coming to visit my Cleavis."
"Lord, yes," Eula answered with an unconcerned wave of her arm. "I may be old, but I'm not deaf. That's all that boy can talk about these days."
Deciding that Esme's interruption was unimportant, the older woman kneeled forward again and began working the dirt through her hands.
Esme raised her chin in shameful defiance and admitted the worst
"This-is-very-important-to-Cleav-he's-been-waiting-for-a-chance-like-this-ever-since-he-came-back-from-Knoxville-and-these-gentlemen-just-have-to-like-him-and-accept-him-as-a-gentleman-too-and-I-don't-know-one-blame-thing-about-being-a-lady-or-how-to-serve-gentlemen-or-what-to-serve-gentlemen-and-it's-just-like-you-said-I-won't-be-any-good-as-a-wife-to-Cleav-and-I'm-going-to-shame-him-and-ruin-it-for-him-and-I-just-can't-do-that-to-him-and-you've-got-to-help-me."
It was enough to capture her mother-in-law's attention. The older woman studied her curiously. "You're worried about being an embarrassment to Cleavy?" she asked.
Biting her lip painfully, Esme nodded.
Eula Rhy shook her head in disbelief and chuckled lightly. "Esme," she said. "Dear girl, there was a time when I worried about just the same thing." With a smile of amused remembrance, she continued. "I told you the night you married that you weren't the wife for Cleavis." The older woman's smile was broad now. "But you've proved I was wrong."
Esme looked up, startled. "What?"
"I said you've proved me wrong," she repeated. "I thought my son wanted—no, needed—to be a gentleman." She sighed heavily. "Lord only knows what happened in Knoxville to change him so, but he did come back a very different boy than the one I sent."
Picking up one of the flowers, she examined it for insects. "He came back so stuffy and proper," she said. "Truth is, I didn't quite know what to make of it. But I love that boy, and like you, I didn't want to let him down."
Leaning back on her knees, Eula Rhy pulled off one very dirty glove and held her hand up to Esme. "Help me up," she ordered. "One thing about getting old, no matter how much you enjoy doing a thing, your bones do get stiffened up by the time you stop doing it"
Esme helped her to her feet, and the two walked together to the front of the house. In the distance could be heard the rhythmic melody of tree felling. The smell of fresh-cut pine was in the air, wafting along with honeysuckle in bloom.
The piece of sky overhead was exactly the color Esme wanted to paint the house, and a couple of high white clouds floated along it.
Down near the river Yohan had found a piece of shade and was playing a soft summer tune that had the power to bring a smile to anyone's face.
It almost brought a smile to Esme's until she remembered the errand she was on and the danger and disappointment she saw for the man she loved. For herself, she didn't care. She'd been facing shame for who she was since she was big enough to walk under a wagon. She'd learned how to ignore it, accept it, make herself stronger for it
But Cleav was different. Cleav fought it. Like Esme, for years pride had stuck in his craw. But unlike her, he'd never swallowed it.
This time, for his sake, Esme wasn't swallowing it either. She was as good as anyone else, she'd told herself from childhood Now, for Cleav, she was going to have to prove it
They'd walked to the front of the house, and Mrs. Rhy removed her other glove and tucked both carefully into her gardening apron. Reaching the shade of the porch, Eula untied the ribbons on her hat and gestured for Esme to sit with her on the swing.
"Just like you are thinking," she said, as if no lull in the conversation had existed. "I wanted to be a help to Cleav. I wanted to see that he got the kind of life that he wanted.
"He built this big old house, too big by half, when we'd been living fine for years in the one his granddaddy built. He filled it up with city things and talked about city people and city ways until it nearly scared the life out of me."
Eula shook her head and patted Esme's hand in comfort. "I'm really just a hill girl, not much better off than you," she said. "I've probably had more book learning, but I never thought about being a lady or taking up fancy ways until Cleav came back from Knoxville."
The woman sighed wistfully.
"I hated for him to give up his schooling like that, but after my man died"—Eula looked off into the distance, her expression one of remembered pain—"I just couldn't seem to make it on my own."
Eula's expression was one of self-contempt. "I made him come home from school. Everyone thought it was because I couldn't run the store and didn't have money."
Eula shook her head, and her next words were low and had the ring of sincerity. "I could have managed by myself. But I didn't," she said firmly. "Because I didn't want to."
The confession was hard won. Never having voiced her shameful truth aloud, Eula's eyes momentarily misted, and she wiped them quickly on the cleanest corner of her apron.
"Here was my quiet, confused only son," she said. "He was no longer a boy and not quite a man. And I thought only of what I wanted. He tried to do the right and honorable thing."
Eula shook her head with both sadness and pride.
"Not only did my boy lose the daddy he loved, he lost the life that he loved, too. I stole it from him."
"Oh, Mother Rhy," Esme interrupted. "I'm sure ..."
Eula turned to the younger woman as if to will her t
o understand. "You're Cleavy's wife now. Let the others believe the kinder lies, but we need to have truth between us.”
Esme nodded.
"When I finally realized how spoiled and selfish I'd been," she continued solemnly, "it was too late to change things."
There was a sad, quiet moment of silence as Esme tried clumsily to comfort the mother of the man she loved.
"I wanted to make things up to him, you see," she explained. "I wanted to do those things that would make him happy. So," she said evenly, "I tried to be a fancy lady."
With a toss of her hand, Eula laughed lightly in self- derision. "Lord knows, I wasn't much good at it"
"You are a lady!" Esme protested.
"No, girl," the older woman insisted "I pretended to be one. It worked more or less, but it made me miserable."
"Miserable?"
"Clearly, I admit it" she said. "There were days after days that I couldn't even get up and face myself in the mirror."
"You were sick," Esme insisted.
Eula nodded. "Yes, I think I was," she said. "I was sick in my heart. I was living the life of a pure hypocrite. I couldn't be who I am, and I couldn't be who I tried to be, either."
She gave Esme a hopeful smile. "I was just waiting for the day when Cleavy would marry himself a real lady."
Esme's cheeks stained with fire, and she looked down with shame.
"I wanted him to marry dear little Sophrona," Eula said "because I thought she was what he needed. She'd never have to pretend the way I did"
"She was perfect for him," Esme whispered dejectedly.
Mrs. Rhy laughed at her words. "Seems that you're as wrong about that as I was," she told Esme, chucking her lightly under the chin.
"Wrong?"
"Completely, totally, a mile off, wrong."
Esme considered her words for a moment "You mean because Sophrona fell in love with Armon?" Esme asked
With a spurt of mirthful laughter Eula wrapped an arm around Esme's shoulder and squeezed "Now, that was a sight, wasn't it? Lord, I thought I'd die laughing for sure when Old Man Tyree threw that bucket of water on Mabel Tewksbury, and she came up spurting like a hog in vermin dip."
