“None that was worth a poot ever tried," Esme said, then quickly she moved the subject back to the problem at hand.
"If either of you'd just give that storekeeper a second glance, the whole bunch of us would be living in a big white house and feasting on fried chicken for the rest of our lives!"
The sisters shook their heads obstinately.
"Not me," Agrippa proclaimed.
"Me, neither!" Adelaide parroted.
"You like Cleavis Rhy so much, then you marry him!"
"Why, he must be thirty years old!" the twins remarked incredulously.
"May I help you?" Cleavis Rhy had raised his head from the compelling pile of papers before him to look at his customer. His "gift-from-heaven" smile was still in place, and added to it, Esme found herself being watched by the warmest, palest blue eyes she'd ever seen.
Her throat went dry. Her heart pounded like a blacksmith's hammer. She blurted out the first thing that came to her mind.
"How old are you?"
Cleavis Rhy was momentarily startled by the question but quickly recovered himself.
"Twenty-six," he answered, his look now quizzical.
Esme nodded. "I thought you weren't as old as you act."
Cleav blinked at the curious statement, then looked at her more closely.
"You're one of Yohan Crabb's girls, aren't you?"
"Yep," Esme replied, raising her chin a bit defiantly.
He looked slightly uncomfortable now. "You understand that I can no longer extend credit to your father. However, if there is something vital that you need—"
"Don't need a thing," Esme answered quickly, swallowing the lump of shame that formed in her throat.
His smile returned, but it was a kindlier expression now. "There's cheese and crackers back on the barrels. Go help yourself."
"I didn't come 'cause I was hungry," Esme insisted, pride evident in every word.
"Of course not," he said. "But you can have a bite just the same."
Embarrassed now, Esme took one step away and saw him immediately return his attention to his papers.
It was now or never. She had come all the way down the mountain to say one thing. If she didn't say it now, she never would, and her family would be grubbing for toads and eating poke salad forever.
"You wanna marry me?"
"What?"
Esme stood ten feet away from him, their gazes were locked. Across the man's face she saw nothing less than shocked horror. Her face flamed like a fire, and she made a hasty prayer that the heavens would open up and strike her with lightning.
"I said, you got any huckleberry jam?"
A momentary strained silence followed. Finally, Cleav's brain absorbed the question.
"No, no huckleberry," he said quietly. "There's peach preserves and some plum butter."
Esme gave a slight nod and hurried toward the rear of the store. As she fished a cracker out of the barrel, her hand trembled. She doused the thin wafer heavily with plum butter, realizing that it was very unlikely that she would be able to swallow.
