Chapter Five
“Ideclare 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.
