Although only a couple of years separated the two in age, a world of living stood between them. As children, Sophrona had played with the twins, unaware of the difference in their status. As time had passed, however, the concerns of the well-fed, well-tended young woman diverged greatly from the daily struggles of the Crabb family.
Esme, however, had always been aware of the difference. There had been no carefree childhood for her, just as it seemed there would be no careworn adulthood for Sophrona. It would have been natural to feel jealousy, envy, even hatred. But Esme had always liked Sophrona. She couldn't help it. It was hard to make an enemy of someone whose cheerfulness was legend.
"Morning, Sophrona," Esme greeted her. She saw Cleav and the preacher at a distance. Cleav looked as if he'd just taken a big bite of green persimmon.
"That's a real pretty dress you got on," Esme commented honestly. "That blue looks real nice on you."
Sophrona smiled, delighted, and then glanced down at the dress. "Do you think so?" she asked, and then with a guarded glance back to her father she added with a naughty twinkle, "'Vanity, vanity, all is vanity.'"
Almost against her will Esme found herself smiling back. Sophrona had that way about her. She drew people to her and almost compelled them to enjoy the experience.
"I wanted to thank you for the basket we received," she said calmly, steeling herself to politeness, even as a pain clutched tightly at her. "I gathered from Mrs. Beachum that the idea and much of the gathering was done by you."
Sophrona waved away the gratitude with a pleasant word. "We all wanted to do it," she said easily. "'A man that hath friends must shew himself friendly,'" she quoted.
Her smile faded slightly, and she glanced to the side warily. She moved closer to Esme. "Follow me," she whispered. With a guarded look behind her, she grasped Esme's arm and led her toward a deserted corner of the store.
"Have you seen the new crepe de chine Mr. Rhy has purchased?" she asked Esme with considerably more volume than was necessary. "I declare that color would be perfect for you."
Walking beside her, Esme gave Sophrona a very puzzled glance. "I could never afford to buy crepe de chine," she whispered, embarrassed.
"I know," Sophrona answered easily. "I just wanted to speak to you alone. Here it is," she began again more loudly.
Opening the cabinet into which were neatly stacked the bolts of sturdy rugged materials, Sophrona pulled out the extra-long remnant of rose crepe de chine that a drummer had thrown in with Cleav's last order.
As the two women reverently ran their hands across the beautiful material, Sophrona spoke. "There's been talk about you and Mr. Rhy."
"Oh?" Esme felt a blush stain her cheek, and she was grateful that Sophrona kept her eyes on the cloth.
"I heard a bit at church yesterday," she admitted. "Everyone was determined not to let me find out what was going on, but I know they're saying you've been seen together."
"I . . ." Esme began but immediately hesitated. Should she explain? Deny? She planned to marry Cleavis Rhy, but perhaps Miss Sophrona did, too.
"In the afternoon we took tea at Mrs. Rhy's home," Sophrona explained as she leaned forward conspiratorially. "They sent me into the house. Mother said that I needed to fix my hair." Sophrona sighed with exasperation. "Sometimes I wonder if they think I am stupid. I did fix my hair, of course," she said, "but I listened at the parlor window."
This quiet avowal was made with such seriousness, it sounded as if she were confessing to murder.
Sophrona raised her eyes to meet Esme's gaze. "I'm not sure exactly what they are accusing you two of," the young woman admitted. "But I want you to know," she said firmly, "I don't believe a word of it."
Taking Esme's hand in her own, Sophrona gave it a warm squeeze.
Cleav was never moregrateful to leave the suddenly close confines of the store for the freedom of the fish ponds. When his mother arrived, she had looked even more horrified than the reverend at the sight of Esme Crabb making herself at home.
"Son," the preacher had said quietly as they had watched the two young women admiring a piece of dress goods, "just having her here in the building with you is fodder for the gossips."
"I can't throw her out," Cleav said reasonably. "If the girl doesn't steal or cause trouble, she's got as much right to be in the store as anyone else."
"You think she's not causing trouble?" The preacher looked skeptical.
Cleav couldn't argue with the man about that. In the town's eyes Esme Crabb was causing trouble.
"Is that girl addled?" his mother had asked. "She acts like she works here."
"She's trying to help out," Cleav explained hesitantly.
"Help out?" His mother spoke as if the idea horrified her.
"Just ignore her. Mother," Cleav advised. "She'll soon tire of this nonsense."
