To cheat surprise and prying eyes,
Why, kiss me quick and go!
The week had beena long and frustrating one. Esme had been a constant companion, and his mother's complaints had become almost frantic. "What in heaven's name is the reverend going to say about her underfoot every day?" Eula Rhy had worried. "And I shudder to even think what Mrs. Tewksbury must be imagining."
"Mother, Mrs. Tewksbury's imagination is truly not a great concern of mine," Cleav had replied.
Ultimately it had all become too much for Mrs. Rhy, and she'd taken her nerves to bed. That had been two days ago, and Cleav hadn't been able to budge the older woman.
Today, however, she had moved from the bed to her sewing rocker, happily contemplating the news that Cleav would indeed be escorting Miss Sophrona to the taffy pull.
"Why don't you join us. Mother?" he'd suggested dutifully.
Eula Rhy had smiled at her son with pleasure but refused his invitation. "I really must save my strength for Sunday. I can't be traipsing out for frolic and then not make it to the Lord's house on the Sabbath."
Cleav had expressed the appropriate degree of disappointment, but now, as he straightened his tie before the glass in the downstairs entryway, he was grateful to be going out alone. The walk from the church to the parsonage was unreasonably short, but he expected a moment or two of blessed privacy with Miss Sophrona.
He checked his appearance in the mirror, both in profile and straight ahead. He was no handsome dandy, he decided, but he had the look of a well-groomed, well-tended, prosperous gentleman, exactly the image he chose to portray. He pulled his timepiece out of his watch pocket. Ten minutes before he was due at the Tewksburys'.
After setting his stylish bowler hat at a slightly jaunty angle, he picked up the bright little nosegay of flowers he'd taken from his mother's garden and headed out the door.
There was still a good bit of light; Cleav suspected it was planned that the couples travel to the party in decent sunlight. By the end of the evening, it would be up to the ladies and their fathers, who would be escorted back home through the darkness.
With a smile of self-assurance, Cleav reminded himself that Reverend Tewksbury trusted him completely. His satisfied smile dimmed slightly as he recalled that, of late, the reverend's attitude was somewhat less enthusiastic.
It was this worry and the woman that caused it that was on Cleav's mind as he headed past the front gate.
Unexpectedly Esme Crabb jumped into his path from behind the chestnut tree.
"Hello!" Her words were slightly breathless with anticipation.
Cleav was at first startled, and then annoyed. Was he never to be free of her constant presence?
Then he noticed there was something different about her. Something far more appealing than usual. He sensed that immediately, his body more quickly than his mind, as a surge of hot desire rolled through him. The sudden need to touch this woman was as unexpected as it was unwanted.
She stood there, staring at him as if waiting for his approval, his flattery, perhaps even his kisses. He realized the change was a different dress, a ladies' dress. For the first time she really shone to advantage. Then the image blurred. The pristine white lawn and the neatly tucked bodice pleats conjured up a different picture, a picture of the same cloth draped attractively across the lush bosom of another woman.
He was so startled he blurted out the first thing he thought. "What are you doing in Miss Sophrona's dress?" The question was harsh enough to be an accusation.
"It's not . . ." Esme began. She was so startled at his words that her face paled and the choked denial was forced from her lips.
"It most certainly is!" Cleav's tone was adamant. "I see you've tried to disguise it, but I'd recognize that dress anywhere. Miss Sophrona wore it to the Fourth of July picnic, and I brought her a cup of punch."
Cleav's words clutched at Esme's heart like a vise.
"Have you taken to helping yourself to other women's clothing the way you help yourself to crackers in my store?"
"It's my dress," Esme answered, her voice raw with pain. "It was in the charity basket. Miss Sophrona must have thrown it away."
Esme looked down at the beautiful white lawn garment and fought back the stinging in her eyes. "It's the nicest thing I ever owned," she said quietly. "And some other woman threw it away."
Spying the little bouquet of phlox in her hand, Esme was suddenly horrified at her own presumption. Trying to dress herself up with flowers and ribbons, she was appalled at how comical she must appear in her cast-off charity clothes.
Tears close, she flung her flowers to the ground and turned from him, raising her skirts high as she ran.
"Esme!" he called to her, but she ran on.
Cleav was horrified at himself.He'd been stunned at his reaction to Esme Crabb prettied up. And because of it he'd been deliberately cruel.
