The fat in the pan began its noisy sizzle, and Eula focused her attention on it for a moment before pouring the thickened corn paste into the hot grease. "But yesterday," she continued without bothering to look back at Cleavis, "Sophrona says that she may have been unfair and judged you too harshly."
Eula turned to face her son, hoping to see a positive reaction to her words. His face revealed nothing.
"Mabel and I think that she's ready to forgive and forget and that you should strike while the iron is hot."
Cleav looked up at his mother but didn't respond.
Eula was exasperated. "I'm coming to the store early today. You pick up a nice little bunch of flowers for Miss Sophrona and go over there and see if you two can make it up."
Cleav raised his eyes to his mother's, but there was no obedient young son in his look. "Mother, Miss Sophrona and I are no concern of Mabel Tewksbury or yourself."
His mother's expression was incredulous. "No concern? You are our children. Whatever else are we supposed to be concerned about?"
He looked at his mother with eyes that were not particularly sympathetic. "I will make it up with Miss Sophrona in my own way, in my own time," he said flatly.
Eula Rhy smiled at him with just the right measures of approval and condescension. "Of course you will, Cleav," she told him. "I'm just letting you know that today is the right time and this afternoon at the Tewksbury parsonage is the right place." Mrs. Rhy plopped a generous amount of the thick, yellow fried contents of the pan onto Cleav's plate and set it before him.
He eyed it with disapproval.
"Mother, you know I don't care for mush."
"It's for your stomach."
"My stomach? There's nothing wrong with my stomach."
Eula shook a finger at him in maternal correction. "You can't fool me, young man," she told him. "I heard you myself way late in the night. Moaning in your sleep, like you was set to die."
Cleav's eyes widened perceptibly, and his face flushed redder than hot coals under molasses. His gaze dropped to the unappetizing mush on his plate, and dutifully he picked up his spoon and took a bite.
He missed his mother's smile of approval, unwilling to raise his head to look her in the eye. He had been moaning in his sleep last night, but it hadn't been the dyspepsia that pained him. Esme Crabb had haunted his dreams. Since that illicit kiss beside the pond, her image had become a most frequent visitor through his sleep.
Unlike the erotic dreams of his boyhood, where he'd felt satisfied and rested the next morning, today's morning light found him edgy, restless, and plagued by thoughts that were increasingly carnal.
Night after night her long, bare legs teased and tempted him, clutching at him in wantonness. Last night she'd wrapped them around his neck, and whimpering and begging, she'd pulled him to her closer, closer…
He'd awakened, disappointed, with a mouth full of pillow feathers and an ache that could not be soothed with a glass of fresh milk and a bowl of mush.
Just recalling the wicked fantasy made him stiffen at his own breakfast table. Not exactly the most respectable way for a gentleman to act. Certainly, very inappropriate when sitting across the table from one's mother as she chattered on about the woman one is supposed to be planning to marry.
He took no pride in his illicit imaginings about Esme Crabb. Clearly, however, the situation was out of his control. He'd warned the young woman that his intentions were dishonorable, and he'd expected, hoped, that would be the end of her girlish infatuation. Still, she persisted in following him around like a shadow, flaunting herself brazenly before him.
"Sophrona is exactly the kind of daughter-in-law that I've always wanted," his mother was saying.
"Yes, Mother," Cleav answered absently. "She is without question the perfect choice for a wife."
"Then you mustn't delay a minute longer," she insisted. "This afternoon when she agrees to forgive you, you should propose immediately!"
"Mother!" Cleav's annoyance was tangible. "I told you that I will do things in my own time and in my own way."
Eula Rhy sniffed with disapproval. "Well, your 'own time' better be soon," she warned. "That horrible Crabb girl is making you the talk of this town. Miss Sophrona may not be interested in you if this goes on much longer."
"She's not 'that horrible Crabb girl,'" Cleav said hotly. "She's just young and confused and fancies herself in love with me."
His mother raised a skeptical eyebrow and sniffed with disdain. "Seems to me she may be getting older and wiser every day."
"Mornin',Esme," Rog Wicker called as he stepped through the front door of the store. "Mornin', Cleav," he added almost as an afterthought.
"Good morning," Cleav answered, but his jaw was set in disapproval. It had been that way all morning.
