Esme brought the beautiful scraps of dainty cloth up to her heart. Never in her life had she owned anything so beautiful, so feminine, so new.
Cleav might have tossed them to her on a whim, but for Esme they represented all that was fine and beautiful and civilized in the world. And they were given to her by the most wonderful, handsome, intelligent man any woman could ever dream of. She would wear them for him, every day. And each time she put them on, it would be as if he'd touched her flesh himself.
"Save to graces, Cleavis," she murmured. "They are beautiful." Tears welled up in her eyes until she could barely make out the beauty of the tiny pink bows. His expression was still as dark as a thundercloud, but she could no longer see it.
"Thank you, Cleavis," she managed to whisper with breathy excitement. "Thank you so very much."
The tears were now threatening to flow. Esme wanted to cry for joy, but not in front of him. She fled to the doorway, intending to run to the solitude of the woods with her treasured gift. Alone, with none to spy her sentiment, she could caress and kiss the pretty pink ribbons and model the feminine garments with none to see but herself and the woodchucks.
Rushing through the door, blinded by her tears, she ran smack dab into Pearly Beachum.
"Lord almighty!" Pearly exclaimed. "You pretty near knocked me down, girlie."
"Sorry," Esme answered, breathlessly, still unbalanced by the collision.
Pearly looked at her more closely.
"You crying, Esme?"
"Oh, no, ma'am," Esme assured her as the first of the welling teardrops took that inconvenient opportunity to dribble from the sides of her eyes.
"You are crying!" Pearly exclaimed. "Has something happened? Has he done something to you?"
"No, nothing's happened," Esme said, but brought the back of her hand up to wipe her eyes.
Mrs. Beachum saw a flash of pink and white within the young woman's grasp.
"What have you got there in your hands?"
The woman's voice sounded so suspicious, Esme immediately thought she was accusing her of stealing something.
"It's a gift from Mr. Rhy," she explained hurriedly.
Her curiosity unappeased, the older woman, a well-known busybody, grabbed Esme's hands and forced them open.
"Garters!" She nearly screamed the word Pearly Beachum was clear shocked right down to her toes. "Cleavis Rhy gave you a pair of garters?"
Chapter Ten
It had rained all morning and the path up the mountain was soggy with mud, but Cleav took no notice. It was exactly the kind of day he expected it to be: morose, gray, and threatening. All his days had been like that lately. Ever since he'd heard Pearly Beachum screeching from the front door.
He'd hurried out to see what had happened. Mrs. Beachum had taken one look at him and slammed him beside the head with her silver-topped parasol. Then she'd put her arm protectively around Esme and had dragged the young woman away.
That was four days ago. The last time he had seen Esme Crabb, but far from the last time he'd heard about her. He'd heard little else.
"The people of this community will not tolerate such shenanigans," Brother Oswald had stated publicly. And Fat Blanchard had backed him up.
"Giving a decent woman a present of underwear is tantamount to a marriage proposal," he stated. "It always has been."
At first, he'd thought he could ride out the storm. He would get himself respectably, married to Miss Sophrona and eventually the talk would die down.
He owned the only general store for miles. Even those who disapproved of him would think twice about heading over the mountains to Russellville just to buy coffee and sugar. It was simply a matter of time and the whole thing would be forgotten.
Unfortunately, he was wrong.
When he went to speak with Miss Sophrona, the preacher had slammed the door in his face. It was only his refusal to leave the parsonage porch that finally brought Reverend Tewksbury out with the word that Miss Sophrona had taken to her bed with such a malaise that her parents were worried for her health. The preacher made it crystal clear that, as far as he and his family were concerned, the pink-and-white unmentionables that Esme Crabb had carried out of the store that day meant that Cleavis Rhy was now a married man.
The store remained empty, and his neighbors refused to speak to him. And his home was even worse. Eula Rhy put on her mourning, complete with black satin shoes and a veil, claiming that she could never outlive the shame. Every few moments she would sniff daintily into a black lace hankie.
