"That's where most women start their married life," he said, "half-yearning, half-curious."
"I've heard that it hurts?" Her statement was formed like a question.
There was a perceptible nod of agreement. "Your mama said it hurt some the first time," he admitted. "But I think it's mostly just so downright embarrassing," he said.
Yohan gazed thoughtfully across the meadow toward the church. "A gal is told for twenty years to keep herself decently covered, and then she stands a few moments in front of the preacher and finds herself married up to a fellow she hardly knows." Yo Crabb shook his head in disbelief. "And she's supposed to lift up her nightgown for him like it was nothing!"
Esme covered her own burning cheeks at the thought.
"And the fellow," Yo continued. "He's pert-near as ignorant as she is. The most of what he knows about it is stories he's heard from other men. Nearly all of which are lies and bragging. Now he's supposed to reassure her, comfort her, and please her while his own heart's a-beating so loudly he can't hear himself think and he's touching and squeezing things he's been dreaming about for years."
With a pessimistic sigh, Crabb gently patted his daughter's cheek and carefully smoothed a stray lock of her hair. "What I'm aiming to say, Esme-girl," he told her, "is that it ain't always perfect right away. Things between a man and a woman take time. That's why God made marriage forever."
Yo looked into her eyes seeking assurance. "I'd feel better about this, Esme, if I knew that you loved him."
Esme nearly choked on the words, but she knew they had to be said. "I was thinking to marry him for all of us, Pa. I figured I could get along with just about any fellow with some money." She hesitated. "Truly, I didn't expect to feel nothing special, but I think I really do love him, Pa," she admitted. "I just can't seem to help myself. I just wish he loved me."
Her father's smile brightened. "He will, Esme-girl," he told her. "How can he help himself?"
She was late.Cleav forced himself not to look at his watch again. Everybody was staring at him. Sweat beaded on his brow as a glistening accent to his florid complexion. Grandpa McCray had once told him a story about his boyhood in Scotland, where sinners were made to sit on a chair in front of the church, and the congregation stared at them as a punishment. In Cleav's youth he'd thought they'd gotten off easy. Now he wasn't so sure.
Maude Honsucker, who was every bit of ninety, was providing the music. She had warned Cleavis that she could only play the tunes that she could remember. This morning her memory was apparently not too lively as she'd been playing the same hymn repeatedly for a good twenty minutes. And her very soulful rendition of "Nearer My God to Thee" had Cleavis thinking that rather than standing to the right of the pulpit, he should be lying in a box in front of it.
Scanning the crowd, he noted, not for the first time, that it was an exceptional turnout. He'd had hopes that since his own mother refused to make an appearance, the rest of the community would do likewise. But it looked to Cleav as if Mrs. Rhy was the only living soul within ten miles that was not in attendance.
Even Sophrona, looking brave and beautiful, sat with her mother on the second pew on the left. Her head was held high, and her face betrayed no emotion. He had never anticipated that she would be there. Although there had been no understanding between them, there had been expectation. Perhaps that was why she hadn't stayed away. Community sympathy would have embarrassed her. No doubt she would be the first to wish Cleav and his new bride well.
Cleav cringed with disgust and gave into the urge to check his watch. Maybe she just wanted to be a part of the audience that watched Cleavis Rhy be left waiting at the church!
With an audible creak, the door to the church opened and the Crabb twins sauntered in. Behind him, Cleav heard Reverend Tewksbury sigh in audible relief. Apparently, he wasn't the only one who'd begun to wonder.
Swinging clasped hands as they made their way down the aisle, the two pretty young girls hesitated only once to giggle when Armon Hightower gave them a broad wink. As they reached the front of the church, the two gave Cleav a haughty glance before assuming their places.
"Is she on her way?" Cleav whispered to the nearest twin, unable to tell one from the other.
"She's outside talking to Pa," she answered, pausing only an instant to watch Cleav's shoulders relax before she added spitefully, "I think he's trying to convince her to go through with this." This last was said quite loudly.
Humiliation flooded Cleav like Indian Creek in the springtime. The crowd tittered as the Crabb girl's words were hastily repeated and spread like a fire through the sanctuary. He had no idea where to direct his gaze. He didn't want to see his friends and neighbors laughing at his expense. Unexpectedly the memory of the Crabbs' charity basket came to mind. As if it were yesterday, Cleav could see Esme standing proud and strong, her eyes focused on an unseen horizon as she gazed over the heads of the crowd.
Cleav raised his chin and stared at the distant nothingness. If Esme could will herself unashamed, so could he. His mind traveled back in time to his school days in Knoxville. Again, he heard the taunts and laughter of young gentlemen in tailor-made suits. Strangely, the sting was not as cutting. Had time softened the images of his humbling? Or had experience taught him taunts didn't matter?
The door to the church opened, and Cleav watched the woman who would be his wife step inside. She hesitated for a moment inside the door and then squinted toward the front.
Cleav's face broke into a delighted smile. Esme's vision wasn't good enough to see him, yet, but he could see her perfectly. Her chin raised and determined, she was as ill-at-ease and embarrassed as he was. Somehow that pleased him.
The Widow Honsucker abruptly changed the sad lament she played to a rousing "When the Roll Is Called Up Yonder, I'll Be There."
Taking her father's arm, Esme led, rather than followed him, up the aisle. Brother Oswald stood, detaining her momentarily, as he handed her a small bouquet of lupins, cut from the bushes at the side of the church. The stems were carefully wrapped with white ribbons and a shield of leaves protected the blossoms, since the touch of hands would darken the petals. The sweet pungent odor already filled the room. Esme breathed in a deep fragrant breath.
Looking up, her eyes met Cleav's. They gave each other the cautious look of two people joined more by fate than free will. Esme lowered her gaze discreetly and continued at her father's side, making her way to the front of the church.
When they reached the preacher, her father at her left, his fiddle tucked neatly under his arm, and her sisters at her right, attractively and identically turned out in their Sunday best, Esme focused her attention on Reverend Tewksbury.
But Cleavis focused his attention on her.
"Dearly Beloved," the reverend began. His voice was hoarse and caught unexpectedly. After clearing his throat, he began again. “Dearly Beloved. We are gathered here in the presence of God to unite this man and this woman in the bonds of holy matrimony. An honorable estate ..."
Cleav was not listening. His eyes and his thoughts were on Esme standing barely a yard away. He would never have chosen her, he reminded himself. But perhaps it wouldn't be so bad. He remembered the warmth of her kisses, the feel of her body pressed close to his, and—oh heaven of heavens— those long, lovely legs. He reminded himself that she was bright and hardworking. Although she certainly would not be an asset on his arm, he thought she might clean up well and wouldn't look too bad in decent clothes. He was willing to make the best of it.
