"Good heavens! What are you doing out here, Cleavy?"
His forehead was furrowed with worry. "I was waiting to take Esme up to our room."
"Oh, I can do that!" Mrs. Rhy said impatiently. "You go ahead and get your bath."
Cleav looked ready to argue, but Eula whisked past him, her arm firmly around Esme's waist, leading her upstairs.
"The furniture in this room came all the way from North Carolina," Eula told her as they stepped across the threshold. "Cleavis has very fashionable taste but an eye to quality. All of these pieces were hand-lathed from native black walnut."
Esme gazed with awe at the massive pieces of dark furniture. There were enough shelves and drawers to hide everything in the town of Vader. The huge wardrobe had a beveled glass mirror. The bed was wider and longer than any Esme had ever seen, and the headboard touched the ceiling.
"Save to graces, it's a palace!" Her whispered exclamation was so horrified, Eula Rhy turned to look at her curiously.
"Wasn't that what you wanted?"
Before Esme had time to answer, she found herself alone.
"I didn't expect a palace!" she answered the empty room. "I only wanted a good sturdy roof over my family's head." Even as she said it, the words rang false.
Somewhere between that first day in the General Merchandise and the "I do" she'd spoken earlier in the evening, Esme had fallen in love. But she knew, as she ran her hand along the pristine chenille bedspread, that she hadn't fallen for a man with a palace. She was in love with a man who was so gentle, he could call the fish to come eat from his hand.
She smiled as she recalled the memory. Sitting in his shadow, she'd felt so safe, so calm. It was as if the world had been lifted from her shoulders. As long as she was within his shadow, he would take care of her.
Take care of her? Esme smiled and shook her head. What a strange idea. Esme took care of everyone. She had no need for someone to take care of her.
With that, sweet memory floated in the remembrance of the other emotions of that day. The tingle that coursed through her as she became aware of his nearness. The catch in her breathing as she felt his breath on her neck. And the anxious jitters of anticipation that caused her to throw herself right into his arms.
Esme suppressed a nervous giggle and covered her pink cheeks with her hand. From this night on she would be in his arms, for better or worse, for the rest of their lives.
With that thought Esme scrambled into her bedclothes and braided her hair. Leaving one coal-oil lamp to light his way, she arranged herself in the big dark bed and waited with trembling anticipation for her husband.
She waited.
And waited.
She awakened when the other side of the bed dipped with his weight. The lamp had gone out and the room was dark as pitch.
"Cleav?" The question was a startled exclamation.
"Who else would it be?" His tone was tight with displeasure.
"No one," Esme answered in a small voice.
He lay down beside her and sighed loudly.
Wide awake now, Esme held herself as stiff as a board. This was their wedding night. He would make her his woman. But Cleav didn't move.
Maybe she should reach out to him, she thought. No, she'd thrown herself into his arms once before. Tonight he would have to reach for her. He would reach for her. When would he reach for her?
The minutes trickled past like hours, and Esme's whole body was rigid with anticipation.
The suspense became too much, and she spoke. "Cleav, I . . ." She had no idea how to continue. He had married her against his will. He didn't love her. Perhaps he didn't even want her.
"Cleav, I . . ."
He rolled to his side, facing away from her.
"Good night, Esme," he said.
