Brother Wilbur gave the woman a comforting pat on the shoulder. "You may outlive us all," he told her.
Nola Hightower ignored him. She raised her eyes to the crowd. "When my boy Ephraim died," she began, "I was plumb tore up with grief."
Other women among the congregation who'd lost children of their own made sympathetic noises.
"I promised my son," Nola Hightower continued, "to take care of his baby boy, a motherless orphan."
A strange hush came over the crowd. Cleav swallowed and gave Esme a nervous look.
"I done all I could for that boy," the old woman said. "I weren't young anymore, but I raised him same as I did my own." The old lady's sigh was pitiable. "Now, the Bible done promised me," she said, "that if I raised up a child in the way he should go, then he'd sure enough go that way when he got growed."
Surreptitiously numerous members of the crowd began to glance toward the center of the fourth row.
"Tonight I'm praying that heaven will touch the black, sinning heart of my grandson, Armon Hightower, and lead him to get right with the Lord. I ain't going to live forever, and before I go to meet my Maker, I want to see that boy on the straight and narrow."
Cleav and Esme joined the rest of the crowd in turning to look at the young man behind them. The twins were both sober and flushed. Between them, Armon sat uncomfortably as a vivid red stain crept up his neck.
Even Esme felt sorry for him.
Chapter Seventeen
Alarge black cloud had formed on the western horizon, but the moon still shone bright enough to illuminate the summer night as the crowd dispersed down the little knoll and through the tiny town. Esme walked beside Cleav, her hand on his arm in the proper position of the escorted. Behind them, Yohan and Eula were muttering together about the surprising end of the first night of the revival. Agrippa seemed stunned into silence.
When they reached the turnoff for the house, Cleav hesitated.
"Why don't you all go on home," he suggested to his mother and in-laws. "Esme and I are going to check on the ponds."
"Check on the ponds?" Eula asked incredulously.
Yohan chuckled. "What in tarnation can you do for fish in the middle of the night?"
"Looks like a bad storm coming in from the west, and I don't want any of the dams to give. I'd surely hate to lose half my trout downstream."
As they separated from the group, Cleav cast an eye to his wife. Neither knew exactly what to say. Though they'd flirted with each other during the revival meeting, this was different. It seemed so long since they'd truly been alone together. The silence between them continued for several yards.
"You don't have to come with me if you're too tired, Esme," he said, hoping she'd stay.
Esme smiled at him shyly. "I was hoping we'd have a moment"
Cleav nodded with appropriate gravity. "It does seem we are somewhat short on those these days."
She agreed silently.
The moonlight shone across the water like a path to another world. The wind had picked up, and the smell of rain floated on it. They walked together quietly along the shore, lost in their own thoughts. Cleav stopped to inspect each of the earth, wood, and screen constructed dams that he'd built between the ponds.
Having constructed the system with his bare hands, it was solid and strong. Still, because he was a man who took his responsibilities seriously, Cleav tried to check the water-breaks carefully before each rainstorm. He'd learned the hard way that one weak-jointed corner could destroy a whole season's work.
Esme followed along with him, occasionally helping, but mostly just observing. In tonight's thoughtful mood she was amazed to find herself married to Cleavis Rhy. Only last winter she had hardly given him a second look. Now she couldn't take her eyes off him.
Carefully he made his way from one pond to the next. The ominous rumble of a thunderstorm could be heard now, but it was still far away. And he was so near.
He was quiet again tonight. He'd grown too quiet these days, and Esme worried. When he came to her at night there was warmth and wonder, but he held himself from her—she felt it.
Was it because she was so unladylike? She feared it might be so. Surely a lady didn't caterwaul until her husband had to cover her mouth to keep her from waking the house.
Still, Cleav never complained about the way she acted. In fact, she got the distinct feeling that he actually liked it.
A tiny thrill of desire spiraled through her. He hadn't sent her on to the house ahead of him. Maybe he had plans for tonight.
