Cleav had his usual "revival days specials," but this year he couldn't make himself concentrate on business.
In his mind all he could see was the beautiful woman that he'd married, and all he could think about was how much he loved her.
When the small bell over the door tinkled, for perhaps the dozenth time in the past hour, Cleav glanced up to see Sophrona.
Strangely she glanced guiltily in both directions, before entering the store. A hasty, uncomfortable perusal of the occupants of the room apparently reassured her. Hurrying to a deserted corner of the store, Cleav watched her uncharacteristically enthusiastic examination of the several types and sizes of washboards available for purchase.
Puzzled, Cleav finished his business with his current customer and then headed across the room.
He'd hardly spoken a word to his former sweetheart since his marriage. It wasn't that he felt he should. His break with Sophrona had been clean and well understood between them both. He knew she'd been embarrassed by his apparent fickleness, but she was clearly not pining away for him. He wondered, in fact, if she'd cared for him at all. They really had very little in common and even less to say to each other.
"Afternoon, Miss Sophrona."
"Oh!" The young woman startled as he reached her side. As she turned and quickly recognized him, she sighed with relief.
"Oh, it's you, Cleav," she said softly. Recovering herself, she made a swift restatement. "Good day, Mr. Rhy. It's so pleasant to see you."
Cleav gave her a polite bow. If she preferred to act like an acquaintance, Cleav was certainly courteous enough to allow her to do so. "It's a lovely afternoon," he commented.
"Yes," Sophrona agreed and quoted piously, "This is the day the Lord hath made.'" Then halfheartedly she added, "That is, if it doesn't rain."
"Of course," Cleav answered politely and secretly reminded himself that he'd developed a new appreciation for rain.
Miss Sophrona seemed distinctly uncomfortable and that distressed Cleav. More than likely they would both live in Vader for a long time. It was best for all concerned if they could forget their courting, or at least to look back at it as a useful folly.
"Were you looking for something?" Cleav asked her. He was almost certain that she intended to answer negatively when the customer bell rang softly behind him.
An anxious, almost frightened look came over Sophrona's face. She rubbed her hands together nervously and then focused on the floor, the walls, the ceiling, Cleav, as if unsure where to look next.
"Yes, I want to purchase this!" she declared with more decisiveness than was necessary.
Hurriedly she directed her attention to the merchandise on the shelf behind her. Cleav followed her gaze. Puzzled, he glanced back to her face. "You want to buy a washboard?"
Sophrona's cheeks were flaming, and Cleav sensed that she was looking at something behind him. Glancing back, he saw only Armon Hightower, totally absorbed in the week-old newspaper lying on the rack across the room, oblivious to them.
"Yes, I want a washboard," Sophrona said, capturing Cleav's attention once again. "Our old one is nearly worn out."
His expression even more mystified, Cleav replied, "I can't imagine why it's wearing already. Mrs. Tewksbury bought it just last month. A washboard's meant to last a lifetime." Nodding firmly, he added, "Tell your mother to bring it in, and I'll make good on it."
A chuckle from behind him made Sophrona's cheeks flush even more scarlet. Cleav looked back at Hightower. Still reading, Armon had obviously found something amusing in the newspaper.
The week was a busy, hectic one. The store was so crowded, Cleav had to call upon both his mother and Esme to help him.
His mother's neuralgia was much improved. But rather than being more help in the store, she became increasingly less. To her son's amazement she had taken a sudden interest in planting flowers all around the house. That was where Cleav discovered her one afternoon, wearing an old faded calico dress and a straw hat that was easily as old as Cleav himself.
"Surely, Mother," he said, "you don't have to spend your days crawling around on your hands and knees in the dirt."
She looked up at him, slightly bemused. "I've always loved to garden. I know it's not as genteel a vocation as embroidery or tatting, but truth is, I never was much good at either one." Sighing, she added, "Growing things was always a special gift to me. But if it truly embarrasses you, I won't do it."
"Embarrasses me?" Cleav was dumbfounded.
"I know you want me to be the lady and all," she said. "And I've truly tried. But all this beneficial conversation and delicate living can wear a body down." Mrs. Rhy wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her sleeve.
"I was just the helpmate that your father needed me to be," she said. "After he died, I tried to be the partner that you needed, also. I gave up my way of living to follow yours. I knew that you needed me to do that." Eula Rhy reached a dirty-gloved hand toward her son, and he didn't hesitate to take it.
"You needed me but not anymore. You've a woman of your own now to be beside you," she said. "So if it's all the same to you, I'd like to get my life back to where it used to be."
"Mother," Cleav said, genuinely appalled. "You know I would never ask you to give up anything. I only want what's best for you. This heat and the dampness of the ground could ruin your health."
