Esme raised her chin in shameful defiance and admitted the worst
"This-is-very-important-to-Cleav-he's-been-waiting-for-a-chance-like-this-ever-since-he-came-back-from-Knoxville-and-these-gentlemen-just-have-to-like-him-and-accept-him-as-a-gentleman-too-and-I-don't-know-one-blame-thing-about-being-a-lady-or-how-to-serve-gentlemen-or-what-to-serve-gentlemen-and-it's-just-like-you-said-I-won't-be-any-good-as-a-wife-to-Cleav-and-I'm-going-to-shame-him-and-ruin-it-for-him-and-I-just-can't-do-that-to-him-and-you've-got-to-help-me."
It was enough to capture her mother-in-law's attention. The older woman studied her curiously. "You're worried about being an embarrassment to Cleavy?" she asked.
Biting her lip painfully, Esme nodded.
Eula Rhy shook her head in disbelief and chuckled lightly. "Esme," she said. "Dear girl, there was a time when I worried about just the same thing." With a smile of amused remembrance, she continued. "I told you the night you married that you weren't the wife for Cleavis." The older woman's smile was broad now. "But you've proved I was wrong."
Esme looked up, startled. "What?"
"I said you've proved me wrong," she repeated. "I thought my son wanted—no, needed—to be a gentleman." She sighed heavily. "Lord only knows what happened in Knoxville to change him so, but he did come back a very different boy than the one I sent."
Picking up one of the flowers, she examined it for insects. "He came back so stuffy and proper," she said. "Truth is, I didn't quite know what to make of it. But I love that boy, and like you, I didn't want to let him down."
Leaning back on her knees, Eula Rhy pulled off one very dirty glove and held her hand up to Esme. "Help me up," she ordered. "One thing about getting old, no matter how much you enjoy doing a thing, your bones do get stiffened up by the time you stop doing it"
Esme helped her to her feet, and the two walked together to the front of the house. In the distance could be heard the rhythmic melody of tree felling. The smell of fresh-cut pine was in the air, wafting along with honeysuckle in bloom.
The piece of sky overhead was exactly the color Esme wanted to paint the house, and a couple of high white clouds floated along it.
Down near the river Yohan had found a piece of shade and was playing a soft summer tune that had the power to bring a smile to anyone's face.
It almost brought a smile to Esme's until she remembered the errand she was on and the danger and disappointment she saw for the man she loved. For herself, she didn't care. She'd been facing shame for who she was since she was big enough to walk under a wagon. She'd learned how to ignore it, accept it, make herself stronger for it
But Cleav was different. Cleav fought it. Like Esme, for years pride had stuck in his craw. But unlike her, he'd never swallowed it.
This time, for his sake, Esme wasn't swallowing it either. She was as good as anyone else, she'd told herself from childhood Now, for Cleav, she was going to have to prove it
They'd walked to the front of the house, and Mrs. Rhy removed her other glove and tucked both carefully into her gardening apron. Reaching the shade of the porch, Eula untied the ribbons on her hat and gestured for Esme to sit with her on the swing.
"Just like you are thinking," she said, as if no lull in the conversation had existed. "I wanted to be a help to Cleav. I wanted to see that he got the kind of life that he wanted.
"He built this big old house, too big by half, when we'd been living fine for years in the one his granddaddy built. He filled it up with city things and talked about city people and city ways until it nearly scared the life out of me."
Eula shook her head and patted Esme's hand in comfort. "I'm really just a hill girl, not much better off than you," she said. "I've probably had more book learning, but I never thought about being a lady or taking up fancy ways until Cleav came back from Knoxville."
The woman sighed wistfully.
"I hated for him to give up his schooling like that, but after my man died"—Eula looked off into the distance, her expression one of remembered pain—"I just couldn't seem to make it on my own."
Eula's expression was one of self-contempt. "I made him come home from school. Everyone thought it was because I couldn't run the store and didn't have money."
Eula shook her head, and her next words were low and had the ring of sincerity. "I could have managed by myself. But I didn't," she said firmly. "Because I didn't want to."
The confession was hard won. Never having voiced her shameful truth aloud, Eula's eyes momentarily misted, and she wiped them quickly on the cleanest corner of her apron.
"Here was my quiet, confused only son," she said. "He was no longer a boy and not quite a man. And I thought only of what I wanted. He tried to do the right and honorable thing."
Eula shook her head with both sadness and pride.
"Not only did my boy lose the daddy he loved, he lost the life that he loved, too. I stole it from him."
"Oh, Mother Rhy," Esme interrupted. "I'm sure ..."
Eula turned to the younger woman as if to will her to understand. "You're Cleavy's wife now. Let the others believe the kinder lies, but we need to have truth between us.”
Esme nodded.
