"Still," Esme began tactfully, "I do feel that I should properly entertain these city folks when they're here," she said. "They probably eat special food, on special tablecloths with special utensils. And what they must talk about is a purdy mystery to me. I plainly have got no idea about any of it, and I really need your help."
Eula laughed and shook her head with determination. "Don't you give that nonsense another thought," she said. "I don't want you trying to be anybody but Esme Rhy," she stated firmly. "If those northern gentlemen are offended by a sweet, open young woman like yourself, then heaven knows, I want to be around to watch when that son of mine and husband of yours kicks their fancy behinds right out his front door!"
Chapter Twenty
“This is a passel of foolishness, if you're asking me!" Yo Crabb's words were adamant with disapproval, but they only garnered a warning look from Esme and a sweet throaty giggle from Sophrona Hightower.
"Now, Mr. Crabb," the young woman answered him patiently. "Good manners are never foolish."
The old man tried to scowl, but it was difficult when looking into such a pretty face.
"Got no quotation, do ya, Miss Sophrona?" His question was presented as a statement. "That's 'cause the Good Book don't care a tinker's damn about such foolishness."
The young woman placed a tiny, delicate finger to her temple near her neat reddish-blond hairline, as if thinking momentarily. A smile suddenly lit her face, and she raised it to the older man.
"Mr. Crabb, Paul does state that God suffered the manners of the children of Israel in the wilderness for forty years," she said. "How old are you now, sir?"
The question was rhetorical, and Yohan chose to answer it only with a disgusted "humph!" However, he made no further complaints.
"The flat wear is laid out by order of its use," Sophrona explained. "Working from the outside toward the plate. It's the latest in etiquette to place the knife at the top of the dinner plate. That reminds the diner not to use it."
"Why in tarnation do ya have it, if you ain't going to use it?" Yo asked her.
Sophrona smiled politely. "You may use it to cut your food. But you can't use it to eat."
Yo glanced down at the mock meal before him with a dismal sigh. "There's enough metal around this plate to forge a good-sized plow."
Esme, seated across the table from her father, found herself reluctantly agreeing with him but hastily stifled the thought. She should be grateful to have someone teach her and her family the proper way of things. Although Eula Rhy had encouraged her to be herself, Esme had wanted what was best for Cleav. She still believed what was best was a ladylike wife. And if Esme wanted to learn to be like Sophrona, the person to teach her was Sophrona herself. With that in mind Esme had issued an invitation to the new Mrs. Hightower. Terrified that she might not come, Esme scribbled a personal note in her carefully penned block letters that read: “pleese come, we mus tawk.''
But Sophrona showed no hesitation, eager to let bygones be bygones.
"I'm so glad you've invited me over," Sophrona had greeted her, throwing her arms around Esme like a long-lost friend. "I've been wanting to speak to you, to thank you, but I've just been so busy."
"Thank me?" Esme was more than curious.
"My dear, beloved Armon told me how you put the idea of courting me into his head," Sophrona explained.
Esme's face flushed a bright red. She'd forgotten about that trick, and it came back to her in a rush of guilt. She could almost hear Armon calling this lovely, sweet young woman "Tits Tewksbury."
"I'm sorry . . ." Esme began.
Sophrona hugged her. "How you knew that we loved each other," she said, "when we didn't even know ourselves has got to be one of God's great miracles."
Esme stuttered. "I didn't ... I mean, I didn't actually: think . . . I . . ."
A delighted giggle escaped Sophrona's throat. "Of course you didn't think," she said cheerfully. "You spoke from your heart, just as the Lord intended." Reaching for Esme's hand, Sophrona squeezed it lovingly. "'The Lord works in mysterious ways.'"
Esme couldn't help but agree. And bringing Sophrona to her side for this onslaught of important company was surely a reprieve from heaven.
They'd spent the morning devising the menu.
"Of course, you'll want to serve trout," Sophrona guessed accurately.
"Yes," Esme said, though she looked uncertain. "But if I'm in the kitchen, how am I supposed to be a hostess?"
Sophrona nodded in agreement.
"Well, you certainly can't be cook and lady of the house at the same time," she said. "So, we'd best devise a dish that can be fully prepared and ready when you announce dinner."
