"This is the best view of the ponds," Agrippa answered, as if that explained everything.
"The ponds?" Esme put her hands sternly on her hips. "Neither of you has ever shown so much as a gnat's life of interest in the ponds. It's those two young gentlemen you're interested in, and I just won't have it."
"What do you mean, 'you won't have it'?" Agrippa questioned belligerently.
"You've been telling us to forget about Armon," Adelaide reminded her. "That gent with the glasses is the first lick of interest I've had in a man in weeks!"
"For mercy's sakes, Adelaide," Agrippa implored her sister. "I tell you the one to set your cap for is the blond."
Adelaide shook her head. "He just looks like another washed-out farmer," she told her sister. "The other fellow's got dignity."
"Dignity?" Both Agrippa and Esme found that word strange on Adelaide's lips.
"Well, it doesn't matter," Esme stated sharply. "I won't have either of you throwing yourself at these gentlemen."
"Whyever not?" Agrippa protested. "They ain't married?"
"No, they aren't," Esme admitted. "But when they do marry, they'll for sure be wanting ladies for wives," she said.
Both young women raised chins in defiance.
"I'll have you know," Agrippa said, "that Adelaide and I have been living and breathing every word that Sophrona's been telling us."
"We can act just as ladylike as any of 'em," her sister proclaimed with confidence.
"Acting like isn't being," Esme answered sharply. "Folks can't just change the way they are, no matter how much they want to."
"Whyever would we want to change?" Adelaide asked. "You've been telling us ever since I can remember that we was just as good as anybody else. That we've got to hold our heads up high and know that nobody can make us less in our own eyes but ourselves."
"That's right," Agrippa piped in. "You're always saying that it ain't the outside things that makes a person worthy or unworthy. It's what's in the heart and mind."
The twins gazed at their sister curiously.
Esme stood staring at the two women she had loved, and worried about, and felt responsible for since her mother's death. She had taught them to believe in themselves. Should she let her own failings tarnish their hopes?
"I'm just a little nervous," Esme hedged awkwardly. "You just be careful around them city men. I don't want either of you being talked out to a deserted barn."
Both girls giggled mischievously.
"Not unless we're doing the talking," Agrippa said. "And Pa's waiting in the barn with a shotgun!"
"We learned a wealth of knowledge from your dreadful circumstances," Adelaide added.
Esme's mouth dropped open in stunned shock, and the twins grabbed her in a three-way sister hug. Their joy and happy chatter soothed her frayed nerves and nurtured her tender feelings.
"If I don't get down there and see to those dad-gummed fish," she told the two, "we'll have to feed those gentlemen salt pork and poke salad!"
Esme tried desperately to get everything perfect, but the afternoon went by quickly. And perfect was not easy.
The mushrooms she'd picked the night before had gotten damp and turned a very unappetizing black. And the mussels had a peculiar odor that Esme found somewhat worrisome. The yeast rolls stubbornly refused to rise, so Esme was forced to mix up baking soda biscuits. And she could hardly glance at the "chamber pot" chafing dish without losing her own appetite.
By the time Esme finally was certain that perhaps she would have something to serve, the gentlemen had already returned to the house to dress for dinner.
Rushing upstairs, she prayed that she'd have time to whip her tired, flour-coated, sweat-stained body into shape before anyone saw her.
With all the angels in heaven watching out for her, Esme made it unnoticed to her room and hastily slipped through the door.
Before she had a moment to offer thanks for her reprieve, two strong arms came around her and Cleavis pulled her tightly into his arms.
