"I ain't never been nowhere," Yohan stated with matter- of-fact evenness. "But ain't never been nowhere I've wanted to go."
"That's understandable," Theo acknowledged.
"Are you a farmer, Mr. Crabb?" Ben Westbrook asked.
An unexpected hush fell over the group.
Esme held her breath.
What would her father say? What could he say? I'm the laziest man in Vader, Tennessee?
"I don't farm much," he answered honestly. "I play the fiddle."
"Oh, really?" Westbrook's expression broke into a delighted smile. "My grandfather was a musician," he said. "He played the French horn with the Philadelphia symphony for twenty years."
"What else did he do?" Adelaide asked.
"What else? Why, nothing. He was a musician."
The twins shared a delighted glance before Agrippa said firmly, "That's what Pa is. He's the best musician in this part of Tennessee."
There were smiles and nods as Yohan half-heartedly attempted to dispute the compliment.
"I wondered if you were from a musical family, Mr. Crabb," Theo told him. "With a name like Johann, a man should definitely be involved in magical blending of tones and rhythms."
"You must play for us while we are here," Ben entreated.
"I planned on it," the older man said easily. "Why, I intend to have you two city boys cutting up the rug afore morning."
Esme was stunned and shocked by the direction that the conversation had taken. This was not going to be nearly as difficult as she had thought. If she'd known that lying was so easy, why, she'd have started doing it years ago.
The last of the fish was being separated from the still-warm chafing dish as the conversation turned once again to pisciculture.
Esme rose to retrieve the peach crisp, allowing the twins to continue their concerted attempt to pretend that they knew and were interested in the subject of fish.
Feeling herself relax, Esme began to gain confidence. The gentlemen were not so different from the people in Vader. The twins had made no horrific blunders, and even her father had managed not to make himself a family embarrassment. Cleav seemed quite pleased with her, and she could only sigh a thankful prayer for Sophrona's help.
Passing around the dessert, she began, at last, to get caught up in the conversation.
"Trout need cold running water to live," Theo was explaining. "That's why the ponds must be set up to drain into each other, keeping the temperature and oxygen level adequate."
"Once the fish are raised to fingerlings," Westbrook continued, "they can be let out into the river or transported to areas where trout have not been or are now unavailable."
"It must be hard to move those little fish across country," Adelaide said. "Looks like there would be an easier way."
"Some have tried easier ways," Theo told her. Then, with a teasing glance, he turned to Cleav. "What do you think of the Reverend Dr. Bachman's experiments?"
Cleav's grin was infectious. "I think they worked best in his own imagination."
"What were Reverend Bachman's experiments?" Agrippa asked.
Theo leaned forward slightly to get the pretty young woman more fully in his line of vision.
"The gentleman from South Carolina insisted that he managed to fertilize eggs that were kept dry for ten days and actually produced offspring."
At the twins' puzzled expression, Cleav explained. "A trout egg can't live more than a few hours without water. Still, Dr. Bachman assures us that he managed to fertilize dead eggs."
"Don't you have to have fish to make fish?" Adelaide asked Mr. Westbrook, her eyes wide open with sweet innocence.
