"Of course you need fish to make fish," Esme answered the foolish young woman easily. "Cleav uses a natural method of propagation, but many trout breeders simply strip the ripe females of their eggs, throw them in a pan, and then cover them with milt."
"Milt?" Agrippa asked curiously. "What in heaven's name is milt?"
"Milt is the stuff that comes from the male fish," Esme explained easily. "It's like the man's—"
Stopping abruptly in midsentence, Esme glanced in horror around the table. Pa was staring at her curiously. The twins looked puzzled. Eula Rhy's expression was sympathetic. Theodatus Simmons sat stone still, his mouth hanging open in shock, and Ben Westbrook seemed ready to choke on the spoon that was frozen in his mouth.
Finally, her eyes met Cleav's. As her final humiliation, her husband looked ready to burst out laughing.
"I . . . I . . ." Esme struggled valiantly for a way to save her disgrace but failed miserably. Giving in to tears, wordlessly she fled the room.
Down the hall, out the back door, Esme had to get away.
She was running to the hills. She had never run from humiliation, but she was running now. She was running and she was never coming back. She had embarrassed herself. That she could stand. But she had shamed her husband. He deserved better. She was going to keep right on running forever more.
A strong brown arm encircled her waist, capturing her before she made it past the azalea bushes.
"Esme, Esme," he whispered, pulling her against his chest. "Don't cry, Hillbaby, it wasn't that bad."
"I'm so ashamed," Esme managed to choke out before she buried her face in the warm, familiar shirtfront of the man she loved.
"You shouldn't be ashamed," Cleav told her, rocking her slightly back and forth. "Embarrassed, maybe a little, but never ashamed. When we're talking about fish breeding, it's hard to remember to be delicate."
"I'm so sorry, Cleav," she moaned. "I'm so sorry."
"What in the world are you sorry for? A few silly words aren't anything to make a fuss about."
"I'm not just sorry for that," Esme admitted. "I'm sorry for all of it. I'm sorry that you had to marry me. I'm sorry that I'm not the wife that you needed. I'm sorry that I'm not the woman that you wanted."
"The woman that I wanted?" Cleav held his wife at arm's length and looked down at her.
"Esme, my sweet Hillbaby," he said softly, "you are the woman that I wanted. The only woman that I've really ever wanted."
Esme shook her head.
"I don't mean that way," she insisted. "I know you want me that way. I mean the woman that you wanted for a wife."
"You are the woman I want for my wife," he said firmly. "I want you that way and every way."
Clasping his hand under her chin, he raised her face to look at him. "I love you, Esme Rhy."
"Don't joke about such a thing," she admonished him as another tear sneaked out of the corner of her eye. "It may be just funning to you, but a gal can take such a declaration plumb serious."
"I mean it 'plumb serious," Cleav replied. "I've never said it before because I didn't think that you loved me back."
"Loved you back?" Esme looked confused. "You know I love you. I've never made a secret of it."
"You did make a secret of it. A secret that got out of the bag tonight."
Esme looked puzzled.
"You said you married me to get this house," he reminded her.
"This house?" she asked, not quite recalling the conversation.
"Yes," he insisted. "You said you wanted to marry me to get this house for your family."
"Well, sure I wanted this house for my family," Esme tried to explain. "But I wanted you just for myself. I was downright selfish about it. I didn't think about Pa or the twins, or even poor Sophrona, your sweetheart. I didn't even care about your feelings. I just loved you so much, I said I was going to have you by hook or by crook."
