Homespun Hearts

by Caroline Fyffe

  "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.

  "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."

  "By hook or by crook?" Cleav repeated, a smile stretching across his face. "Or by garters."

  "Cleavis!" Esme protested. "How could you believe that I married you for your house?"

  "I don't anymore," he said. "When I saw you this evening, my proud, imposing Esme, who knows she's just as good as everybody else, trying to hide her light under a bushel of meaningless manners, I knew you loved me."

  Reaching for her, he pressed her tightly against his shirt as if he wanted to fuse her self with his own. "Nothing but real, true love could have made you humble yourself."

  "I am humble! I failed you," Esme whispered against his chest. "I've embarrassed you in front of your friends. I know how much their opinion matters to you."

  Cleav shook his head. "No, you don't, Esme," he said. "Because it doesn't matter. You love me for myself. That's a hundred times more fulfilling than having the whole world love me for something I can pretend to be."

  "Oh, Cleav," Esme wailed. "You deserve to have a lady, a real lady."

  Cleav smoothed her brow with one long finger.

  "I have a lady, Mrs. Rhy," he whispered. "I have you."

  "I'm no lady! You saw that tonight."

  "You are a lady, and you always have been. I saw that one morning in church."

  "In church?"

  "The day they gave your family that charity basket," he said. "We humiliated you. But you never cowered or cried or hid your face. You raised your chin and just looked right past us. You knew you were as good as anybody. And you've taught me that I am, too."

  His lips found hers, and he tasted her gently.

  "All this to-do about being civilized an
d proper," he said. "It's kept me in a stew for too many years. Finery and genteel conversation don't make us ladies or gentlemen. City folks have their ways and we have ours. When we try to be what we're not, we only shame ourselves."

  "You mean you want me to be just Esme Crabb?"

  Cleav smiled. "I want you to be Esme Rhy," he said. "I want you to be the lady that I love."

  He kissed her then, and the sweetness was such that Esme couldn't let it go. She answered his lips with urgent exploration of her own.

  Their bodies strained against each other in passion both remembered and renewed. Esme felt the now familiar warmth melting her loins, and she eagerly squirmed to meld that fire against the evidence of his response.

  "I love you," Cleav whispered. "I've wanted to tell you that every day, every time I've touched you. I've wanted to say it and now I can't stop."

  "I love you, Cleav," Esme answered. "I don't know if it was that first day in the store or later when I got to know you. But I couldn't live without you, and I would have done anything to keep you, to help you, to make you happy."

  "Even pretend to be something you are not," Cleav said accurately.

  "I'd swim like a fish if it was what you wanted," she declared.

  Cleav's smile was naughty. "Swimming was not quite what I had in mind," he said. "But if I take you upstairs, will you promise to wiggle like a trout out of water?"

  Esme giggled and then shook her head reprovingly. "Only if you promise to give me another of those no-hands fish looks."

  "Can't promise that, ma'am," he answered. "Tonight I'm planning to put these hands all over you."

  "Well," Esme suggested. "How about prissy talk? Can I expect some of that at least?"

  "My dear Mrs. Rhy, I vow to eloquate with such magnificence that you will find yourself incapable of resisting supine repose for the remainder of the evening."

  "Mmmm," she replied appreciatively.

  Cleav grasped her hand, and they hurried to the house like eager children.

  "Wait." Esme hesitated at the doorway. "Can we go upstairs?" she asked him. "We have guests in the house."

  "Mrs. Rhy," he said smoothly. "In this house you make up the rules of etiquette. What do you deem proper?"

  Esme was thoughtful for only a moment.

  "Our guests might be scandalized," she told him. "And I always try to keep a watchful eye on Pa and the twins."

  Cleav acquiesced easily. "Whatever you think, Mrs. Rhy."

  Esme's thoughtful expression slowly became a confident grin. "But I think I've been taking too much care of my family," she said. "It's time that Pa and the girls start facing the world all on their own."

  "Now, that's a very good idea," Cleav said.

  "And your gentlemen friends from up north should really get some opportunity to find out about real Tennessee people."

  Cleav nodded. "So we go straight upstairs?"

  As if suddenly remembering what happened, Esme sighed in dismay. "No, after making such a fool of myself, I'd better go back in there and face them tonight."

  Cleav placed a strong arm around her waist and grinned at her.

  "Just stick close to me, Mrs. Rhy," he said. "It's a husband's right to rescue his wife from social blunders."

  "Who made that rule?"

  "I did," he replied easily.

  Esme walked nervously beside her husband as they entered the house. The company had left the dining room for the informality of the back parlor, and she could hear Pa fiddling a happy tune.

  Reaching the doorway, she saw the twins gleefully instructing the gentlemen from up north on the proper steps of mountain clogging. There was much laughter and clapping, and the two somewhat bookish gentlemen were clearly having the time of their lives.

  "Excuse us," Cleav interrupted their revelry.

  Every eye focused on them, and Esme felt her courage drifting away. Only the strength of Cleav's arm kept her beside him.

  "My wife and I would like to apologize for our abrupt departure from dinner," Cleav began civilly.

  "Quite all right," Theo said eagerly.

  "We're perfectly fine," Ben insisted.

  "Wonderful," Cleav replied with a pleasant smile. "Do go on and enjoy yourselves," he said. "Mrs. Rhy and I must retire early, it seems."

  Esme glanced up at her husband in surprise.

  Cleav smiled at her before he said calmly, "You may find this difficult to believe, but my wife and I have both suddenly developed an unprecedented infestation of fleas."

  Epilogue

  March 12, 1898

  Theodatus G. Simmons

  Springfield, Massachusetts

  My dear brother-in-law Theo,

  As always, we enjoyed receiving your missive, especially the good news of your addition. Esme sends her love to your new son and our dear Agrippa with hopes for an eventless recovery.

  I accepted the salutation on your last letter as jest. Believe me, the degree is strictly honorary and I certainly have not taken to calling myself Dr. Rhy, despite the governor's fine words about my modest contribution to natural science.

  Esme and I did, however, truly enjoy the trip to Knoxville. After so many years it was quite strange to return and discover things so unchanged and yet so different from the memories I had held. Esme charmed the dignitaries, one and all. I believe the headmaster at Halperth Academy was near ready to write odes to her eyebrows. As per usual, my dear wife remains unaffected by the unique effect her wit and humor have upon the male species.

  Esme wanted me to be sure to mention to Agrippa that Reverend Tewksbury has retired and his son-in-law, Reverend Hightower, is now pastor of the church. The new reverend was a friend of the twins when they were children. The man is actually a very exceptional preacher. I was quite surprised myself, but Esme was not. She assures me that the worst sinners always make the best preachers.

  Yohan is doing better now that the weather is warming up. The cold bothers the arthritis in his knee, but he rarely complains. He continues to talk about his visit to Ben and Adelaide in Washington, D.C. Meeting President Cleveland and playing with the gentlemen of the symphony now figure largely as the highlight of the old man's life.

  Mother is doing well, the twins keep her busy. Not just playing with them but replanting all the flowers those two manage to trample.

  I'm sure you heard the story about when the boys were born and Esme named them Herbert and Hubert. I felt, and continue to feel, that the names are far too prissy for a couple of Tennessee storekeeper's sons. Esme disagreed with me completely and declared that I knew nothing about naming children. She stated before the whole company at the visiting that were I to name the boys I'd undoubtedly call them Catfish and Crappie. To her horror the names stuck. She was especially disheartened when the boys returned from their first day at school with their nicknames written neatly on their slates.

  I do hope that perhaps late in the summer you will come again to visit us. The trout spawning was extremely successful this year, and I am eager to show you my new design for races.

  I must cut this letter short as the boys are waiting upon me. We are doing a little project together this spring. I'm allowing the boys to help me repaint the house. White is such a lifeless color, I've decided it should be blue. In the mountains there is just simply not enough sky.

  As ever,

  Cleav

  More in the Small-Town Swains series

  Something Shady

  No Ordinary Princess

  Sealed With a Kiss

  Garters

  The Love Charm

  About Pamela Morsi

  Pamela Morsi is a USA Today, Waldenbooks, and Barnes & Noble bestselling author of romance. She broke into publishing in 1991 with Heaven Sent and has been gracing readers with at least a book a year ever since. Two of her novels, Courting Miss Hattie (1992) and Something Shady (1996), won the Romance Writers of America's RITA Award, the highest honor in romance publishing, and others have been RITA finalists.

  M
s. Morsi pens heartwarming stories set in Small Town, USA. Her books are famous for their wit, humor, memorable characters, and down-home charm.

  For More Information

  @pamelamorsi

  pamelamorsi

  www.pamelamorsi.com

  Lily

  By Kirsten Osbourne

  Prologue

  October, 1883

  Lily Sullivan sat perched in a branch in the tallest tree in the backyard of her parents’ home. Lily was almost thirteen, and loved her family, but wished she was allowed to dress however she liked. She scowled down at the pretty skirt she was forced to wear. Why couldn’t they just let her dress like she enjoyed for church? It was silly to have to wear skirts and impractical shoes when she was so much more comfortable in her boys’ pants and boots. She didn’t care what people thought of her, so why should they?

  She heard the door open and peeked through the branches to see who was coming. Oh bother! It was her older sister Rose and one of her beaux. Rose had so many boys buzzing around her, Lily never got any peace. Her mother thought she should wear a dress anytime there was “company” at the house, and with the way Rose fluttered her lashes at the boys there was always “company” at the house. Most nights there were three or four extra men at dinner, which meant a skirt all evening. She hated skirts!

  As she watched Rose with the boy, she immediately recognized him. He went to school with them, but was three years ahead of Rose. It was Daniel Olafsen. He was okay. He didn’t make fun of Lily the way most boys did, and he was happy to pick her for his baseball team every time. Some of the boys wouldn’t let her be on their team just because she was a girl, even though she could hit better and run faster than most of them. Why did it matter that she was a girl when they wanted to win?