Cleav discard his current plan to simply make her a friend and settle for the former, less savory option. But determinedly he hardened his heart.
"Good," he answered and handed her the bucket. "Just scatter the meat on the top of the water, and the fish will get it."
At her startled expression he continued. "The table trout aren't tame enough to hand-feed. And besides, you wouldn't want to get to know somebody you might be cutting up for the frying skillet." He looked up at the sun. "There's a world of things I need to be doing at the store."
"But—" Esme's vague protest went ignored.
"Be sure to rinse the bucket good and then carry all of the equipment back to the meat house," he said as he turned to go.
Words deserted her completely, and she could only stare open-mouthed at him as he walked away.
"Oh," he called over his shoulder before he was out of range. "If you're planning to come back inside when you're finished, you be sure to wash yourself up real good. I don't want you smelling up my store with the stink of fish."
----
Chapter 7
Esmeralda Crabb eased her way past the mountain hobble-bush and rhododendron to the still, small pool held within the ancient roots of a towering hemlock. Careful to hold her dress back from the water, she leaned over to assess herself. She had no glass with which to judge herself, only the vague reflection of the cool water to act as a mirror.
Quietly in the silence of the late Saturday afternoon she studied herself in her new dress. Then slowly a tiny tear slipped out of the side of her eye. "Save to graces, I'm beautiful," she whispered softly to the forest around.
Wiping the tear away, a smile was next. A big smile. And then a laugh. With a hurried, happy step she made her way back to the path, where she stopped to twirl around giddily. The new white dress swirled about her, making a startling contrast to the sprouting green all around.
Esme giggled at her own foolishness. Who ever heard of a woman dancing for joy at the mere sight of herself? Still, she couldn't quite tamp down her enthusiasm.
The twins had done wonders for the dress. It fit her perfectly now. The neat little bodice pleats beautifully accented her waist, which was attractively girded with a sash made from the leftover material from the outrageously oversize bustline. The kickflounce at mid-calf was also the twins' design. The flounce not only made the petite little gown long enough for Esme, it also served to draw attention to her legs, which she'd just recently discovered were her best feature.
Lifting her skirts slightly, she stared down at her old worn work shoes. It was the only mar but couldn't be helped, she decided. It was work shoes or barefoot, and work shoes were infinitely better. Raising her chin in mock haughtiness, she daintily raised one side of her skirt, the way she imagined great ladies did, and began to promenade resolutely down the mountain path.
Raising her voice in triumphant challenge, she sang,
"Oh Katy was pretty
And so was her legs.
She sewed up her stocking with needle and thread.
The thread it was rotten, the needle was blunt…"
As far as Esme was concerned, this was the most important night of her life. She'd been hoping all week that Cleav would ask her to the taffy pull. He hadn't, and she'd been a little disappointed about that. He was, however, letting her help in the store and with the fish. Sometimes too much. The jobs that would keep her away from him the longest were always the ones that he wanted her to do.
But she'd done them uncomplainingly. Whatever he'd asked, Esme Crabb had barreled right in and done whatever was necessary to please him. Esme thought it strange, however, that he never seemed too pleased.
She knew he'd be pleased tonight. How could he not? She was prettier than she'd ever been in her life. Why, she was just about as pretty as anybody she'd ever seen. The twins had seen to that.
They'd woken her early this morning to take her
"Good," he answered and handed her the bucket. "Just scatter the meat on the top of the water, and the fish will get it."
At her startled expression he continued. "The table trout aren't tame enough to hand-feed. And besides, you wouldn't want to get to know somebody you might be cutting up for the frying skillet." He looked up at the sun. "There's a world of things I need to be doing at the store."
"But—" Esme's vague protest went ignored.
"Be sure to rinse the bucket good and then carry all of the equipment back to the meat house," he said as he turned to go.
Words deserted her completely, and she could only stare open-mouthed at him as he walked away.
"Oh," he called over his shoulder before he was out of range. "If you're planning to come back inside when you're finished, you be sure to wash yourself up real good. I don't want you smelling up my store with the stink of fish."
----
Chapter 7
Esmeralda Crabb eased her way past the mountain hobble-bush and rhododendron to the still, small pool held within the ancient roots of a towering hemlock. Careful to hold her dress back from the water, she leaned over to assess herself. She had no glass with which to judge herself, only the vague reflection of the cool water to act as a mirror.
Quietly in the silence of the late Saturday afternoon she studied herself in her new dress. Then slowly a tiny tear slipped out of the side of her eye. "Save to graces, I'm beautiful," she whispered softly to the forest around.
Wiping the tear away, a smile was next. A big smile. And then a laugh. With a hurried, happy step she made her way back to the path, where she stopped to twirl around giddily. The new white dress swirled about her, making a startling contrast to the sprouting green all around.
Esme giggled at her own foolishness. Who ever heard of a woman dancing for joy at the mere sight of herself? Still, she couldn't quite tamp down her enthusiasm.
The twins had done wonders for the dress. It fit her perfectly now. The neat little bodice pleats beautifully accented her waist, which was attractively girded with a sash made from the leftover material from the outrageously oversize bustline. The kickflounce at mid-calf was also the twins' design. The flounce not only made the petite little gown long enough for Esme, it also served to draw attention to her legs, which she'd just recently discovered were her best feature.
Lifting her skirts slightly, she stared down at her old worn work shoes. It was the only mar but couldn't be helped, she decided. It was work shoes or barefoot, and work shoes were infinitely better. Raising her chin in mock haughtiness, she daintily raised one side of her skirt, the way she imagined great ladies did, and began to promenade resolutely down the mountain path.
Raising her voice in triumphant challenge, she sang,
"Oh Katy was pretty
And so was her legs.
She sewed up her stocking with needle and thread.
The thread it was rotten, the needle was blunt…"
As far as Esme was concerned, this was the most important night of her life. She'd been hoping all week that Cleav would ask her to the taffy pull. He hadn't, and she'd been a little disappointed about that. He was, however, letting her help in the store and with the fish. Sometimes too much. The jobs that would keep her away from him the longest were always the ones that he wanted her to do.
But she'd done them uncomplainingly. Whatever he'd asked, Esme Crabb had barreled right in and done whatever was necessary to please him. Esme thought it strange, however, that he never seemed too pleased.
She knew he'd be pleased tonight. How could he not? She was prettier than she'd ever been in her life. Why, she was just about as pretty as anybody she'd ever seen. The twins had seen to that.
They'd woken her early this morning to take her
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