Marrying Stone by Pamela Morsi Page B

so heavily embroidered it looked like a dozen gold necklaces graced her bosom. On her feet were shoes, the like of which she'd never seen before. They looked, at first glance, to be doe-skin dancing slippers, but on closer observation they were made of real glass and felt as light and comfortable on her feet as if she wore no shoes at all.
    Meggie sighed languidly as again she continued to pass the shuttle through the harnesses and tromp the treadles. Her quill of yarn was almost finished and she turned to the huge broomgrass basket at her side to fetch another.
    Again and again the handsome prince spun her around the dance floor. When the movements called for a moment of closeness, he would whisper sweetness in her ear.
    "You are beautiful, my sweet Meggie," he would say. His voice was low and rich, and his speech was that of the learned and cultured. "My lonely life has been one long, rainy day until you, like the sun, shined upon it."
    Meggie sighed again and looked up into the handsome visage of her own sweet prince. He was tall and strong, but in a courtly way, not beefy and muscled as a man used to farm work. His eyes were warm acorn brown, his hair was black as birch bark, his broad, welcoming smile was as white and gleaming as blossoms in the clover. He was so handsome. He was so perfect. He was J. Monroe Farley.
    "Dad-burn and blast!"
    Meggie came to reality in a single flash. Both from the disconcertment of having Farley invade her daydream, and from the huge mess she had managed to snarl into the loom. Her inept gardening had taken the whole morning and now that she was finally free to work at the loom, the image of Roe Farley followed her here.
    Slowly and painstakingly she pulled out the threads of the new woof which were miswoven and lumpy, as she silently cursed the city man. Why in heaven was it her bad luck that the most princely man to ever set foot in the Ozarks would have to show up at her family's cabin? She blushed vividly at the memory of his face above her peeking down through the roof of the shed.
    "Why, I was jaybird naked, and he hadn't even the decency to look away!" she complained out loud.
    Still, through her self-righteous indignation shimmered a certain immodest thrill at the sound of the words. He'd got an eyeful of her and had promptly fallen off the roof for it.
    Was that what Granny Piggott spoke of when she talked of knocking a man off his feet? A little satisfied smile curved Meggie's lips.
    Then, fortunately, the practical side of her mind took a turn at ruminating. She reminded herself that J. Monroe Farley was no more interested in her than a snake in a stump. She'd shared talk with Eda and Polly and Mavis and other girls on the mountain. Just because a man wanted a woman, didn't mean he wanted to marry her. And Farley had made it more than clear that he liked kissing her, but he surely didn't want to marry Meggie.
    Certainly she wasn't the first woman to make a fool of herself over a man. But, most women didn't have to be reminded of it on a daily basis.
    What must he think of her boldness yesterday? Certainly he thought her reaction to be shock. But what if she slipped again? What if she let him see that he could make her heart flop over like a wormy hog with only the slightest word of kindness? It was the biggest humiliation of all to be rejected by a man and still want him.
    Meggie finally managed to work out the errant threads in the loom. She ran her hand assessingly along the completed part of the pale linsey-woolsey. It was not truly linsey-woolsey, of course. There wasn't a sheep within miles of the Best place. Meggie blended her flax with cool, lighter cotton. Still folks called it linsey-woolsey. Linsey-cottony sounded foolish and besides it was hard to say. But looking at the length of it, she decided that despite her inattention and mistakes, it was going to be a good piece of cloth. She set the shuttle through again.
    The narrow, dark weaving shed was warm in the afternoon