Magnolia Summer (Southern Seasons Book 1)

by Melanie Dickerson

  A pang of pity squeezed her stomach, and a sudden urge came over her to put her arms around him.

  Oh, dear. Celia took a step backward, almost spilling the bucket of water that teetered on the edge of the well. What was wrong with her?

  She was tired, that was all.

  “Let me get that for you.”

  Before she could protest, he stepped forward, took the bucket from her hand, and grabbed the other one from the lip of the well.

  “Thank you.”

  He was standing very close. The light that showed through the kitchen window showed the shadow of stubble on his cheeks and the slight cleft in the center of his chin. His masculine leather-and-horses smell made her heart thump.

  “I-I— Would you like to come inside?” What a stupid thing to say! He’d have to come inside. He was carrying her buckets of water. Was she so affected by the man that she would act like an enamored schoolgirl?

  “I will check up on your mother if it’s a convenient time.”

  “Yes, thank you.” She turned away.

  Celia marched quickly up the steps and held the door open for him. The house was quiet, as Lizzie had just gone outside to find the twins. Dr. Beverly put the buckets down by the sink. He straightened and their eyes met again.

  “Thank you, Dr. Beverly.”

  He nodded. “You’re most welcome, Miss Celia.”

  He turned to Mama, who sat staring at the kerosene lamp on the kitchen table in front of her.

  “Mrs. Wilcox, it’s Dr. Beverly. How are you tonight, ma’am?”

  Mama glanced up, as if startled. “Who?”

  “Dr. Beverly, ma’am, your neighbor. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

  “No, no, go ahead.”

  Celia watched as Dr. Beverly spoke softly to Mama, convincing her to stretch out her arm to him so he could check her pulse. He asked her how she had been feeling, if she’d had any shortness of breath or fainting spells. She told him no, but her manner and tone reminded Celia of a child who resented being questioned.

  Finally, the doctor stood and walked toward Celia, but he did not meet her gaze.

  She led him down the hall, through the parlor toward the front door. Outside, Lizzie rounded up the four-year-old twins to get ready for bed. At the door, she turned toward him, impatient to hear what he thought about her mother. But still he said nothing. Finally, he sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

  She winced. “Is it as bad as that?”

  He looked up, a half smile on his face, and shook his head. “She seems perfectly healthy. But she’s grieving. Your father’s death was a terrible shock to her, and it would seem she’s dealing with it by withdrawing from people and from life.”

  “But it’s already been six months since Daddy died. How long will this last?”

  “Can’t say. Could be a few weeks, could be a lot longer. With these kinds of nervous disorders, it’s impossible to know for sure.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help her recover?”

  He rubbed his stubbly chin before answering. “Let me write some letters. I have a friend who teaches at the Nashville Medical Seminary, and I know a few professors at Bellevue in New York. I’ll see if they can dig up some case studies on this sort of thing. In the meanwhile, we just have to pray for her.”

  Celia nodded. “Of course. Thank you, doctor. I suppose I should pay you—”

  “No, there’s no charge for tonight’s visit. Good night, Miss Celia.” He placed his hat back on his head as he stepped out the door.

  Later that night, after the twins were fast asleep, Celia lay in bed beside Lizzie, whispering so as not to wake Will and Harley in the next room. Tempie was apparently now sleeping with Mother in her bed.

  “What do you reckon has happened to Mama?”

  Lizzie sighed. “I don’t know, but I hope she gets over it soon. And I’m sorry for writing you that letter that made you come here. I’d just had a bad day. The twins were running me ragged, fighting and getting lost. A skinned knee, a bump on the head, they were crying and screaming, and all the while Mama sat there like she didn’t know she was in the world.”

  “Oh, Lizzie, I’m so sorry. It was good you wrote to me. You shouldn’t have to take care of everything by yourself. I’m here now, and I hope, by the end of the summer, Mama will be her old self again.”

  “Surely she’ll be back to normal by then. Surely in three months she’ll be helping me with the housekeeping and the twins.” After a short silence, Lizzie whispered, “What do you think about Dr. Beverly?”

  Celia tried to make out the expression on Lizzie’s face but the room was too dark. “He seems nice enough.”

  “Oh, Celia, he is nice. He’s been such a help to us. I don’t know what we would have done without him. He takes Will hunting, fishing, and he brings toys to the twins. I know he feels sorry for us. Will adores him.”

  She felt her shoulders stiffen. “Feels sorry for us? We don’t need his pity.”

  “Don’t be like that. What I wanted to tell you is that I think he’d be the perfect man for you.”

  “What do you mean? You know I don’t intend to marry.”

  “But Celia—”

  “I might marry someday, but not a country doctor from Bethel Springs, Alabama.” Celia hoped to put an end to her little sister’s matchmaking with her firm tone. But the truth was, she did want to marry someday. Just not until after she’d gotten her dress shop open and business was going well. In fact, she’d had an infatuation since she was fifteen, only a year older than Lizzie was now, for one of her father’s colleagues at Vanderbilt, a Professor Dent. Of course, the man was much older and she hadn’t seen him since her father resigned his position as head of the mathematics department. Perhaps she would run into another Professor Dent later, when she was too old to have children. Then she could hire someone else to take over her dress shop and only work when and as much as wanted to.

  “He isn’t attached, you know.”

  “Who?”

  “Dr. Beverly!”

  “Shh! Do you want Will to wake up and hear you?”

  “Listen to me, Celia. He’s a good man. He’s handsome, and he doesn’t seem to be interested in any of the Bethel Springs girls.”

  “Aren’t I the lucky one?” Celia didn’t try to hide her sarcasm. “Should I be like Mama and marry now, when I’m nineteen? Make this man my whole life—since no self-respecting husband could let his wife start her own business. And then, when something happens to him, I lose my mind like Mama, my purpose in life gone? No thank you.”

  Lizzie was quiet and, in truth, Celia had surprised herself with her vehemence.

  “I’m sorry.” She took a deep breath and lowered her voice back to a whisper. “It’s just . . . I hate to destroy your matchmaking, but I’m not the least bit interested in Dr. Beverly.”

  “Are you sure you don’t think he’s handsome?” Lizzie’s voice still rang with excitement, her enthusiasm unfazed by Celia’s outburst. “There are at least three girls every Sunday who fight over who’s going to talk to him after church.”

  “That’s hardly tempting.” As if I’d join in the fray!

  “He’s like an older brother to us. And if you marry him, he can stay in the family.”

  “Oh, Lizzie.” Celia moaned.

  “You don’t know what it’s been like to move here. Daddy had never lived on a farm. I think he had this romantic idea about it, that we would be like the Swiss Family Robinson, figuring everything out by ourselves. But we were lost, Celia. We didn’t know how to do anything. Daddy had to get Truett’s advice—”

  “Truett?”

  “Dr. Beverly. That’s his name.”

  “I know that.”

  Lizzie clutched her arm. Her sister’s grip told her she was determined to make her listen. “Daddy sought his advice for everything—plowing, planting, the horses, everything. And you know we always had a cook back in Nashville. We didn’t even know how to operate the stove.”


  “I’m sorry, Lizzie. I didn’t know it was as bad as that. But I hardly think I should have to marry the man to show him our gratitude.”

  “Oh, Celia, you’re impossible!”

  “Besides, he might not want to marry me, even if I throw myself at him like those other girls.” The picture she was forming of him surrounded by silly, smiling women made her ashamed of her fellow females.

  Celia went on. “I tried to talk Daddy out of coming here. I still can’t believe he gave up his position at Vanderbilt.”

  “I know, but it’s done, and we’re here.”

  “But that’s another thing, Lizzie. Don’t you see? We don’t have to stay here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We could sell the farm and move Mama back home. Perhaps if she was around her old friends again, and in a familiar setting, she would make her way out of this fog she’s in.”

  “I don’t know, Celia. I kind of like it here. It’s peaceful, it’s beautiful, and I’ve made friends.”

  “Friends? With whom? The squirrels?”

  “We have other neighbors besides the Beverlys. Olean Prichard lives on the other side of us. She’s exactly my age. And every Sunday I see the other girls, Henrietta, Tollie, and Mae. Sometimes we go on picnics and hayrides and—”

  “Elizabeth Wilcox, are you telling me you’d rather live here than in Nashville?”

  “I like it here, Celia. While you’ve been in Nashville all year, we’ve been here, settling in. Will likes it, and Harley too. Boys need to explore, Daddy always said—”

  “But a lady should always prefer town.” Celia took her sister’s hand and squeezed it gently. “Lizzie, wouldn’t you be just as happy in Nashville? You had friends there, too. And we could hire someone again to help us with the cooking and taking care of Harley and Tempie.”

  “That’s part of the problem. I don’t believe we could hire anyone to help us. We have no money. And I overheard some men talking at church. They said Daddy paid too much for this place and we wouldn’t be able to sell it for anything near what he paid—if we could sell it at all. The place sat empty for years before we came.”

  Her heart jumped into her throat.

  “We have no money, Celia. Daddy spent most of the money we had left buying the horses, and two of them are still missing after the storm.”

  “Surely we have some money left.”

  Lizzie shook her head. “Only seven dollars and fifty-three cents. Mama spent a fortune on Daddy’s gravestone. It’s solid marble, and she had to send away to Nashville to get it.”

  All the air seemed to get sucked out of the room. She couldn’t breathe. She sat up to keep from smothering and fanned herself with her hand.

  “Celia, are you all right?”

  Panic tightened her chest, making it painful to breathe. She had to go back to Nashville. She couldn’t stay here. But . . . her family was destitute?

  “Celia? What’s wrong?”

  She drew in a shallow breath. “I have to go.” She realized how crazy her words sounded. Of course, she didn’t have to go, but . . . “I have to get back to Nashville. There has to be a way. There has to be some money somewhere, something we could sell . . .”

  “We could sell Daddy’s horses, but the most valuable ones are still missing.”

  Surely God wouldn’t let her be stuck in Bethel Springs. Would he?

  Chapter 5

  The eastern sky turned pink as Celia dressed for the day. In the kitchen, Lizzie built the fire in the stove for breakfast. Will had gone out to milk the cow. Tempie wandered into Harley and Will’s room, clutching her doll to her chest. Celia went in as Tempie was shaking Harley awake.

  “All right, little ones, it’s time to get dressed.” Celia went in search of some clothes for them and found them laid out on the dresser.

  Lizzie. Celia sighed. So much responsibility had fallen on her younger sister’s shoulders, and she had borne it wonderfully well.

  “Let’s get you dressed, Tempie.”

  The little girl snatched her dress out of Celia’s hand. “I can do it myself!”

  Celia was doubtful, but she decided not to argue. She turned to her little brother. Unlike his twin, Harley sat still while she removed his nightshirt and dressed him in a shirt and pants. The clothing was quite frayed around the hems, with a hole here and there. No matter. They weren’t going anywhere today.

  She went into the kitchen and tried to help Lizzie with breakfast, but it was soon clear she had no idea how to help. The newest styles and patterns for women’s dresses and hats were mysteries meant to be explored, but cooking? An inscrutable business best left to those who understood it.

  “Here.” Lizzie handed her a lump of white dough. “Drop balls of this onto the pan.”

  “Biscuits?”

  Lizzie smiled and nodded.

  When breakfast was ready, Celia went outside and rang the bell by the corner of the front porch. Will came from the barn and Harley emerged from the trees, holding a slingshot and running as fast as his four-year-old legs would carry him.

  She went back inside and found Tempie having a pretend tea party on the floor with her two dolls. “Tempie, sweetie, it’s time to eat breakfast.” But the little girl didn’t even look up from her play.

  Celia sighed and went to see what else she could help Lizzie do. “Where’s Mama?”

  “She’s not up yet.” Lizzie flipped her blond braid over her shoulder as she set a bowl of hominy grits on the table. “She usually sleeps for another couple of hours.”

  Celia had never known Mama to sleep past sunrise.

  As Lizzie had predicted, Mama didn’t emerge from her bedroom until two hours later wearing her housecoat, her hair still braided but messy from her night’s sleep. Celia waited until Lizzie had poured Mama a cup of coffee and set her breakfast before her. While her mother ate, Celia picked up the mending in her lap and tried to concentrate on her stitches, going over in her head what she would say.

  Finally, Mama pushed the plate away, having barely eaten half her food, and stared listlessly out the window. Celia put the mending aside in her sewing basket, sat in the chair beside her, and took her hand in hers.

  “Mama, it’s me, Celia.”

  “How are you, dear?”

  She felt cheered by her mother’s words, although her eyes still looked far away and her voice was a monotone. “Mama, I want us to talk about what we should do now. I think we should move back to Nashville.” Celia leaned closer, trying to get her mother to look her in the eye. “Wouldn’t you be happy to be back with your friends? We could sell this place and find a small house in town.”

  Her mother’s eyebrows lowered. A scowl deepened the crease between her brown eyes as she focused on Celia. “You are forgetting your place. Your father wants us to live here, and that’s where we will live. Your father makes the decisions, not you.”

  Tears stung Celia’s eyes. She loosened her hold on her mother’s hand. “But Mama, Daddy’s gone. We need to do what is best for the family—”

  Mother snatched her hand away. “So you know what’s best? Do you question your father’s authority?”

  Her voice rose with each word, until it was shrill and unfamiliar, like a stranger’s. Mama’s face had lacked animation ever since Celia had come home, but her expression came alive now. Her jaw clenched, her lips pursed, and her eyes flashed.

  “Your Daddy wanted us to live here, and that’s where we shall live.”

  A boulder seemed to press against Celia’s chest. She had only seen her mild-mannered mother angry once or twice, and it was nothing compared to the anger she now displayed. Still, desperation forced her to speak.

  “Mama, I know you miss him, but staying here isn’t going to make him come back. He would want us to move on, to—”

  “That’s enough!” Her mother rose to her feet and lifted her right hand, as if to strike her. “I don’t want to hear any more about it from you! You always did think you were too smar
t to listen to anyone. You don’t know what you’re talking about. I will not listen to another word from you.”

  Tears stung her eyes and she lifted her hand to her cheek, feeling as if her mother really had struck her. Celia stared at her, not knowing what to say, only wishing she could blot out the accusing look in her mother’s eyes.

  “We’re not leaving, and I will not discuss it.”

  Celia turned away and stumbled out the kitchen door and down the steps.

  She ran, her skirt heavy against her legs, across the clearing behind the house, hardly knowing where she was going. Finally, her gaze caught on a few familiar oak trees shading the top of a hill. Beneath them, her father’s grave.

  She headed for the ostentatious, seven-foot marble obelisk for which her mother had sent away to Nashville. Tears dripped down her cheeks. She wiped them away with the back of her hand and knelt on the grass in front of the mound of dirt.

  The grave marker seemed to mock her, too expensive for anyone but a rich man. The white marble gleamed in the dappled sunlight shining through the leaves of the oak tree. William Ernest Wilcox, was carved deeply into the stone. The too-true words, Gone but not forgotten, written underneath it almost made her laugh.

  “Oh, Daddy. How could you leave us this way?” Fresh tears edged the corners of her eyes and spilled out. “We need you.” She leaned forward and sobbed into her hands.

  A bird trilled and sang from a tree branch above her. From not far away, another bird answered. The song was mournful, as if the two birds were crying to each other, while the sun winked at her through the leaves.

  “God, help me. Please.” A tear slid to her chin and dripped off. Having left home without a handkerchief, she wiped her face again with her hands. “I didn’t want Daddy to die. . . I didn’t want him to die. And now, what are we to do? We have no money. But I have to get back to Nashville so I can work and make money for the family. Please, God, please show me the way.” She sniffled. “Don’t make me stay”—her voice broke on a sob— “here.”

  A huge old magnolia tree stood nearby, slightly apart from the oak trees, and it spread its gnarled branches over the ground. A white blossom stretched toward Celia, so close she was able to reach over and pluck it. The flower was as big as her two open palms. She raised it to her face, letting her tears drip onto the perfect petals, closing her eyes and inhaling its heady fragrance. The smell conjured up memories of playing in her friend’s back yard in Nashville.