Celia’s heart hammered as she walked toward the house. She wasn’t sure how a man covered in sweat could look so good. But she was more determined than ever to warn him that his safety—his very life!—was in jeopardy.
When dinner was ready they set up a trestle table outside. Celia and Lizzie served while the men and children ate. The men ate so fast she hardly had time to sit down before they were up and working again.
A couple of hours later, while Celia was getting a blackberry cobbler ready to put in the oven, Will came to the back door.
“Truett says it’s best if you all come on out of the house about now while we see if we can get this tree to fall the other way. Just in case.”
Celia quickly rounded up Tempie, who was playing with her dolls, and Mother, who was sitting in her rocking chair in the bedroom. She hustled them out the door and stood with Lizzie. Harley was already outside.
Truett and the other men shouted back and forth. Carefully but efficiently, they tightened the ropes, then sawed some more, then tightened again. Already the tree was straightening. In a few more minutes it was leaning away from the house.
Truett paused in the process long enough to tell them all to move farther away, out of the tree’s reach, should it fall somewhere other than where they planned for it to go.
Lizzie prayed out loud that God would keep the men—and their house—safe from the tree. Celia joined her silently. And God, please give me a chance to talk to Truett, alone. Please don’t let me seem like a tease. She added, And help me get back to Nashville before I fall in love with him.
It might already be too late for that last request.
Truett pulled on one rope while Will cranked the winch. Greenbrier and Grady sawed until they all heard a loud crack. The two men scrambled out of the way.
“Will!” Truett called out. “Be ready to run!” His voice strained as he pulled on the rope.
Celia held her breath. Several more loud cracks came from the trunk of the tree as it slowly began its descent. It picked up speed and crashed to the ground in the wide expanse between Truett and Will.
The men raised a cheer loud enough to rival the huge tree’s crash.
Celia let out the breath she’d been holding. Everyone was safe. The house was safe. Thank you, God.
Surely now the men would leave and she could catch Truett and get a private word with him. But they all just stood around, talking and congratulating each other, seemingly unconcerned about getting back to their regular work. Every once in a while, one of the men would cast a glance her direction, probably wondering why she was standing outside watching them. Finally, Celia had no choice but to go inside.
She watched from the window as the men gathered their winch and rope . . . and then lingered a bit longer at the well, getting another drink. Finally, they headed toward Greenbrier’s wagon and loaded their stuff on it. Truett was just coming back around with Will when Celia stepped out the back door.
“You’re not leaving yet, are you?”
Will said, “He’s coming back tonight after supper to help me get that possum.”
“Oh. Well, I just—”
“He’s got to go get cleaned up.”
Truett smiled and quirked an eyebrow at her. He was about to say something teasing, she just knew it. But at least he wasn’t mad at her—or worse, indifferent.
“Is there something else I can do for you?” Truett’s intense gaze sent her heart to pounding again.
“No, I just—had something . . . to discuss with you.”
He and Will both stared at her as if waiting for her to continue. Heat rose up her neck and into her cheeks. Why couldn’t Will take a hint and leave? But she couldn’t risk saying anything in front of her brother. Or the men who were waiting for him just on the other side of the house. She did her best to swallow her frustration.
“I’ll talk with you tonight.” Celia retreated back inside the house.
Tonight, Lord, or else I’m riding over to his house and spilling everything I know, even if I have to do it in front of Mrs. Beverly and Griff!
Celia knew she was behaving erratically during supper, but she didn’t realize Will and Lizzie had noticed until she caught them grinning at each other.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Lizzie said, and skittered away down the hall.
Will walked toward her and laid his hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay, sis. You don’t have to be so nervous. I’m pretty sure Truett likes you too.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him how he knew this. She stopped herself just in time.
“Listen here. I—” She halted the tirade she wanted to unleash, lest she humiliate herself further. But she couldn’t bear to lose another chance to talk to Truett. If she didn’t enlist her brother’s help, she might miss her opportunity—again.
Celia took a deep breath. “The truth is, I need to talk to Truett alone tonight, just for a minute.”
Will took a step back and held up his hands. “Far be it from me to come between you and your beau.”
“He is not my beau.” Celia kept her voice low and spoke slowly, hoping the fierceness in her tone would scare the sass out of the boy. “I just need to talk to him, all right? It isn’t about me, it isn’t about you, but it’s important.” She leaned toward his face, hoping her brother felt the implication of a threat. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am, I understand perfectly.” But he never lost the silly grin on his face.
He wasn’t the least bit afraid of her. And he didn’t believe for a moment that she wasn’t sweet on Truett.
Could she blame him when she wasn’t sure herself?
Someone knocked at the back door. Celia jumped.
Will started down the hall then cupped his mouth and whispered, “Don’t be nervous.”
Celia glared at him and went to the door. Truett stood there looking much different than he had a few hours before. He was clean-shaven and wore a fresh white shirt. His wet hair was combed back from his face.
Celia coughed to clear her thoughts, then slipped outside to join Truett. “Will should be out soon. He’s helping Harley get settled into bed.”
Now Truett would finally find out what was on her mind.
“Shall we take a little walk?” Truett stepped back to let her get down the back steps and then offered her his arm. When she slipped her hand inside the crook of his elbow a delicious warmth engulfed him.
They wandered slowly across the yard. Night came late this time of year, so the light from the sun still had not completely faded. Already the cicadas’ nightly harangue accompanied the chirp of the crickets and the distant song of frogs down by the creek. He let the familiar sounds calm his pulse as he waited for Celia to speak.
They made their way around to the tree they had felled earlier, near the edge of the yard. She let go of his arm and turned to face him. The deepening twilight made her eyes look like polished amber stones he’d seen in a jewelry store in New York, sparkling and brilliant.
Oh, how he was reminded of their kiss. His gaze fell upon her lips, but when he forced himself to focus on her voice, he couldn’t help but note the pain and discomfort in her tone, delivering the unwelcome truth that her thoughts were far from where his had gone.
“Truett, I have something to say to you, and I’m just going to say it before we get interrupted.” She cast her eyes cautiously toward the house.
“I’m listening.” His heart thumped hard against his chest. Was she about to tell him how sorry she was about how she had treated him?
She took a deep breath, then hesitated.
“Maybe I should sit down first.” His attempt at a joke did not put her at ease. He decided he’d better, and sat down on the felled tree.
“You must be tired. Thanks for all you did to remove the danger of this tree.” Her face softened as she glanced at him then stared off into the black forest.
His muscles had done more work today than in recent memory, and he was
already feeling sore, especially in his shoulders. His legs felt as though they’d been wrung out then hung to dry.
“I was glad to do it for you.” Wait. He hadn’t meant to say it was for her. But the words were out and he wouldn’t take them back.
“Oh, Truett, what I want to say is that I’m worried about you.” She turned her face toward him and clasped her hands in front of her.
His heart skipped a beat at her look of concern, his breath deserting him.
She spoke in a breathless whisper. “I know you’re the one who saved James Burwell from being lynched.”
His stomach twisted.
“I know you’re the hooded horseman on the wanted posters. You must be careful.” The words seemed wrenched from her throat. Her face twisted with fervency. Her brows were creased, making her appear a little afraid.
“How did you know?”
“It doesn’t matter how I know. I figured it out.”
“You did?” His throat grew tight.
A thrill passed through his gut at the thought that she knew him better than anyone. She had seen him not as a weak poet but as a daring hooded horseman. None of the folks he’d grown up with—not even his mother—had deduced the truth.
But Celia had.
“Don’t you see?” She gazed into his eyes. “If I figured it out, someone else will, too. Or they might find your hood and cape in the cave just like I did—”
“Wait a minute. You found a black hood and cape. What makes you think they belong to me?”
She wouldn’t look him in the eye and clasped and unclasped her hands.
Was this conversation about to get even more interesting?
Celia blinked several times, trying to frame a response that would preserve her dignity. If she confessed how she’d pressed the clothing against her face, breathed in his scent, remembered their kiss . . . what little pride she had left would disappear like smoke.
“Are you saying they don’t belong to you?”
“I’m not saying anything.”
Celia’s shoulders slumped as tension left her body. She’d finally got it out. She’d been as taut as a banjo string ever since she’d decided she had to warn him. But she still had to make him see the danger he was in and make him promise to be careful, and to secure the help of someone higher in authority than the sheriff.
“I’d just like to know how you figured all this out.”
She sighed, realizing they were in for a long conversation, and sat down beside him.
“Ruby and her grandmother came over and were talking about the hooded horseman. I just got to thinking about you and how fierce you had looked when you spoke of James Burwell almost being lynched—”
“You thought I looked fierce?” Truett raised his eyebrows and smiled.
Celia shook her head at how pleased he sounded. “Anyway, I just realized that it made sense that you were the hooded horseman. They said you also attacked Sheriff Suggs, but I didn’t believe that.”
“And then you found my hood and cloak. How did you know they were mine?”
He turned his body so that his knee brushed hers where they sat on the big tree trunk.
“I just knew.”
“How?”
“I’m not telling you.” They stared each other in the eye so long Celia’s eyes began to water.
The light had faded until there was little more than a glow in the sky overhead. She could still make out his features, the slight cleft in his chin and the strong, masculine line of his jaw. His intense gaze seemed to search her heart. Could he see that she had been suppressing her desire for him ever since that first day she’d met him, when the compassion in his face had created a longing in her she didn’t understand? How she’d held back from admiring him, from trusting him and allowing him to court her?
She pressed her hands against her face to cool the sting in her cheeks, thankful he couldn’t read her mind. But the conflict inside her made tears spring to her eyes. The truth was that she was terrified to allow herself to love him. Look what love had done to her mother! Besides, the man was doing a dangerous thing. He would most likely hang sooner or later, whenever Sheriff Suggs found out what he’d done. Then where would he be? Cold in the grave. And where would that leave anyone who loved him? Comfortless and alone.
“What are you thinking?” Truett reached out and touched her hand.
“I’m thinking that you’re crazy and you’re going to be killed.” She could barely see through the sudden pain that was blurring her vision. Her heart twisted inside her chest. She wanted to stop her words, knowing they were irrational, but they spilled out anyway. “What were you thinking when you crossed this sheriff? Did you think you wouldn’t be found out? Did you think you wouldn’t be killed? What do you plan to do now?” A tear slipped from each eye and Celia swiped at them with her hand. Words were coming out that she hadn’t meant to say, things she didn’t know she was going to say until she heard herself say them.
“Please don’t cry.”
“When you get yourself killed, what good will that do? My father got himself killed with his foolishness, now you’re trying to do the same thing. There has to be another way. You have to get someone from Huntsville involved, someone who can stop this sheriff from taking matters into his own hands, from lynching people. If you don’t, he’s going to kill you. I can’t let that happen to you.”
Celia pressed her lips together, knowing there was nothing she could do to control what would happen to him. Tears were still oozing down her cheeks. She blinked, willing the them to dry up.
She glanced at Truett and immediately tried to look away. But she was caught. The tenderness in his expression pierced her heart. This man is so good and I’m so selfish, God. And such a coward. When had she become so fearful?
Truett reached for her hand again. This time she didn’t resist. His gentle fingers wrapped around hers. He never took his eyes off her face.
She had revealed too much of her thoughts and feelings. Her mind screamed at her to flee, but she couldn’t resist the warmth that was flooding her chest. He was so deserving of everything good, of a good wife. He deserved someone much more perfect that she was. She shouldn’t let him hold her hand. Didn’t he know he deserved someone better?
They sat in silence for a minute or two. Truett finally looked down at her hand and began to rub the back of it with his thumb. His callused palm pressed against her hand, which, after a few weeks of hoeing and gardening, had a few calluses, too.
How could she fight the way she felt? Did she love him? Should she agree to let him court her?
Chapter 20
The way Truett stroked the back of her hand sent tingles up her arm. She shouldn’t be enjoying his touch so much.
When he stopped, she opened her eyes. He was no longer looking at her, but was gazing off to the side. “When I was seven years old,” he spoke slowly and deliberately, “my father and my two oldest brothers went off to fight the Yankees.”
Celia studied his face. He wore a blank expression, but his serious tone made her want to hear every word.
“Father survived, but I never saw my brothers again. They were both killed at Chickamauga.” He sighed and shook his head. “I was too young to go fight.” He stopped again and they listened for a moment to the frogs croaking to each other from down on the creek bank.
“This whole area of North Alabama, from the Tennessee state line to the Tennessee River below Huntsville, was occupied by the Yankees for almost the entire war. They headquartered in Huntsville and raided this area regularly. Near the end of the war, they burned most of the houses around here.”
His hollow expression made the air rush from her lungs. “I didn’t know.” She was afraid he wouldn’t go on, but finally he continued.
“One day they came, burning every plantation house they came to. When they got to us, Mama begged them to spare ours. She promised them she’d already freed all her slaves. She cried and pleaded. But . . .” he shook his head, “th
ey burned our house to the ground.”
Celia whispered, “I’m so sorry.”
“Griff tried to stop them.”
Celia’s heart was in her throat. She ached to put her arms around him, but she was afraid he would stop talking, stop opening up to her. Every word was a precious treasure.
“Griff picked up a big rock to throw it at them. I was standing on the porch, scared to death, but Griff . . . he didn’t see the Yankee soldier who came up behind him. The man pushed Griff down, and my brother hit his head on the rock he was holding. He was unconscious for a week, and when he woke up, it was obvious there was permanent damage.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“I was only a child. There was nothing I could do, but it hurt to know that I hadn’t even tried to defend my home, my mother, or my brother. And now . . . I don’t want to be someone who stands by and does nothing, not ever again.”
Celia ached to comfort him, in awe that he would entrust this painful memory to her.
“I suppose the war was God’s judgment against us. We deserved what happened. No man should keep another enslaved. That’s the way I see it now. But how long will it take for this to be a joyful place again? How long does it take before a conquered land is allowed to prosper again? A hundred years? Two hundred?”
He stared up at the sky and she followed his gaze. A few stars had appeared.
“And when Sheriff Suggs tried to hang James, it wasn’t the first time he’d executed a man without a trial. He’s always done it quietly, making himself judge and jury, and nobody’s stopped him.” He shook his head. “After the last lynching, I decided to take matters into my own hands. And fortunately, I found out about what he was planning to do, before he tried to hang James, and I was able to save his life.”
His eyes met hers with that fierceness she’d seen in him only once before. “As a little boy, there was nothing I could do,” he said. “But now . . . That is why I wear the hood and cloak. And that is why I will do it again.”
Magnolia Summer (Southern Seasons Book 1) Page 18