Magnolia Summer (Southern Seasons Book 1)

by Melanie Dickerson

  “Yes, collards grow wild around here, and so does watercress, around the ponds and marshy places. A good source of iron, or something like that. James is so smart . . . so giving. But Daddy, when he found out how I felt about James, he just hated him with a red-hot rage.”

  Almira blinked several times, her eyes swimming in tears. “But let’s don’t talk about my father.”

  Celia wasn’t afraid of Sheriff Suggs, not for herself, but she fervently hoped he didn’t appear at their door, asking if Almira was there. She would never give Almira up to him, but she had little power to stop him from doing whatever he wished.

  I will take care of Almira and her baby—and you.

  The words seemed to appear in Celia’s mind. She raised her eyebrows. All right, God. I will trust You.

  “Celia,” Almira said, thoughtfully staring at the tomato under her knife. “What do you think about Truett?”

  Celia moaned. “Oh, please, don’t.”

  “What? I was only going to say that he seems sweet on you.”

  Should she tell Almira what happened last week? She still didn’t want to even think about Truett’s proposal or their exchange after.

  “Not you, too.” Celia used the back of her hand to push back the lock of hair that slipped over one eye. “When Lizzie’s not hounding me about him, she’s giving me these looks to let me know she’s thinking about hounding me about him.”

  “Well, I promise not to hound you, but I was curious after the way the two of you were looking at each other at the Fourth of July dance.” Almira arched her eyebrows.

  A thin stream of tomato juice tickled as it ran down Celia’s arm. She grabbed a cloth on the table and rubbed her arm. Sighing, she decided she might as well tell Almira the truth.

  “Truett and I are . . .” How could she say this? “I think we both . . . We care about each other. But it can’t come to anything.” She didn’t want to lie, but she didn’t want to tell what had happened between them, either. “I’ve been trying not to fall in love with him.” There. That ought to be enough truth for the both of them.

  “Why? Being in love is a wonderful feeling.”

  “Are you joking? Being in love is a terrible feeling!”

  “How do you know?” Almira arched her eyebrows again.

  “Oh. Well, I don’t know, I guess, but I can imagine. It feels scary, as if you’re about to dive head first off a cliff into a boulder. It feels stupid! I don’t want to do it, Almira. I can’t. We both know that women are worth so much more than mere servants and bed partners, and that’s all men want us for.”

  Celia’s cheeks burned and she wished she’d kept her opinion to herself, especially since Almira was with child and not married.

  But Almira didn’t seem to take offense. She smiled and stopped peeling the tomato to stare at the opposite wall. “But isn’t it all worth it to have him say he loves you?”

  Celia shrugged. No one had ever said they loved her—until last week when Truett said it. It had felt pretty wonderful for a few seconds. But things between them weren’t likely to end wonderfully.

  She used her knife to stab a ripe tomato from the pan. She should think about how awful being a widow would feel, how she’d vowed never to marry and lose her chance to own her own business.

  “I don’t want to work in the kitchen all day. I want to work in a dress shop of my own, to create new fashions, to earn money in my own way and at my own trade. The thought of being like my mother ties my stomach in knots.”

  “Maybe you could have both.”

  “Both?”

  “Sure! All of it—a husband, children, and owning your own dress shop.”

  “I don’t think it works that way.”

  “Why?”

  “Children are wonderful, but someone has to take care of them. I know. It takes all three of us—Lizzie, Will, and me—to take care of Harley and Tempie.”

  “I think you will see things a little differently when you fall in love. And Truett is a good man, I can tell you that. James, Truett, and I grew up together. We used to sneak off with James to the black church. That’s when I learned about the unprejudiced God of love and mercy.” She smiled dreamily, lost in her memories. She said softly, “Besides, you couldn’t do better than Truett Beverly.”

  Celia moaned again. If the girl wanted a list of wonderful characteristics, she could name them herself. Noble, selfless, compassionate, brave . . . she could go on and on. “I know he’s a good man. That’s what I can’t stand about him. He’s too perfect.” She was talking crazy again. She stabbed another tomato. And a wonderful kisser.

  “I think you are in love with him. You’re just too scared to admit it.”

  Chapter 23

  Celia wanted to deny that she loved Truett. She wanted to insist that she was independent and ambitious and didn’t need a man.

  “What if I do love him? Wouldn’t it be wrong to make him love me if I had no intention of becoming a meek little wife who stayed at home and had a baby every couple of years?”

  Her words conjured up the fact of Almira’s pregnancy again. Was that exactly what Almira wished for? To be a wife and have babies? And while guilt assaulted Celia for possibly hurting Almira’s feelings, the guilt over kissing Truett when she had no intention of marrying him sent another, stronger stab through her stomach.

  But oh, how she liked kissing him. In fact, she wanted to kiss him again, every day for the rest of her life. What did that say about her?

  That she was very, very confused. And no better than Almira. How could she judge Almira when she was so carnal herself?

  “You wouldn’t marry him if he asked you?”

  Should she tell Almira that he had already asked her to marry him? But she’d just gotten angry and pushed him away. Truett was probably too angry with her now to still want to marry her. He probably wished he could take it back.

  “I don’t know if I’d marry him or not. I’m just really scared.” Celia stopped peeling. “And confused.”

  “Have you prayed about it?” Almira half-frowned. “I know. I’m pregnant and unmarried and have no right to give advice, but then again . . . maybe my mistakes qualify me.”

  Almira’s features slackened with sadness. “I think love is the most powerful force in the universe. And although I shouldn’t have sinned, I still believe that God is love, and love will one day bring James and me back together.” Almira reached over and squeezed Celia’s juice-covered hand. “If love is stronger than hate, then love is stronger than your fears, Celia. You just need to let go. Love is so much better than fear.”

  Part of Celia wanted to think Almira had simply read too many novels. But she also wondered if she was right.

  When had she become such a fearful person? She’d always prided herself on being courageous, not afraid of going against other people’s strictures to make her own life. But she wasn’t sure if love was worth sacrificing a life of independence and . . . well . . . power. She wanted power over her future, power over her own mind, and the power that came with position and earning her own money.

  But to get it, she’d always known she’d have to give up love and marriage. That had never bothered her before. Why did it bother her now?

  Because she’d seen the tenderness in Truett’s eyes, felt the love in his embrace. She didn’t want to lose him and the wonderful way he made her feel.

  But she was being unfair to him. If only she had the money to take care of her family and get back to Nashville, everything would work out according to her plan and she’d forget about him.

  “There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear,” Almira quoted as she went back to peeling

  Celia stiffened. “If perfect love casts out fear, then my love must not be perfect. Because I’m afraid Truett’s love wouldn’t make me content.”

  “How about your fear? Is your fear making you content?” Almira smiled. “You just admitted you love him, you know. You should talk to him about it.”

 
; “Oh, no, I should not.” She’d already rejected him and hurt him—and herself. “I’ll not be throwing myself at a man when I don’t know what my intentions are—or his, anymore.”

  “That was my mistake,” Almira said softly.

  “What?”

  “Not talking things over—about our future. If I had, perhaps we’d be together now instead of several states away from each other. We should have talked instead of . . . kissing and getting into trouble.”

  “Is that how it starts? With kissing?” Celia swallowed, feeling her cheeks begin to heat. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me. I’m sorry.”

  Almira’s white cheeks blushed rosily. “That’s how it started with us.”

  Whoa. No more kissing. Not that she needed to worry about that now, after the way she treated Truett.

  The next day, Celia and Almira were in the kitchen preparing dinner when someone galloped up the lane toward the house. Will, Lizzie, and the twins were out in the back yard plucking a turkey Will had shot.

  Celia went down the hall to look out the window. Her heart nearly stalled.

  Sheriff Suggs!

  She ran back down the hall. “Almira! Go hide! It’s the sheriff.”

  Almira went as white as a boll of cotton. She dropped the knife she was using to slice okra and fled to the bedroom.

  Celia took a deep breath and forced herself to walk calmly to the front door.

  Sheriff Suggs was just setting a boot onto the first step of the porch. Tempie was sitting on the porch playing with her dolls. She stared up at the sheriff. He ignored her as he walked with deliberate steps across the noisy planks toward the front door.

  Celia pulled the door open wider. “Good afternoon, Sheriff.” Celia pasted on a welcoming smile while each beat of her heart trembled. She forced her voice not to sound as breathless as she felt. “What can I do for you?”

  “How do, Miss Celia.” He took off his hat and switched his wad of tobacco from one side of his mouth to the other.

  Celia’s stomach did a queasy flip.

  Tempie started screaming. Celia hurried out and discovered she was screaming at a bug that was walking slowly toward her. She picked Tempie up and carried the child inside as fast as she could, calling an apology to the sheriff which she was sure he never heard over Tempie’s screams.

  Once she put Tempie on the floor, handed her a book and pointed at her tea set, the child stopped crying. She didn’t even wipe off the tears still clinging to her cheeks as she reached for the book and calmly opened it to the middle, showing the picture to her doll.

  Celia went back to where the Sheriff waited, every nerve jumping, straining to get away.

  “Won’t you come in and sit a while?” She gave him a weak smile and stepped back, inviting him into the front room.

  He shook his head. “I just have a bit of business to discuss.”

  They continued standing on the porch. The sheriff’s expression seemed too nonchalant for a man on the hunt for his daughter. If he’d suspected Almira was there, he would have barged right in. Celia’s heart began to slow back to normal.

  “Of course. What is it, Sheriff Suggs?” She gave him what she hoped was an innocent, curious smile as she gazed up at him, noticing dried brown spittle at the corners of his mouth.

  “Bethel Springs is needing a school teacher and several folks suggested you, Miss Celia, as the most educated woman around. We’d like you to take the job come September first.”

  “Oh.” Should she pretend she didn’t know Almira was missing? What should she say?

  “You might be wondering about Almira. She won’t be back to teach this year.” His jaw hardened and a muscle convulsed in his cheek.

  “Yes, Ruby told me something about Almira leaving. Do you know where she went?” She stared at him with wide, innocent eyes.

  Sheriff Suggs turned his head and spat off the side of the porch. At least, Celia sincerely hoped the tobacco juice made it off the porch.

  “Almira ran off. She won’t be back.” His small dark eyes bore into Celia in a way that made her heart start hammering again.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. The truth is, Sheriff, I’ve been hoping to find a buyer for our farm here so we can move back to Nashville. If I get a good offer, we’ll be leaving.”

  “Well, if you don’t get an offer, the job’s yours. Good day, Miss Celia.” He clapped his hat back on his head and turned to leave.

  Relief washed over Celia like a waft of cool air. She pulled a nice long draught of it into her lungs.

  “Thank you, Sheriff. I’ll let you know as soon as I can.”

  He mounted his horse and tipped his hat without even looking at her. Then he rode away down the lane. She stood watching him, making sure he was truly gone before she went back in the house.

  Celia went into the bedroom but didn’t see Almira anywhere. “You can come out now.”

  Almira scooted out from under Celia and Lizzie’s bed. “Is he gone?”

  “He’s gone.” She helped Almira up. “He doesn’t even suspect you’re here.” Celia couldn’t help the grin of triumph on her face.

  Almira’s hand shook when she lifted it to brush back her hair. She chuckled nervously. “Thank God for that.”

  When Sunday rolled around again, Celia felt sorry for Almira, stuck hiding in the house while they went to church. When Celia asked if she was tired of being shut up all the time for the second week, Almira only smiled and said, “No. I like it here.” But there was sadness in her eyes. Almira must be missing James even more than Celia missed Truett.

  She hadn’t spoken to Truett in almost two weeks. He hadn’t even been to the house to see Will. Was he really that angry with her? It was a shame her conflicts with Truett were taking away Will’s friend, the man he looked up to and learned from. She sighed, wondering for the thousandth time how she had managed to make things so complicated and messed up.

  “I’m so sorry, Will.”

  Will, seated beside her on the wagon, turned to her with a puzzled look. “What are you sorry for?”

  Celia frowned. They were almost to church.

  “I’m sorry Truett hasn’t been coming around. I’m sure it’s my fault. He’s just angry with me, but he’s crazy about you. You’re like a brother to him. I hope you know that.”

  Will gave her his crooked half smile and shook his head to sling the swatch of blond hair out of his eyes. He needed a haircut. She’d have to cut it when they got back home.

  “Don’t worry about it, Celia. And I’m sure he’s not mad at you—at least, not for long. He’s a forgiving kind of man.”

  Will turned the horses into the short lane that led to the church.

  A forgiving man. Sure, but she wasn’t asking for forgiveness. She was too confused to even give him an answer to his proposal. She could ask forgiveness for being confused, but that might not be helpful. No, it was better to give him time and let him start coming around again when he was ready.

  And pray that God would either make her stop caring about him, or make her stop caring about owning her own business.

  Unfortunately, neither seemed likely.

  Will ran around to help Celia down. Lizzie and the twins scrambled off the back of the wagon and made their way toward the white clapboard building.

  They got inside a little late and had to sit near the front of the church, in the third row. Celia prayed the twins would sit quietly through the sermon and become neither an annoyance nor entertainment for the people behind them, depending on whether the congregants were trying to listen to the sermon, or just endure it.

  She allowed her gaze to rove around. Then she saw him. Truett’s gaze met hers as he walked down the aisle. He offered a slight smile and walked past, taking a seat in the front row.

  After standing and singing three hymns, everyone sat and waited for Preacher Massey to step up to the podium. But instead of the preacher, Truett Beverly stood and made his way to stand before them, holding a Bible in his hand. A slight r
ustle passed through the crowd.

  Celia couldn’t help but notice how handsome he looked standing there with his white stand-up collar shirt, his black vest and black coat. His hair was combed neatly into place, and his blue eyes seemed to sparkle in the sunlight that filtered through the windows. She could still see his bruise, although it had faded and was now only a faint yellowish-purple around his eye.

  “Good morning.” Truett greeted everyone with a serious look as he held his black Bible between both hands. “I’m sorry to say that Preacher Massey is not well. I visited him last night, and his cough has gotten much worse. He cannot be with us today, but he asked me to fill in for him this morning. I hope y’all don’t mind.”

  He smiled, and Celia noticed people across the aisle smiling and nodding encouragement to him. They were probably all thrilled they didn’t have to hear Preacher Massey’s same old sermon again.

  Truett bowed his head to pray. “Dear Lord, we thank you for this beautiful sunny morning and for bringing us together today. Please heal Preacher Massey of his sickness and restore his health. Help us all to open our hearts to your Word, and I pray that you would give me words to speak. In Jesus’s name, amen.

  “Open your Bibles to Psalm 82, verse two.” Truett waited a moment, then started to read. “‘How long will ye judge unjustly, and accept the persons of the wicked? Defend the poor and fatherless: do justice to the afflicted and needy. Deliver the poor and needy: rid them out of the hand of the wicked.’”

  Truett looked up, his gaze seeming to pierce one congregant, then another. He had that fierce look in his eyes that meant trouble. Oh, Truett, whatever you’re thinking of saying, please don’t say it! Celia clenched her fists by her sides, praying fervently that Sheriff Suggs had decided not to come to church today.

  Truett’s voice was quiet but authoritative. “Ask yourselves, are we doing what this verse says? Are we defending the poor? Is justice served in our community?”