Magnolia Summer

by Melanie Dickerson

  Forty dollars each was much less than her father had paid for the mares and not nearly enough to do them much good. And of course, they no longer had the stallion.

  She’d have to be desperate for survival to accept such a paltry amount for those broodmares. Perhaps she could sell them by advertising in the newspaper. But who would pay her the actual worth of the horses? In these times, in Alabama, who actually needed Thoroughbred broodmares? They were too valuable to be used as work horses on a farm.

  Celia leaned a forearm against Old Sallie and rubbed her temple where it had started to ache. What would happen to them without money? Celia didn’t want Harley and Tempie to grow up without proper clothing, shoes, and food. She didn’t want Will and Lizzie to have few or no prospects for the future, too poor for any sort of private education.

  Her heart heavy, Celia mounted the horse and started through town.

  A piece of paper nailed to a hitching post caught her eye. It was a wanted poster, rustling in a hot gust of wind. The reward especially drew her attention—$500. That was enough money to hire someone to take care of her siblings and get Celia back to Nashville, even if they weren’t able to sell their farm.

  She drew closer to the piece of paper and saw that the reward was for “the hooded man” who had “thwarted justice” in Madison County. The $500 was for anyone who could give information as to the identity of the black-hooded horseman who had fired his gun at a lawman.

  Five hundred dollars was the largest reward Celia had ever seen for a local criminal, an enormous sum for someone who hadn’t committed murder. What had the hooded man done to draw such a reward? Celia had heard that he had prevented the sheriff from arresting a black man, Truett’s friend, James Burwell. But it was also rumored that this Mr. Burwell was innocent and that Sheriff Suggs had attempted to hang him without a trial. But would a sheriff blatantly defy the law by lynching a man who hadn’t been tried?

  Either way, Celia would like to have the reward. She should let the authorities take care of it, since it was none of her affair, but five hundred dollars! That would answer all her prayers, for herself as well as her family. But of course, she didn’t know who the hooded horseman was, or anything about him.

  As she passed Truett’s office, she couldn’t help glancing his way. Was he inside? What did he think of her now, after she refused to let him court her? After all he’d done for her and her family, he probably thought her cold and heartless. She certainly wouldn’t fault him for it if he did. He couldn’t know how heavy her heart felt every time she thought of how she’d treated him.

  She looked away from the doctor’s office window. What was done was done. Besides, she couldn’t have reacted any other way. It was either hurt him now or break both their hearts when she had to leave and go back to Nashville.

  Besides, when he learned all about her “manly ambitions,” he couldn’t possibly want her for a wife.

  Truett watched Celia through his office window as she tore open first one letter then the other. Her hair was pulled back in that severe way of hers, not a wisp hanging free. But she was still pretty, especially her eyes . . . Would he ever be able to look at her again without thinking about their kiss?

  But she had been adamant about not wanting him to court her. He shouldn’t think about her at all.

  Celia stared at the letter, then wadded it in her fist. The way her mouth went slack and her shoulders wilted, it must be bad news.

  Truett stepped back from the window so she wouldn’t see him.

  Would she look his way? Could she be that cold, to come to town and not even think about him or even turn her eyes toward his office?

  She stood beside her horse, holding both letters in her clenched fist. She rubbed her forehead as though trying to gather her thoughts. Pursing her lips together, she mounted, then swung the mare toward home.

  She paused to look at something—the wanted poster. His wanted posted.

  Finally, she continued down the road. As she passed his office, she bent her head and covertly turned her gaze toward his office. His heart stopped. Had she changed her mind about him? After a moment, she focused her eyes on the road ahead and urged her horse into a trot.

  Truett let out the breath he was holding. So it was to be this way. Perhaps it was for the best.

  He watched Sheriff Suggs talking with Aubrey Pettibone earlier as they stood on the sidewalk. Then Suggs had looked all around, to see if anyone was watching them, and the two had gone inside Pettibone’s store. Something was afoot, and he had a feeling it had to do with the new store a black man had opened a few miles from town. The store was only a few miles on the other side of the Wilcox place, near Killingsworth Cove, and would surely take away business from Aubrey Pettibone’s general store.

  A farmer interrupted his musings, coming into his office to get the stitches out of the gash Truett had sewed up the week before.

  Truett went to work on the stitches, but he was still wondering how he could find out what Suggs and Pettibone were up to—without raising suspicion.

  Anything was worth doing if it kept his mind off Celia.

  Celia ruminated on their money problems on the way home. Her mother clearly had no plans to provide for them. It was up to Celia to figure out what to do and how to provide for her family.

  She drew near the last bend in the road before they reached home when Old Sallie began limping. Celia dismounted and finally coaxed the horse into lifting her back leg. Sure enough, she’d lost a shoe.

  Celia heaved a sigh. Taking the reins, she set out on foot, leading the horse down the dusty red road. At least they were almost home.

  A voice drifted to her, coming from somewhere down the road, singing.

  A little girl appeared around the bend. Her hair hung in several black braids that were tied with red ribbon, a bow by each ear. Her skin was smooth and dark brown. The basket on her arm swung gently back and forth as she walked. Her face broke into a wide grin when she saw Celia. “Morning, ma’am.”

  Celia opened her mouth to say “Good morning” back, but her eye at that moment caught sight of a brown diamond-patterned rattlesnake, coiled in the middle of the road, facing the little girl.

  “Stop!” Celia could barely get the word out. “Don’t move!”

  The girl looked down at what Celia was staring at and let loose an ear-piercing scream, clutching her basket against her chest.

  Old Sallie whinnied and reared, pawing the air. Celia held on to her bridle.

  She’d heard that a snake wouldn’t strike if you held perfectly still, but the girl was not holding still. She slid her feet backward, clutching at her arms as she hugged the basket tighter.

  “Don’t move!” Desperation made Celia’s voice shrill.

  The snake raised its head higher, shaking its tail. The snake’s rattles sounded like hundreds of tiny feet, marching, coming for them. The hair on the back of Celia’s neck prickled at the sinister warning.

  The snake’s body was coiled, its head facing the little girl only two feet away, well within striking distance. If the snake bit the little girl, she could die.

  A steely calm entered Celia’s veins and steadied her hands. She had to act quickly to save the girl.

  She picked up a rock and threw it with all her strength. She purposely made it hit the ground a foot shy of the snake’s coiled-up body. Just as she’d hoped, the snake jerked its head from the girl’s direction to the rock, lunging and striking at it.

  Celia yelled, “Get back.”

  The poor girl sobbed, tears streaming down her cheeks, as she crept backward down the road, back in the direction she’d come.

  Celia looked around for something to use to kill the snake, now that it was facing in her direction. Old Sallie snorted and pulled backward on the bridle.

  Celia couldn’t let the snake frighten her horse into charging. A long stick lay at the edge of the road. She bent and grabbed it. The outer layer crumbled. The stick was rotten. She threw it down.

&nb
sp; The snake uncoiled itself and began to move toward Celia and Old Sallie. She only had a few seconds before the snake would be close enough to strike.

  Fear tightened her chest and made her breathing shallow. Desperately, she looked around for something else. She spotted another stick lying farther off the road. She pulled Old Sallie after her as she stepped off the road and stretched her arm to reach it.

  She grabbed hold of the sturdy limb. The snake continued its menacing pose, its forked tongue darting in and out, its beady eyes now trained on Celia, and its rattles shaking at her.

  “I’m going to kill you, snake.” Celia’s voice trembled in spite of her bravado.

  The little girl stood a safe distance away, sniffling. “Please don’t let that snake bite you.”

  The rattlesnake slithered toward Celia. The girl screamed.

  Celia got in front of Old Sallie and let go of the bridle. Clutching the stick in both hands, she brought the end of the limb down hard.

  Thwack!

  Oh no! She’d missed the snake altogether and hit the ground beside it, instead.

  Chapter 15

  Vibrations shivered up Celia’s arms, almost causing her to drop the stick.

  The snake lifted its head, coiling itself in a striking pose, and Celia brought the stick down again, this time hitting the snake, but still missing its head, her intended target.

  Though the blow made a tiny dent in the snake’s body, its head pivoted toward her stick. The snake’s glittery, diamond-patterned length coiled tighter, getting ready to strike.

  Celia brought the stick down a third time, and this time she hit the head. She brought the stick down again and again, hitting the head several more times, and yet the rattles continued their tuneless racket. Finally, as she continued her assault, the snake’s rattles went limp on the ground.

  Her hands trembled and her knees went weak. She couldn’t seem to take her eyes off the creature.

  “Oh, miss!” The little girl stepped cautiously forward. “I never seen nobody kill a snake with a stick before.” The child came closer. The evidence of tears still shimmered on her cheeks, but they were smiling now. “You must be the bravest lady in Madison County.”

  Celia laughed nervously. If she was so brave, why was she shaking like a leaf?

  A strange step-shuffle came from around the bend just before Will appeared, hobbling toward them with his rifle in one hand and a crutch in the other.

  “Will! You shouldn’t be out here.” She realized the futility of her statement and another shaky chuckle erupted from her throat.

  Her horse nickered behind her, and she threw down her weapon and went to retrieve Old Sallie from thirty feet away, from where she’d shied to.

  Will bent over Celia’s handiwork. “Shoot-fire and brimstone, Celia! Did you kill this rattler?”

  “She sure did.” The little girl spoke up, her cheeks crowding her eyes as she grinned. “She wasn’t a bit scared neither.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.” Celia rubbed the side of her neck with a trembling hand.

  “She beat that old snake into the ground!” The little girl shook her head. “I was never so glad to see something get dead.”

  “He sure is a big old fellow. Got seven rattles!” Will picked up the stick that Celia had just bludgeoned him with and used it to lift the snake into the air

  The little girl jerked backward with a little squeal and Celia sucked in quick breath through her teeth.

  “For pity’s sake, Will, do you have to touch the thing?”

  “Six feet long,” Will said, a hush in his voice.

  The girl was gradually edging toward Celia. Who was the little girl, and where was she going? Finally, their eyes met.

  “Miss or ma’am, I don’t know which it is, but you done saved me from that snake, and I’m much obliged.”

  Tears stung her eyes and, impulsively, Celia put her arms around the girl, bending over and hugging her tight.

  Celia drew back. “It’s miss.” She sniffed, her heart full. It wasn’t hard to smile at the precious little girl. “Celia Wilcox. And this is my brother, Will. What’s your name?”

  “Annie Hartley. Pleased to meet you, Miss Celia.”

  Annie was shorter than Will, and Celia guessed she was at least two years younger. She had such a sweet smile.

  “Pleased to meet you too, Annie. Would you like to come in for some tea? Our house is just around this bend.”

  “Thank you, Miss Celia. That snake done scared me so bad, I feel like I need to sit down. My heart’s pounding right out of my chest.”

  “Mine, too.” Celia took a deep breath and let it out.

  Will carried the snake draped over the stick.

  “Throw that thing down.” Celia shuddered.

  “I want to take it home, show it to Truett when he comes over.”

  “All right.”

  “Where were you headed?” Will asked Annie.

  “I came down the road today to tell folks about my Daddy and uncle’s new store.”

  “Oh?” Celia raised her eyebrows. She hadn’t known there was any store around except Pettibone’s General Store in Bethel Springs. Both Tempie and Harley would need new shoes come fall, and the General Store’s prices were scandalous compared to what they were in Nashville. And the Lord knew they didn’t have any money to waste.

  “Oh, surely, Miss Celia. It’s just up the road towards Killingsworth Cove, where my family all lives. In fact, your house is the closest one down this road.”

  Killingsworth Cove was a little community on the opposite side of their farm from Bethel Springs.

  “We’ve got everything you might need, Miss Celia. Do you need some eggs? I got a basket full right here.” Annie lifted the red and white checked cloth covering her basket.

  “We have chickens and plenty of eggs, but I do need some thread.”

  Annie stuck her hand in the basket and pulled out a spool and held it up triumphantly. “You need white thread, Miss Celia?”

  “Why yes. How much?”

  “Just four cents.” She leaned closer as they walked along the lane to their house. Cupping her hand around her mouth, she whispered, “That’s one cent cheaper than at the Bethel Springs store.”

  Celia smiled. “Then you’ve just sold a spool of thread.”

  She knew there were people who would frown upon her doing business at a black folks’ store, but she didn’t care about that. She’d always believed in putting herself in others’ shoes and empathizing with their situation, and she certainly wouldn’t like it if someone slighted her just because of the color of her skin. It wasn’t Christian. And besides, she needed to save every penny she could if they didn’t find a buyer for their farm.

  But of course they would find a buyer. They had to.

  “My Daddy let me take these things and go out and let folks know about our store.”

  The three of them talked as they made their way into the house and sat down at the kitchen table while Celia made a pot of tea and got the four cents to pay Annie for the spool of thread.

  Tempie showed Annie her dolls, and after playing with the younger girl for a few minutes, Annie got up to leave.

  “We’ll come by the store real soon,” Celia assured her. The girl smiled and waved as she left.

  Celia watched her go and, feeling a strong kinship with Annie, she prayed a silent prayer that the little girl’s dream of seeing her father’s store prosper would come true.

  Will was able to do all his morning chores again the next morning. When he was done, he came and told Celia, “Bad news. The pigs . . .”

  “They’re dead?”

  He nodded, frowning, his eyebrows rising apologetically. “All of them.”

  A pang went through Celia’s midsection at what the loss of the pigs meant. But there was nothing to do but bury them. She was too afraid of getting whatever disease the pigs died of to think about butchering one and eating it.

  She felt an entirely different pang, but
equally awful, thinking about the fact that Truett Beverly had stopped coming around. She had no chance of seeing him in the back yard anymore now that Will’s leg was healed enough that he could do the chores again. Not that she usually saw Truett anyway, except for a glimpse as he left the barn.

  The memory of his kiss, unfortunately, popped up at all times of the day and night. Her thoughts forced her to relive it again and again—though, if she were honest with herself, she didn’t mind. But she should never have allowed him to kiss her. She could never let it happen again, and yet, she experienced a sinking, hollow feeling in her stomach at what he must think of her, of the pain he might be experiencing because she had rejected him.

  She was a mess. And all because of a country doctor in Bethel Springs, Alabama. She must never let herself get near Truett Beverly again. Truly, it was demoralizing to admit, but she couldn’t trust herself with him.

  In the meantime, there was plenty of work to do on the farm, and now that they had no meat to get them through the winter, she felt the pressure even more. She set to work cleaning their harvest of yellow squash and slicing it, preparing it to be pickled. She also washed and cooked some tomatoes, which she poured into heated glass jars, to be stored for the winter. They couldn’t afford to let any of their vegetables go to waste, and Mrs. Beverly had shown Lizzie how best to preserve each kind of vegetable and fruit.

  As Celia dried her hands on her apron, someone knocked on the front screen door and called, “Celia? Lizzie? You here?”

  Celia hurried down the hall from the kitchen. Crowded around the screen door stood Olean, Ruby, and their grandmother, Granny Lula Mae.

  “Come in.” Celia pushed the door open for them.

  “Why don’t we just set out here on the porch where it’s cooler?” Granny Lula Mae sat down in the rocking chair on the front porch. Ruby helped Celia carry two more straight back chairs from the parlor to the front porch.

  “Where’s Lizzie?” Olean peered through the screen door.

  “She’s out back somewhere with Will and the twins. I think they were picking corn.”