Magnolia Summer

by Melanie Dickerson

  “Well, the dung heap’s stirred up now,” he said, shaking his head.

  “What are you talking about?” Truett asked as he put away his splinting materials.

  “You know those black folks down t’ other end of Cove Road who opened a store a while back?”

  Truett’s stomach sank.

  “Sheriff Suggs don’t like them having that store. I bet Pettibone’s been giving him a reason to get shed of that Negro store. I hear he tried to burn it down, but somehow they managed to put out the fire. Now Suggs is planning on lynching those folks as soon as he can get enough men to ride down there with him.”

  Truett pointed his finger at the blacksmith. “You agree with what I was saying Sunday at church.”

  Greenbrier nodded.

  “We need to round up our own group of men and put a stop to this hanging. It’s wrong and you know it.”

  “Well, now, you’re right, Tru, you’re right.” The blacksmith rubbed his chin, avoiding his gaze. “But I got a wife and five young’uns. A man’s got to think of his family first, don’t he?”

  “Suggs can’t fight the whole community. If we all pull together he’ll be forced to stop this killing of innocent people.”

  Greenbrier continued rubbing his jaw, staring at the floor. “You know I’d like to help, but it seems too chancey. Once you get on his bad side, Suggs would just as soon kill you as look at you.”

  “I never took you for a coward.”

  “It ain’t that and you know it.” The blacksmith pointed a thick finger at Truett. “I got my family to think of. You can take chances. You ain’t got no wife, no young’uns to raise up.”

  His words struck Truett with more force than he cared to admit. No, he did not have a wife or children. And if he risked his life again, he might lose Celia forever—if he didn’t get killed.

  But how could he live with himself if he let those innocent people be killed for the sake of one man’s greed and another’s pure evil?

  Aubrey Pettibone was behind this, but Suggs would enjoy helping the local merchant get rid of his competition.

  Truett’s blood pulsed hard through his temples. Even if it meant sacrificing his prospects of marrying Celia, or cost him his life, Truett could not sit by and let Suggs kill Annie’s father and uncle, maybe even their wives and children. No, he couldn’t—wouldn’t—leave those good people to the devices of Sheriff Suggs. And he had a feeling Celia wouldn’t either. For all her warnings and begging him to be careful, he believed she’d go to their aid herself, if she found out about it.

  The blacksmith mumbled something else about being sorry he couldn’t help and then shuffled out the door. Perhaps there was no real threat. Truett wasn’t stupid. The whole thing could be a trap. Suggs could be trying to lure the hooded horseman into the open so he could capture him—or kill him. After all, it wouldn’t be dark for several more hours, and Suggs generally did his lynching at night.

  But Truett couldn’t let Suggs kill those men. He would be there, and he would stop him.

  Chapter 27

  “I’ll help you, Truett.”

  Truett glanced over at Griff. He’d been so quiet during the exchange with Greenbrier, Truett had forgotten he was there. The offer was sincere, but he couldn’t put his brother at risk. He would have to get away from Griff, but how?

  “Everything’s all right. Why don’t you go across the street and see what Mama’s doing? She may have bought a peppermint stick for you.”

  Griff crossed his arms and glared at Truett.

  “I have to leave. You’re just going to have to stay with Mama.”

  “No. I go with you.”

  Truett gritted his teeth and strode out the door, Griff following right behind him. He went across the red clay street to the general store and found his mother examining a bolt of cloth. He touched her arm and leaned his head close to hers. Aubrey Pettibone stood behind the counter, watching him with beady hawk eyes.

  “I need you to take Griff home.” Truett kept his voice low. He stared hard at his mother, hoping she could see the seriousness in his eyes and would not question him.

  “Mama, no!” Griff’s voice rose to almost a shout, resounding through the whole store. “I want to go with Truett!”

  “Come on outside, Griffy.” Mother tried to soothe him with a gentle tone.

  “No!” That agitated look came over Griff’s features, the one that said he was losing control. His face turned red and he puffed out his cheeks.

  “We’ll go looking for a Glory Patch in the morning. How does that sound?” Truett smiled, feigning a calm that he was far from feeling. “We’ll go fishing, too, if you want.”

  A smile broke over Griff’s features. “Let’s go now!”

  Still Aubrey Pettibone stared at them, obviously listening to every word.

  “Let’s go outside.” Truett looked his mother in the eye and used his head to motion toward the door. Then he escorted them both out into the street.

  “Truett’s taking me fishing!” Griff leapt out of the store and started jumping up and down.

  “Tomorrow, Griff. All right? We’ll go later.”

  Griff’s mouth hung open.

  “Right now I have something else I have to do.”

  “I want to go too.”

  To keep Griff’s agitation from getting out of hand, he knew he had to stay calm. He took a deep breath to get control of his voice.

  “Griff, you know you’re my buddy, right?”

  “Yeah, Tru.”

  “You also know I’m a doctor. And doctors help people. Right now I got to go help somebody, all right?”

  “I come with you. I can help, too.”

  “Griff, you can help Mama. Let’s make Truett an apple cake.” Mama smiled, moving in front of Griff so he would look at her. “Come on, honey. Won’t that be fun? We’ll make that burnt sugar icing you like and you can lick the spoon. Then tonight, when Truett gets back, you can show him the cake you helped bake, and you can go digging for fishing worms.” She began moving toward the horse and buggy hitched nearby. “We better hurry home so we can get the cake finished before Truett gets back.”

  The confused, petulant look on Griff’s face gradually changed to a smile. “Truett, we’re gonna make you a surprise.”

  “Whew-ee. I love surprises. I’ll be there before you know it.”

  Truett hurried toward the livery stable to get Colonel. But every time he looked back, Griff was looking over his shoulder at Truett. He might still try to follow. Truett picked up his pace.

  Truett saddled up Colonel and rode at a modest clip out of town, not wanting to attract attention. But once he was away from the notice of people, he urged his horse into an all-out gallop, heading straight for the cave at the line between his family’s property and the Wilcoxes’.

  Too late, Truett realized he had caught up with Mama and Griff just as they were turning into the drive leading to the house. Truett slowed Colonel to a walk but Griff turned and saw him just before he disappeared behind the trees that lined the road.

  Truett galloped past, praying Griff wouldn’t try to follow him. Mama couldn’t stop him if he was determined to leave.

  Truett was soon at the mouth of the cave. He dismounted and ducked inside. He stripped off his shirt, which was already damp with sweat, and slipped the cloak over his undershirt. He fastened it at the top and pulled the hood over his head. Finally, he grabbed his rifle from its hiding place.

  As he emerged from the cave, a sound like a twig breaking made him freeze in his tracks. He searched the area through the eye holes in his hood. He waited, looking for movement and listening for any sound. A bird fluttered down into the tree in front of him, but nothing else.

  Truett cautiously moved toward his horse, holstered his gun, and mounted. He guided Colonel toward the glade of ferns, still looking over his shoulder occasionally to make sure no one was following him. He pushed his horse to go as fast as he dared through the forest toward the clearing of wildf
lowers and the huge oak tree where Suggs liked to do his lynching.

  He drew near the clearing and peered through the leaves. Late afternoon sunlight streamed in, revealing two men standing beneath the hanging tree, nooses around their necks. Suggs and his son, Curtis, sat atop their horses, guarding the men.

  Truett searched the area for any other men who might be standing guard nearby but saw no one. Perhaps his sermon had made an impact after all. Aubrey Pettibone was a coward and a hypocrite not to be here himself.

  Suggs took his time with first one rope, then the other, and slung it over the thick branch of the tree above the men’s heads.

  As Truett crept closer he could make out the faces of the men. Just as he had known, it was Annie’s father and uncle. Their hands were tied behind their backs. The sight filled Truett’s head with heat that beat against his temples.

  He took a deep breath. He had to control the urge to shoot Suggs and be done with his ugly evil. But he remembered David, finding King Saul and refusing to kill him, cutting off a piece of his robe instead.

  Truett slipped from the saddle and made his way quietly around the clearing, toward where Annie’s father and uncle stood. As he came close, he pulled his knife from his belt.

  Truett was directly behind Annie’s father. He waited until the sheriff and Curtis started talking, looking away from their prisoners. Truett whispered, “Step back. Slowly. Take two steps back until you’re almost touching the tree.”

  Annie’s father stepped back, using tiny steps, until Truett was able to hide in the large tree trunk’s shadow. He slipped his knife between Isaac’s hands and sawed furiously at the rope that tied them.

  “Now don’t move. Pretend your hands are still tied. I’ll give you the signal. You take the rope off your neck and run.” Finally, the rope gave way to his knife’s blade and snapped in two.

  The other man had heard at least part of Truett’s whispered instructions. He slowly moved back as Annie’s father moved forward, back to where he had been standing.

  Suggs looked up. “Hey! You! Where you think you’re going?” He pointed at Annie’s uncle.

  Curtis narrowed his eyes at them, then shook his head. “He can’t get away. He’ll just choke himself if he tries.” The two laughed. “Save us some trouble.”

  Truett moved forward, hoping the other man’s slightly broader frame would keep him hidden. He sawed at the rope binding the man’s hands as perspiration beaded his forehead and ran down his temples underneath the hood.

  His hands were sweating, too. His grip slipped on the handle of the knife, but he managed to hold on. Finally the rope broke free. Sam’s arms jerked down with the sudden release of the rope, but he quickly righted himself, holding his hands behind his back.

  Truett slowly stepped back until he was once again in the cover of the trees. He found Colonel and led him back around to the other side of the clearing, staying hidden among the trees and stepping carefully.

  When the sheriff and Curtis were between Truett and the Hartley men, Truett mounted Colonel, took his rifle from its leather case, and nudged Colonel forward. He pointed his gun toward the sky and discharged it with a resounding boom.

  Sam and Isaac tossed their nooses over their heads and raced into the trees behind them. Suggs and Curtis both drew pistols from their belts and twisted their bodies this way and that, searching for the source of the gunfire.

  Truett wheeled Colonel around and kicked him into a gallop.

  A gun shot split the air just before a stabbing pain pierced his side. He pitched forward onto Colonel’s neck, but the horse kept running.

  Truett held on to Colonel’s mane, trying not to fall off. He had to stay conscious . . . had to guide Colonel to the cave. The pain intensified. He blinked, trying to focus on his course ahead. Keep me conscious, Lord.

  Oh, God, don’t let me die. Celia would never forgive me.

  Chapter 28

  Celia turned from the window. “Ruby’s coming up the lane.”

  “I’ll be in the bedroom.” As Almira hurried away, she tossed a smile over her shoulder, and Celia felt reassured that she didn’t mind having to hide herself away when they had visitors.

  Celia stepped out on the porch to greet her friend, glancing at the sky. In the east, dark clouds gathered, and the oppressive stickiness in the air warned of a storm on its way. Ruby must have important news to be out in this weather.

  “Hey there.” Ruby ran up the porch steps and hugged Celia. “I’m still so excited about Will finding that Glory Patch, I don’t know what to do.”

  “I know. It hardly seems real, but the money’s real enough.”

  “I reckon you’ll be going on back to Nashville, won’t you?”

  Celia sighed but tried to look cheerful. “I suppose. It’s what I’ve always wanted, what I’ve prayed for.” But an unsettled feeling rested heavy inside Celia, the same feeling she had every time she thought about leaving her family—and Truett—and going back to Nashville.

  Yes, she wanted to get back to working and saving her earnings toward opening her own shop, but . . . was this what was best for her? Had she ever cared what God wanted? Was she too focused on what she wanted to even wonder?

  The Bible said God’s will was good and perfect. For the first time, she wondered if she had missed the perfect will of God because she was too busy embracing the imperfect—but very strong—will of Celia.

  Celia would have to think about that later. Right now she needed to ask Ruby a favor, for Almira’s sake.

  “Ruby, since I’m leaving,” she swallowed the lump that came into her throat before continuing, “and Almira’s gone, would you be willing to teach the Bethel Springs children come September?”

  “Me?” Ruby’s eyebrows disappeared beneath the hair curling on her forehead. “You think I could do it?”

  “Almira told me you were her best student. You can do it—with God’s help,” she added.

  “Well, if the young’uns and their folks’ll have me, I think I’d like that.” Ruby’s eyes widened, as though she was surprised at her own words.

  Celia hugged her friend. “I know you’ll be a good teacher.”

  Ruby clutched Celia’s arms and pushed away to look into her eyes. “I almost forgot what I came to tell you! Sheriff Suggs is causing trouble again.”

  “What do you mean?” Celia held her breath.

  “Well . . .” Ruby’s skirt swayed around her ankles as she stepped toward a chair and sat down, drawing out the suspense. Celia sat on the edge of the chair next to her, her eyes glued to Ruby’s lips.

  “I heard tell that Sheriff Suggs is gonna lynch a couple of Negroes. You know, the ones that opened that store?” Ruby shook her head. “I can’t help but wonder if he did it just to spite Dr. Beverly, after that sermon he preached on Su— Why, Celia, whatever’s the matter with you? You’re whiter than a sheet.”

  Celia stared at Ruby without seeing her. “How did you hear this?”

  “Everybody’s talking about it. Some folks think the sheriff is just trying to smoke out the hooded horseman.”

  If everybody was talking about it, then Truett would have heard. And Truett would never sit still and let those men be hanged.

  A shot rang out, drifting to them from a long way off, but still distinct enough that the source of the sound was unmistakable.

  Two more shots.

  Celia jumped to her feet. Ruby stood too, grabbing Celia’s elbow. “You aren’t fixin’ to faint, are you, Celia?”

  “I have to go!” Celia broke free from Ruby’s grasp and ran off the porch.

  “Where?” Ruby called after her, but Celia neither answered nor slowed down as she raced into the trees.

  Oh, God, please let him be all right. Please don’t let anyone be hurt, except maybe Suggs.

  No, she shouldn’t pray like that.

  God, please let no one be hurt, especially—

  Images from the nightmare filled her mind—Truett lying on the ground, hurt, prob
ably dead. Please, God . . . Please keep him safe.

  Her heart pounded in her throat as she ran. After several minutes she couldn’t run anymore. She was gasping for breath and had to slow to a walk. She didn’t know if she would find him, but something told her that he would go to the cave to hide.

  Lord, how can I bear it if Truett dies?

  My grace is sufficient for you.

  Celia almost stopped in her tracks as God spoke to her spirit. His grace was sufficient. She would be all right. God would help her.

  She kept heading in the direction of the gunshots, toward the cave.

  Celia focused on what she would do when she found him, safe and alive. Would she start another angry tirade, accusing him of putting his life in danger and disregarding her warnings? Oh, Truett, forgive me for being so hard on you. If he was alive, if she were able to find him, she would tell him she loved him. Tell him he was noble and brave and good. Tell him she’d marry him. Oh, how I want to be his wife, God. What a fool I’ve been. I’ve loved him all along. Nothing is as important as that.

  Sweat tickled her neck in the hot August afternoon. A low rumble of thunder rolled in the distance. She wanted to run faster but the humid air was suffocating.

  At first Celia couldn’t find the cave’s entrance. Where was it? She yanked back another tree branch and—there it was. But before she could go inside, she was greeted by the click of a gun’s hammer being pulled back.

  She froze. “Truett?”

  “Celia. Thank God.”

  It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the semi-darkness, but it was easy to see Truett was much too pale and sweating more than even this heat should allow. And why was his arm wrapped around his middle? She sank to her knees beside him.