Page 10 of Magnolia Summer

“Nah.” Will frowned from one side of his mouth. “Truett can take care of it. He told me to get you home.”

Celia just stared at her brother. Was this a regular occurrence? Were these the neighbors with whom her family was blessed?

What a strange place her father had stranded her family in.

Celia faced forward on the seat. It wasn’t far now. In a few minutes, she would see her family. She wanted to ask Will about Mama, but would he even know anything was amiss? Will wasn’t the most observant person in the family.

They turned into the small dirt path leading to the white clapboard farmhouse. Celia clutched the strings of her small purse in her fist. When the wagon slowed to a stop, she gathered her skirt in her hand and jumped down from the seat.

Lizzie burst onto the front porch. “Celia! You’re here!” Her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows and water dripped from her hands. She smiled wider than the Tennessee River, and Celia rushed to hug her.

She met her on the porch and they flung their arms around each other.

After tearfully saying how much they’d missed each other, Celia pulled away slightly. “Did you get my telegram?”

“No. When did you send it?”

“Two days ago.”

“Tuesday. That’s the day the pigs found a hole under the fence and ran away.” Lizzie smiled ruefully and hugged her sister again. “We were all out hunting for them, but Mama would have been home. She didn’t say anything about a telegram.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Celia squeezed her sister’s wet hand. “Washing dishes?”

She shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

Had all the housework fallen on Lizzie’s fourteen-year-old shoulders? “How’s Mama?”

Lizzie frowned and shook her head. She clasped Celia’s hand and led her into the house.

The small, one-story farmhouse was draped in her mother’s touch—a lace tablecloth here, an oil lamp with a frilly fringed shade there. The simple house had a cared-for look, in spite of the twins’ toys strewn over the floor.

Lizzie led her through the parlor, or sitting room, down the hallway, which led past bedrooms on both sides, to the kitchen at the back of the house, and there her mother sat in a straight-back chair, staring out the window. The sun was casting bright orange rays into the room.

“Mama, I’m home.” Celia crossed the room, intending to give her a hug, but when Mama finally turned to gaze at her, it was with a guarded, slightly puzzled expression.

Celia stopped in the middle of the room. “Mama. It’s me, Celia.”

“Celia?” Mama stared at her face without a trace of recognition.

What kind of sad joke was this? Her mother didn’t recognize her? It had only been six months since she’d been there for the funeral. Was Mama so bad off?

She couldn’t speak as she waited for Mama to recognize her.

Her mother’s usually plump cheeks were slightly sunken and her lips were red and chapped. Accustomed to seeing her mother’s hands busy peeling potatoes, rolling out pie crust, sewing, mending, or embroidering, it was odd to see them lying idly in her lap. Could Mama not accept that Daddy was gone? Did she have to give up, to forget that she had a family of five children who needed her?

“Don’t you know me, Mama? Your own daughter?”

“Oh . . . Celia. Of course. Where have you been?” Mama’s eyes still looked dull, as if she only half understood what was happening around her.

Celia swallowed, fighting the nausea that threatened to sweep over her. She stepped forward and took her mother’s hands in hers. “Mama, I’ve been in Nashville, working at the dress shop. But I’m here for the summer. Are you all right?”

She stared at Celia with that disinterested glaze over her eyes. “Yes, I am well. How are you?”

Celia felt like crying. This woman wasn’t her mother! What made her sit there in a strange stupor as if she had no mind at all?

She took a deep breath. She shouldn’t have such thoughts about her mother. Surely this was only temporary. Her mother was suffering deep grief over Daddy’s death. She needed Celia’s sympathy and understanding. Celia patted her hand. “Everything’s going to be all right, Mama. Don’t you worry.”