Page 12 of Magnolia Summer

He turned to Mama, who sat staring at the kerosene lamp on the kitchen table in front of her.

“Mrs. Wilcox, it’s Dr. Beverly. How are you tonight, ma’am?”

Mama glanced up, as if startled. “Who?”

“Dr. Beverly, ma’am, your neighbor. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

“No, no, go ahead.”

Celia watched as Dr. Beverly spoke softly to Mama, convincing her to stretch out her arm to him so he could check her pulse. He asked her how she had been feeling, if she’d had any shortness of breath or fainting spells. She told him no, but her manner and tone reminded Celia of a child who resented being questioned.

Finally, the doctor stood and walked toward Celia, but he did not meet her gaze.

She led him down the hall, through the parlor toward the front door. Outside, Lizzie rounded up the four-year-old twins to get ready for bed. At the door, she turned toward him, impatient to hear what he thought about her mother. But still he said nothing. Finally, he sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

She winced. “Is it as bad as that?”

He looked up, a half smile on his face, and shook his head. “She seems perfectly healthy. But she’s grieving. Your father’s death was a terrible shock to her, and it would seem she’s dealing with it by withdrawing from people and from life.”

“But it’s already been six months since Daddy died. How long will this last?”

“Can’t say. Could be a few weeks, could be a lot longer. With these kinds of nervous disorders, it’s impossible to know for sure.”

“Is there anything I can do to help her recover?”

He rubbed his stubbly chin before answering. “Let me write some letters. I have a friend who teaches at the Nashville Medical Seminary, and I know a few professors at Bellevue in New York. I’ll see if they can dig up some case studies on this sort of thing. In the meanwhile, we just have to pray for her.”

Celia nodded. “Of course. Thank you, doctor. I suppose I should pay you—”

“No, there’s no charge for tonight’s visit. Good night, Miss Celia.” He placed his hat back on his head as he stepped out the door.

* * *

Later that night,after the twins were fast asleep, Celia lay in bed beside Lizzie, whispering so as not to wake Will and Harley in the next room. Tempie was apparently now sleeping with Mother in her bed.

“What do you reckon has happened to Mama?”

Lizzie sighed. “I don’t know, but I hope she gets over it soon. And I’m sorry for writing you that letter that made you come here. I’d just had a bad day. The twins were running me ragged, fighting and getting lost. A skinned knee, a bump on the head, they were crying and screaming, and all the while Mama sat there like she didn’t know she was in the world.”

“Oh, Lizzie, I’m so sorry. It was good you wrote to me. You shouldn’t have to take care of everything by yourself. I’m here now, and I hope, by the end of the summer, Mama will be her old self again.”

“Surely she’ll be back to normal by then. Surely in three months she’ll be helping me with the housekeeping and the twins.” After a short silence, Lizzie whispered, “What do you think about Dr. Beverly?”

Celia tried to make out the expression on Lizzie’s face but the room was too dark. “He seems nice enough.”

“Oh, Celia, he is nice. He’s been such a help to us. I don’t know what we would have done without him. He takes Will hunting, fishing, and he brings toys to the twins. I know he feels sorry for us. Will adores him.”

She felt her shoulders stiffen. “Feels sorry for us? We don’t need his pity.”

“Don’t be like that. What I wanted to tell you is that I think he’d be the perfect man for you.”

“What do you mean? You know I don’t intend to marry.”

“But Celia—”

“I might marry someday, but not a country doctor from Bethel Springs, Alabama.” Celia hoped to put an end to her little sister’s matchmaking with her firm tone. But the truth was, shedidwant to marry someday. Just not until after she’d gotten her dress shop open and business was going well. In fact, she’d had an infatuation since she was fifteen, only a year older than Lizzie was now, for one of her father’s colleagues at Vanderbilt, a Professor Dent. Of course, the man was much older and she hadn’t seen him since her father resigned his position as head of the mathematics department. Perhaps she would run into another Professor Dent later, when she was too old to have children. Then she could hire someone else to take over her dress shop and only work when and as much as wanted to.

“He isn’t attached, you know.”