Page 13 of Magnolia Summer

“Who?”

“Dr. Beverly!”

“Shh! Do you want Will to wake up and hear you?”

“Listen to me, Celia. He’s a good man. He’s handsome, and he doesn’t seem to be interested in any of the Bethel Springs girls.”

“Aren’t I the lucky one?” Celia didn’t try to hide her sarcasm. “Should I be like Mama and marry now, when I’m nineteen? Make this man my whole life—since no self-respecting husband could let his wife start her own business. And then, when something happens to him, I lose my mind like Mama, my purpose in life gone? No thank you.”

Lizzie was quiet and, in truth, Celia had surprised herself with her vehemence.

“I’m sorry.” She took a deep breath and lowered her voice back to a whisper. “It’s just . . . I hate to destroy your matchmaking, but I’m not the least bit interested in Dr. Beverly.”

“Are you sure you don’t think he’s handsome?” Lizzie’s voice still rang with excitement, her enthusiasm unfazed by Celia’s outburst. “There are at least three girls every Sunday who fight over who’s going to talk to him after church.”

“That’s hardly tempting.”As if I’d join in the fray!

“He’s like an older brother to us. And if you marry him, he can stay in the family.”

“Oh, Lizzie.” Celia moaned.

“You don’t know what it’s been like to move here. Daddy had never lived on a farm. I think he had this romantic idea about it, that we would be like the Swiss Family Robinson, figuring everything out by ourselves. But we were lost, Celia. We didn’t know how to do anything. Daddy had to get Truett’s advice—”

“Truett?”

“Dr. Beverly. That’s his name.”

“I know that.”

Lizzie clutched her arm. Her sister’s grip told her she was determined to make her listen. “Daddy sought his advice for everything—plowing, planting, the horses, everything. And you know we always had a cook back in Nashville. We didn’t even know how to operate the stove.”

“I’m sorry, Lizzie. I didn’t know it was as bad as that. But I hardly think I should have to marry the man to show him our gratitude.”

“Oh, Celia, you’re impossible!”

“Besides, he might not want to marry me, even if I throw myself at him like those other girls.” The picture she was forming of him surrounded by silly, smiling women made her ashamed of her fellow females.

Celia went on. “I tried to talk Daddy out of coming here. I still can’t believe he gave up his position at Vanderbilt.”

“I know, but it’s done, and we’re here.”

“But that’s another thing, Lizzie. Don’t you see? We don’t have to stay here.”

“What do you mean?”

“We could sell the farm and move Mama back home. Perhaps if she was around her old friends again, and in a familiar setting, she would make her way out of this fog she’s in.”

“I don’t know, Celia. I kind of like it here. It’s peaceful, it’s beautiful, and I’ve made friends.”

“Friends? With whom? The squirrels?”

“We have other neighbors besides the Beverlys. Olean Prichard lives on the other side of us. She’s exactly my age. And every Sunday I see the other girls, Henrietta, Tollie, and Mae. Sometimes we go on picnics and hayrides and—”

“Elizabeth Wilcox, are you telling me you’d rather live here than in Nashville?”

“I like it here, Celia. While you’ve been in Nashville all year, we’ve been here, settling in. Will likes it, and Harley too. Boys need to explore, Daddy always said—”

“But a lady should always prefer town.” Celia took her sister’s hand and squeezed it gently. “Lizzie, wouldn’t you be just as happy in Nashville? You had friends there, too. And we could hire someone again to help us with the cooking and taking care of Harley and Tempie.”