Page 15 of Magnolia Summer

“Mama, it’s me, Celia.”

“How are you, dear?”

She felt cheered by her mother’s words, although her eyes still looked far away and her voice was a monotone. “Mama, I want us to talk about what we should do now. I think we should move back to Nashville.” Celia leaned closer, trying to get her mother to look her in the eye. “Wouldn’t you be happy to be back with your friends? We could sell this place and find a small house in town.”

Her mother’s eyebrows lowered. A scowl deepened the crease between her brown eyes as she focused on Celia. “You are forgetting your place. Your father wants us to live here, and that’s where we will live. Your father makes the decisions, not you.”

Tears stung Celia’s eyes. She loosened her hold on her mother’s hand. “But Mama, Daddy’s gone. We need to do what is best for the family—”

Mother snatched her hand away. “So you know what’s best? Do you question your father’s authority?”

Her voice rose with each word, until it was shrill and unfamiliar, like a stranger’s. Mama’s face had lacked animation ever since Celia had come home, but her expression came alive now. Her jaw clenched, her lips pursed, and her eyes flashed.

“Your Daddy wanted us to live here, and that’s where we shall live.”

A boulder seemed to press against Celia’s chest. She had only seen her mild-mannered mother angry once or twice, and it was nothing compared to the anger she now displayed. Still, desperation forced her to speak.

“Mama, I know you miss him, but staying here isn’t going to make him come back. He would want us to move on, to—”

“That’s enough!” Her mother rose to her feet and lifted her right hand, as if to strike her. “I don’t want to hear any more about it from you! You always did think you were too smart to listen to anyone. You don’t know what you’re talking about. I will not listen to another word from you.”

Tears stung her eyes and she lifted her hand to her cheek, feeling as if her mother really had struck her. Celia stared at her, not knowing what to say, only wishing she could blot out the accusing look in her mother’s eyes.

“We’re not leaving, and I will not discuss it.”

Celia turned away and stumbled out the kitchen door and down the steps.

She ran, her skirt heavy against her legs, across the clearing behind the house, hardly knowing where she was going. Finally, her gaze caught on a few familiar oak trees shading the top of a hill. Beneath them, her father’s grave.

She headed for the ostentatious, seven-foot marble obelisk for which her mother had sent away to Nashville. Tears dripped down her cheeks. She wiped them away with the back of her hand and knelt on the grass in front of the mound of dirt.

The grave marker seemed to mock her, too expensive for anyone but a rich man. The white marble gleamed in the dappled sunlight shining through the leaves of the oak tree.William Ernest Wilcox, was carved deeply into the stone. The too-true words,Gone but not forgotten,written underneath it almost made her laugh.

“Oh, Daddy. How could you leave us this way?” Fresh tears edged the corners of her eyes and spilled out. “We need you.” She leaned forward and sobbed into her hands.

A bird trilled and sang from a tree branch above her. From not far away, another bird answered. The song was mournful, as if the two birds were crying to each other, while the sun winked at her through the leaves.

“God, help me. Please.” A tear slid to her chin and dripped off. Having left home without a handkerchief, she wiped her face again with her hands. “I didn’t want Daddy to die. . . I didn’t want him to die. And now, what are we to do? We have no money. But I have to get back to Nashville so I can work and make money for the family. Please, God, please show me the way.” She sniffled. “Don’t make me stay”—her voice broke on a sob— “here.”

A huge old magnolia tree stood nearby, slightly apart from the oak trees, and it spread its gnarled branches over the ground. A white blossom stretched toward Celia, so close she was able to reach over and pluck it. The flower was as big as her two open palms. She raised it to her face, letting her tears drip onto the perfect petals, closing her eyes and inhaling its heady fragrance. The smell conjured up memories of playing in her friend’s back yard in Nashville.

She brushed the petals against her cheeks and chin, oddly comforted by the cool, waxy texture. She fingered a broad magnolia leaf. Smooth and green on the surface, it was tough and strong, yet brown and fuzzy and soft underneath.

She could make it through this.

She would make it through this summer, helping Lizzie and Will and taking care of the twins. And somehow, some way, when the summer was over, she had to get back to her real work. How else would they—would she—survive?

* * *

Sunday dawned bright and hot.Celia got ready for church. She’d only been out of mourning for a couple of weeks and could now wear her more colorful dresses, which fit in perfectly at her church in Nashville. But here in Bethel Springs she feared she would stand out like a gypsy among Quakers.

“Lizzie, do you think this dress looks all right?”

Lizzie glanced up from the small looking glass on the wall as she pinned her hair up. “You look very pretty. Truett will be impressed.”

Celia glared back at her grinning sister. “Lizzie, I’m warning you—“

“Aw, I’m only teasing.” She smiled. “You look elegant.”