Page 26 of Magnolia Summer

Celia entered the post office with her letters to bothThe Huntsville IndependentandThe Nashville Banner, advertising their farm for sale. She wouldn’t have to pay much for a small ad, less than a dollar, and it would be worth it if it brought a buyer.

After posting her letters and the payment for the ad, she led her horse across the street to The Bank of Bethel Springs.

The door squeaked when she opened it. All the windows were striped with iron bars. The building appeared empty except for a man behind a desk against the far wall. He stood, moved around the desk, and shuffled toward her. His trousers were held up by suspenders and hitched high over a rotund belly. He tucked his chin into his chest, the fat rolling up around his jaws, and looked at her over the top of tiny spectacles.

“Wiley Fordyce,” he announced. “What may I do for you, young lady?”

Wiley Fordyce was the owner of the bank. Good. She wouldn’t have to go through a clerk. “Mr. Fordyce, my name is Celia Wilcox. My father was William Wilcox.”

Mr. Fordyce cleared his throat. “So sorry about your father’s death.”

But he didn’t look terribly sorry. Instead, his eyes fixed her with a steely look.

“I came to see if my father had an account here.” Celia’s cheeks heated at the blunt question. “He didn’t leave a will, you see, and my family and I weren’t quite sure about all his affairs.”

“I see.” Fordyce raised his brows. His small eyes never wavered from her face. “Of course, this information is confidential, but since you’re his daughter, and the eldest . . . I’m afraid the answer to your question is no. Your father did not have any money in this bank. Never set foot in here that I know of.” He lifted his hand to his mouth. She hadn’t noticed it before, but he held a cigar between two fingers. He clamped it between his teeth.

“Oh.” Celia’s face probably turned a shade pinker. What could she say now? “Thank you, Mr. Fordyce, for the information.” She smiled as pleasantly as she could.

“Yes, ma’am. I mean, miss.” He grinned at his own blunder, then watched as she backed away.

Celia stepped back out onto the sunny street. So theyweredestitute.I am the oldest child and sole protector of a family of four siblings and a mother who can no longer function as such, and I have no money and no immediate way to provide.

She took a deep breath and turned toward the hitching post where she’d left her mare. Truett Beverly stood there, stroking her horse’s neck. That man was everywhere. But if she was honest, she didn’t mind so much. After the embarrassing confrontation with the impersonal banker, the sight of Truett made her heart lift.

He nodded in greeting. “Everything all right?”

Celia made an effort to smile and look nonchalant. “Of course, Dr. Beverly. Any patients this morning?”

“One. Monday morning’s usually pretty brisk, but it slows down in the summer.” He quirked one side of his mouth at his joke. He stopped rubbing the mare and stepped toward her. “You know, as I said, I’m sorry for teasing you. If you ever need anything, let me know.”

His face was serious. He was probably thinking,Poor fatherless, unmarried girl, well on her way to spinsterhood, with a crazy mother and four siblings to care for.

But perhaps hecouldhelp her. She was desperate enough to ask. “As a matter of fact, I’m trying to find someone to buy our farm.”

His mouth went slack. “You are?”

“Yes. And I would greatly appreciate it if you could keep an ear out for anyone who might want it. I’ve sent an advertisement to bothThe Huntsville IndependentandThe Nashville Banner. Do you have any other advice for me?”

Truett rubbed his chin and looked down. The red dirt covered his boots with orange dust. “I suppose those are good newspapers for getting the word out. You could advertise in a few more papers, perhaps up North. You never know who might be interested.”

She didn’t know why, but his simple, earnest answer touched her. His gaze caught hers and held it.

“Where will you go? Back to Nashville?”

“Yes, of course. I need to get back to my job.”

“You have family there who could help you?”

“No.” Celia twisted the strings of her purse in her hands as she thought of their extended family—or lack thereof. “Truthfully, we don’t have much family. Daddy had some aunts and uncles in Dyersburg, but we haven’t heard from them in years. Mother’s family is gone, died before I was born, most of them. But we’ll be all right.”

She tried to smile, but the weight of the banker’s words, his cold stare, and the fact that her father was dead—dead—and would never come back, stole her presence of mind. She had to bite her lip to keep it from trembling.

“We’re all right. Everything is fine.” She didn’t believe her own words. Keeping her eyes down, she hurried forward and brushed past Truett to her horse. She let him help her mount. “Thank you,” she whispered, barely able to get the words out. Oh, how could she lose her composure in front of this man—again!

She thanked God that he didn’t say anything else as she rode off. If he’d expressed any sort of sympathy, the tears that were damming behind her eyelids would have overflowed, humiliating her further.

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