Page 27 of Magnolia Summer

Truett watched her go,glad he had refrained from telling her there probably weren’t too many people anxious to move out to the country and try their hand at farming. Not terribly profitable in this day and time. Perhaps her father could have made a good living raising Thoroughbreds, but it would have taken several years. Years he wasn’t given.

It was official. He’d lost the wager he had made with himself, since the apology on Sunday had been only a concession of his having helped her family. She still didn’t seem to have a very good opinion of him. Or maybe it was men in general that she didn’t like? She’d humbled him a bit and made him question his charm. But he didn’t hold it against her. As he’d reminded himself many times, he had nothing to offer her, and therefore he shouldn’t be trying to impress her anyway. There was a price on his head, and eventually, in such a small town, Sheriff Suggs would discover his secret. Then he’d be hard-pressed to keep the sheriff from killing him.

Besides, he needed to be thinking about how he might be able to help James and Almira be together again.

As for Celia, she’d said she could take care of herself and her family, and he hoped she really could. Because if she couldn’t, he knew her well enough already to know it would just about kill her. And there was something about her, her spirit and determination, that made him . . . if he was honest . . . admire her.

Even if she was rather impolite.

* * *

Celia rode slowly toward home,telling herself there had to be something she could do for money.

Up ahead, someone squatted by the side of the road up, looking down at the ground. Slowly, he stood and strolled away, still staring at the grass. When he looked up, Celia recognized . . . Griff.

Griff scowled when he saw her, then turned and hurried away into the trees that bordered the road.

When Celia arrived home, Will helped her unsaddle and brush down Old Sallie.

“Will, I just saw Griff. He was wandering around the side of the road, staring at the ground like he was looking for something.”

Will grinned and nodded. “Yeah, he’s probably looking for the Glory Patch.”

“The what?”

“The Glory Patch. Everybody around here looks for the Glory Patch.”

“What’s that?”

“A patch of ginseng so big it would make you rich for the rest of your life.”

“Ginseng? Does that grow around here?” Celia had once read that ginseng was a plant ancient generations of Chinese people valued for its medicinal purposes.

“Sure ‘nough. Grows wild in the coves and valleys around these hills. The man who lives in that swampy place below Truett’s land, near the creek, he found a few plants, just a few little roots, and sold them to Pettibone at the General Store for fifteen dollars.”

Celia swallowed. Fifteen dollars was a lot of money, especially for a few roots.

“Pettibone sells it to some people in Nashville who ship it overseas to China.”

“Do you know what it looks like?” Celia should go with Will to hunt it. How many days would it take them to go over all the land they owned?

“The leaves look just like Virginia Creeper, and it has little red berries that will start showing up in late summer. But the root’s what’s valuable. They look sorta like long white sweet potatoes. I’m looking for a Glory Patch too. I want us to be so rich we’ll never have to worry about money again. You could open your dress shop in Nashville, and we could stay here and hire someone to help Lizzie with the housework.”

The Glory Patch sounded like a fairy tale. But if ginseng was that valuable and they could find some, they could afford to hire a live-in housekeeper, someone to take care of the cooking and the twins— and Mother, too—with just a small patch of ginseng. Then Will and Lizzie could go back to school and Celia could get back to Nashville. They wouldn’t have to find a Glory Patch. A small patch should do.See, God? I’m not greedy.

Just desperate.

* * *

Two days later,Celia woke up restless, the dawn just barely showing through the thin curtains. She’d awakened twice during the night from bad dreams. In one, a bad man was chasing her with a knife, telling her he was going to cut off her arms and legs. In the other, she was swimming under water, but when she tried to come up for air, something was holding her, keeping her head underwater. She was choking, slowly drowning, while she stared up at Lizzie and Will, who were talking and laughing on the bank just above her, oblivious to her distress. She awoke gasping for breath.

Lizzie was already absent from the bed. Celia dressed quickly but didn’t fix her hair, leaving it braided loosely down her back.

She helped Lizzie prepare breakfast while everyone else slept. Lizzie worked beside her, singing and humming. Her sister hadn’t been raised to be content in such a backwoods environment any more than Celia had. But somehow she was able to be joyful. Perhaps there was something wrong with Celia that she didn’t feel that same joy.

When they all lived together in Nashville, Lizzie had preferred socializing over anything else. While Celia was in the house making patterns and sewing, Lizzie was in the front yard playing with dolls, having pretend tea parties with her friends, and playing hide and seek. But Celia had always felt driven to succeed at the business she had chosen. It wasn’t only that she enjoyed sewing and creating dresses—she wanted to build a successful business. And there was no possibility of doing that in tiny Bethel Springs.

Why was that? Was it because she wanted to prove she didn’t need a man? Or did she just want to prove she wasn’t going to turn out like her mother?