Page 36 of Magnolia Summer

Having finished her letter, Celia took out her sewing. The fabric was a fine muslin, striped with a pattern of tiny flowers. She imagined the lady who would wear it someday.

“Celia?”

She looked up at Lizzie, who sat nearby with her embroidery in her lap. She had stopped stitching and was staring at her with a tiny smile.Uh-oh.What was she thinking about? From the look on her face . . .

“What did you think of Truett’s mother, Mrs. Beverly?”

“I thought she was the most effusive, most demonstrative woman I’ve ever met.”

“Oh, Celia! How could you say that?” Lizzie’s look of horror rebuked her. “She’s very sweet. I love her. She’s good and kind and always thinking of others. Admit that you liked her.” Lizzie’s voice was stern—especially for Lizzie.

“I never said I didn’t like her. In spite of her effusiveness, she was sincere and sweet. I liked her. Satisfied?”

“Yes.” Lizzie smiled, a bit too smugly. She took up her embroidery again. “Mrs. Beverly would make a wonderful mother-in-law, don’t you think?”

Celia sighed. “I do like Mrs. Beverly and I’m thankful she’s been so kind to all of you, but I’m tired of you talking to me about Truett.” Celia stood and walked to the window and looked out. There was nothing to see, and it was dark anyway, so she paced back to stand near Lizzie.

“He may be a good man and might make a good husband, if I were after one. But you know I could never be content sitting home, waiting for my man to come home so I could cook for him. I couldn’t bear to listen to him tell me all his opinions just so I could adopt them.” She gestured at the ceiling, wishing she could make Lizzie understand the churning inside her. And yet, perhaps it was best she didn’t. Perhaps if Lizzie knew how she felt, she might not like her anymore. But something compelled her to keep trying.

“And I don’t want to live here. I’d go crazy! I miss the noise of town and the people hurrying around me. Here, no one hurries. There’s nowhere to go! Can you honestly see me married to a doctor, living out here, fighting with Mrs. Beverly over who was going to give Truett the first kiss when he arrives home?”

“Oh, Celia!” Lizzie threw her head back to look at the ceiling. “You’re impossible!”

“Maybe I am, but I just don’t want to be like Mama. She was happy and content to take care of the house and hurry to the door the moment Daddy came home. I’m just not made that way. I don’t want my life to be over when I marry. Or have my husband die and wish I was dead too.”

Part of her longed to be married and to have that closeness, but then she imagined being married and something happening to her husband, a sudden illness or accident, sending her into the mental state Mother was currently in. Why would she do that to herself, when she could be doing what she really loved—creating new dresses, designing new patterns, setting up her own shop, keeping the books—succeeding! Why would she want to end her life before it had begun? Why were men the only ones who should strive for success?

Her heart was pounding. She pressed a hand to her eyes and took a deep breath.

“All right, Celia,” Lizzie said quietly. “But don’t blame me when you end up a lonely old maid.”

Celia pursed her lips. “Look here, Elizabeth Wilcox. I have nothing against marriage. I will probably get married someday. But I have things I want to do first, exciting, significant things.”

“That’s fine. But will you come to the dance next Saturday? Will you dance with someone if they ask you? It won’t endanger yourplansif you dance a few times.”

Celia looked through lowered eyelashes at Lizzie. “For your information, I like to dance. But maybe nobody will ask me. Young men never asked me to dance at home.”

She didn’t really like talking about this, but shewouldlike to know why she’d never been popular with the young men of her family’s acquaintance. Other girls—some rather homely—garnered half a dozen marriage proposals by the time they were Celia’s age. She’d never had one.

“Mother always said I intimidate men, scare them off. But maybe I’m just not pretty enough.”

“You’re beautiful!”

Men did seem to stare at her on the street when she passed them, and young men sometimes became tongue-tied when they were first introduced to her. But they never came around to court her. Not one.

“I think Mother was right.” Lizzie sat up straighter. “You do scare them off. But not because you’re not pretty. It’s because you’re beautiful and smart, you know exactly what you want. And they know it’s not them. You don’t make them feel important, and men like to feel important.”

“Listen to you, so wise.” Celia smiled. “And only fourteen.”

Lizzie threw a ball of embroidery thread at her.

Celia laughed. “I mean it!”

“Well, I mean it, too. I know you don’t want any man who’d be afraid of you. But Truett Beverly isn’t afraid of you, is he?”

“Fine.” It could never be, wasn’t meant to be, so she wished Lizzie would stop talking about it. “If you’ll stop pushing Truett Beverly at me morning, noon, and night, if he asks me, I’ll dance with him. All right?”

“All right.” Lizzie looked down, but Celia could see she was smiling.