Page 48 of Magnolia Summer

Well, that wasn’t exactly true. Truthfully, she’d wanted him to kiss her, had even been thinking about it when they were dancing. And then she hadn’t exactly tried to stop him. And as for his teasing accusation that she’d kissed him—it was simply mutual—she as much to blame as he.

But what was she to do now?

She could probably go to him tomorrow, when she went to the post office to fetch the mail, apologize for her hot-and-cold behavior, and tell him he could court her after all. Then she’d be able to look forward to more time with him, more hand-holding, and even more kissing. He might even try to steal a kiss tomorrow, in his office.

Celia’s heart skipped a beat at that exciting thought.

But then tears sprang to her eyes. No, she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t ever let him kiss her again. Courting led to marriage, and she couldn’t get married. Not now, not until she was able to earn enough money to open her shop.

Besides, marriage did things to girls. Her mother had only been seventeen when she married her father, and what had she become? Mrs. William Wilcox, not even entitled to her own name. She had to be called Mrs. William Wilcox, as if she ceased to matter and had taken on her husband’s identity. And therefore, who was she when her husband died? Nobody. The former Mrs. William Wilcox, she was so despairing she couldn’t face life. She was quite literally a ghost of her former self.

But perhaps she was overreactive. No one else she knew seemed to feel this way. Perhaps it was only because she was so distraught at what had happened to Mama. Or because she’d been criticized one too many times for wanting to own her own business. But Celia had seen other girls, soon after their marriage, disappear from society. Sometimes they were too sick from pregnancy to leave their houses, or too burdened with the responsibility of running a home and trying to satisfy the demands of their husbands to even venture out of doors to enjoy a conversation with friends. What was their life for except to cater to their husband’s every desire?

Celia’s temples pounded. Cold fingers closed around her heart, making it beat erratically.

Daddy had always treated her like an intelligent person, telling her she could be anything she wanted, be it a teacher or historian or business owner. He seemed proud and flattered that she wanted to own her own business, and he seemed to take it for granted that she would never marry. He had told her that most men wouldn’t want to marry someone with ambitions such as hers. Celia hadn’t minded. She’s always had a fear, a horror, of becoming like her mother.

Mother had never understood her, never understood her aversion to becoming a wife. If her mother knew how she felt, she would resent Celia’s feeling that “wife” was synonymous with “controlled.” Owned. Beaten down.

Tears streamed from Celia’s eyes, wetting her pillow. But what good were tears? Action was the answer to her problem. She must stay strong and keep herself from falling in love with Truett Beverly, or anyone else. Although no one else had ever given her any trouble. Truett was far above anyone else she’d ever known, in character, and every other way.

No. She wouldn’t start thinking about him again.

She mustn’t.

Chapter 14

The next day was Sunday, and they all slept a little late. When Celia went out to the barn to do Will’s chores of mucking the stable and milking the cow, she found that Truett had already been there and done it.

Celia got dressed for church slowly, not even bothering to try to hurry the twins until Lizzie began to get frustrated with them. Then Celia helped distract them while Lizzie buttoned Harley’s shirt and Tempie’s dress.

They arrived at church late, just as Celia had hoped, since she wanted to avoid Truett if at all possible. They sat in the back.

Almira Suggs sat across the aisle from her, fanning herself with a square piece of cardstock. Celia had taken an instant liking to the young schoolmarm, and she hoped to talk with her after the sermon.

She tried to pay attention, but the preacher’s words droned in such a monotone, she found that when her eyes blinked, they didn’t want to open up again. Besides his lulling tone, his message was almost exactly the same as it had been every Sunday since she had been there—and this was her fourth!

She frowned at the remembrance of her first Sunday. She’d thought the preacher’s message interesting and was impressed with his memory of Scripture. Little did she know that she would also have the same Scriptures memorized herself in four weeks.

At first she hadn’t even seen Truett anywhere among the congregation. But with some shifting in seats, he was revealed near the front, sitting next to Mrs. Beverly and Griff. She recognized the back of his head instantly. He was as familiar as if she’d known him all her life.

Where did that silly thought come from?She hardly knew the man.

A movement caught her attention from the left corner of her eye. Almira Suggs stood up, her face as pale as milk. She made a dash for the door and was gone.

No one else seemed to take notice. Lizzie had told her that the poor girl’s mother died when she was very young. No one followed her out. Celia quietly went after her.

Once outside, Celia didn’t see anyone. She stood on the bottom step and listened. The muffled sound of retching came from around the side of the little white church building. She followed the noise and found Almira bent over in the knee-high grass that edged the clearing at the rear of the church.

She didn’t want to embarrass her, but she wanted to at least offer help. She walked closer. “Miss Suggs?”

Slowly Almira shook her head. “I’m all right.”

“Are you sure?” Celia drew closer and put her hand on the young woman’s shoulder. “Can I do anything for you? Fetch someone to take you home?”

“No, I’m well.” Almira stood a little taller and gave a wan smile. “Just a bit of female weakness.”

“Being sick isn’t ‘female weakness.’” She gently took her arm. “There’s a bench over here. Why don’t you sit for a minute?”