Page 53 of Magnolia Summer

“We have chickens and plenty of eggs, but I do need some thread.”

Annie stuck her hand in the basket and pulled out a spool and held it up triumphantly. “You need white thread, Miss Celia?”

“Why yes. How much?”

“Just four cents.” She leaned closer as they walked along the lane to their house. Cupping her hand around her mouth, she whispered, “That’s one cent cheaper than at the Bethel Springs store.”

Celia smiled. “Then you’ve just sold a spool of thread.”

She knew there were people who would frown upon her doing business at a black folks’ store, but she didn’t care about that. She’d always believed in putting herself in others’ shoes and empathizing with their situation, and she certainly wouldn’t like it if someone slighted her just because of the color of her skin. It wasn’t Christian. And besides, she needed to save every penny she could if they didn’t find a buyer for their farm.

But of course they would find a buyer. They had to.

“My Daddy let me take these things and go out and let folks know about our store.”

The three of them talked as they made their way into the house and sat down at the kitchen table while Celia made a pot of tea and got the four cents to pay Annie for the spool of thread.

Tempie showed Annie her dolls, and after playing with the younger girl for a few minutes, Annie got up to leave.

“We’ll come by the store real soon,” Celia assured her. The girl smiled and waved as she left.

Celia watched her go and, feeling a strong kinship with Annie, she prayed a silent prayer that the little girl’s dream of seeing her father’s store prosper would come true.

* * *

Will wasable to do all his morning chores again the next morning. When he was done, he came and told Celia, “Bad news. The pigs . . .”

“They’re dead?”

He nodded, frowning, his eyebrows rising apologetically. “All of them.”

A pang went through Celia’s midsection at what the loss of the pigs meant. But there was nothing to do but bury them. She was too afraid of getting whatever disease the pigs died of to think about butchering one and eating it.

She felt an entirely different pang, but equally awful, thinking about the fact that Truett Beverly had stopped coming around. She had no chance of seeing him in the back yard anymore now that Will’s leg was healed enough that he could do the chores again. Not that she usually saw Truett anyway, except for a glimpse as he left the barn.

The memory of his kiss, unfortunately, popped up at all times of the day and night. Her thoughts forced her to relive it again and again—though, if she were honest with herself, she didn’t mind. But she should never have allowed him to kiss her. She could never let it happen again, and yet, she experienced a sinking, hollow feeling in her stomach at what he must think of her, of the pain he might be experiencing because she had rejected him.

She was a mess. And all because of a country doctor in Bethel Springs, Alabama. She must never let herself get near Truett Beverly again. Truly, it was demoralizing to admit, but she couldn’t trust herself with him.

In the meantime, there was plenty of work to do on the farm, and now that they had no meat to get them through the winter, she felt the pressure even more. She set to work cleaning their harvest of yellow squash and slicing it, preparing it to be pickled. She also washed and cooked some tomatoes, which she poured into heated glass jars, to be stored for the winter. They couldn’t afford to let any of their vegetables go to waste, and Mrs. Beverly had shown Lizzie how best to preserve each kind of vegetable and fruit.

As Celia dried her hands on her apron, someone knocked on the front screen door and called, “Celia? Lizzie? You here?”

Celia hurried down the hall from the kitchen. Crowded around the screen door stood Olean, Ruby, and their grandmother, Granny Lula Mae.

“Come in.” Celia pushed the door open for them.

“Why don’t we just set out here on the porch where it’s cooler?” Granny Lula Mae sat down in the rocking chair on the front porch. Ruby helped Celia carry two more straight back chairs from the parlor to the front porch.

“Where’s Lizzie?” Olean peered through the screen door.

“She’s out back somewhere with Will and the twins. I think they were picking corn.”

“His leg must be better.” Olean lifted her eyebrows. She tried to look indifferent, but Celia knew she was sweet on Will.

“Oh, yes, his leg is healing nicely.” She smiled, wondering if, when he saw they had company, he would climb up the porch steps and show off the scar on his leg.

“I’ll go let Lizzie and Will know we have company.” She went back through the house to the back door and hollered out at Will and Lizzie, who were in the garden. They waved at her, and Celia hurried back to the front porch. “Would anyone care for something to drink?” Celia asked. “We’re out of coffee at the moment.” And probably would be out of it until their farm sold.