Page 58 of Magnolia Summer

Truett was tired of these thoughts. He grabbed his hat and coat. A ride to clear his head, some fresh air—that was what he needed.

He burst out the door, heading for the livery to get his horse.

* * *

Celia hoedbetween the rows of purple-hull peas, chopping and leveling the little shoots of green grass that sprouted here and there between the leafy vegetable plants. It had finally rained, which their plants needed, but now the grass was threatening to take over.

She still hadn’t worked up the nerve to talk to Truett, and two weeks had passed since she’d sent the notices to the Huntsville and Nashville newspapers about their farm and horses for sale. Still no response. A week ago, out of desperation, she’d sent the advertisement to a newspaper in Birmingham and one in Decatur, but still nothing. Even though it only cost a few cents to run the ads, especially in the weekly newspapers, she couldn’t keep using up the family’s money on newspaper notices. They were down to their last five dollars. She lay in bed at night, unable to sleep for thinking about their situation. Things were looking desperate. She might have to give up her savings for the family's survival.

Celia slashed at another weed, then grabbed one that was as high as her knee. She tugged until it gave way, its roots snapping and sending her backward a step.

Her breath came fast, but not fast enough to satisfy her lungs. Perhaps it was the humid heat stifling her. She stopped to rest. Leaning on her hoe handle, she wiped her forehead with a handkerchief.

Would she end up as Bethel Springs’s next schoolteacher?

Perhaps it was the heat that made her feel so sick she wondered if her breakfast biscuit would come back up. But the thought of facing a roomful of children of various sizes and ages frightened her more than she cared to admit. Harley and Tempie were handful enough. They were too young to go to school for at least another year. She loved the little twins. They were her brother and sister and she was barely able to handle them. What if she had to teach two dozen Harleys and Tempies? She’d almost rather face a road full of rattlesnakes.

She looked up. Lizzie stood at the edge of the pea patch, pausing in her picking to patiently wipe Tempie’s hands while the child sniffled back her tears. Harley stood nearby, squealing about a toad he had caught.

Celia bit her lip. She loved her family and had come to help Lizzie out of love, but she wasn’t the “cheerful giver” her sister was. Lizzie never complained, but if Celia was completely honest with herself, there was a bit of resentment alongside the love that had made her give up her job in town because her Mama was sitting around grieving herself to death.

Was it right to feel animosity toward her own mother for taking her father’s death so hard?Maybe I’m just not a very good person.All Celia did was fuss and fume. She didn’t even like her own company these days.

Tears stung her eyes. She wanted to cry, to break down and sob out her frustration at feeling trapped, and the shameful realization that she wasn’t the “good” person she always thought she was. Lizzie was sweet and generous and uncomplaining, while Celia was grouchy and ambitious.

She blinked to keep the tears at bay as she scraped at the stubborn green weeds, making miniscule progress down the long row of their garden. What was the use anyway? The grass and weeds would never stop growing, never stop plaguing the garden, fighting and choking the life out of everything.

“Celia! I’ve got the mail!” Will waved a letter in the air from the edge of the back yard.

Perhaps it was good news for a change. She dropped the hoe and ran. Of course it was good news. God would not leave them here, would not make her stay. He’d made a way for her to get back to Nashville.

Will handed her the envelope and she tore it open. She read quickly, her eyes scanning the words. The writer of the letter was a man offering her an amount for the farm based solely on the acreage, but the amount was pitiful. Barely one-fourth the price her father had paid for the farm. The offer wasn’t even enough to pay rent for a decent house for two years, much less buy a house outright.

Celia looked away from Will’s hopeful expression.

Tears pricked her eyes as she clenched the letter in her fist.

“What does it say?” Will stared up at her, his blond hair messy after his ride to town.

She wanted to scream, but tears rose faster and drowned the urge. She placed the wadded letter into Will’s hand and stalked away, her head high, her shoulders straight, hoping no one knew she was about to break into sobs.

When she was out of sight of the house, Celia ran. She ran up the hill to her father’s grave, fell to her knees, and let out her fury in sobs.

“Stupid man. Who does he think we are? That we would take such a paltry sum for the only home we have.” She pounded her fists on the hard ground by Daddy’s headstone until shards of pain shot through her hand. She leaned forward, staring at her father’s grave.

“Why, Daddy? Why did you have to die? I’m so angry.” The sobs started again, shaking her shoulders. They finally stopped and she clenched her fists. “You should never have brought them here. You should never have left us. Now what can we do?”

She looked up at the silent tree branches, tears still dripping from her eyes. She shouldn’t complain, shouldn’t rail at her poor father. It wasn’t as if he’d chosen to die. And it was the utmost foolishness to blame God and accuse Him of not caring. But why was He letting this happen? Her plans of a year ago seemed to have been burned to ashes, all but hopeless. How could things have changed so quickly?God, why?

Her father’s gravestone seemed to mock her, whispering that her mother had wasted the family’s money on the white marble obelisk. She had to get away from it. She didn’t want to see it anymore or think these thoughts.

She scrambled to her feet and began walking, she wasn’t sure where. She walked toward the woods along the ridge, which was mostly covered in grass and pale broom straw, her hatless head absorbing the full heat of the sun.

She made her way down the side of the ridge, toward the trees and the shade. Then she wandered aimlessly through the heavily wooded area. She wasn’t even sure if she was still on her family’s land, or if she’d wandered onto the Beverlys’ wide-ranging acreage. She kept her mind off thoughts she didn’t want to think by concentrating on the varying trees and their different-shaped leaves, the wild blackberry vines and their thorns, or the textures of the trees’ bark. Gradually, her heart was soothed and her tears dried, making her skin feel tight.

Celia took deep breaths, inhaling the freshness of nature. Here there was no pungent manure to assault her nose, no children crying or screaming or demanding to be fed or washed or left alone. Here, she didn’t have to see Lizzie working harder than any fourteen-year-old they’d grown up with in their city-bred world, or Will limping on his hurt leg. Here, Mother didn’t sit around looking as if she had abandoned them mentally, emotionally, and for all practical purposes. Here, none of those things left her feeling guilty or sad or desperate.

She lifted a branch and stepped under it. Just then she noticed a dark opening hid in the side of a little hill.