Page 73 of Magnolia Summer

When he was almost to the Wilcox lane, he stopped the horses. He turned and Almira sat up and looked around. “Why are we stopping here?” Then she looked at Truett and gasped. “What happened to your face?”

He winced. “I don’t want Celia to see me. I have a feeling she would get upset.”

Almira smiled sadly. “I’m sorry for causing you trouble.”

“It’s nothing. You have your own worries. I’ll be all right.” He helped her down. She hurried toward the Wilcox place, turned into their lane and disappeared.

Now he had a letter to write. He just wasn’t sure how he was going to tell James about what Suggs was trying to do to Almira and the baby, or how he was going to keep any one of them from getting killed.

How could he ask Celia to marry him now? He had no right to ask her when he was in so much danger. But he should also write a letter that was long overdue, to put an end to Suggs’s reign of corruption. He owed it to Celia, if she was ever to become his wife.

* * *

Celia realizedshe’d been rocking the daylights out of the squeaky rocking chair for who knew how long. She forced herself to stop and tucked one foot underneath her.

She’d hurried to clear the table and clean up the dishes after supper. Then she’d made a pallet on the floor of Celia and Lizzie’s room for Almira, who’d insisted on sleeping on the floor because she didn’t want to take anyone’s bed.

That had been two hours ago. Everyone was in bed except Lizzie, who was staying up to finish embroidering a doll dress for Tempie.

Lizzie, ever the sweet, unselfish one.Lord, why couldn’t you have made me more like Lizzie—and less like me?

Where was Truett? He’d said he would come. She’d been so addled by his kiss, which had been mostly her fault, but now she wasn’t so sure she should have said he could come.

She’d started rocking herself again. She stopped. Rocking would only fuel the exhaustion from her nerves, stretched to breaking all day. She was thankful to be able to shelter poor Almira, but even that was an additional strain. If Mama only knew—the mother of her past, before Father died—she would have a conniption fit at the suggestion that an unmarried woman who had gotten with child was being sheltered under her roof.

As it was, Mama hardly noticed there was an extra person at the table.

As a church-going girl who conformed to most of society’s restrictions, itwasa bit disconcerting, Celia had to admit, to know that Almira was with child out of wedlock. Celia was pretty sure how a woman got herself with child, but she didn’t like to let her mind go there. Still, even though her own reputation was in danger just by associating with a “fallen woman,” Celia wouldn’t think of turning the poor girl away with nowhere to go. God, she was sure, would never approve ofthat.

Celia had intended to concentrate on her career as a dressmaker and to start her own business. Marriage, if it came at all, would come later.

Today, hearing Almira speak of her love for her unborn child, Celia began to rethink a few things. Perhaps it would be sweet to have a baby, a little child that belonged to only her and Truett.

Wait! How did her mind jump to having Truett’s baby? Clearly, exhaustion was driving her insane.

Celia’s eyes were heavy and gritty. She leaned her head against the back of the chair, lulled by the whine and chirp of the crickets and cicadas.

The sound of a horse’s hooves clopping up the lane toward the house rose above the drone of the insects. She was pretty sure she recognized Truett and his horse, though she could only see their outline in the dark.

Why was he so late? If he wanted to talk to her, he should have gotten here at a decent hour. She stayed in her chair, trying to feign indifference.

He wore a wide-brimmed hat pulled low over his eyes, making it impossible to see his face. As he stepped onto the first porch step, his low voice drawled, “Waiting for me?”

The deep timbre of his voice sent a thrill through her.

She forgot about pretending not to care. “It is quite late.”

He sighed as he approached, then sank down in the wooden chair beside her. “I’m a lot later than I intended. If you’re tired and want me to leave, I understand.”

Celia said nothing, only stared at him. Something was bothering her besides his lateness. He kept his head down so that his hat cast too much of a shadow for her to see his eyes. Light from the lantern was flooding the porch from the window over her shoulder, but he didn’t turn in her direction, so she couldn’t see his expression.

A sudden thought made her stomach clench. What if he was acting aloof because he regretted what he’d said to her last night, the part about wanting her to marry him? He might try to take it back.

But Celia didn’t want him to think she held him to it. In fact, she too wished he hadn’t said it. His little proposal had sent her into a pit of panic and confusion she hadn’t climbed out of yet.

But perhaps she shouldn’t let him get off that easily. “You said you wanted to talk. So talk.”

“Is Almira here?”