Page 77 of Magnolia Summer

First, the letter to his father. Next, he would write to Madison County Probate Judge William Richardson, a friend of his father’s in Huntsville.

In the meantime, Truett would give Celia space. She was a high-strung girl who undoubtedly hated letting anyone see her get upset—and he seemed to make her upset every time he was around. He would leave her alone, even though it would be painful to do so, until he was able to deal with Suggs once and for all.

* * *

Sunday dawned clear and hot,promising to be as miserable as Celia felt inside. Several days had passed since the ill-fated proposal, and Celia hadn’t seen Truett once. She couldn’t decide if she was relieved or devastated.

Afraid of encountering her father, Almira didn’t accompany them to church. Celia felt her friend’s absence, even as she tried to stay calm about seeing Truett again.

Lord, why am I so nervous?She could hardly wait to see him, and yet she had no idea what to say to him when she did. She wished she could stay away from him, but at the same time, she longed to look into his eyes and see that he forgave her and didn’t hate her.

Celia didn’t intend to tell Truett, but she and Almira had written a letter to a judge in Huntsville. The horrible bruise on Truett’s face, and the thought of what Suggs wanted to do to Almira and her baby, had fueled her determination to do something to break the evil man’s hold over the whole community. She’d gotten the judge’s name from Truett’s mother when she’d come for a visit the day after Truett’s proposal, putting a hypothetical question to Mrs. Beverly about any powerful leaders she knew in Madison County. Not knowing if it would even get a response, she’d written the judge, outlining the sheriff’s crimes, and begged him to at least begin some sort of investigation into the corrupt sheriff.

After arriving at church, Celia barely caught a glimpse of Truett before she sat down with her brothers and sisters. She tried not to stare at the back of his head, but her gaze was drawn to him over and over. She wished she could see his bruise, if it looked better than it had the last time she had seen him, but he never turned his head.

Nothing of note happened during the preacher’s usual sermon, except that he coughed several times and looked rather pale. He must have come down with a summer cold.

When the service was over, she watched as Truett put away his hymnal, tucked his Bible under his arm, and made his way quickly down the aisle. She hoped to catch his eye and give him a smile, but he never looked her way.

She couldn’t blame him for not wanting to see her or talk to her after she threw his marriage proposal back in his face. And that hadn’t been the first time she’d rejected him. He’d probably never trust her again, which must be for the best. She’d prayed so much lately about whether God wanted her to stay away from him and pursue her goals, or if He wanted her to let herself make Truett Beverly “the happiest man in the world.” The idea still didn’t sit well with her, which must prove—if she needed proof—that she wasn’t ready for marriage.

But neither was she able to move her family back to Nashville and pursue her business dreams. She hadn’t received any reasonable offers to buy their farm. As she exited the church, Celia wanted nothing so much as to hide herself away somewhere to have a good cry—another thing she never used to do.

How had life become so demoralizing?

* * *

The next day,Celia and Almira sat on the porch peeling the ripe tomatoes over two big pots. They would cook them and then seal them in jars for the coming winter. It was a monotonous task and Celia was glad to have a companion for conversation.

“Almira,” she said, speaking slowly. It was too hot to do anything quickly, even talking. “I’m surprised your father hasn’t come looking for you. Doesn’t he know we’re friends?”

“No.” Almira shook her head. “I didn’t talk to my father much.” She stared at the tomato she was peeling. “He changed after Mama died. It was as if he didn’t feel he had to be kind, or even civil anymore. He holds a grudge against all black people—and against Truett and his family, too.”

“Truett’s family? Why?”

“His father was the overseer for Truett’s grandfather’s plantation, but according to my father, Truett’s grandfather fired him for no reason and hired a Negro to take his place. Truett says his grandfather caught my grandfather beating the slaves and fired him.” Almira sighed. “Truett’s story is probably the true one.”

Almira frowned and let the peeled tomato drop into the pot before picking up another. “My father was never very loving, and after Mama died, he ignored me. I took to following James around. He was so interested in every living thing. He knew which plants were good to eat and how to grow taller cotton plants, which kinds of bugs were beneficial for crops, and which were bad. He got everybody to eat collard greens and watercress and even wrote an article about it that was printed in the Farmer’s Almanac. He knew a lot of the poor folks around here don’t get much meat, and he said these greens would keep them strong.”

“Oh! I read something about that in the Nashville newspaper. I had forgotten his name and hadn’t realized that was James. He is something a science genius and only came back to Bethel Springs because he wanted to help his community. I remember the thing about the native plants he convinced everyone to eat.” Quite impressive.

“Yes, collards grow wild around here, and so does watercress, around the ponds and marshy places. A good source of iron, or something like that. James is so smart . . . so giving. But Daddy, when he found out how I felt about James, he just hated him with a red-hot rage.”

Almira blinked several times, her eyes swimming in tears. “But let’s don’t talk about my father.”

Celia wasn’t afraid of Sheriff Suggs, not for herself, but she fervently hoped he didn’t appear at their door, asking if Almira was there. She would never give Almira up to him, but she had little power to stop him from doing whatever he wished.

I will take care of Almira and her baby—and you.

The words seemed to appear in Celia’s mind. She raised her eyebrows.All right, God. I will trust You.

“Celia,” Almira said, thoughtfully staring at the tomato under her knife. “What do you think about Truett?”

Celia moaned. “Oh, please, don’t.”

“What? I was only going to say that he seems sweet on you.”

Should she tell Almira what happened last week? She still didn’t want to even think about Truett’s proposal or their exchange after.