Page 81 of Magnolia Summer

Will turned the horses into the short lane that led to the church.

A forgiving man. Sure, but she wasn’t asking for forgiveness. She was too confused to even give him an answer to his proposal. She could ask forgiveness for being confused, but that might not be helpful. No, it was better to give him time and let him start coming around again when he was ready.

And pray that God would either make her stop caring about him, or make her stop caring about owning her own business.

Unfortunately, neither seemed likely.

Will ran around to help Celia down. Lizzie and the twins scrambled off the back of the wagon and made their way toward the white clapboard building.

They got inside a little late and had to sit near the front of the church, in the third row. Celia prayed the twins would sit quietly through the sermon and become neither an annoyance nor entertainment for the people behind them, depending on whether the congregants were trying to listen to the sermon, or just endure it.

She allowed her gaze to rove around. Then she saw him. Truett’s gaze met hers as he walked down the aisle. He offered a slight smile and walked past, taking a seat in the front row.

After standing and singing three hymns, everyone sat and waited for Preacher Massey to step up to the podium. But instead of the preacher, Truett Beverly stood and made his way to stand before them, holding a Bible in his hand. A slight rustle passed through the crowd.

Celia couldn’t help but notice how handsome he looked standing there with his white stand-up collar shirt, his black vest and black coat. His hair was combed neatly into place, and his blue eyes seemed to sparkle in the sunlight that filtered through the windows. She could still see his bruise, although it had faded and was now only a faint yellowish-purple around his eye.

“Good morning.” Truett greeted everyone with a serious look as he held his black Bible between both hands. “I’m sorry to say that Preacher Massey is not well. I visited him last night, and his cough has gotten much worse. He cannot be with us today, but he asked me to fill in for him this morning. I hope y’all don’t mind.”

He smiled, and Celia noticed people across the aisle smiling and nodding encouragement to him. They were probably all thrilled they didn’t have to hear Preacher Massey’s same old sermon again.

Truett bowed his head to pray. “Dear Lord, we thank you for this beautiful sunny morning and for bringing us together today. Please heal Preacher Massey of his sickness and restore his health. Help us all to open our hearts to your Word, and I pray that you would give me words to speak. In Jesus’s name, amen.

“Open your Bibles to Psalm 82, verse two.” Truett waited a moment, then started to read. “‘How long will ye judge unjustly, and accept the persons of the wicked? Defend the poor and fatherless: do justice to the afflicted and needy. Deliver the poor and needy: rid them out of the hand of the wicked.’”

Truett looked up, his gaze seeming to pierce one congregant, then another. He had that fierce look in his eyes that meant trouble.Oh, Truett, whatever you’re thinking of saying, please don’t say it!Celia clenched her fists by her sides, praying fervently that Sheriff Suggs had decided not to come to church today.

Truett’s voice was quiet but authoritative. “Ask yourselves, are we doing what this verse says? Are we defending the poor? Is justice served in our community?”

Celia’s heart pounded. Who could he possibly be challenging but Sheriff Suggs? Suggs was the authority in their community, the only “justice” they had. She tried to catch Truett’s eye, hoping to plead with him silently to not do this. Of course, everything he was saying was good and right, but it meant death to him. Couldn’t he understand that? He would only draw the sheriff’s anger—and suspicion.

“Turn to Psalm 94:6.” He waited as pages turned. “‘LORD, how long shall the wicked, how long shall the wicked triumph? How long shall they utter and speak hard things? and all the workers of iniquity boast themselves? They break in pieces thy people, O LORD, and afflict thine heritage. They slay the widow and the stranger and murder the fatherless.’

“Ask yourselves, has this happened in our midst?”

Celia felt all the blood drain from her face. The “wicked” he spoke of was undoubtedly Sheriff Suggs, and everyone must recognize it, including the sheriff, if he was there. Her heart beat fast and her palms began to sweat.Oh, Lord, please let him not be here.

Chapter 24

“Turn to Proverbs 31:9. ‘Open thy mouth, judge righteously, and plead the cause of the poor and needy.’ When was the last time you pleaded the cause of the poor and needy?”

There was no sound, not even the swish of a paper fan. Even Harley and Tempie sat still. Harley’s mouth hung open as he stared at Truett, as if he too understood the implication of his words, although that was impossible.

“Turn to Amos 5:12. ‘For I know your manifold transgressions and your mighty sins: they afflict the just, they take a bribe, and they turn aside the poor in the gate from their right.’ Verse 22. ‘Though ye offer me burnt offerings and your meat offerings, I will not accept them: neither will I regard the peace offerings of your fat beasts. Take thou away from me the noise of thy songs; for I will not hear the melody of thy viols. But let judgment run down as waters, and righteousness as a mighty stream.’”

Truett closed his Bible and looked up, staring the people down, but with a peaceful, clear look in his eyes. “God will not tolerate injustice. He will punish not only those who perpetrate it, but also those who stand by and do nothing to stop it.”

He relaxed his stance a bit, leaning back on his heels. “This place has seen its share of oppression. The Yankees stole our food, burned our homes, and harassed us for four years during the war. At that time and the years right after, it was sometimes necessary to take the law into our own hands. But the war is over. We have courts of law, judges and lawmakers to see that justice is served and no one is punished without a chance to defend himself.” He squinted, his expression growing more intense as he continued. “But when those laws and procedures are ignored, your fellow man is being oppressed, and you’re standing by and letting it happen. And God. Is not. Pleased.”

Oh, God, oh God. . . Suggs is going to kill him, I just know it.Celia could hardly breathe. The high collar of her dress seemed to be choking her. Her undergarments seemed to grow tighter, pressing into her ribs. Lizzie was staring at her. But Celia couldn’t take her eyes off Truett. He was the most handsome, noble, stupid man she’d ever set eyes on. And he obviously didn’t care a whit about her warnings and pleas for him to be careful. How could Suggs not know now that he was the hooded horseman? Unless he wasn’t at church today.

Truett said some other words about God’s mercy and forgiveness, but Celia couldn’t take in what he was saying. She was too busy worrying what the sheriff was going to do to him.

Truett sat down and the song leader strode toward the front. All the people were rising to their feet. Celia stood with them, but regretted her hasty rising, as her vision spun like a top and she had to grip the pew in front of her to steady herself. She almost dropped her songbook, but soon recovered enough to open it to the correct page. She didn’t have enough breath in her lungs to actually sing, so she simply mouthed the words.

Truett waited up front during the closing song for anyone who wanted to come forward for prayer. But no one came. The song ended and people began filing out of the pews and down the aisle to the door.

Celia sank onto the bench, feeling as if she would give Truett a big piece of her mind if she could get him alone. How could he have made it so obvious that he was condemning Sheriff Suggs’ actions?