Magnolia Summer Page 11

Ruby squeezed her arm. “We should have dances more often!” She giggled, then pointed and waved to Beulah Pettibone, who was just alighting from a carriage in the yard.

  “That’s Beulah,” Ruby whispered confidentially. “Her daddy owns the general store. She thinks she’s so rich.” Ruby rolled her eyes, and Celia let a small burst of laughter escape. I must be nervous, too.

  Beulah pranced toward them, holding up the skirt of her frilly, ruffled pink dress. “Am I late?”

  “Oh, no.” Ruby smiled in a friendly way, but she didn’t take Beulah’s arm and didn’t let go of Celia’s. “You’re just in time. It sounds like the band is getting ready to start. I can hardly wait!”

  “Me, too.” Beulah smiled a cat-like smile. Celia remembered her as the girl who was talking to Truett her first Sunday in Bethel Springs. The doctor and the daughter of the town’s only successful merchant. What a perfect match.

  Celia’s stomach sank and she quickly dismissed the thought.

  The band struck up a lively tune. People trickled forward, settling at the edge of the dance floor, tapping their toes and nodding in time to the song.

  Practically every style of dress was represented. Some men wore suits, complete with vests and double-breasted tailcoats. Others were in shirtsleeves in the hot July weather. The older ladies wore gingham dresses buttoned all the way to their chins, along with cotton bonnets to shield them from the sun.

  Ruby stared longingly at the dance floor. “I hope someone asks me to dance.”

  Celia tapped her toes to the music. She’d missed the last two dances at home in Nashville because no one had asked her to go. It had seemed a waste of time anyway. But here in this sleepy little place, time seemed to take on a different dimension, as if there was more of it.

  Too much.

  A father and little girl started dancing at one end of the floor, the girl laughing as her Daddy stomped his feet so fast she couldn’t keep up.

  Celia’s father had danced with her when she was about that size.

  Tears sprang to Celia’s eyes. Never again would she dance with Daddy. Never again would she see him, ask his advice, or bask in his approval.

  She blinked rapidly, keeping her gaze away from the father and his daughter and trying to focus on a fiddle player who sawed the bow across the strings of the instrument while rapidly jerking his body in time with the rhythm. In contrast, the banjo player stood stock still, all except his thumb and fingers, which buzzed over the banjo strings like bees in search of nectar.

  Her heart slowed as she brought her tears under control. Why did she have to miss her father at such odd times? She concentrated on the music while Ruby turned her head this way and that, trying to catch sight of everyone present.

  The song ended as people began to crowd around the dance floor. A gangly young man approached them. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, his eyes focusing on Ruby. “Miss Ruby, will you dance with me?”

  “It would be my pleasure.” Ruby’s face beamed as she unhooked her arm from Celia and followed him to the dance floor.

  Celia was alone now. She caught sight of Truett Beverly’s head and shoulders. His mother handed him two pies. He and another man, an older version of Truett and Griff, carried them toward the refreshment table. Ah! That must be Truett’s father, home for the holiday.

  Truett turned his head and she looked quickly away, not wanting him to catch her watching him.

  “Miss Celia Wilcox.” Curtis Suggs closed the gap between them with two long strides and grinned down at her. “Will you honor me with this dance, Miss Celia?”

  “Of course.”

  The dance was announced as a quadrille, and the couples lined up opposite each other. Curtis’s grin struck her as cocky and predatorial. Celia was thankful it was a lively dance, with little opportunity for talking.

  The men bowed and the ladies curtsied as the dance began. Soon they were skipping in a circle, exchanging partners with the three other couples in their square.

  Curtis’s hand was clammy and cool, and she had to clasp it often—but only briefly, thank goodness. He had been very polite when she’d met him before, but if she wasn’t mistaken, she smelled whiskey on his breath. Drinking could certainly change a man’s personality.

  Middle-aged and young couples, single and married alike took part in the dance. Celia’s heart lightened at the smiles on every face and the brisk movement of the dance, in spite of her growing aversion to her partner.

  The dance ended and Curtis Suggs took Celia’s hand. His eyes, the way they were clamped on her, made her feel intruded upon.

  “Miss Celia, might I say, you look particularly beautiful this evening.” He practically smacked his lips as his gaze slid down her figure.

  She had a sudden urge to slap him but settled for snatching her hand away. “Excuse me. I’m going to get a cup of lemonade.”

  She spun around before he could say another word and headed to the refreshment table. How dare he come to this party drunk and look at her that way? Her hands and knees shook. She kept her gaze straight ahead and focused on the pitchers of lemonade. She let one of the ladies pour her a cup and stood sipping it, concentrating on slowing her breathing.

  “May I say, you are an excellent dancer, Miss Celia.”

  “Nothing out of the common way, I’m sure.” She turned around and faced Truett Beverly. The way he was looking at her—respectful and humble, so unlike Curtis Suggs—set her at ease, and she remembered her promise to Lizzie to dance with him.

  Truett spotted Curtis coming their way, fire in his eyes. “Don’t look now, but Curtis is coming over here.” The hound dog no doubt wished to ask Celia to dance the Virginia Reel with him.

  Celia’s eyes opened wider, a look of panic in them. Curtis was closing the distance quickly.

  Truett bowed and said, “Miss Celia, will you dance with me?”

  She visibly relaxed, and her smile looked relieved. “Why, yes I will.”

  His heart gave a little leap at her gratifying reaction.

  Curtis reached them and narrowed his eyes. He stopped just behind Celia and glared at Truett.

  “Evening, Curtis.” Truett gently took Celia’s elbow. “Have some lemonade.”

  Truett forced himself not to laugh at Curtis’s confounded look.

  He focused on Celia as they walked toward the dance floor. Her hair looked softer and prettier, not pulled back in her usual severe, spinster-ish bun. In fact, she looked prettier than he had ever seen her. Should he tell her? He didn’t want to say anything that wasn’t proper.

  He was nervous, and he hoped he didn’t start to sweat. She’d already seen him sweaty. When he was splitting wood it was all right, but at a dance it seemed like a bad thing.

  She was gazing up at him, straight into his eyes. Could she tell that he was drawn to her, that he wanted to make her smile so badly it made his mouth go dry?

  They were almost to the dance floor. The band was talking over the music. Other partners were beginning to line up.

  “You look beautiful tonight, Miss Wilcox.” He led her to her place.

  “Thank you, Dr. Beverly.”

  She smiled up at him. He was sure his heart stopped for five whole seconds. A soft, feminine smell, like lilacs and roses, wafted up from her hair, filling his head and making his heart skip.

  “Please, call me Truett.”

  She raised her eyebrows but didn’t reply.

  He realized he was still standing beside her, holding her elbow. He moved to his place opposite her and the music began. The men bowed and the women curtsied. He and Celia met in the middle and linked arms, dancing around in a circle, then held hands as they spun around again. She smiled at him so warmly he wondered if he was dreaming.

  They changed partners two times, then came back together to hold hands and skip down the line of dancers and back again.

  “You look like you’re having a good time.”

  “I am having a good time.” Her dimple deepened. He hadn�
��t noticed it before. Probably because he’d never seen her smile so big.

  His lungs seemed to swell to twice their normal capacity. They might as well have been the only two people in the room, because hers was the only face he saw. Lord, let the next dance be a waltz.

  The music ended. Her cheeks had turned a healthy pink, which heightened her appeal and made him wonder how soft her cheek would feel against his fingers.

  “Shall I get you some lemonade?”

  “No, let’s dance again.”

  His heart soared, and the band leader granted his wish, announcing a waltz. She placed her right hand in his left. Afraid of breaking the spell, he gently laid his right hand on the curve of her waist. Then she placed her left hand on his shoulder. He searched her eyes, trying to read her thoughts. Was she at all affected by his touch?

  Someone tapped his left shoulder. Celia let go of him, but he kept his right hand on her waist.

  He turned his head and saw Curtis Suggs glaring at him with narrowed eyes.

  “I’m cutting in.”

  “Why don’t you ask the lady who she wishes to dance with.”

  Curtis’s cheeks flamed red. His eyes flashed fire. He turned to Celia. “Miss Celia, would you do me the honor?”

  “I’m dancing with Dr. Beverly now, thank you.” Celia didn’t smile.

  Truett turned his back on Curtis. If the varmint didn’t get the hint from Celia’s unfriendly look, Truett would have to give him a message he couldn’t mistake.

  He focused again on his lovely partner, and the smile returned to her lips. They clasped hands again, and he was highly aware of every one of her fingers touching his hand and his shoulder.

  The music started and they began to move in rhythm. The curls hanging by each of her cheeks swayed as she moved, caressing her face, then flowing backward to brush her ear. Her eyes sparkled as she gazed up at him. He tried not to stare at her lips, he truly did, but the way they turned up at the corners was irresistible.

  Celia let the music of the waltz and Truett’s arms carry her around the floor, her feet gliding as if on ice. She found it hard not to stare at him. He was so handsome, with his hair combed back, the slight cleft in his strong chin. His sun-tanned skin contrasted nicely with his white shirt. Her eyes kept slipping to his chest, so broad, reminding her of the way his muscles had rippled when he wielded the ax. His cologne, which smelled of bergamot and rosemary, wafted over her as they danced.

  His bright blue eyes stared back so intensely, it made her heart flutter like the wings of some great bird trapped inside her chest. She was powerfully aware of his nearness and the feel of his hand on her waist and the other clasping hers, the hardness of his jaw and fierceness in his eye when he’d forced Curtis to let her choose between them. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her face since.

  When the song ended, it came almost as a shock, the time went by so fast.

  As the other dancers slowly moved away, she and Truett simply stood still. Finally, he asked, “Would you like to dance the next one?”

  “Yes.” She sounded out of breath, though the waltz had not tired her at all.

  She couldn’t stop staring as images of him went through her mind—of him jumping onto the wheel of the wagon to lift Will out, of him crashing into Griff to stop him from hitting his mother, of him reciting poetry the day he drove her home. What had she called him? Truett Shakespeare.

  “What are you smiling about?” he asked.

  “Oh, I was just remembering your gift for reciting poetry.”

  “As I recall, you weren’t very impressed.”

  “Perhaps I was but didn’t want to show it.”

  “I suspected as much.”

  “You did, did you?” Celia tried to give him a reproving look, but with the smile on her face, she probably looked flirtatious instead.

  “Shall I recite something else for you? Your beauty inspires me.”

  “All right.” She was aware that they were now alone on the dance floor, and everyone was staring at them, but the advantage was that no one could eavesdrop on their conversation.

  A twinkle came into his eyes, but he otherwise grew serious.

  “She walks in beauty, like the night

  Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

  And all that's best of dark and bright

  Meet in her aspect and her eyes:

  Thus mellowed to that tender light

  Which heaven to gaudy day denies.”

  Celia’s heart hammered against her chest. Her eyes were locked on his. He continued in a low, deep voice.

  “One shade the more, one ray the less,

  Had half impaired the nameless grace

  Which waves in every raven tress,”

  His gaze strayed to her hair.

  “Or softly lightens o'er her face;

  Where thoughts serenely sweet express

  How pure, how dear their dwelling place.

  “And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,

  So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

  The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

  But tell of days in goodness spent,

  A mind at peace with all below,

  A heart whose love is innocent!”

  No one else had ever recited poetry to her before, and it took her breath away. Did he really feel that way about her, that her beauty reminded him of a clear night sky? That her heart was full of innocent love? If she were able to speak, she would tell him she was impressed, that the poem was very fine and his recitation equally fine. But her heart seemed to have lodged in her throat.

  Just then the musicians announced the Barn Dance—a Schottische.

  Truett leaned toward her and let his gaze fall to the floor, breaking the spell. “That was Lord Byron, by the way, lest you think I wrote it myself.”

  Celia managed to find her voice. “I knew that, though I’m sure you could write something just as lovely. Truett Shakespeare.” She gave him a coy look out of the corner of her eye.

  She was surprised at herself—flirting, actually flirting, with a man.

  She’d never had so much fun in her life.

  They had to stand side-by-side for the next dance, holding hands. Several other couples joined them on the floor. Celia reveled in the warmth of his hand holding hers in a firm grip. Never had she felt this way. It was disconcerting and exciting at the same time. Perhaps she should stop herself now. After all, where was all this attraction and flirting and dancing taking them? Wherever it was, it wasn’t in her plan.

  Celia’s palms started to perspire. What if she got herself into something she couldn’t get out of? She was starting to care about Truett Beverly. This must be how it had started between her mother and father. A dance, a touch of the hand, attraction to a kind, intelligent, handsome man. The next thing you know, you’re trapped for life.

  The music began for the Schottische. She had to push these thoughts away and concentrate on the dance steps or she’d end up falling or tripping or otherwise embarrassing herself. She’d have to think through this situation after this dance was over. Perhaps she could get away by herself, use the excuse that she was fatigued.

  The dance was her favorite, and soon she was twirling in Truett’s arms. She couldn’t remember what she was even thinking about before, only how warm his hand felt on her back, guiding her through the steps of the dance, whirling her around again and again.

  At one point in the dance, they had to briefly change partners, and Celia found herself dancing with Curtis Suggs. Her back went rigid the moment he touched her. He smirked and asked, “Are you having a good time?”

  “Yes, I am.” She stared him in the eye and dared him to look down.

  She was so happy when she returned to Truett’s arms that she almost laughed out loud.

  When the dance was over, Truett held her hand and led her to the outside edge of the dance floor. If she was out of breath before, she was much more so now. She concentrated on slowing her breathing.

  W
asn’t she supposed to do something when the dance was over? Truett’s smiling eyes and strong grip sent a tingle down her back. She couldn’t remember.

  Truett’s features grew sober. “If Curtis Suggs bothers you, you let me know. I’ll take care of him.”

  Celia shook her head. “He wouldn’t dare.”

  “I just don’t want anyone frightening you . . . although it’s hard to imagine that anyone could.” One corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile, then his gaze focused on her lips.

  Celia found herself staring at his lips, too. How would it feel to kiss him?

  She turned her head away and gulped a deep breath of night air, clearing her head of the slight but distinct smell of his bergamot and rosemary cologne. Had anyone seen them staring so brazenly at each other? Did they know what she was thinking? Her cheeks grew hot just thinking about it.

  Blushing. Another thing to add to her list of things she never did before she met Truett Beverly.

  “Shall we get some lemonade?” Celia gently extracted her hand from his.

  He nodded. She took his arm as they strolled toward the refreshments.

  Darkness had overtaken the lingering sunset, and now their only light was from the lanterns.

  Truett handed her a cup and she looked around for the rest of her family. Will stood propped on his crutch talking to some boys. Lizzie was huddled in a tight knot with her friends, giggles erupting every few seconds. Her mother sat on a blanket, with Harley and Tempie racing several other children in a crazy course that wound around trees and groups of standing adults. Mama was looking around at everyone with a slightly confused expression. At least she wasn’t staring off into space.

  “Is everyone all right?” Truett drank from his cup.

  “Yes, they all seem to be having fun. Except Mother. I probably should get her and the twins home before much longer.” She frowned ruefully, her heart sinking at the prospect of leaving.

  Just then, Mrs. Beverly approached them where they stood in the shadows near the refreshments. “Oh, Celia, don’t you look lovely! I’ve never seen your hair so fetching.” Then she turned to the man who was striding up behind her. “Celia Wilcox, I want to introduce you to my husband, John Beverly.”