Magnolia Summer (Southern Seasons Book 1) Read online

  When Celia and her siblings arrived back home, they found Mama in the kitchen, cooking.

  “It’s for the Beverlys. They have two sick boys, and I wanted to bring them some dinner.”

  Celia, Will, and Lizzie stood frozen.

  “Aren’t you going to help me?”

  “Of course.” Celia and Lizzie helped Mama while Will went to fetch the wagon. They loaded up all the dishes and drove over to the Beverlys. When they arrived, Mrs. Beverly insisted they all stay and eat with them, as there was so much food.

  After dinner, Celia watched as Mama, looking almost like her old self, with her hair freshly combed and pinned into a bun on the back of her head, spoke quietly to Mrs. Beverly. She was much thinner and her black dress hung loose on her hips, but Mama was talking again. Somehow, the shock of recent events—the sheriff catching James in their house and taking Truett to jail, followed by the news of the two Beverly “boys” being shot and the sheriff himself being arrested—had reached through her grief, jolting her out of her stupor.

  Celia, Lizzie, and Will exchanged several looks but didn’t mention her startling change, afraid Mother would retreat into herself again if they said the wrong thing.

  Celia sat in a chair in the corner as Truett and his father discussed politics nearby. Griff was sitting quite still on the sofa, staring at Tempie and Harley as they sat on the floor, playing with wooden soldiers.

  How different this day would have been if Suggs’s bullet had struck just a few inches lower. The mirror beside Celia would have been covered in black crepe, and the clock on the mantle would be stopped at the time Griff had been shot. Or if the bullet that struck Truett had been several inches higher, they would be having a funeral today instead of a relaxing Sunday afternoon eating and talking with friends.

  The painful thought stole her breath. Her hand shook as she pulled out her fan and used it to fan her face, taking slow, deliberate breaths.

  Mr. Beverly was talking now with Will and Lizzie about their nearby pond. Soon, they were standing and heading out to see if they could find any ducks or geese. Even Mama was going with them, walking beside Mrs. Beverly.

  Truett stood too, but instead of going with them, he strode toward her, his eyes riveted on hers. He reached for her hand. Celia stood and he led her into a tiny alcove under the stairs. What was he about?

  Truett could no longer stand being in the same room with Celia, but not able to talk with her alone. He needed to hold her, just for a moment, to relieve the ache in his chest.

  He led her to the only place he could think of where they might get a moment of privacy—under the stairs in the hall between the kitchen and the parlor. He backed himself against the wall, into the corner, and she came willingly into his arms, burying her face in his neck. He held her tight, pressing his cheek against her hair, and took a deep breath.

  “I’m so glad Griff is going to be well.” Celia whispered.

  “I know. Me too. When we were children, before his head injury, he used to take me fishing.” It was a random thing to say, but he’d been remembering that all morning. “Since the gunshot wound, he’s been so much calmer. But he could have been killed.” We both could have.

  He stood still, holding her. She was so soft and warm. “It’s my fault,” he whispered.

  “Oh no, Truett. Of course it’s not.”

  “He followed me to the cave. I thought I heard someone. Now I know it was Griff. That’s how he knew where to find the cape and hood. He heard people talking about the sheriff going to hang those two men and went to stop it. He was fascinated by the hooded horseman, and I knew that.”

  “It wasn’t your fault at all. But everything is going to be all right. That’s the important thing. You’re both going to be all right.”

  He concentrated on her words and ignored the painful taunts that had been plaguing him the last three days. God was merciful. He hadn’t allowed Griff to be killed, sparing him and his family from crushing pain.

  Truett pulled back and brushed her cheek with his knuckles. Celia. She was everything he wanted. To think that a few weeks ago he’d felt tormented by thoughts of her. Now . . . he wasn’t sure he could bear to be without her.

  “Father will be gone back to Tennessee tomorrow. Can I call on you then?”

  “Of course.”

  Someone was coming. Celia tried to pull away, but Truett pulled her closer and plastered himself against the wall, deep in the shadows. Whoever it was walked on by without noticing them.

  Truett took another deep breath of her. She smelled of lilac soap and Celia. A wonderful combination.

  “I love you,” Celia whispered.

  Truett kissed her hair. “I love you, too.”

  “Truett?” His mother called.

  Celia stepped back, out of his embrace. Truett let her go. She squeezed his hand and hurried away.

  The next morning, Celia was finishing the breakfast dishes when she thought she heard a horse snorting out front. Let it be Truett! She dried her hands on a towel and went onto the front porch.

  Truett sat on the wooden bench. “Where is everybody?”

  Celia was all fluttery inside at seeing him again. She couldn’t help smiling.

  “They’re all out back. Mama’s hanging out the washing and Lizzie and Will are playing with Harley and Tempie.”

  “Good.” He reached out his hand to her and pulled her onto his lap.

  “Truett Beverly!” She giggled in spite of herself. “What would our mothers say?”

  “Do you want to know?”

  “No, I think not.” Celia smiled, grateful to be alone with him. She straightened. “But what about your wound? Am I hurting you?”

  He shook his head. “It doesn’t hurt, not when you’re near.”

  He was teasing, but he didn’t look like he was in pain. She snuggled down against his shoulder.

  He sighed deeply. Celia imagined all the things he was feeling, all that he was releasing in that sigh. She didn’t think words were sufficient, so she lifted her hand to his face and stroked his jaw, enjoying the feel of the prickly stubble against her fingers.

  “I got a letter today from James and Almira,” Truett drawled softly.

  “Already?”

  “Yep. They stopped off in Kentucky. James knew a preacher there who would marry them. When he sent the letter, they were on their way to Ohio.”

  “Is that where they’ll live?”

  “James knows a community there where they’ll be accepted. It’ll be a little easier for them in Ohio than it would be here.”

  “That’s wonderful.” Celia rested her head on his shoulder again. How happy Almira must be now. It must be so wonderful to marry the person you loved.

  “Let’s get married tomorrow.”

  Truett’s words sent a tingle down her spine. “You know we can’t. Your family will want to gather for the wedding, all your Tennessee relatives, they’ll all have to be notified, and—”

  “I know.” His fingers brushed her cheek.

  It was hard to talk, with the way he was staring at her lips. But they needed to talk. “I found a woman who will help out with the twins when Will and Lizzie go back to school in a week.”

  He sighed again. “I guess that means you’ll be going back to Nashville.”

  Was he angry that she was going away? She didn’t think so, or he wouldn’t be letting her sit on his knee. But she shouldn’t be sitting on his knee. Celia’s cheeks stung and she tried to get to her feet.

  “What?” Truett asked.

  “What if someone sees us? Let me up.”

  He let her stand. “Are you only worried about someone seeing us?”

  “No.” She was also worried about her own reaction to him. But how could she tell him that? “I just think it’s . . . well . . . it isn’t proper.”

  He smiled slowly, and she was sure he was reading her mind. Heat crept up her neck and into her cheeks. She crossed her arms.

  “All right. Will you sit with
me?” He stood up until she sat down on the bench, then he sat back down beside her.

  He took her hand in his and looked her in the eye. “Will you marry me, Celia? I know your mother is doing better now, and because of the ginseng, you have the money to go back to Nash—”

  “Yes.”

  “You probably can’t leave Bethel Springs fast enou— Did you say yes?”

  “Yes.” Celia smiled into his deep blue eyes. “How many times do I need to accept your proposal of marriage before you will marry me, Truett Beverly?”

  He laughed, then kissed her hand. “So, about where we will live . . .”

  “I just assumed we would live here, in Bethel Springs.”

  “Is that where you want to live?”

  “No. I mean . . . I don’t know. Where do you want to live?”

  “You don’t want to live here, Celia, I know that.”

  “You’re right. I don’t. But I don’t want to live without you, either.”

  He was drawing lazy circles on the back of her hand with his thumb, sending tingles all through her. She desperately wanted to kiss him.

  He closed his eyes, as if he was fighting the same temptation she was. Finally, he cleared his throat and went on. “Since you need to continue to pursue your dream of opening your own dress shop, we’ll live in Nashville.”

  Celia stared at him. “You would do that? You would leave Bethel Springs and go to Nashville?”

  “Of course. I thought you knew that, Celia.”

  “How could I know that?”

  “As soon as things settle down here, and I’ve had time to scout out a new doctor for Bethel Springs, I’ll come to Nashville and set up an office there.”

  “You would do that? And would you let your wife work as a seamstress? And later, own her own business?”

  “Why shouldn’t I? I don’t want to control you, Celia. I want to love you.”

  Celia realized her mouth was hanging open. She closed it. “So—you could—work as a doctor in Nashville?”

  “Why not? I have friends there. I even completed some of my study there. I’d always hoped to go back and study under a certain surgeon, Dr. Hollenberry.”

  She leaned into his side, not sure what to say. “But once I have children,” she said, thinking out loud, “I couldn’t possibly run a shop.”

  “Perhaps not. Perhaps you could. We’ll see when the time comes.”

  “Dr. Truett Beverly, you are too good to be true.”

  “Then marry me, as soon as possible. I don’t like waiting.” He leaned over, pulling her toward him, and kissed her forehead. His lips moved downward over her temple and cheek.

  “We probably shouldn’t be kissing anymore,” she said breathlessly as he kissed his way slowly across her chin. “Not until after we’re married.”

  “I know. We shouldn’t.” He kissed her lips briefly, then stood up, bringing her with him.

  “Mother will be disappointed not to invite everyone she knows and plan a big shindig. And it’ll be hard to keep my lips off yours. I’ll have to pray a lot to get through these next few weeks.”

  “Amen.” The word just slipped out. They both laughed, and the laugh ended in another kiss.

  “I guess I better go ask Will and your ma for permission to marry you.”

  “I guess you better.” Celia tucked her hand in the crook of his arm as they started down the steps to the back yard. Her heart was so full she could hardly breathe as she gazed up at him.

  Six weeks had passed. Celia blinked back tears as she walked down the aisle of the church. All the people she loved had come to her wedding. There was little Tempie, looking deceptively sweet in her pink dress and ribbons. Harley stood stoically beside her, looking older than his five years. Will grinned at her and winked—the adorable thing. Lizzie was already sniffling, her face beaming even as tears swam in her eyes. Their new step-father, Horace Pouncey, stood beside Mother. He’d come to Bethel Springs a week after Griff got shot to look into buying their farm—and got more than he bargained for. He and Mother fell in love and got married.

  Mama smiled, then reached up with her handkerchief to wipe a tear off her cheek.

  Celia had to look away to keep her own tears at bay.

  There was Mr. and Mrs. Beverly on the other side of the aisle, nodding approvingly at her. Mrs. Beverly’s face seemed pinker and a bit plumper. She and Griff were living with Mr. Beverly in Columbia, Tennessee now, as Griff had become more easy-going and calm after the accident, not minding the move.

  Mrs. Beverly looked content tucked into her husband’s side.

  For so long, Celia struggled to understand why she had to come to Bethel Springs last summer, why she had to agonize over her own and her siblings’ future, worried she’d never get back to pursuing her dreams and would end up like her mother, stuck forever in Bethel Springs. But now . . . now she understood, and she was so thankful.

  Straight ahead stood the most wonderful man she had ever met. She came to stand beside him and had to tear her eyes away from his and try to listen to the preacher’s words. But in a few short minutes the preacher would announce her as the wife of Dr. Truett Beverly, telling him he could kiss his bride, and she could hardly wait.

  Author’s Note

  Author’s Note

  Growing up in rural South Alabama, there was a sense that, in some areas of life, things hadn’t changed much in a hundred years. And so it wasn’t hard to imagine life in the 1800s.

  Two of my favorite books—and movies—were To Kill a Mockingbird and Gone With the Wind, and growing up with the last name “Lee,” my life was total immersion in all things Southern, all the time. But as an adult looking back, there was so much about race issues and injustice that went right over my head, as my parents taught me never to mistreat anyone, especially those who were mistreated by others. Still, I couldn’t write a story set in Alabama in 1880 and pretend racial injustice and cruelty didn’t exist.

  I got the idea for this story more than ten years ago when I was touring the antebellum house in Spring Hill, Tennessee, called Rippavilla Plantation. The tour guide spoke about a sheriff in a nearby town who lynched people whenever he felt like it. In my recent research, however, I found no evidence of any such person. But there was plenty of evidence that many “ordinary” white people formed lynch mobs and, in all, murdered more than 4,400 black men, women, and even children over a period of a hundred years after the Civil War had ended. In nearly every instance, it was the common people who unjustly and unlawfully took it upon themselves to take another person’s life who had been accused. And the authorities, in most instances, simply looked the other way.

  I also discovered in my research that there was someone in Madison County, Alabama, my home county for the past twenty years, who stood up against lynch mobs more than once, sacrificing his own safety to try to save a life, and getting injured by the would-be lynch mob on at least one occasion. He was William Richardson, the Madison County Probate Judge, and I took the liberty of placing a fictionalized version of him in my story.

  To learn more about this horrendous practice of lynching and racial terrorism, I recommend the book The Sins of Madison County by Fred B. Simpson; the Lynching in America website, https://lynchinginamerica.eji.org/; and the Legacy Museum and the National Memorial for Peace and Justice in Montgomery, Alabama, https://museumandmemorial.eji.org/. Just as we must never forget the Holocaust, we must never forget the injustice and terrorism committed right here on American soil. We must stand up against hate and discrimination anywhere we find it.

  I hope I have presented, in my historical romance story, a bit of truth and reality. The South has many wonderful, desirable qualities, and I am thankful for how far Alabama has come in their race relations and justice, but I do not want to pretend that evil did not and does not exist. “He who forgets history is doomed to repeat it.” No one should feel terrorized or treated unjustly because of the color of their skin, or for any other reason. Ever.

  Ac
knowledgments

  As I originally wrote this story more than ten years ago, many people have had a hand in making suggestions. I am grateful for all of them, including Kim Moore, Debbie Lynne Costello, Kathleen Maher, and probably many others I’ve lost track of. I especially want to thank my agent Natasha Kern for her suggestions, as well as my excellent content editor, Serena Chase, and my wonderful line editor, Grace Dickerson. Thanks also to beta readers Terry Bell, Toni Shiloh, Piper Huguley, and Faith Dickerson.

  About the Author

  Melanie Dickerson is the New York Times bestselling author of the Christy Award winning novel, The Silent Songbird, and the author of fairy tale retellings set in Medieval Europe and a trilogy set in Regency England. Before she was an author she was a teacher and has taught in Ukraine, Germany, Georgia, and Tennessee. She has two amazing daughters and lives in north Alabama, where she writes full time. See all her books on her Amazon page https://www.amazon.com/default/e/B003BAAJG6/ or on her website http://www.melaniedickerson.com/ and follow her on Instagram, melaniedickerson123 or on facebook https://www.facebook.com/MelanieDickersonBooks/

  Other Books by Melanie Dickerson

  The Hagenheim/Fairy Tale Romance series:

  The Healer’s Apprentice

  The Merchant’s Daughter

  The Fairest Beauty

  The Captive Maiden

  The Princess Spy

  The Golden Braid

  The Silent Songbird

  The Orphan’s Wish

  The Warrior Maiden

  The Thornbeck/Medieval Fairy Tale series

  The Huntress of Thornbeck Forest

  The Beautiful Pretender

  The Noble Servant

  The Regency Spies of London Series

  A Spy’s Devotion

  A Viscount’s Proposal

  A Dangerous Engagement