Magnolia Summer (Southern Seasons Book 1)

by Melanie Dickerson

  Truett shoved his hands in his pockets, wandering over to wait in the shade of the trees until his mother and Griff were ready to go, but Sheriff Suggs’s wide shoulders caught his eye. Four other men were crowded around him. His head and eyes were lowered, as well as his voice, as he spoke to the men.

  Truett started walking in their direction but kept his eyes focused away from them, pretending not to notice the gathering.

  He drew closer and was able to make out the mumble of the Sheriff’s deep voice. He picked a leaf from the pecan tree he was passing and pretended to study it.

  “We’ll go over tonight, after dark, and scare him good,” went Sheriff Suggs’s voice. “He knows where his boy went to, and we’ll force it out of him.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Truett saw a couple of nods. But he kept his face directed down at his leaf. How many times had he seen James studying a leaf or a flower in exactly the same way? Always curious about everything, the quintessential scientist.

  “I won’t need more than one or two men. Shouldn’t have any trouble with old Cato Burwell.”

  The men chuckled, a cruel sound.

  Slowly Truett moved away from the huddle of men and let the leaf drop from his hand. He knew where and when the sheriff planned to strike next, and he would be waiting.

  His blood boiled at what they intended to do to James’s father, who had been blinded in an accident when James was a little boy.

  Well, Truett had a plan of his own.

  Celia smiled at Almira. She must be around Celia’s age or a bit younger, and she spoke in a soft, intelligent voice.

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Almira.”

  “I’m the teacher for the school here in Bethel Springs. Your sister Lizzie is bright and a fast learner. Will is too, though not as eager as Lizzie. Boys generally aren’t. Most boys, that is.” She got a faraway look in her eyes, as if she was thinking of someone else, even though she was still looking at Celia.

  “Thank you. Yes, they’re both good readers, and Will is especially good at math.”

  “I sure was sorry about your father’s accident, and sorry Lizzie and Will had to quit school. Of course, I understood about them having to take care of your mama and the little ones.”

  “Thank you. That’s very kind of you.”

  “I hear from Lizzie that you’re a dressmaker and hope to open your own shop.” Almira smiled, and it was as though the sun had popped out from behind a cloud.

  “I do hope.” The words argued against her rising fear. Would she ever achieve her dream? After all, their family’s tragedy had already prevented Lizzie and Will from attending school. But if Celia could earn the family’s living, they could go back.

  . “Good morning, Miss Suggs.” Lizzie said as she joined them, offering her teacher a smile just before she squeezed Celia’s arm. “You won’t believe what everybody is talking about! Some men tried to lynch a man—I’m not sure who he was—but then another man, wearing a hood to cover his face, saved him right as they were about to put his head through the noose!”

  Celia’s free hand fluttered to her neck. “My goodness.” One rarely thought of such things occurring in one’s own town. They always seemed to happen in some far off, backward place.

  Almira’s eyelids flickered and her face went white.

  Lizzie took a step forward. “Are you well, Miss Suggs?”

  “Oh, of course. I just hate to hear of such goings on, that’s all.” She lifted a paper fan and started swishing it so vigorously that stray strands of hair blew wildly around her face.

  “I think I’m the last person to hear of it,” Lizzie went on. “You’ve heard about it, haven’t you Miss Suggs?”

  “Well, yes, I did hear something.” Almira’s face had gone from white to showing a bright spot of red in the middle of each pale cheek.

  “Who was the man getting lynched, Miss Suggs? Do you know?”

  Celia was alarmed at the obvious discomfort Almira was suffering. The schoolteacher swallowed hard and fluttered her fan even faster, but she couldn’t seem to focus on either of them.

  “I—I—someone else here could probably tell you.” Her voice trailed off.

  “Do you know who was doing the lynching?”

  “Lizzie, that’s enough.” Celia rested her hand on her sister’s arm. “Well-bred ladies shouldn’t speak of such things.”

  Lizzie glanced at Miss Suggs and ducked her head. “I’m sorry, Miss Suggs.”

  “That’s all right.” Almira’s mouth opened again, but she remained quiet.

  Celia wasn’t sure what to say to the schoolteacher, and the silence soon grew awkward. Finally, Lizzie left to join friends who beckoned her to join their huddled whispers beneath a nearby shade trees.

  Almira took out her handkerchief and dabbed at her lips.

  It seemed best to change the subject. “I hope my mother will be herself again soon and Will and Lizzie will be able to get back to school.”

  “Yes, that would be good. I hope so too.” Almira nodded, gratitude in her smile. “Education is so important.” Again, her eyes took on a faraway look.

  “So many people feel women should be confined to household chores and shouldn’t pursue education—or business. I’m an oddity, I suppose, since I don’t intend to be imprisoned in such a way.”

  Almira’s eyes sparkled. “Amen and pass the gumption.”

  They both laughed. Celia was going to like Almira.

  Truett’s heart beat fast as he crouched behind a bush in James’s father’s back yard. Through the darkness, Truett could just make out the little wooden shack Cato Burwell shared with his brother Ben. The structure leaned to one side and smoke rose from a crooked chimney. A lamp shone through the curtainless window.

  About a hundred yards from the house, his black gelding Colonel waited in the woods. Truett couldn’t risk him being closer, lest someone recognize his horse.

  He didn’t have to wait long. Sheriff Suggs rode up with another man, possibly his son, Curtis. He couldn’t see their faces, but he recognized the sheriff by his rotund shape. Since there were only two of them, he could handle those odds.

  Suggs banged twice on the back door, then flung it open. They stepped inside.

  Truett drew his two Colt revolvers and made his way across the back yard, past the hen house and the garden, past the outhouse, the clothesline, and the root cellar. The back door was open. He eased inside without making a sound.

  The smoky kitchen was empty, but male voices drifted from the next room.

  Truett sneaked through the open passageway, then stopped and stood against the wall just outside the living room.

  Curtis was holding the two black men down on two straight back chairs, one hand on Cato’s neck, the other squeezing his brother Ben’s. Fear widened Cato’s clouded gray eyes as he faced toward Truett, unseeing.

  “Where is he?” the sheriff demanded, bending from his six-foot height to glare at Cato.

  “He’s gone.”

  “I know he’s gone. Tell me where, or you’ll get the worst beating of your life.” The sheriff lifted his fist over James’s father’s head.

  Truett’s blood thumped in his temples. He stepped forward, pointing a revolver at Curtis, who was facing him, and stuck the barrel of the other Colt against Sheriff Suggs’s back.

  “Hands in the air,” Truett said, his voice lowered to a gruff rasp.

  Truett tucked one revolver under his arm. He reached over Suggs’s shoulder and took the gun from his hand. He set it on the floor and kicked it to Ben, who bent and snatched it up.

  “Who are you?” Suggs growled.

  “Get out,” Truett rasped. “If you ever touch these men again, you’ll get worse than a beating.”

  He shoved the sheriff toward the back door. Curtis closed his mouth and glared. He began walking toward the back of the house. Truett followed, his gun at Sheriff Sugg’s back. He noted the bulge of a pistol at Curtis’s right side.

  “Hands in the air
.” Truett pressed his gun harder into the sheriff’s back while keeping his eye on Curtis. Finally, they reached the back door. Curtis pushed it open and stepped onto the top step.

  “You won’t get away with this. The sheriff is the law here, and—”

  “Shut up, boy,” Sheriff Suggs grunted at Curtis.

  “Keep walking, unless you want me to blow your sheriff into the next county.”

  They kept walking across the yard toward the horses. Truett veered to the left, still keeping his guns trained on the two men. He made it to the pen where Cato and Ben kept their hunting dogs as Ben came out the back door.

  Ben gave a shrill whistle. The dogs became frenzied. Truett unlatched the gate to the pen and opened it wide.

  “Sic ’em!”

  The dogs threw themselves into the open, charging toward Suggs and Curtis. The hounds bayed and snarled as they ran. Sheriff Suggs and Curtis raced for their horses. They flung themselves into their saddles a bare moment before the dogs reached them. The animals snapped ferociously at the men’s ankles. The Suggs men lit out at a full gallop toward the road and didn’t stop once they got there.

  Truett shoved his guns into his hip holsters and took off at a fast trot through the woods to find Colonel. Ben and Cato shouted after him, “Hey! Hey!” But Truett didn’t look back, not even when Cato Burwell shouted after him, “Much obliged to you!”

  Chapter 7

  Celia dragged the slop bucket down the steep hill to the pig sty. As she moved close to their fence, the big sow and her piglets hurried over to the trough, already grunting and snorting in their eagerness. Celia heaved the bucket over the top of the four-foot high split rails and dumped the slop. She watched the pigs for a moment, but then noticed there was one pig that hadn’t come to the trough. Instead, it lay on its side, completely still. On closer inspection, she noted flies buzzing around it.

  “Oh, that’s just what we need.”

  Celia trudged back up the hill toward the house and entered the back door to the kitchen. “Where’s Will? Another pig has died.”

  Lizzie barely glanced up from the stove. “He went hunting with Truett.”

  Celia rolled her eyes. What right did Truett Beverly have to come and get her brother before sunup and take him to shoot at turkeys and rabbits and squirrels?

  She knew it was good for him to have a man around to do things with, but now, thanks to Truett Beverly, she’d have to deal with the dead pig herself.

  Celia huffed. Bad enough she had been awake in the middle of the night soothing Tempie after her nightmare.

  Lizzie used a cloth to open the oven door and pull out the biscuits. “Will and Truett should be back soon.”

  Lizzie was interrupted by Tempie’s too-familiar scream, coming from outside.

  Celia burst back out the door to find Tempie making her way across the yard. The little girl wailed between shallow, shuddering breaths. She held her arms stiffly out from her sides. When she saw Celia, she extended her hands toward her.

  Celia lifted her skirt and ran to her. “Are you hurt? What’s wrong?” She bent down to examine the child’s tear-streaked face.

  “Dirty!” Tempie held up her hands, thrusting them in Celia’s face. “Dirty!”

  “Dirty?” From the child’s screams, Celia thought at the very least she had been stung by a bee. She stared at the child.

  “Tempie doesn’t like to be dirty,” Lizzie’s wry tone came from the doorway.

  Celia sighed, took Tempie’s hand, and led her to the basin that rested on a stool by the back steps. She washed Tempie’s hands and then dried them with a cloth. “I thought children liked getting dirty.”

  Tempie stared up at her with shimmering eyes and poked out her lip.

  Celia smiled and kissed her cheek. “It’s all right, sweetie. All clean now.”

  Tempie sniffed. “I want my dolly.”

  “Go on, then.” As Celia dried her hands on a cloth, Tempie scampered into the house.

  Celia rubbed her face. How could a person be so tired before breakfast?

  “Hey, Celia! Look what I killed.”

  Will and Truett strode toward her across the yard, holding up two brown rabbits by their hind feet.

  Harley clasped his slingshot in front of him as he jumped up and down in front of Celia, begging, “I go hunting with Truett and Will next time!”

  “No! Absolutely not.”

  Harley set up a howl that echoed through the woods behind her. “I want to go too!” He turned toward the house and yelled, “Lizzie!”

  So, he would appeal to Lizzie, as if she was his mother. Celia sighed. He had little choice, she supposed, if he wanted to find someone to overrule Celia.

  “We’ll see, Harley,” Celia soothed. “Let’s talk about it later, all right?”

  “I don’t think Harley is old enough,” Will said softly after Harley ran inside to talk to Lizzie. “We saw a rattlesnake.”

  She shuddered, then glared at Truett. “Is this true?”

  “We stayed still until it slithered away.”

  “But he could have been killed!” Celia covered her mouth as her lip trembled. She really was tired.

  Truett stood looking at her with his mouth open. Finally, he said softly, “I would have shot the snake before it could have bitten Will. I’m watching out for him, I promise.”

  Why did Truett always have to be hanging around Will, as if he was part of their family?

  She knew her thoughts were unkind, but she couldn’t seem to cast out the anger that lodged in her chest like a boulder.

  She could see the proud tilt of Will’s shoulders. She took a deep breath and forced a smile. “That’s impressive, Will. Can we eat them?”

  “Yep! Truett’s going to show me how to skin them.”

  “Good.” Celia turned to go, then remembered. “Another pig has died. We should probably get him out of the pen as soon as possible.”

  “Having trouble with your pigs?” Truett asked.

  “This is the third one to die,” Will answered. “You reckon they’ll all die?”

  Truett frowned and pushed up his hat with the back of his wrist. “Can’t say for certain, but it doesn’t sound good. A lot of diseases that affect pigs run rampant in these parts. They often take out the whole herd in a few days.”

  Celia’s heart sank. With no money for food, she’d counted on the pigs to provide winter meat for the family. “What can we do? Is there some kind of . . . I don’t know . . . tonic we could give them?”

  “Not that I know of.” Truett smiled and she suddenly wished she hadn’t said anything. For pity’s sake, she sounded as desperate and dependent on him as the rest of her family.

  “That’s all right. We can just slaughter the healthy ones now.”

  The smile was replaced with a more serious lifting of his eyebrows. “I wouldn’t recommend that. The meat wouldn’t keep in this heat, and it might not be safe, depending on what the pig died of. But Will and I’ll get that dead one out and bury it.”

  “Don’t worry, Celia.” Will chimed in. “We’ll get rid of that dead pig.”

  “Thank you. I would appreciate that.”

  Celia went inside to help Lizzie set the table for breakfast. The window provided a great view of Will and Truett hard at work. First they lifted out the dead pig, and after burying it, skinned the rabbits in the back yard. She did her best to avoid seeing the blood and guts. And to think, some men expected their wives to do the skinning.

  Celia, Lizzie, and Tempie ate breakfast in silence, except for Tempie’s prattling speech to her doll. Mama was still in bed.

  After Celia and Lizzie cleaned up the kitchen, they took their baskets to the garden. As they passed where Will and Truett were skinning the rabbits, Celia called, careful to keep her eyes focused just to the left of them, “Whenever you’re ready, go on in the house and help yourselves to some breakfast.”

  “Thank you kindly,” Truett said. She saw his smile from the corner of her eye.


  Celia stood between the rows of pea plants and listened as Lizzie showed her how to tell which peas were ready to pick.

  “See this one?” Lizzie held out a green and purple mottled pea pod. “You can feel the grown peas inside, making these bumps. The ones that are still flat aren’t ready yet.”

  They picked steadily for an hour in the bright morning sun, then picked the tomatoes, squash, and okra. Truett must have helped them plant the garden. How else would they have known what to plant or how?

  She suspected they owed Truett Beverly a lot. According to Lizzie, they would hardly have survived without his help. She should be nice to him, and should probably thank him for all he and his family had done for them. Truett’s mother had come over and showed them how to operate the stove and explained to Lizzie about canning and pickling the extra produce from the garden they weren’t able to eat.

  Celia straightened and pushed her hand into the small of her back. Her hands itched and stung from the tiny, hair-like prickles on the okra plants. Her toes were wet from the morning dew, and she could hardly wait to sit down.

  She carried her basket into the kitchen and found Truett and Will still sitting at the table, with Mother in the corner looking droopy-eyed and half asleep. Harley sat in Truett’s lap, playing with two wooden soldiers on the table.

  Lizzie stepped in just behind Celia.

  “Truett, you’re still here.” Lizzie’s voice was so sunny it brightened the room. At the same time, Celia cringed to hear her address an adult male with such familiarity.

  “Lizzie, it’s impolite to call him that.” She smiled to soften her words. “He’s Dr. Beverly.”

  “That’s all right, Miss Celia. I don’t mind if she calls me Truett. I’m here so often, the little ones probably think I’m family.” As if to prove his point, Tempie attempted to crawl into his lap. He boosted her up with one hand, balancing her on his other leg. Harley immediately tried to shove her off, but Truett gently pulled the little boy’s hand away.

  The picture he made, sitting there with both children on his lap, was ridiculously homey.