Magnolia Summer

by Melanie Dickerson

  “His leg must be better.” Olean lifted her eyebrows. She tried to look indifferent, but Celia knew she was sweet on Will.

  “Oh, yes, his leg is healing nicely.” She smiled, wondering if, when he saw they had company, he would climb up the porch steps and show off the scar on his leg.

  “I’ll go let Lizzie and Will know we have company.” She went back through the house to the back door and hollered out at Will and Lizzie, who were in the garden. They waved at her, and Celia hurried back to the front porch. “Would anyone care for something to drink?” Celia asked. “We’re out of coffee at the moment.” And probably would be out of it until their farm sold.

  “Oh, child, what would we want with coffee on a hot day like today? Don’t even mention it.” Granny Lula Mae fanned herself with the homemade fan she’d brought with her. Then she leaned over and spat into a tin can lined with an old handkerchief.

  Celia forced herself not to let her expression show her disgust at the snuff-dipping habit. Why would anyone want to put that smelly brown powder inside their mouth so that it distorted their face, and then have to carry a cup around all day in which to spit the foul-smelling juice?

  “Celia, any news about the notices you put in the newspaper?” Ruby asked. “Has anyone come to buy the place?”

  Just then Mama came to the door. Its hinges screeched lazily, and she stepped out onto the porch.

  “News? No.” Celia squirmed on her hard wooden chair and gave Ruby a pointed look. She shook her head. Please change the subject.

  Ruby stared at her, then Mama.

  Mama’s hair stood out from her head like she hadn’t brushed it in days, which she probably hadn’t. She stared blandly at their guests, then sat down in the remaining empty chair.

  “Hey there, Mrs. Wilcox. You’re shore looking good today.”

  Granny Lula Mae’s pitying, sing-song greeting gave Celia a sinking feeling along with a pang of guilt at the realization that perhaps she should pay more attention to her mother and at least brush her hair for her.

  “How’re you feeling, honey?” Granny Lula Mae reached over and patted Mama’s arm with a wrinkled, age-spotted hand.

  “Fine.” Mama nodded, a slightly puzzled look in her eyes.

  “Now don’t you be worried. You got a fine boy in Will, and you’re still young. You might marry again.”

  Celia’s heart stopped. Would Mama start crying? Would she scream at the old woman? But Mama simply gave Granny a slightly annoyed look, folded her hands in her lap, and stared out across the front yard.

  Ruby must have seen it as a good time to change the subject, because she said, “Celia, have you seen the wanted posters? The ones with the hooded horseman on them?”

  “The hooded horseman? Oh, yes, I saw one.”

  “I’ve heard tell that he stopped a group of men from hanging a black man. He cut the rope with a rifle bullet and they both escaped from a dozen men, all armed.”

  Celia leaned forward, feeling intrigued in spite of herself. “Why would he do that?”

  “Didn’t want them men to hang him, I reckon.” Ruby shrugged. “But if you ask me, he should have let them hang him.”

  “But what if he was innocent?” That’s what Truett believed. “A man shouldn’t be hanged if he hasn’t had a trial. It’s against the law.”

  Ruby’s eyes were big and round. “I heard it was the sheriff who was hanging him. Should a man keep the sheriff from hanging a black man if he’s a mind to?”

  “Well, yes, if the sheriff hasn’t made sure the man had the benefit of a trial.” Celia sat straighter in her chair when she realized Ruby thought the sheriff should be able to do anything he wanted. “A sheriff is entrusted to uphold the law, not invent it. That’s against federal statutes.”

  Ruby’s mouth hung ajar as she stared at Celia with a mixture of surprise and confusion.

  “The sheriff shouldn’t set himself up as the judge, jury, and executioner. It isn’t right. What if the man was innocent and it could be proven in a court of law?”

  “Well, I reckon you’re right, Celia, but don’t let anybody hear you say that about Sheriff Suggs.”

  “If the Negro’s guilty,” Granny Lula Mae spoke up, “he ought to be hanged, says I.”

  “That’s for a judge and jury to decide.” Celia tried to keep her voice at a respectful level and tone, since Granny Lula Mae was her elder and Celia didn’t want to offend her. But who might the hooded horseman be? Was he simply someone who didn’t want this sheriff to get away with killing a man who hadn’t had a fair trial? Or did he know the man in question and want to save him because he was innocent?

  Celia’s mind flashed back to the day she’d arrived in Bethel Springs. She’d sat on Truett Beverly’s buggy seat, seen fury flash in his eyes when he told her that James Burwell was his friend and would never hurt a woman. Truett wouldn’t have allowed the sheriff to hang James Burwell. He would have stopped him.

  Was it possible . . .? Was Truett Beverly the hooded horseman?

  Chapter 16

  Celia’s blood roared in her ears. Surely she was being silly, jumping to a ridiculous conclusion. How could Truett Beverly, the town doctor, be this notorious hooded horseman? But she couldn’t get the thought out of her head.

  Celia swallowed. “Who was the colored man they tried to hang?”

  “James Burwell.”

  She knew that already, but hearing the man’s name seemed to confirm her suspicions.

  Ruby leaned close again. “And the woman he supposedly tried to force himself on was the sheriff’s own daughter, Almira Suggs. Our schoolteacher. That’s what the sheriff don’t want everybody to know.”

  Had Almira been molested? She did indeed look like a woman with some sort of trouble on her mind. But if she’d been attacked, how could Truett defend the man? None of it made sense. Surely Truett wouldn’t risk his life to save a man like that.

  And surely Almira wouldn’t falsely accuse anyone of such a crime.

  “And folks say,” Ruby went on, “that the hooded horseman attacked Sheriff Suggs and Curtis while they was trying to get James Burwell’s daddy to tell them where he went to.”

  Purely gossip. Hearsay.

  But some of it had to be true, or else there’d be no wanted poster and no five hundred dollar reward for a hooded horseman.

  She knew for a fact that Sheriff Suggs was looking for James Burwell and that James was accused of assaulting a woman. She’d heard the sheriff with her own ears.

  Could Truett be mistaken about his friend’s character?

  She cleared her throat. “No matter what, it’s wrong to hang a man without a fair trial. ‘Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord.’”

  “Look-a here, missy.” Granny Lula Mae shook her bony finger at Celia. “Back during the war, there weren’t no fair trials. If a man attacked or murdered somebody, it was up to the men of the community to make sure justice was done and decent folks was protected.

  “The Yankees controlled this whole place, from the Tennessee line to The Tennessee River south of Huntsville, and do you think for one minute the Yankees was gone hang a man if he weren’t a Southerner? No, sir, they never done it. Why, Captain Frank Gurley hisself went and got a man out of the jail what had killed a whole family, mother, a grown girl, three little girls, and a little boy.”

  Granny fixed her narrowed eyes on Celia, reminding her of a hawk, with her crooked nose and thin lips. “Captain Gurley made shore justice was done. He sneaked up to the jail, got around them Yankee guards, and took that prisoner out. The jailer, he was a good Christian man from Killingsworth Cove, and he didn’t give Captain Gurley no lip. He was glad to give up his prisoner to him. His wife even went and found the rope and give it to Captain Gurley. He took that man out to the woods and hanged him. And we was all grateful.”

  Her face was bland as she rocked back and forth in the wooden rocker.

  Celia said quietly, “There’s no war going on now. Life is more civilized, and we should
allow the justice system to do what it’s there for. We have no need of taking the law into our own hands now.”

  “That be true enough,” Granny Lula Mae said softly.

  Celia was pleasantly surprised to hear the old woman agree with her. She didn’t want to come across as disrespectful—or get the rough side of Granny Lula Mae’s tongue.

  Celia was afraid to ask, but asked anyway. “Does anyone think they know who the hooded horseman is?”

  Ruby’s eyebrows lifted. “It’s a mystery. Don’t you think it’s exciting? The most exciting thing that’s happened in Bethel Springs in a long time.”

  “Yes, a mystery.” Her mind went back to Truett. If he was the one thwarting the sheriff, what would happen to him? He’d be caught, sooner or later. She remembered how he had pretended to the sheriff to be genteelly outraged at the thought of someone molesting a woman, spouting poetry at the sheriff. But when the sheriff was out of earshot, he’d adamantly defended the suspected perpetrator, James Burwell, saying he’d never hurt a woman.

  It was Truett. She was sure of it.

  “Celia, are you all right?” Ruby stood up and leaned over her. “You look pale. Should I fetch you some cool water?”

  “No, I’m fine.” Celia forced her stiff lips to smile.

  Ruby trotted to the well to get her a dipperful of water anyway.

  “This heat will shore ‘nough wilt you down.” Granny Lula Mae went on fanning and rocking.

  Ruby ran up the steps, holding the dipper in both hands while a few drops spilled over the sides and onto her bare feet.

  “Thank you.” Celia drank some of the water then handed the dipper back to her. Ruby drank the rest. Olean took it back to the well and hung it on the hook.

  “What about Almira?” Celia couldn’t resist asking. “Have you asked her what happened?”

  “Not me.” Ruby shook her head, her braids flapping wildly. “She was my teacher up until last year. Maybe you could ask her.”

  Yes, maybe I will. If Truett was risking his life, Celia wanted to know if it was for a worthy cause.

  “Don’t let’s talk about this no more,” Ruby said, her eyebrows drawn together. “Something more pleasant would perk us all up.” Her face broke into a smile. “Has Dr. Beverly been to see you lately, Celia?” Ruby grinned so big Celia saw a hole where a tooth should have been in the back of her mouth.

  Celia swallowed. Not exactly the change of subject she’d hoped for.

  “No, he hasn’t.” Lizzie answered for her as she walked up the steps. She carried Tempie on her hip, with Harley trailing behind.

  Olean hugged Lizzie then took Tempie out of her arms, cooing over the child.

  “Lizzie.” Celia gave her voice a tone of warning.

  “Well, it’s true.” Lizzie shook her finger and glared at Celia. “He hasn’t been to see her once since the dance. She must have hurt his feelings.”

  Celia glared back. Hush your mouth, Lizzie, she wanted to say. Like the grouchy big sister she was.

  “Aw, don’t get riled.” Lizzie waved a dismissive hand at her sister and then turned to Ruby, frowning and shaking her head. “Celia doesn’t like to talk about Truett Beverly.”

  But Ruby had no lack of things to talk about, and Celia was relieved when she changed the topic. She gossiped about who was courting who, and who was in the family way, and about how exciting it was to have a mysterious hooded horseman running around saving people.

  Celia sat back and tried not to speak or attract attention to herself as she ruminated. And when Granny announced it was time to go, Celia was able to give them all a genuine smile, as Granny got up from the rocking chair and took her spit cup with her.

  But her smile was short-lived, because as the hooded horseman, Truett was in danger.

  Almira Suggs came at nine o’clock on Thursday morning, bringing five of her favorite books. Celia rarely read novels, preferring to read history books and collections of essays or sermons. But she was so caught up in Almira’s enthusiasm for a novel called Persuasion by British authoress, Jane Austen, that she promised to read it.

  “It’s about a girl,” Almira explained, “whose friend persuades her not to marry a man because her family disapproves of him. After a few years he comes back a successful sea captain.”

  Later, as Celia walked Almira down the lane, she was still trying to work up the courage to ask what had happened between Almira and James Burwell. As they strolled slowly, Almira said, “Just like the heroine, I’m in love with someone my father disapproves of.”

  “Oh?” Her heart leapt.

  Almira smiled wanly. “I’m not so sure it will work out as well for me as it did in Jane Austen’s novel. But I shouldn’t talk about it.” She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. She stopped and faced Celia. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to teach this year. The school needs a teacher. Would you be willing to take over for me?”

  “Me?” Celia stared back at Almira, disappointed in the abrupt change of topic. “I don’t think so. I’m planning to go back to work—in Nashville—in September. Isn’t there someone else who could do it?”

  “Perhaps.” A deep crease brought Almira’s eyebrows together.

  Celia suspected something was worrying her besides simply who was going to take her place as the town’s teacher. She laid a hand on Almira’s shoulder. “Are you in trouble? I promise I won’t tell a soul if you wish to confide in me.”

  Almira nodded. Tears swam in her eyes, then slipped down her cheeks.

  “I’m in love with James Burwell. My Daddy accused him of raping me and even tried to hang him, but James would never do such a thing.”

  Almira covered her face with her hands and cried while Celia kept her hand on her shoulder, hoping it comforted her.

  When Almira lifted her tear-stained face, she pinned Celia with a fierce look. “My father should be proud to have a son-in-law who is a scientist, don’t you think? James is a botanist, an inventor. A man who is good and kind. But because his skin is the wrong color—” her voice broke on a sob.

  “I’m so sorry, Almira. It doesn’t make sense to me, either. Society is cruel. But you’re right. A man’s skin color shouldn’t matter. God judges the heart.”

  Almira leaned her head on Celia’s shoulder as Celia slipped her arm around her. “Thank God you understand.” Tears continued to drip from her eyes. “There is something worse, and if you turn away and never speak to me again, I will understand. But . . . I think I may be pregnant.”

  Celia bit back the gasp that rose into her throat. Her face prickled at the thought of being with child and unmarried.

  “And if I am, and if my father finds out, not being able to teach school will be the least of my worries.”

  Celia had to work to keep her expression neutral, telling herself to react with compassion instead of judgment. She had heard of unmarried women having children, but she’d never known any personally. And it wouldn’t help Almira to see her looking shocked.

  “And now my father has forced James to flee for his life. I don’t know where he is, and I miss him so much.”

  Celia kept her arm around Almira’s shoulder. Celia had never been in a situation in which she could imagine being tempted in such a way. Before her kiss with Truett Beverly, she’d never understood. How was a man able to persuade a woman to give away her virtue? But Truett’s kiss had stirred feelings inside her that she could imagine leading to something much beyond a few kisses.

  No, she shouldn’t condemn Almira any more than Jesus had condemned the woman caught in adultery and thrown at his feet.

  “Is there any way I could help?”

  “There’s nothing you can do.” Almira shook her head and wiped her eyes with her hands.

  Celia handed her a handkerchief.

  “Thank you.” Almira laughed nervously. “I must have forgotten mine.” She wiped her face and nose. “There is one thing you can do for me. If I’m unable to teach, you could step in for me.”

  “I
’m not sure I’ll be here, but if I am, I will do it for you.”

  “I must be going. I’ve bothered you with my troubles for too long.”

  Celia’s heart swelled against her chest as she stared at Almira. The girl had no one, no mother or siblings, only a father, and he hated the man she loved. What would her father do if he found her pregnant? Celia shuddered.

  “If you need anything, Almira—and I mean this—please come to me. I’ll do whatever I can. If you need a place to stay or anything else.”

  “Thank you. That means so much to me.” Almira threw her arms around her. “I’ve only known you for a short time, but I treasure your friendship, Celia.” She pulled back and smiled a tremulous smile. “I’ll go now, but thank you for the books and for listening to me.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  They waved good-bye.

  Truett was right. James hadn’t forced himself on anyone. She tried to picture Truett Beverly putting on the black hood and riding out to save his friend. Brave, indeed. Maybe crazy. And a little romantic too, like a story in a book. But then, he did love to spout poetry.

  The more she thought of Truett Beverly, the harder her heart pounded. She had to tell him to be careful. If she had figured out that he was the hooded horseman, surely others would too. Truett was too good to die at the hands of an evil sheriff like Suggs. She’d never met anyone like Truett before—handsome, kind, brave, and good.

  But she mustn’t think this way. Look what had happened to Almira.

  It was best if women stayed away from men.

  But she had to warn Truett to be careful and not to don the hood and cape again. If she had a chance to warn him but didn’t take it, she’d never forgive herself if he was killed.

  Chapter 17

  Truett slapped the new medical journal closed in disgust. It had arrived in the morning mail, but he couldn’t concentrate on reading when his mind kept bringing the thought of Celia Wilcox between him and the page.