Page 4 of Magnolia Summer

Truett couldn’t let her stand there feeling stranded. He would offer to take her home.

Just as he stepped out, Curtis Suggs started across the street toward the train depot.

Truett clenched his teeth. Of course the sheriff’s varmint of a son would go nosing after Celia, just like the hound dog he was. Truett hurried at a fast walk down the wooden sidewalk.

* * *

Where was Will?Celia glanced around. Everything along the street, the bushes and trees as well as the store fronts—a barber shop, blacksmith’s shop, general store, and doctor’s office—were covered with the red-orange dust of the red clay streets, giving everything a rusty look.

The locket watch on the chain around her neck told her it was 2:15, which meant the train had arrived on time. Perhaps her family hadn’t received her telegram.

One woman strolled the sidewalk, walking toward the general store or the post office. Four men leaned against a hitching post across the street and stared in her direction. She pretended not to notice them, but her stomach did a little flip. Having grown up in Nashville, it unnerved her to feel nearly alone, standing next to the town’s main thoroughfare. There was the one woman, but she had just disappeared into the general store. Did the four men mean her any harm? She clutched her small bag against her stomach.

The afternoon sun sent a jolt of pain through her temples. She rubbed her forehead.

How would she ever get her things to her family’s home without Will and the wagon? She could walk, but she couldn’t leave her trunk and all her possessions sitting there in plain view. Her family had moved here just nine months ago and she had only visited them once since. Who could she ask for help?

“Ma’am?”

Someone tugged on Celia’s skirt hem. She looked down at a blond-haired, blue-eyed girl with a smudge of dirt across her cheek. The child’s bare feet poked out from under the hem of her feed-sack dress, and her toes were covered with the rusty red dust. Her wide eyes took Celia in from toe to head, including her newest hat, which must seem quite different from the cloth bonnets that the women of Bethel Springs wore.

“Yes?” Celia smiled at the child’s broad face and awed expression.

“Are you a Yankee?” The little girl spoke the last word in a whisper.

Celia didn’t know whether to laugh or feel offended. Finally, she said, “No, I’m from Tennessee.”

“Good. I wouldn’t want you to get shot. You’re pretty.”

“Thank you.”

“My pappy shoots Yankees.”

“Oh.” A nervous laugh bubbled up, but she cleared her throat instead.

“Sadie!”

The little girl’s head jerked toward a woman whose dress was almost as stained and worn as her own, and she motioned with a quick jerk of her hand. “Git away from that fancy lady.”

The little girl scurried off, glancing back at Celia as she ran.

The four men who had been staring at her ambled across the street, toward Celia. The young man in the lead wore a butter-yellow, side-button shirt. As he stepped onto the train platform and approached her, he removed his hat. The three others shuffled behind him, their mouths agape, eyes fastened on her. She noted the train depot just behind her. If necessary, she should be able to find safety there.

“How do, miss?” The yellow-shirted one said. “My name’s Curtis Suggs. I couldn’t help noticing, you look as if you might need some assistance.”

He appeared pleasant enough, with an accommodating smile, and she liked that he’d stopped a polite distance away.Thank you, God, for gentlemanly manners.His dark hair looked clean, as did his shirt and trousers, with no rips or obvious mends—which was an improvement over the unkempt loafers gawking at her from behind him. Wrinkled and ill-fitting, their clothing hung on them like a scarecrow’s, their lips and scraggly beards stained brown with tobacco juice.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Suggs. My brother, William Wilcox, was supposed to meet me when I arrived today, but he isn’t here. I wouldn’t want to put anyone out, but I am in need of a conveyance. If one of you gentlemen happen to be going toward my family’s farm . . .” She waved her hand toward the large trunk just behind her.

Curtis Suggs raised his shoulders a notch. “Miss Wilcox, I have a buggy over behind the town hall—my father’s the sheriff of this town—and I’d be happy to run yonder for it,” he nodded toward a building down the street, “and fetch you home.”

Celia studied his face, trying to get an idea of his character, but his features were smooth and expressionless, except for the smile curving his lips.

“I don’t want to trouble you—”

“Miss Celia Wilcox.” A new voice sounded from over her shoulder. Celia turned to see the town doctor.

An unpleasant, sinking feeling assailed her stomach. The last time she had seen him, he’d informed her of her father’s death. “Dr. Beverly.”