The next day was Sunday, and they all slept a little late. When Celia went out to the barn to do Will’s chores of mucking the stable and milking the cow, she found that Truett had already been there and done it.

Celia got dressed for church slowly, not even bothering to try to hurry the twins until Lizzie began to get frustrated with them. Then Celia helped distract them while Lizzie buttoned Harley’s shirt and Tempie’s dress.

They arrived at church late, just as Celia had hoped, since she wanted to avoid Truett if at all possible. They sat in the back.

Almira Suggs sat across the aisle from her, fanning herself with a square piece of cardstock. Celia had taken an instant liking to the young schoolmarm, and she hoped to talk with her after the sermon.

She tried to pay attention, but the preacher’s words droned in such a monotone, she found that when her eyes blinked, they didn’t want to open up again. Besides his lulling tone, his message was almost exactly the same as it had been every Sunday since she had been there—and this was her fourth!

She frowned at the remembrance of her first Sunday. She’d thought the preacher’s message interesting and was impressed with his memory of Scripture. Little did she know that she would also have the same Scriptures memorized herself in four weeks.

At first she hadn’t even seen Truett anywhere among the congregation. But with some shifting in seats, he was revealed near the front, sitting next to Mrs. Beverly and Griff. She recognized the back of his head instantly. He was as familiar as if she’d known him all her life.

Where did that silly thought come from? She hardly knew the man.

A movement caught her attention from the left corner of her eye. Almira Suggs stood up, her face as pale as milk. She made a dash for the door and was gone.

No one else seemed to take notice. Lizzie had told her that the poor girl’s mother died when she was very young. No one followed her out. Celia quietly went after her.

Once outside, Celia didn’t see anyone. She stood on the bottom step and listened. The muffled sound of retching came from around the side of the little white church building. She followed the noise and found Almira bent over in the knee-high grass that edged the clearing at the rear of the church.

She didn’t want to embarrass her, but she wanted to at least offer help. She walked closer. “Miss Suggs?”

Slowly Almira shook her head. “I’m all right.”

“Are you sure?” Celia drew closer and put her hand on the young woman’s shoulder. “Can I do anything for you? Fetch someone to take you home?”

“No, I’m well.” Almira stood a little taller and gave a wan smile. “Just a bit of female weakness.”

“Being sick isn’t ‘female weakness.’” She gently took her arm. “There’s a bench over here. Why don’t you sit for a minute?”

Celia led her over to the wrought-iron bench and sat down beside her. When Almira didn’t speak, Celia said, “You look awfully pale. Do you need to see a doctor?”

She instantly regretted her words. The last thing she wanted to have to do was fetch Dr. Beverly.

“No, please don’t worry about me.” Almira’s eyebrows drew together. “I’m fine. Truly I am. I have a tendency for stomach ailments.” She looked Celia in the eye. “Please don’t tell anyone I was sick.”

“Of course, if you wish it.”

“I do. Thank you, Celia. You’re very sweet.” She smiled, but it seemed a sad smile.

Celia sensed a loneliness in her that she could understand more than she cared to admit. A tug at her heart drew her toward Almira. “I’m still getting to know people around here. Why don’t you come over for tea some time? You don’t live far, do you?”

“No, just the other side of the Prichards’ from you.”

“Perhaps we could swap books. I had to leave most of mine in Nashville, but I do have a couple of novels you might be interested in.”

“I would like that very much.” Almira’s face brightened and most of the color seemed to come back into her cheeks.

“Then I’ll expect you . . . Thursday?”

“Oh, yes, I could come Thursday.”

“Good.”

The collective sound of voices raised in song told them the church was singing the final hymn before being dismissed.

“Are you well enough to make it home?” Celia asked.

“Oh, yes. I am well, don’t worry.” And she did look much better than before.

“We can take you home in our wagon.”

She shook her head. “I rode my mare. She’ll get me home. I’m all right.”

Celia was anxious to round up her siblings as quickly as possible in case Truett wanted to talk to her. Her cheeks grew warm just thinking about coming face to face with him again so soon after their kiss. She watched the door of the church as people trickled out to shake the preacher’s hand. Truett came out before any of her family. She looked away from him, but still kept him in the corner of her vision. He didn’t even look around for her. He went straight to his horse, mounted, and rode away.

Her heart sank in disappointment. Ugh. Of all the ridiculous reactions . . .

He must be respecting her command for him to stay away. But it hurt, in spite of her telling herself it was what she wanted. Honestly, she wasn’t sure what she wanted. No, that wasn’t true. Her irresponsible heart wanted Truett. But she could not let it have him.

The next day, Celia found two more pigs dead in their pen and the rest, including the sow, swaying unsteadily on their short legs and acting lethargic. Lord, what will we do if they all die? They would have no meat this winter and no money to buy any.

Celia helped Will dig the holes for the pigs’ graves, then followed through with her plan for the morning, which was to ride to town to check their mail.

She asked for her mail through the little barred window. The postmaster handed her two letters, one from the Circle W Horse Farm in Kentucky, and the other from the Planters Bank of Nashville.

Her heart beat in her throat. She tore open the letter from the bank as soon as she stepped outside the train station, which also served as city hall and post office.

Dear Miss Wilcox, This letter is to inform you that your father, Mr. William Earnest Wilcox, withdrew his assets and closed his account with The Planters Bank of Nashville on the 4^th day of August, 1879. We have had no further dealings with him.

Celia crumpled the paper in her hand. Then it was true. They had no money, except for the seven dollars in the coffee can behind the flour sack. How long could that last them?

Next, Celia tore open the letter from the Kentucky horse farm. She glanced through its contents, her eye catching “sum of $40 per broodmare and $80 for the stallion” and “a man required to travel on the train with the horses.”

Forty dollars each was much less than her father had paid for the mares and not nearly enough to do them much good. And of course, they no longer had the stallion.

She’d have to be desperate for survival to accept such a paltry amount for those broodmares. Perhaps she could sell them by advertising in the newspaper. But who would pay her the actual worth of the horses? In these times, in Alabama, who actually needed Thoroughbred broodmares? They were too valuable to be used as work horses on a farm.

Celia leaned a forearm against Old Sallie and rubbed her temple where it had started to ache. What would happen to them without money? Celia didn’t want Harley and Tempie to grow up without proper clothing, shoes, and food. She didn’t want Will and Lizzie to have few or no prospects for the future, too poor for any sort of private education.

Her heart heavy, Celia mounted the horse and started through town.

A piece of paper nailed to a hitching post caught her eye. It was a wanted poster, rustling in a hot gust of wind. The reward especially drew her attention—$500. That was enough money to hire someone to take care of her siblings and get Celia back to Nashville, even if they weren’t able to sell their farm.

She drew closer to the piece of paper and saw that the reward was for “the hooded man” who had “thwarted justice” in Madison County. The $500 was for anyone who could give information as to the identity of the black-hooded horseman who had fired his gun at a lawman.

Five hundred dollars was the largest reward Celia had ever seen for a local criminal, an enormous sum for someone who hadn’t committed murder. What had the hooded man done to draw such a reward? Celia had heard that he had prevented the sheriff from arresting a black man, Truett’s friend, James Burwell. But it was also rumored that this Mr. Burwell was innocent and that Sheriff Suggs had attempted to hang him without a trial. But would a sheriff blatantly defy the law by lynching a man who hadn’t been tried?

Either way, Celia would like to have the reward. She should let the authorities take care of it, since it was none of her affair, but five hundred dollars! That would answer all her prayers, for herself as well as her family. But of course, she didn’t know who the hooded horseman was, or anything about him.

As she passed Truett’s office, she couldn’t help glancing his way. Was he inside? What did he think of her now, after she refused to let him court her? After all he’d done for her and her family, he probably thought her cold and heartless. She certainly wouldn’t fault him for it if he did. He couldn’t know how heavy her heart felt every time she thought of how she’d treated him.

She looked away from the doctor’s office window. What was done was done. Besides, she couldn’t have reacted any other way. It was either hurt him now or break both their hearts when she had to leave and go back to Nashville.

Besides, when he learned all about her “manly ambitions,” he couldn’t possibly want her for a wife.

Truett watched Celia through his office window as she tore open first one letter then the other. Her hair was pulled back in that severe way of hers, not a wisp hanging free. But she was still pretty, especially her eyes . . . Would he ever be able to look at her again without thinking about their kiss?

But she had been adamant about not wanting him to court her. He shouldn’t think about her at all.

Celia stared at the letter, then wadded it in her fist. The way her mouth went slack and her shoulders wilted, it must be bad news.

Truett stepped back from the window so she wouldn’t see him.

Would she look his way? Could she be that cold, to come to town and not even think about him or even turn her eyes toward his office?

She stood beside her horse, holding both letters in her clenched fist. She rubbed her forehead as though trying to gather her thoughts. Pursing her lips together, she mounted, then swung the mare toward home.

She paused to look at something—the wanted poster. His wanted posted.

Finally, she continued down the road. As she passed his office, she bent her head and covertly turned her gaze toward his office. His heart stopped. Had she changed her mind about him? After a moment, she focused her eyes on the road ahead and urged her horse into a trot.

Truett let out the breath he was holding. So it was to be this way. Perhaps it was for the best.

He watched Sheriff Suggs talking with Aubrey Pettibone earlier as they stood on the sidewalk. Then Suggs had looked all around, to see if anyone was watching them, and the two had gone inside Pettibone’s store. Something was afoot, and he had a feeling it had to do with the new store a black man had opened a few miles from town. The store was only a few miles on the other side of the Wilcox place, near Killingsworth Cove, and would surely take away business from Aubrey Pettibone’s general store.

A farmer interrupted his musings, coming into his office to get the stitches out of the gash Truett had sewed up the week before.

Truett went to work on the stitches, but he was still wondering how he could find out what Suggs and Pettibone were up to—without raising suspicion.

Anything was worth doing if it kept his mind off Celia.

Celia ruminated on their money problems on the way home. Her mother clearly had no plans to provide for them. It was up to Celia to figure out what to do and how to provide for her family.

She drew near the last bend in the road before they reached home when Old Sallie began limping. Celia dismounted and finally coaxed the horse into lifting her back leg. Sure enough, she’d lost a shoe.

Celia heaved a sigh. Taking the reins, she set out on foot, leading the horse down the dusty red road. At least they were almost home.

A voice drifted to her, coming from somewhere down the road, singing.

A little girl appeared around the bend. Her hair hung in several black braids that were tied with red ribbon, a bow by each ear. Her skin was smooth and dark brown. The basket on her arm swung gently back and forth as she walked. Her face broke into a wide grin when she saw Celia. “Morning, ma’am.”

Celia opened her mouth to say “Good morning” back, but her eye at that moment caught sight of a brown diamond-patterned rattlesnake, coiled in the middle of the road, facing the little girl.

“Stop!” Celia could barely get the word out. “Don’t move!”

The girl looked down at what Celia was staring at and let loose an ear-piercing scream, clutching her basket against her chest.

Old Sallie whinnied and reared, pawing the air. Celia held on to her bridle.

She’d heard that a snake wouldn’t strike if you held perfectly still, but the girl was not holding still. She slid her feet backward, clutching at her arms as she hugged the basket tighter.

“Don’t move!” Desperation made Celia’s voice shrill.

The snake raised its head higher, shaking its tail. The snake’s rattles sounded like hundreds of tiny feet, marching, coming for them. The hair on the back of Celia’s neck prickled at the sinister warning.

The snake’s body was coiled, its head facing the little girl only two feet away, well within striking distance. If the snake bit the little girl, she could die.

A steely calm entered Celia’s veins and steadied her hands. She had to act quickly to save the girl.

She picked up a rock and threw it with all her strength. She purposely made it hit the ground a foot shy of the snake’s coiled-up body. Just as she’d hoped, the snake jerked its head from the girl’s direction to the rock, lunging and striking at it.

Celia yelled, “Get back.”

The poor girl sobbed, tears streaming down her cheeks, as she crept backward down the road, back in the direction she’d come.

Celia looked around for something to use to kill the snake, now that it was facing in her direction. Old Sallie snorted and pulled backward on the bridle.

Celia couldn’t let the snake frighten her horse into charging. A long stick lay at the edge of the road. She bent and grabbed it. The outer layer crumbled. The stick was rotten. She threw it down.

The snake uncoiled itself and began to move toward Celia and Old Sallie. She only had a few seconds before the snake would be close enough to strike.

Fear tightened her chest and made her breathing shallow. Desperately, she looked around for something else. She spotted another stick lying farther off the road. She pulled Old Sallie after her as she stepped off the road and stretched her arm to reach it.

She grabbed hold of the sturdy limb. The snake continued its menacing pose, its forked tongue darting in and out, its beady eyes now trained on Celia, and its rattles shaking at her.

“I’m going to kill you, snake.” Celia’s voice trembled in spite of her bravado.

The little girl stood a safe distance away, sniffling. “Please don’t let that snake bite you.”

The rattlesnake slithered toward Celia. The girl screamed.

Celia got in front of Old Sallie and let go of the bridle. Clutching the stick in both hands, she brought the end of the limb down hard.

Thwack!

Oh no! She’d missed the snake altogether and hit the ground beside it, instead.