Vibrations shivered up Celia’s arms, almost causing her to drop the stick.

The snake lifted its head, coiling itself in a striking pose, and Celia brought the stick down again, this time hitting the snake, but still missing its head, her intended target.

Though the blow made a tiny dent in the snake’s body, its head pivoted toward her stick. The snake’s glittery, diamond-patterned length coiled tighter, getting ready to strike.

Celia brought the stick down a third time, and this time she hit the head. She brought the stick down again and again, hitting the head several more times, and yet the rattles continued their tuneless racket. Finally, as she continued her assault, the snake’s rattles went limp on the ground.

Her hands trembled and her knees went weak. She couldn’t seem to take her eyes off the creature.

“Oh, miss!” The little girl stepped cautiously forward. “I never seen nobody kill a snake with a stick before.” The child came closer. The evidence of tears still shimmered on her cheeks, but they were smiling now. “You must be the bravest lady in Madison County.”

Celia laughed nervously. If she was so brave, why was she shaking like a leaf?

A strange step-shuffle came from around the bend just before Will appeared, hobbling toward them with his rifle in one hand and a crutch in the other.

“Will! You shouldn’t be out here.” She realized the futility of her statement and another shaky chuckle erupted from her throat.

Her horse nickered behind her, and she threw down her weapon and went to retrieve Old Sallie from thirty feet away, from where she’d shied to.

Will bent over Celia’s handiwork. “Shoot-fire and brimstone, Celia! Did you kill this rattler?”

“She sure did.” The little girl spoke up, her cheeks crowding her eyes as she grinned. “She wasn’t a bit scared neither.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” Celia rubbed the side of her neck with a trembling hand.

“She beat that old snake into the ground!” The little girl shook her head. “I was never so glad to see something get dead.”

“He sure is a big old fellow. Got seven rattles!” Will picked up the stick that Celia had just bludgeoned him with and used it to lift the snake into the air

The little girl jerked backward with a little squeal and Celia sucked in quick breath through her teeth.

“For pity’s sake, Will, do you have to touch the thing?”

“Six feet long,” Will said, a hush in his voice.

The girl was gradually edging toward Celia. Who was the little girl, and where was she going? Finally, their eyes met.

“Miss or ma’am, I don’t know which it is, but you done saved me from that snake, and I’m much obliged.”

Tears stung her eyes and, impulsively, Celia put her arms around the girl, bending over and hugging her tight.

Celia drew back. “It’s miss.” She sniffed, her heart full. It wasn’t hard to smile at the precious little girl. “Celia Wilcox. And this is my brother, Will. What’s your name?”

“Annie Hartley. Pleased to meet you, Miss Celia.”

Annie was shorter than Will, and Celia guessed she was at least two years younger. She had such a sweet smile.

“Pleased to meet you too, Annie. Would you like to come in for some tea? Our house is just around this bend.”

“Thank you, Miss Celia. That snake done scared me so bad, I feel like I need to sit down. My heart’s pounding right out of my chest.”

“Mine, too.” Celia took a deep breath and let it out.

Will carried the snake draped over the stick.

“Throw that thing down.” Celia shuddered.

“I want to take it home, show it to Truett when he comes over.”

“All right.”

“Where were you headed?” Will asked Annie.

“I came down the road today to tell folks about my Daddy and uncle’s new store.”

“Oh?” Celia raised her eyebrows. She hadn’t known there was any store around except Pettibone’s General Store in Bethel Springs. Both Tempie and Harley would need new shoes come fall, and the General Store’s prices were scandalous compared to what they were in Nashville. And the Lord knew they didn’t have any money to waste.

“Oh, surely, Miss Celia. It’s just up the road towards Killingsworth Cove, where my family all lives. In fact, your house is the closest one down this road.”

Killingsworth Cove was a little community on the opposite side of their farm from Bethel Springs.

“We’ve got everything you might need, Miss Celia. Do you need some eggs? I got a basket full right here.” Annie lifted the red and white checked cloth covering her basket.

“We have chickens and plenty of eggs, but I do need some thread.”

Annie stuck her hand in the basket and pulled out a spool and held it up triumphantly. “You need white thread, Miss Celia?”

“Why yes. How much?”

“Just four cents.” She leaned closer as they walked along the lane to their house. Cupping her hand around her mouth, she whispered, “That’s one cent cheaper than at the Bethel Springs store.”

Celia smiled. “Then you’ve just sold a spool of thread.”

She knew there were people who would frown upon her doing business at a black folks’ store, but she didn’t care about that. She’d always believed in putting herself in others’ shoes and empathizing with their situation, and she certainly wouldn’t like it if someone slighted her just because of the color of her skin. It wasn’t Christian. And besides, she needed to save every penny she could if they didn’t find a buyer for their farm.

But of course they would find a buyer. They had to.

“My Daddy let me take these things and go out and let folks know about our store.”

The three of them talked as they made their way into the house and sat down at the kitchen table while Celia made a pot of tea and got the four cents to pay Annie for the spool of thread.

Tempie showed Annie her dolls, and after playing with the younger girl for a few minutes, Annie got up to leave.

“We’ll come by the store real soon,” Celia assured her. The girl smiled and waved as she left.

Celia watched her go and, feeling a strong kinship with Annie, she prayed a silent prayer that the little girl’s dream of seeing her father’s store prosper would come true.

Will was able to do all his morning chores again the next morning. When he was done, he came and told Celia, “Bad news. The pigs . . .”

“They’re dead?”

He nodded, frowning, his eyebrows rising apologetically. “All of them.”

A pang went through Celia’s midsection at what the loss of the pigs meant. But there was nothing to do but bury them. She was too afraid of getting whatever disease the pigs died of to think about butchering one and eating it.

She felt an entirely different pang, but equally awful, thinking about the fact that Truett Beverly had stopped coming around. She had no chance of seeing him in the back yard anymore now that Will’s leg was healed enough that he could do the chores again. Not that she usually saw Truett anyway, except for a glimpse as he left the barn.

The memory of his kiss, unfortunately, popped up at all times of the day and night. Her thoughts forced her to relive it again and again—though, if she were honest with herself, she didn’t mind. But she should never have allowed him to kiss her. She could never let it happen again, and yet, she experienced a sinking, hollow feeling in her stomach at what he must think of her, of the pain he might be experiencing because she had rejected him.

She was a mess. And all because of a country doctor in Bethel Springs, Alabama. She must never let herself get near Truett Beverly again. Truly, it was demoralizing to admit, but she couldn’t trust herself with him.

In the meantime, there was plenty of work to do on the farm, and now that they had no meat to get them through the winter, she felt the pressure even more. She set to work cleaning their harvest of yellow squash and slicing it, preparing it to be pickled. She also washed and cooked some tomatoes, which she poured into heated glass jars, to be stored for the winter. They couldn’t afford to let any of their vegetables go to waste, and Mrs. Beverly had shown Lizzie how best to preserve each kind of vegetable and fruit.

As Celia dried her hands on her apron, someone knocked on the front screen door and called, “Celia? Lizzie? You here?”

Celia hurried down the hall from the kitchen. Crowded around the screen door stood Olean, Ruby, and their grandmother, Granny Lula Mae.

“Come in.” Celia pushed the door open for them.

“Why don’t we just set out here on the porch where it’s cooler?” Granny Lula Mae sat down in the rocking chair on the front porch. Ruby helped Celia carry two more straight back chairs from the parlor to the front porch.

“Where’s Lizzie?” Olean peered through the screen door.

“She’s out back somewhere with Will and the twins. I think they were picking corn.”

“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?