“Turn to Proverbs 31:9. ‘Open thy mouth, judge righteously, and plead the cause of the poor and needy.’ When was the last time you pleaded the cause of the poor and needy?”

There was no sound, not even the swish of a paper fan. Even Harley and Tempie sat still. Harley’s mouth hung open as he stared at Truett, as if he too understood the implication of his words, although that was impossible.

“Turn to Amos 5:12. ‘For I know your manifold transgressions and your mighty sins: they afflict the just, they take a bribe, and they turn aside the poor in the gate from their right.’ Verse 22. ‘Though ye offer me burnt offerings and your meat offerings, I will not accept them: neither will I regard the peace offerings of your fat beasts. Take thou away from me the noise of thy songs; for I will not hear the melody of thy viols. But let judgment run down as waters, and righteousness as a mighty stream.’”

Truett closed his Bible and looked up, staring the people down, but with a peaceful, clear look in his eyes. “God will not tolerate injustice. He will punish not only those who perpetrate it, but also those who stand by and do nothing to stop it.”

He relaxed his stance a bit, leaning back on his heels. “This place has seen its share of oppression. The Yankees stole our food, burned our homes, and harassed us for four years during the war. At that time and the years right after, it was sometimes necessary to take the law into our own hands. But the war is over. We have courts of law, judges and lawmakers to see that justice is served and no one is punished without a chance to defend himself.” He squinted, his expression growing more intense as he continued. “But when those laws and procedures are ignored, your fellow man is being oppressed, and you’re standing by and letting it happen. And God. Is not. Pleased.”

Oh, God, oh God. . . Suggs is going to kill him, I just know it. Celia could hardly breathe. The high collar of her dress seemed to be choking her. Her undergarments seemed to grow tighter, pressing into her ribs. Lizzie was staring at her. But Celia couldn’t take her eyes off Truett. He was the most handsome, noble, stupid man she’d ever set eyes on. And he obviously didn’t care a whit about her warnings and pleas for him to be careful. How could Suggs not know now that he was the hooded horseman? Unless he wasn’t at church today.

Truett said some other words about God’s mercy and forgiveness, but Celia couldn’t take in what he was saying. She was too busy worrying what the sheriff was going to do to him.

Truett sat down and the song leader strode toward the front. All the people were rising to their feet. Celia stood with them, but regretted her hasty rising, as her vision spun like a top and she had to grip the pew in front of her to steady herself. She almost dropped her songbook, but soon recovered enough to open it to the correct page. She didn’t have enough breath in her lungs to actually sing, so she simply mouthed the words.

Truett waited up front during the closing song for anyone who wanted to come forward for prayer. But no one came. The song ended and people began filing out of the pews and down the aisle to the door.

Celia sank onto the bench, feeling as if she would give Truett a big piece of her mind if she could get him alone. How could he have made it so obvious that he was condemning Sheriff Suggs’ actions?

Of course, everything he said was completely justified, but still, wasn’t it foolish for him to attack the sheriff so publicly? Her father had a saying: “God helps the feeble-minded.” Well, she hoped it was true and God would help Truett! Because he had surely lost his feeble mind.

As the congregation disbursed, Truett remained at the podium, his head bent over his Bible, as if he was praying. Finding that they were alone except for a few stragglers in the back of the church, Celia stood, wondering if Truett would say anything to her or just go on praying.

Boots clomped down the aisle, coming toward Truett. Celia turned to look.

Sheriff Suggs. His jaw was clenched and his eyes were locked on Truett as he stormed toward him.

Celia’s vision became hazy. All the breath left her lungs. Oh, God, please, not again. As she started to sit down, darkness closed in around her, and gradually, everything went black.

Truett looked up. Suggs was coming toward him with hatred in his eyes, and Celia was fainting.

He knew that pale look and closing eyelids. She was going down. But he also knew he would never get to her in time. She collapsed to the floor.

He ignored Suggs and hurried over to Celia. The sheriff got to her first. Suggs pushed the pew in front of her out of the way.

Sheriff Suggs stood back to let Truett get to her. Truett gathered her in his arms and placed her on the wooden pew. He knelt beside her and lifted her limp hand from where it hung down off the side of the bench.

“What ails her?” Suggs grunted from behind him.

“She fainted.” He leaned closer to her face. “Celia? Are you all right?” He touched her forehead, then her cheek, wishing he had some cool water to wipe her face with to help bring her around.

Celia made a sound at the back of her throat. Her eyelids fluttered.

“Celia? It’s Dr. Beverly. Can you hear me?”

Her eyes opened and her gaze immediately settled on Sheriff Suggs. Her eyes went wide and she screamed.

Sheriff Suggs muttered an expletive under his breath and stepped farther back.

Truett patted and squeezed Celia’s hand, trying to help her get hold of herself. “It’s all right. It’s just the sheriff.” As if that would make her feel better.

Her eyes fluttered shut again.

Truett turned to Sheriff Suggs. “Maybe you’d better leave. She seems to be a little upset by, uh, the sight of you.”

Suggs pointed his finger at Truett. “I’m not finished with you.” Then he turned and stomped back down the aisle and out the door.

Truett and Celia were alone now in the church building. She blinked, beginning to come around again.

“It’s all right. I’m here. Everything’s all right.” He tenderly rubbed her cheek with his fingertips.

She turned her head and stared at him. Her voice was weak as she whispered, “Oh, Truett, is he gone?”

“Yes, he’s gone.” He squeezed her hand.

“Did I faint again?” She groaned. “Did anyone see me?”

“Just Suggs. And me.”

“Is he going to kill you?” Her lower lip trembled.

Truett’s heart squeezed in his chest. She loved him.

“No, he’s not going to kill me.”

“How do you know?”

“Can we talk about this later?” He looked around just to make sure no one had come inside to check on them.

Celia tried to sit up. Truett helped her, then sat on the bench beside her, his arm around her, letting her lean against his side. She laid her head on his shoulder.

This was quite pleasant. He sat staring forward. Finally, Truett shook his head, unable to suppress a grin. “You sure are a high-strung little lady.”

“I never was before I met you. You make me crazy.”

“Crazy in a good way?”

“Definitely not in a good way.” Her voice sounded petulant. “Oh, Truett, how could you have said those things?”

“I had to, Celia. The opportunity presented itself and I felt God nudging me to do it.” He didn’t try to look into her face, and she didn’t try to lift her head off his shoulder.

“And now Suggs will kill you,” she whispered.

“No, he won’t. At least, not in front of anyone. He only kills people he can get away with killing. I have a family who would never let him get away with killing me.”

“He’ll kill you if he sees you dressed in a black hood and cape, and you know it. He’ll shoot you dead.”

“Sh. God will take care of me. And besides, I’ve taken some action that should help us get rid of our corrupt sheriff for good.”

“You have?”

“Yes, I have. I wrote Judge William Richardson, the county probate judge in Huntsville.”

“You did? So did I.”

“You did?”

“Almira and I wrote the letter to tell the judge what he’s been doing.”

“You’ll sure make a mighty fine wife with such a good head on your shoulders.”

“I thought you said I was high-strung. High-strung isn’t good. And don’t say that word.”

“What word? I like high-strung. At least, I like you, high-strung or not.” He squeezed her shoulder.

She snuggled a little closer. “The ‘w’ word. You do?”

Truett leaned his head down until his cheek was touching her dark hair. The smell of flowers filled him with images of her. Her hair was pulled straight back from her face into a severe bun. How he wished he could pull out the pins and see it fall around her shoulders. He was sure it would be soft and silky. He took a deep breath and let it out.

“I want to kiss you.” His voice sounded as tight as he felt. He would have kissed her, too, but she kept her face turned away from him.

She let out a little huffy breath. “I’m mad at you. Besides, we can’t kiss in church. It’s shameful to even think about such a thing.” But he heard the breathlessness of her voice. She wanted to kiss him just as much as he wanted to kiss her.

“You will kiss me in church,” he drawled slowly. “You will kiss me . . . in this church, or another church of your choice . . . right after you say ‘I do.’”

“Of all the arrogant things . . .” She sounded mad, but she didn’t take her head off his shoulder. “What makes you so sure?”

“Because you love me, Celia.”

Her body stiffened.

“You love me, and you care what happens to me.”

She stood up, wobbling as she tried to take a step. Truett grabbed her arm to steady her.

“I’m all right. I need to go.”

Still she wouldn’t look at him. “Celia . . .”

She began walking down the aisle, then turned to glance at him. “Come for supper one night this week. Will misses you.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

Why had she asked Truett to supper?

Celia ran around shoving biscuits in the oven and stirring the gravy on the stove.

Lizzie entered the kitchen. “I’ve got the twins cleaned up. Celia, you go and get dressed. Almira and I’ll finish supper.”

Celia frowned at her sister. Why did she have to look so happy?

“Go on!” Lizzie stripped off Celia’s apron and made a shooing motion with her hands.

Celia didn’t dare answer her or she might blurt out something unnecessary, something like, Stop looking at me like that! I’m not marrying Truett Beverly. Who’s looking out for my happiness? I’d like to know.

She didn’t say any of those things, though it was on the tip of her tongue every time Lizzie or Will or Almira caught her eye and gave her that annoying smirk of theirs that said Celia and Truett are courting!

Celia hurried outside and washed her face from the pan on the back steps. She splashed the cool water on her arms. The day was hot and sticky and she felt as if she already needed another bath, though she’d just taken one a few hours ago. There was no time for anything except a change of clothes.

She didn’t care how she looked, but she chose the dress she’d worn to the dance, the feminine one with the pink flowered print, and jerked it over her head. She took her hair down and brushed it out quickly before pinning it back up in a bun. Perhaps she should try to style it in a more attractive way.

Who was she trying to impress? Celia glared at herself in the mirror. “No one. Especially not you, Truett Beverly.” But the words made her smile. She was lying and she knew it.

Truett’s masculine voice drifted in from the sitting room. Her hands shook as she smoothed her skirt. Her dress was still unbuttoned down the back! She stuck her head in the doorway and called in a panicked whisper, “Almira!”

Almira rushed in with a big smile on her face. Why was everyone so happy? Annoying, that’s what it was.

Almira hurriedly buttoned her up the back. “Come on. He’s here.” She took Celia’s hand and pulled her toward the door.

Celia pulled her hand away. “I know, I know. Be calm.” But she was the one who wasn’t calm. She took a deep breath and made Almira lead the way into the sitting room.

Celia hung back and watched Truett greet Almira. He smiled and chucked her under the chin, like a brother would greet a sister. “How ya doin’, Mira?”

When Truett noticed Celia standing behind Almira, his eyes took in her dress in a quick sweep and his smile grew wider. Celia bit the inside of her lip at his reaction. She should have worn her ugliest calico work dress. What was she thinking?

Truett stepped toward her. Before she knew what he was about to do, he lifted her hand and bent over it, planting a lingering kiss on her knuckles.

Celia’s cheeks began to sting. She couldn’t meet the eyes of anyone in the room, the excited grins on their faces. She was forced to look at Truett instead. She tried to frown at him, but her face muscles wouldn’t cooperate. Why did he have to be so good-looking? Even with the fading bruise she found herself breathless at the sight of him. His kind blue eyes, reflecting his steadfast heart and chivalrous soul. His gentle mouth, his noble jaw . . . God, I’m hopeless. But isn’t it Your fault for making him so wonderful?

“I’m going to finish dinner.” Celia turned on her heel and fled to the kitchen.

A few minutes later, as they gathered at the table for the meal, Lizzie and Will stumbled all over themselves to make sure they and the rest of the family took all the chairs except the one right next to Truett, forcing Celia to sit beside him. That would have been all right, except that the table was barely big enough to accommodate them all, so Celia’s arm ended up brushing against Truett’s at least a half dozen times while they ate. But somehow, she didn’t really mind.

Truett seemed so at home at their table. She looked around at the way everyone was interacting with him. Even Mama smiled at him and seemed more attentive than usual.

She’d really only wanted him to come and see Will and the rest of the family. They all missed him when he didn’t come around, and Celia knew she was the reason he didn’t come. That was her only motive for asking him to supper. But somehow, the evening had turned into a “Celia and Truett are courting” party. She could see it on everyone’s face, even Truett’s.

But the longer she sat beside him, the lighter her heart became. She liked his deep voice and laugh right next to her. She liked the way he glanced at her every so often out of the corner of his eye, and the way he didn’t move his arm out of the way when she accidentally brushed against him. She wished she didn’t like it, but she did.

Truett complimented all the dishes. Lizzie and Almira were quick to point out the ones Celia made. Oh, for pity’s sake. She didn’t know whether to roll her eyes or laugh.

When the meal was over, they moved to the sitting room. Truett waited to see where Celia would sit. In fact, everyone seemed to be waiting to see where she would sit!

She folded her arms and glared at them. “What are you people waiting for? Sit down.”

Lizzie whispered, “Celia! Don’t be so rude.”

She huffed and finally chose her seat—not on the sofa beside Truett, as they obviously wanted her to, but in a rocking chair. The rest settled around the room with a sigh of disappointment.

They all drank tea until Lizzie and Almira hurried the twins away, saying they needed to get them ready for bed. A minute later, Will yawned and stretched, saying he had to get to bed as well, even though he never went to bed this early. Celia wrinkled her nose at him as he left the room, but he only grinned.

Truett stared at his cup.

“My family likes you.” She purposely gave the words a dry tone.

“I like them, too.” He smiled across the room at her. They sat in silence a while. Celia could hear the tick of the clock on the mantle and the high-pitched whir of the crickets through the open window. She stared at her hands, folded in her lap, while Truett continued to stare at his cup.

“Well, I guess I’d better go.”

They both stood up. He placed his cup on the tray table against the wall and stepped toward the door. Celia followed him. After all, someone had to see him out.

He opened the door and let her go before him. They stepped onto the porch. Celia waited for her eyes to adjust to the dim light as Truett shut the door behind him and stood facing her, his back against the door, as if he was blocking her way of escape.

“I had a good time tonight.” His voice was low and seemed to rumble in his chest. “Thank you for inviting me to supper.”

Celia didn’t say anything. Her eyes focused on the top button of his shirt. She tried to tear her gaze away from the smooth skin of his neck. He was standing awfully close to her. She thought about stepping away from him. She should step away. She should say a hasty good-night and dart back into the house, but her breath seemed stuck in her throat.

He reached out and gently caressed her elbows, drawing her toward him. She knew if she looked up he would kiss her. She kept her eyes focused on his chest.

She let him draw her closer until her forehead rested against his shoulder. She knew she shouldn’t let him kiss her, not when she was so uncertain about what she wanted. For that matter, she shouldn’t let him hold her like this. Before Truett, she’d never let a man touch her at all. One or two times, a fellow had kissed her hand, and she’d danced with a few partners through the years, but everything with Truett was new.

Where had her anger and bluster gone? They had deserted her, leaving her with a warmth that made her wish this moment never had to end.