Truett’s heart jolted. Mother cried out, a little shriek, then sank into Father, who held her up and helped her to a chair.

“He was still breathing, last I knew,” Grady added quickly. “He was shot in the shoulder.”

Truett’s knees went weak. But then he grabbed the bars and shook them. “Let me out of here! I have to tend my brother.”

“Where is he?” Father swiped a hand across his chin.

“Suggs’s men are bringing him back to town on a wagon.”

“Suggs will pay for this.” Father’s voice boomed inside the small jail house.

“Yes, he will.”

Everyone turned to see who had spoken. The man was well-dressed in a dark frock suit and black tie, and he made his way from the door to Truett’s father.

“John.” He clasped Father’s hand and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m here to help.”

Celia pressed herself against the bars of Truett’s cell. “Oh, Truett.”

He raised his eyes to hers. His legs felt heavy and wooden as he held her hand through the bars.

Suggs walked in the door. “What’s going on here?”

“That is what I would like to know.” It was the stranger who turned and faced the sheriff. His eyes blazed. “Are you Sheriff Suggs?”

“Yes. Who are you?”

“I’m Judge William Richardson, and you are under arrest.”

Sheriff Suggs’s jaw hardened and a muscle twitched in his cheek.

“I’m taking you back to Huntsville,” he continued, “to face a grand jury investigation into your alleged illegal activities, including the lynching of several men. And if the boy doesn’t survive you shooting him, I’ll have you convicted of the murder of Griffith Beverly.”

Suggs seemed to have cleared his face of all expression. He stared straight ahead, his lips pursed.

Judge Richardson glared at Sheriff Suggs and pointed at Truett, “I demand you release this man, as he obviously is not the hooded horseman.”

Suggs reached into his pocket and pulled something out. Judge Richardson took it from him. Then he tossed it across the room at Celia. She caught the key and inserted it into the lock. The door swung open. Truett rushed outside to find Griff.

Celia stood frozen as Truett ran out of the jail.

“You.” Judge Richardson turned to Grady. “Come with me. I want you to take me to Isaac and Sam Hartley so they can identify the rest of the sheriff’s men.” Judge Richardson looked out the window. “Though I believe my deputies have them all rounded up right outside.”

Truett was free, but would he be able to save Griff? His last brother.

She stood in the doorway and watched as Judge Richardson, with six or seven deputies, took Sheriff Suggs away, his hands cuffed behind his back. The sheriff’s face was red as a beet, and he spewed curses at everyone in sight. When the sheriff slowed his step, one of the Huntsville lawmen shoved his shoulder.

Celia and Truett’s parents hurried out with one mind, no doubt—to find out if Griff was still alive and if there was anything they could do to help Truett tend him.

Poor Griff. He must have stolen Truett’s black cape and hood, which they’d left in the cave, and gone after Suggs. Mrs. Beverly’s face was white, almost ashen, and she gripped her husband’s arm.

Her chest hollowed out at the thought that Griff might die. And her stomach wrenched at the pain Truett and his family would feel if he did.

Truett leaned over Griff’s shoulder as he worked to get the small round bullet out of the bloody flesh that just wanted to close in over it. Finally, he pulled it out and held it up, examining it to make sure it was intact. Convinced no fragments were left behind, Truett dropped the metal slug in the slop bowl and reached for the needle he needed to sew up his brother’s wound.

Sweat beaded on his forehead and upper lip and the pain in his side from his own bullet wound became more difficult to ignore. His blood loss made his legs weak and trembly, and his hands were beginning to shake. But he had to get this wound sewn up.

Someone touched his arm. When he glanced up, Celia offered him a glass of water. While he drank, she dabbed the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief—which was a good thing. He didn’t want his sweat dripping into Griff’s wound.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he rasped after gulping the entire glass of water.

“Someone has to look out for you.” She took the glass as he went back to stitching. Thankfully, Griff was still asleep from the laudanum he’d given him.

“Not feeling faint, are you? Just stay back and don’t look at what I’m doing.”

“I’m fine.”

“Is Mother all right?”

“She’s well. She’s lying down in the back room, and your father went to speak with Judge Richardson.”

Soon he’d finished the last stitch and tied it off. He wiped most of the blood away, and Celia helped him bandage it.

“You make a good . . .” He paused, blinking as the room tilted. “. . . nurse.”

“Sit down.” Celia took his arm and led him the two steps to the bench along the wall. He sank down and stretched out, face first across the bench.

When he opened his eyes, Celia was bathing his face with cool water and a cloth.

Two men picked him up and carried him, and he was too weak to protest.

The next time Truett opened his eyes, he was lying on one of two cots in the back room of his office. His mother and father were standing nearby.

“Where’s Griff?” He tried to sit up, but everything started going black again, so he lay back down.

“I’m here, Truett.” Griff’s voice sounded calm, if not very strong. He was lying on the other cot.

“Are you all right, Griff?”

“Uh-huh, all right. Mama said you were sick.”

“I’ll be well soon.”

“I brought you some water.” Celia’s face came into view.

Father helped him sit up and he drank down the glass of water.

“Is Griff drinking enough?”

“Yes,” Father said. “He’s been up twice.”

“Walking?”

“Yes, but he’s still a bit weak.”

Truett was grateful for his father and mother’s presence, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Celia’s face. Could it be true that she loved him? Her expression certainly was different from her usual look. Kind of soft and sweet, kind of like when they had just kissed.

He reached out his hand to her and she took it, squeezing it.

“Your bandage needs changing.” Celia swallowed, as she was obviously thinking of the blood that had soaked through his bandage.

Although he’d rather have Celia help him, he was afraid of her fainting. Besides, of course, that it wasn’t proper.

“We shall help him with that, my dear.” Mother squeezed Celia’s arm and gave her a quick hug. “You go on home and get some rest.”

Celia opened her mouth as if to speak, but then she bit her lip instead. She nodded and gazed into his eyes as she walked toward the door and out of sight.

A few days later it was Sunday. Celia got herself ready for church, then helped get the twins ready as she urged Will and Lizzie to hurry—but gently, her heart feeling oddly peaceful.

The sky was gray and overcast, and Celia glanced around for Truett’s mother so she could ask how Truett and Griff were doing. Will had gone every day to check on them at their home, where they were convalescing, so she knew they were both improving, but it was a surprise to see Truett and Griff sitting side by side, with their mother and father next to Griff, when she entered the church.

Her heart tripped over itself. Did she dare? She strode right down the center aisle to their pew and held her hand out to Truett’s mother.

Mrs. Beverly took her hand, breaking into the widest smile, and stood and embraced her. “You sweet thing. Thank you for sending that soup to us. It was delicious. I think it had healing properties, because just look at Truett and Griff!” She pulled back and extended her arm to the two young men.

“They look as if they are nearly recovered.”

She felt nervous as she smiled first at Griff, then at Truett, but when he winked at her, her smile widened and she nearly laughed.

Celia longed to sit beside him and hold his hand through the church service. But that would not be proper, as there had been no official announcement about their plans to marry. Instead, she sat in another pew with her family.

After three songs and a prayer, Preacher Massey, apparently recovered from his summer ague, stood to deliver the message. “‘Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.’ One of us here today can boast this kind of love. Griffith Beverly. His noble, selfless acts will become a legend in these parts . . . a true story the people of Bethel Springs will tell their children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, of how he risked his life to deliver innocent men from the noose of a lawless sheriff.

“Griff is known by all, but did any of us realize what a big heart he has? Did any of us know what a difference he would make in Bethel Springs and Madison County?” Preacher Massey solemnly bowed his head. “Let us pray.”

After the sermon, Celia stood with the congregation to sing the final song. As she did, she noticed several people looking over their shoulders. She turned too. Isaac and Sam stood at the very back row, along with Annie and several others from Annie’s family. Celia gave a tiny wave, and Annie smiled and waved back.

When the last song was sung and the last prayer said, Celia hurried into the aisle, but Annie and her family were gone.

When Celia and her siblings arrived back home, they found Mama in the kitchen, cooking.

“It’s for the Beverlys. They have two sick boys, and I wanted to bring them some dinner.”

Celia, Will, and Lizzie stood frozen.

“Aren’t you going to help me?”

“Of course.” Celia and Lizzie helped Mama while Will went to fetch the wagon. They loaded up all the dishes and drove over to the Beverlys. When they arrived, Mrs. Beverly insisted they all stay and eat with them, as there was so much food.

After dinner, Celia watched as Mama, looking almost like her old self, with her hair freshly combed and pinned into a bun on the back of her head, spoke quietly to Mrs. Beverly. She was much thinner and her black dress hung loose on her hips, but Mama was talking again. Somehow, the shock of recent events—the sheriff catching James in their house and taking Truett to jail, followed by the news of the two Beverly “boys” being shot and the sheriff himself being arrested—had reached through her grief, jolting her out of her stupor.

Celia, Lizzie, and Will exchanged several looks but didn’t mention her startling change, afraid Mother would retreat into herself again if they said the wrong thing.

Celia sat in a chair in the corner as Truett and his father discussed politics nearby. Griff was sitting quite still on the sofa, staring at Tempie and Harley as they sat on the floor, playing with wooden soldiers.

How different this day would have been if Suggs’s bullet had struck just a few inches lower. The mirror beside Celia would have been covered in black crepe, and the clock on the mantle would be stopped at the time Griff had been shot. Or if the bullet that struck Truett had been several inches higher, they would be having a funeral today instead of a relaxing Sunday afternoon eating and talking with friends.

The painful thought stole her breath. Her hand shook as she pulled out her fan and used it to fan her face, taking slow, deliberate breaths.

Mr. Beverly was talking now with Will and Lizzie about their nearby pond. Soon, they were standing and heading out to see if they could find any ducks or geese. Even Mama was going with them, walking beside Mrs. Beverly.

Truett stood too, but instead of going with them, he strode toward her, his eyes riveted on hers. He reached for her hand. Celia stood and he led her into a tiny alcove under the stairs. What was he about?

Truett could no longer stand being in the same room with Celia, but not able to talk with her alone. He needed to hold her, just for a moment, to relieve the ache in his chest.

He led her to the only place he could think of where they might get a moment of privacy—under the stairs in the hall between the kitchen and the parlor. He backed himself against the wall, into the corner, and she came willingly into his arms, burying her face in his neck. He held her tight, pressing his cheek against her hair, and took a deep breath.

“I’m so glad Griff is going to be well.” Celia whispered.

“I know. Me too. When we were children, before his head injury, he used to take me fishing.” It was a random thing to say, but he’d been remembering that all morning. “Since the gunshot wound, he’s been so much calmer. But he could have been killed.” We both could have.

He stood still, holding her. She was so soft and warm. “It’s my fault,” he whispered.

“Oh no, Truett. Of course it’s not.”

“He followed me to the cave. I thought I heard someone. Now I know it was Griff. That’s how he knew where to find the cape and hood. He heard people talking about the sheriff going to hang those two men and went to stop it. He was fascinated by the hooded horseman, and I knew that.”

“It wasn’t your fault at all. But everything is going to be all right. That’s the important thing. You’re both going to be all right.”

He concentrated on her words and ignored the painful taunts that had been plaguing him the last three days. God was merciful. He hadn’t allowed Griff to be killed, sparing him and his family from crushing pain.

Truett pulled back and brushed her cheek with his knuckles. Celia. She was everything he wanted. To think that a few weeks ago he’d felt tormented by thoughts of her. Now . . . he wasn’t sure he could bear to be without her.

“Father will be gone back to Tennessee tomorrow. Can I call on you then?”

“Of course.”

Someone was coming. Celia tried to pull away, but Truett pulled her closer and plastered himself against the wall, deep in the shadows. Whoever it was walked on by without noticing them.

Truett took another deep breath of her. She smelled of lilac soap and Celia. A wonderful combination.

“I love you,” Celia whispered.

Truett kissed her hair. “I love you, too.”

“Truett?” His mother called.

Celia stepped back, out of his embrace. Truett let her go. She squeezed his hand and hurried away.

The next morning, Celia was finishing the breakfast dishes when she thought she heard a horse snorting out front. Let it be Truett! She dried her hands on a towel and went onto the front porch.

Truett sat on the wooden bench. “Where is everybody?”

Celia was all fluttery inside at seeing him again. She couldn’t help smiling.

“They’re all out back. Mama’s hanging out the washing and Lizzie and Will are playing with Harley and Tempie.”

“Good.” He reached out his hand to her and pulled her onto his lap.

“Truett Beverly!” She giggled in spite of herself. “What would our mothers say?”

“Do you want to know?”

“No, I think not.” Celia smiled, grateful to be alone with him. She straightened. “But what about your wound? Am I hurting you?”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t hurt, not when you’re near.”

He was teasing, but he didn’t look like he was in pain. She snuggled down against his shoulder.

He sighed deeply. Celia imagined all the things he was feeling, all that he was releasing in that sigh. She didn’t think words were sufficient, so she lifted her hand to his face and stroked his jaw, enjoying the feel of the prickly stubble against her fingers.

“I got a letter today from James and Almira,” Truett drawled softly.

“Already?”

“Yep. They stopped off in Kentucky. James knew a preacher there who would marry them. When he sent the letter, they were on their way to Ohio.”

“Is that where they’ll live?”

“James knows a community there where they’ll be accepted. It’ll be a little easier for them in Ohio than it would be here.”

“That’s wonderful.” Celia rested her head on his shoulder again. How happy Almira must be now. It must be so wonderful to marry the person you loved.

“Let’s get married tomorrow.”

Truett’s words sent a tingle down her spine. “You know we can’t. Your family will want to gather for the wedding, all your Tennessee relatives, they’ll all have to be notified, and—”

“I know.” His fingers brushed her cheek.

It was hard to talk, with the way he was staring at her lips. But they needed to talk. “I found a woman who will help out with the twins when Will and Lizzie go back to school in a week.”

He sighed again. “I guess that means you’ll be going back to Nashville.”

Was he angry that she was going away? She didn’t think so, or he wouldn’t be letting her sit on his knee. But she shouldn’t be sitting on his knee. Celia’s cheeks stung and she tried to get to her feet.

“What?” Truett asked.

“What if someone sees us? Let me up.”

He let her stand. “Are you only worried about someone seeing us?”

“No.” She was also worried about her own reaction to him. But how could she tell him that? “I just think it’s . . . well . . . it isn’t proper.”

He smiled slowly, and she was sure he was reading her mind. Heat crept up her neck and into her cheeks. She crossed her arms.

“All right. Will you sit with me?” He stood up until she sat down on the bench, then he sat back down beside her.

He took her hand in his and looked her in the eye. “Will you marry me, Celia? I know your mother is doing better now, and because of the ginseng, you have the money to go back to Nash—”

“Yes.”

“You probably can’t leave Bethel Springs fast enou— Did you say yes?”

“Yes.” Celia smiled into his deep blue eyes. “How many times do I need to accept your proposal of marriage before you will marry me, Truett Beverly?”

He laughed, then kissed her hand. “So, about where we will live . . .”

“I just assumed we would live here, in Bethel Springs.”

“Is that where you want to live?”

“No. I mean . . . I don’t know. Where do you want to live?”

“You don’t want to live here, Celia, I know that.”

“You’re right. I don’t. But I don’t want to live without you, either.”

He was drawing lazy circles on the back of her hand with his thumb, sending tingles all through her. She desperately wanted to kiss him.

He closed his eyes, as if he was fighting the same temptation she was. Finally, he cleared his throat and went on. “Since you need to continue to pursue your dream of opening your own dress shop, we’ll live in Nashville.”

Celia stared at him. “You would do that? You would leave Bethel Springs and go to Nashville?”

“Of course. I thought you knew that, Celia.”

“How could I know that?”

“As soon as things settle down here, and I’ve had time to scout out a new doctor for Bethel Springs, I’ll come to Nashville and set up an office there.”

“You would do that? And would you let your wife work as a seamstress? And later, own her own business?”

“Why shouldn’t I? I don’t want to control you, Celia. I want to love you.”

Celia realized her mouth was hanging open. She closed it. “So—you could—work as a doctor in Nashville?”

“Why not? I have friends there. I even completed some of my study there. I’d always hoped to go back and study under a certain surgeon, Dr. Hollenberry.”

She leaned into his side, not sure what to say. “But once I have children,” she said, thinking out loud, “I couldn’t possibly run a shop.”

“Perhaps not. Perhaps you could. We’ll see when the time comes.”

“Dr. Truett Beverly, you are too good to be true.”

“Then marry me, as soon as possible. I don’t like waiting.” He leaned over, pulling her toward him, and kissed her forehead. His lips moved downward over her temple and cheek.

“We probably shouldn’t be kissing anymore,” she said breathlessly as he kissed his way slowly across her chin. “Not until after we’re married.”

“I know. We shouldn’t.” He kissed her lips briefly, then stood up, bringing her with him.

“Mother will be disappointed not to invite everyone she knows and plan a big shindig. And it’ll be hard to keep my lips off yours. I’ll have to pray a lot to get through these next few weeks.”

“Amen.” The word just slipped out. They both laughed, and the laugh ended in another kiss.

“I guess I better go ask Will and your ma for permission to marry you.”

“I guess you better.” Celia tucked her hand in the crook of his arm as they started down the steps to the back yard. Her heart was so full she could hardly breathe as she gazed up at him.

Six weeks had passed. Celia blinked back tears as she walked down the aisle of the church. All the people she loved had come to her wedding. There was little Tempie, looking deceptively sweet in her pink dress and ribbons. Harley stood stoically beside her, looking older than his five years. Will grinned at her and winked—the adorable thing. Lizzie was already sniffling, her face beaming even as tears swam in her eyes. Their new step-father, Horace Pouncey, stood beside Mother. He’d come to Bethel Springs a week after Griff got shot to look into buying their farm—and got more than he bargained for. He and Mother fell in love and got married.

Mama smiled, then reached up with her handkerchief to wipe a tear off her cheek.

Celia had to look away to keep her own tears at bay.

There was Mr. and Mrs. Beverly on the other side of the aisle, nodding approvingly at her. Mrs. Beverly’s face seemed pinker and a bit plumper. She and Griff were living with Mr. Beverly in Columbia, Tennessee now, as Griff had become more easy-going and calm after the accident, not minding the move.

Mrs. Beverly looked content tucked into her husband’s side.

For so long, Celia struggled to understand why she had to come to Bethel Springs last summer, why she had to agonize over her own and her siblings’ future, worried she’d never get back to pursuing her dreams and would end up like her mother, stuck forever in Bethel Springs. But now . . . now she understood, and she was so thankful.

Straight ahead stood the most wonderful man she had ever met. She came to stand beside him and had to tear her eyes away from his and try to listen to the preacher’s words. But in a few short minutes the preacher would announce her as the wife of Dr. Truett Beverly, telling him he could kiss his bride, and she could hardly wait.