The eastern sky turned pink as Celia dressed for the day. In the kitchen, Lizzie built the fire in the stove for breakfast. Will had gone out to milk the cow. Tempie wandered into Harley and Will’s room, clutching her doll to her chest. Celia went in as Tempie was shaking Harley awake.

“All right, little ones, it’s time to get dressed.” Celia went in search of some clothes for them and found them laid out on the dresser.

Lizzie. Celia sighed. So much responsibility had fallen on her younger sister’s shoulders, and she had borne it wonderfully well.

“Let’s get you dressed, Tempie.”

The little girl snatched her dress out of Celia’s hand. “I can do it myself!”

Celia was doubtful, but she decided not to argue. She turned to her little brother. Unlike his twin, Harley sat still while she removed his nightshirt and dressed him in a shirt and pants. The clothing was quite frayed around the hems, with a hole here and there. No matter. They weren’t going anywhere today.

She went into the kitchen and tried to help Lizzie with breakfast, but it was soon clear she had no idea how to help. The newest styles and patterns for women’s dresses and hats were mysteries meant to be explored, but cooking? An inscrutable business best left to those who understood it.

“Here.” Lizzie handed her a lump of white dough. “Drop balls of this onto the pan.”

“Biscuits?”

Lizzie smiled and nodded.

When breakfast was ready, Celia went outside and rang the bell by the corner of the front porch. Will came from the barn and Harley emerged from the trees, holding a slingshot and running as fast as his four-year-old legs would carry him.

She went back inside and found Tempie having a pretend tea party on the floor with her two dolls. “Tempie, sweetie, it’s time to eat breakfast.” But the little girl didn’t even look up from her play.

Celia sighed and went to see what else she could help Lizzie do. “Where’s Mama?”

“She’s not up yet.” Lizzie flipped her blond braid over her shoulder as she set a bowl of hominy grits on the table. “She usually sleeps for another couple of hours.”

Celia had never known Mama to sleep past sunrise.

As Lizzie had predicted, Mama didn’t emerge from her bedroom until two hours later wearing her housecoat, her hair still braided but messy from her night’s sleep. Celia waited until Lizzie had poured Mama a cup of coffee and set her breakfast before her. While her mother ate, Celia picked up the mending in her lap and tried to concentrate on her stitches, going over in her head what she would say.

Finally, Mama pushed the plate away, having barely eaten half her food, and stared listlessly out the window. Celia put the mending aside in her sewing basket, sat in the chair beside her, and took her hand in hers.

“Mama, it’s me, Celia.”

“How are you, dear?”

She felt cheered by her mother’s words, although her eyes still looked far away and her voice was a monotone. “Mama, I want us to talk about what we should do now. I think we should move back to Nashville.” Celia leaned closer, trying to get her mother to look her in the eye. “Wouldn’t you be happy to be back with your friends? We could sell this place and find a small house in town.”

Her mother’s eyebrows lowered. A scowl deepened the crease between her brown eyes as she focused on Celia. “You are forgetting your place. Your father wants us to live here, and that’s where we will live. Your father makes the decisions, not you.”

Tears stung Celia’s eyes. She loosened her hold on her mother’s hand. “But Mama, Daddy’s gone. We need to do what is best for the family—”

Mother snatched her hand away. “So you know what’s best? Do you question your father’s authority?”

Her voice rose with each word, until it was shrill and unfamiliar, like a stranger’s. Mama’s face had lacked animation ever since Celia had come home, but her expression came alive now. Her jaw clenched, her lips pursed, and her eyes flashed.

“Your Daddy wanted us to live here, and that’s where we shall live.”

A boulder seemed to press against Celia’s chest. She had only seen her mild-mannered mother angry once or twice, and it was nothing compared to the anger she now displayed. Still, desperation forced her to speak.

“Mama, I know you miss him, but staying here isn’t going to make him come back. He would want us to move on, to—”

“That’s enough!” Her mother rose to her feet and lifted her right hand, as if to strike her. “I don’t want to hear any more about it from you! You always did think you were too smart to listen to anyone. You don’t know what you’re talking about. I will not listen to another word from you.”

Tears stung her eyes and she lifted her hand to her cheek, feeling as if her mother really had struck her. Celia stared at her, not knowing what to say, only wishing she could blot out the accusing look in her mother’s eyes.

“We’re not leaving, and I will not discuss it.”

Celia turned away and stumbled out the kitchen door and down the steps.

She ran, her skirt heavy against her legs, across the clearing behind the house, hardly knowing where she was going. Finally, her gaze caught on a few familiar oak trees shading the top of a hill. Beneath them, her father’s grave.

She headed for the ostentatious, seven-foot marble obelisk for which her mother had sent away to Nashville. Tears dripped down her cheeks. She wiped them away with the back of her hand and knelt on the grass in front of the mound of dirt.

The grave marker seemed to mock her, too expensive for anyone but a rich man. The white marble gleamed in the dappled sunlight shining through the leaves of the oak tree. William Ernest Wilcox, was carved deeply into the stone. The too-true words, Gone but not forgotten, written underneath it almost made her laugh.

“Oh, Daddy. How could you leave us this way?” Fresh tears edged the corners of her eyes and spilled out. “We need you.” She leaned forward and sobbed into her hands.

A bird trilled and sang from a tree branch above her. From not far away, another bird answered. The song was mournful, as if the two birds were crying to each other, while the sun winked at her through the leaves.

“God, help me. Please.” A tear slid to her chin and dripped off. Having left home without a handkerchief, she wiped her face again with her hands. “I didn’t want Daddy to die. . . I didn’t want him to die. And now, what are we to do? We have no money. But I have to get back to Nashville so I can work and make money for the family. Please, God, please show me the way.” She sniffled. “Don’t make me stay”—her voice broke on a sob— “here.”

A huge old magnolia tree stood nearby, slightly apart from the oak trees, and it spread its gnarled branches over the ground. A white blossom stretched toward Celia, so close she was able to reach over and pluck it. The flower was as big as her two open palms. She raised it to her face, letting her tears drip onto the perfect petals, closing her eyes and inhaling its heady fragrance. The smell conjured up memories of playing in her friend’s back yard in Nashville.

She brushed the petals against her cheeks and chin, oddly comforted by the cool, waxy texture. She fingered a broad magnolia leaf. Smooth and green on the surface, it was tough and strong, yet brown and fuzzy and soft underneath.

She could make it through this.

She would make it through this summer, helping Lizzie and Will and taking care of the twins. And somehow, some way, when the summer was over, she had to get back to her real work. How else would they—would she—survive?

Sunday dawned bright and hot. Celia got ready for church. She’d only been out of mourning for a couple of weeks and could now wear her more colorful dresses, which fit in perfectly at her church in Nashville. But here in Bethel Springs she feared she would stand out like a gypsy among Quakers.

“Lizzie, do you think this dress looks all right?”

Lizzie glanced up from the small looking glass on the wall as she pinned her hair up. “You look very pretty. Truett will be impressed.”

Celia glared back at her grinning sister. “Lizzie, I’m warning you—“

“Aw, I’m only teasing.” She smiled. “You look elegant.”

She blew out a breath, already feeling the weight of the humid morning air. She reached for her favorite hat. As she began pinning it in place, Lizzie wrinkled her nose.

“Not that hat, Celia. Wear something . . . smaller.”

Celia examined the long, puffy hat with its wide burgundy ribbon trailing down the back. The multiple dyed feathers and silk flowers increased its height by half a foot. She carefully placed it back into its box.

Smaller. It wasn’t as if she even owned one of the floppy cotton bonnets everyone around here was so fond of. She searched through her trunk until she found an old hat, now slightly out of fashion, no larger than her two fists. One side of the brim pushed up and it had only a small bow and a cluster of wax grapes at the back. At least it was the right colors, cream and mauve, to match her dress.

Harley and Tempie bickered in the back of the wagon all the way to church. Mother had refused to come, without giving any reason. Celia had never been very close to her mother, had always been closer to Daddy, who treated her more like an adult than a child. She was the oldest and loved spending time with her father, though she suspected he’d wished she was a boy.

Celia sat beside Will, who drove the horses while Lizzie sat with the twins in the back and tried to keep them from fighting.

A lump of dread formed in her chest as they drew closer to the little white church. What kind of people would she meet here? Would the other young women dislike her?

When they arrived, Will stopped the horses in the shade of a group of cottonwoods, which shed the white bits of cotton-like substance that floated through the air all around the church yard. The air was thick with it, like snow that drifted sideways instead of falling to the ground.

Will jumped down and came around the wagon to help her. His small twelve-year-old hand held hers firmly, and she noticed the calluses for the first time. It was no longer the hand of a child, white and dimpled with baby fat. Will was still small for his age, but his hands were scratched and sun-browned, his nails broken and stained. He also displayed an easy confidence she’d never seen in him before.

As soon as her feet were on solid ground, he sauntered off toward some boys who were calling him. Lizzie and the twins also scrambled out of the wagon and scattered.

Celia searched the small knots of people milling around the church yard until she spotted Harley talking to an older woman. The woman bent over him with an indulgent expression.

Where was Tempie?

Celia glanced around until her eye caught the little girl’s bright yellow dress. She also stood chattering away to someone who squatted beside her, bringing his face even with hers. Celia blinked once, twice, then gasped. The man talking to Tempie was Dr. Beverly’s brother, Griff.

Her face tingled as the blood drained away.

Pursing her lips, Celia strode the ten steps it took her to reach Lizzie, who was talking to two other girls her age. She grabbed her sister’s arm and pulled her aside.

“Celia! What in the world—”

“Lizzie, do you see who Tempie’s talking to?” Her voice was a half-hysterical hiss, but this was a desperate situation. They had to act—before it was too late. “Help me save her!”

“What do you mean?” Lizzie’s gaze darted from Tempie to stare at Celia with lowered eyebrows and round eyes. “She’s just talking to Griff.”

“He’s dangerous!”

“Oh, Celia, he’s harmless—most of the time. He’d never hurt Tempie.”

“Never hurt Tempie? He tried to bash his own mother’s head in with a boulder!”

“You’re overreacting.”

It was Celia’s turn to stare at her sister. Had she lost her mind?

She turned back to see if Tempie was still safe. Griff was tying her bonnet strings under her chin. He didn’t look as if he would hurt her. Perhaps she was overreacting, but she remembered how he’d looked when he’d grappled with Truett, making those horrible snarling sounds.

The man’s fingers grazed her little sister’s cheek. Celia clenched her teeth and marched over to them. She bent down and swept Tempie up in her arms, forcing Griff to let go and leave the strings hanging loose. She ignored the man and walked away with her sister pressed against her chest.

Out of Griff’s hearing, she whispered, “Tempie, if you need your bonnet tied, come to me or Lizzie.”

Tempie pushed hard against her sister’s upper arms. “Let me down!” she screamed. “I want down. I want to go!”

Tempie was struggling so to get down, Celia put her down. The child took off at a run back toward Griff. She immediately started tugging on his trouser leg.

Celia held her breath, waiting to see what Griff would do. Would he become annoyed with the child? She couldn’t allow the man to hurt her little sister. She would claw his eyes out before she would allow him to harm one hair on her head. Celia’s heart was in her throat as she watched, paralyzed.

Griff stood conversing with two men. He was exclaiming something about a “hooded horseman,” his voice animated and his arms flailing. Tempie stared up at him a moment, then wandered off toward a circle of children and began drawing in the dirt with a stick.

Celia let out a breath of relief. But this was not over. Something had to be done. How could this dangerous person be allowed to wander unhindered amongst women and children?

When she turned to look for Lizzie she was still talking and smiling with a group of girls her own age.

She shouldn’t bother Lizzie with this concern. Lizzie needed time to enjoy herself with her friends. Celia bit her lip and vowed to keep her eye on Griff. The man was dangerous. Maybe no one else was aware of what he was capable of, but she’d seen it with her own eyes.

She searched the grounds for Dr. Beverly. He also knew how dangerous Griff was. When she caught sight of him, he was talking with a young lady with upswept blond hair and a tiny hat perched on top.

Celia started to march up to him and demand to know how much danger Tempie had been in a few minutes before. But no, that wouldn’t be very polite. Besides, seeing him with the pretty young woman and remembering Lizzie’s words to her about him, she thought better of it. If she simply approached them and demanded to speak with Dr. Beverly, the woman would no doubt think she had designs on the handsome young doctor. But as soon as that girl moved away from him, she would take up her concerns with Dr. Beverly.

She tried to appear inconspicuous, standing at the perimeter of the church yard and not making eye contact with anyone. Her watchful gaze went from Griff Beverly to his brother and back again.

The woman speaking with Truett smiled and even laughed as she talked. She leaned toward him, tapping him lightly on the arm with her fingertips. In reaction, he leaned away from her, moving his arms slightly farther away from her. Why couldn’t the woman take a hint and leave the doctor alone?

As more people arrived in the churchyard, it became increasingly difficult to keep her eye on Griff and Truett and avoid speaking to the people passing by her. A woman and her husband introduced themselves and shook her hand. Another girl, Ruby Prichard, whom she vaguely remembered from the funeral, came up to introduce her brother, Casey, who blushed when she shook his hand.

They moved away, thank the Lord, and she flashed a look at Griff, who was still in the same place, then at Truett Beverly. The flirtatious young lady conversing with him was finally walking away, and he was staring straight at Celia. And walking toward her.

Had he caught her looking at him? Even if he had, he couldn’t know she’d been watching him for the last five or ten minutes. She’d better be more careful, though, or she just might have him—and the rest of these people—thinking she had set matrimonial sights on him.