Celia dragged the slop bucket down the steep hill to the pig sty. As she moved close to their fence, the big sow and her piglets hurried over to the trough, already grunting and snorting in their eagerness. Celia heaved the bucket over the top of the four-foot high split rails and dumped the slop. She watched the pigs for a moment, but then noticed there was one pig that hadn’t come to the trough. Instead, it lay on its side, completely still. On closer inspection, she noted flies buzzing around it.

“Oh, that’s just what we need.”

Celia trudged back up the hill toward the house and entered the back door to the kitchen. “Where’s Will? Another pig has died.”

Lizzie barely glanced up from the stove. “He went hunting with Truett.”

Celia rolled her eyes. What right did Truett Beverly have to come and get her brother before sunup and take him to shoot at turkeys and rabbits and squirrels?

She knew it was good for him to have a man around to do things with, but now, thanks to Truett Beverly, she’d have to deal with the dead pig herself.

Celia huffed. Bad enough she had been awake in the middle of the night soothing Tempie after her nightmare.

Lizzie used a cloth to open the oven door and pull out the biscuits. “Will and Truett should be back soon.”

Lizzie was interrupted by Tempie’s too-familiar scream, coming from outside.

Celia burst back out the door to find Tempie making her way across the yard. The little girl wailed between shallow, shuddering breaths. She held her arms stiffly out from her sides. When she saw Celia, she extended her hands toward her.

Celia lifted her skirt and ran to her. “Are you hurt? What’s wrong?” She bent down to examine the child’s tear-streaked face.

“Dirty!” Tempie held up her hands, thrusting them in Celia’s face. “Dirty!”

“Dirty?” From the child’s screams, Celia thought at the very least she had been stung by a bee. She stared at the child.

“Tempie doesn’t like to be dirty,” Lizzie’s wry tone came from the doorway.

Celia sighed, took Tempie’s hand, and led her to the basin that rested on a stool by the back steps. She washed Tempie’s hands and then dried them with a cloth. “I thought children liked getting dirty.”

Tempie stared up at her with shimmering eyes and poked out her lip.

Celia smiled and kissed her cheek. “It’s all right, sweetie. All clean now.”

Tempie sniffed. “I want my dolly.”

“Go on, then.” As Celia dried her hands on a cloth, Tempie scampered into the house.

Celia rubbed her face. How could a person be so tired before breakfast?

“Hey, Celia! Look what I killed.”

Will and Truett strode toward her across the yard, holding up two brown rabbits by their hind feet.

Harley clasped his slingshot in front of him as he jumped up and down in front of Celia, begging, “I go hunting with Truett and Will next time!”

“No! Absolutely not.”

Harley set up a howl that echoed through the woods behind her. “I want to go too!” He turned toward the house and yelled, “Lizzie!”

So, he would appeal to Lizzie, as if she was his mother. Celia sighed. He had little choice, she supposed, if he wanted to find someone to overrule Celia.

“We’ll see, Harley,” Celia soothed. “Let’s talk about it later, all right?”

“I don’t think Harley is old enough,” Will said softly after Harley ran inside to talk to Lizzie. “We saw a rattlesnake.”

She shuddered, then glared at Truett. “Is this true?”

“We stayed still until it slithered away.”

“But he could have been killed!” Celia covered her mouth as her lip trembled. She really was tired.

Truett stood looking at her with his mouth open. Finally, he said softly, “I would have shot the snake before it could have bitten Will. I’m watching out for him, I promise.”

Why did Truett always have to be hanging around Will, as if he was part of their family?

She knew her thoughts were unkind, but she couldn’t seem to cast out the anger that lodged in her chest like a boulder.

She could see the proud tilt of Will’s shoulders. She took a deep breath and forced a smile. “That’s impressive, Will. Can we eat them?”

“Yep! Truett’s going to show me how to skin them.”

“Good.” Celia turned to go, then remembered. “Another pig has died. We should probably get him out of the pen as soon as possible.”

“Having trouble with your pigs?” Truett asked.

“This is the third one to die,” Will answered. “You reckon they’ll all die?”

Truett frowned and pushed up his hat with the back of his wrist. “Can’t say for certain, but it doesn’t sound good. A lot of diseases that affect pigs run rampant in these parts. They often take out the whole herd in a few days.”

Celia’s heart sank. With no money for food, she’d counted on the pigs to provide winter meat for the family. “What can we do? Is there some kind of . . . I don’t know . . . tonic we could give them?”

“Not that I know of.” Truett smiled and she suddenly wished she hadn’t said anything. For pity’s sake, she sounded as desperate and dependent on him as the rest of her family.

“That’s all right. We can just slaughter the healthy ones now.”

The smile was replaced with a more serious lifting of his eyebrows. “I wouldn’t recommend that. The meat wouldn’t keep in this heat, and it might not be safe, depending on what the pig died of. But Will and I’ll get that dead one out and bury it.”

“Don’t worry, Celia.” Will chimed in. “We’ll get rid of that dead pig.”

“Thank you. I would appreciate that.”

Celia went inside to help Lizzie set the table for breakfast. The window provided a great view of Will and Truett hard at work. First they lifted out the dead pig, and after burying it, skinned the rabbits in the back yard. She did her best to avoid seeing the blood and guts. And to think, some men expected their wives to do the skinning.

Celia, Lizzie, and Tempie ate breakfast in silence, except for Tempie’s prattling speech to her doll. Mama was still in bed.

After Celia and Lizzie cleaned up the kitchen, they took their baskets to the garden. As they passed where Will and Truett were skinning the rabbits, Celia called, careful to keep her eyes focused just to the left of them, “Whenever you’re ready, go on in the house and help yourselves to some breakfast.”

“Thank you kindly,” Truett said. She saw his smile from the corner of her eye.

Celia stood between the rows of pea plants and listened as Lizzie showed her how to tell which peas were ready to pick.

“See this one?” Lizzie held out a green and purple mottled pea pod. “You can feel the grown peas inside, making these bumps. The ones that are still flat aren’t ready yet.”

They picked steadily for an hour in the bright morning sun, then picked the tomatoes, squash, and okra. Truett must have helped them plant the garden. How else would they have known what to plant or how?

She suspected they owed Truett Beverly a lot. According to Lizzie, they would hardly have survived without his help. She should be nice to him, and should probably thank him for all he and his family had done for them. Truett’s mother had come over and showed them how to operate the stove and explained to Lizzie about canning and pickling the extra produce from the garden they weren’t able to eat.

Celia straightened and pushed her hand into the small of her back. Her hands itched and stung from the tiny, hair-like prickles on the okra plants. Her toes were wet from the morning dew, and she could hardly wait to sit down.

She carried her basket into the kitchen and found Truett and Will still sitting at the table, with Mother in the corner looking droopy-eyed and half asleep. Harley sat in Truett’s lap, playing with two wooden soldiers on the table.

Lizzie stepped in just behind Celia.

“Truett, you’re still here.” Lizzie’s voice was so sunny it brightened the room. At the same time, Celia cringed to hear her address an adult male with such familiarity.

“Lizzie, it’s impolite to call him that.” She smiled to soften her words. “He’s Dr. Beverly.”

“That’s all right, Miss Celia. I don’t mind if she calls me Truett. I’m here so often, the little ones probably think I’m family.” As if to prove his point, Tempie attempted to crawl into his lap. He boosted her up with one hand, balancing her on his other leg. Harley immediately tried to shove her off, but Truett gently pulled the little boy’s hand away.

The picture he made, sitting there with both children on his lap, was ridiculously homey.

Celia let out the breath she was holding, then bit the inside of her lip to stop herself from speaking. But the words popped out anyway. “Don’t you have patients to tend to?”

He looked up, his eyes wide and his brows raised. “It’s Saturday. I don’t go in until noon—unless there’s an emergency.”

Celia tried not to frown.

Truett and the boys soon went outside while Tempie went to play with her dolls. Truett was helping Will dig a root cellar in the back yard for storing potatoes. Lizzie and Celia sat and shelled peas. After a while, Mother sat up straighter and said, “Let me help.”

Lizzie fetched her a tin dishpan and gave her a handful of pea pods. She shelled slowly but steadily until they had finished them all.

Celia went outside to fetch a bucket of water to wash the peas. As she let the bucket down into the well, she saw Truett coming toward her, fairly covered in dirt.

“Would you like some water to wash your hands?”

“You read my mind.” His smile showed white teeth against sun-browned skin. When he smiled at her like that, she felt she could hardly breathe, as well as a bit too . . . what was the word?

Feminine?

Ugh. No, she wouldn’t think about his smile or how it made her feel. His presence was just plain unsettling. Did he have to be so helpful? Her family loved him way too much.

He silently stretched his hands out in front of him. Celia hefted the bucket, holding the handle with one hand and tipping the bottom with the other. She poured a steady stream of water over his dirt-encrusted palms. They were large and callused, not the hands of most doctors, surely. They were gentle but masculine hands. He rubbed them together briskly, then turned them over as she continued pouring.

“Thank you kindly.”

She stopped and he held them by his sides to drip dry.

He captured her eyes with his. With light brown hair framing his face in small curling wisps at his temples and below his ears, his jaw cut a firm, masculine line. Did he know how appealing he was?

She had a feeling he did.

She turned away to draw more water. Suddenly, he reached over her arm and took the bucket from her hand. She jumped back.

“Sorry.” Truett’s face was only inches from hers. He drawled in a deep, soft voice, “I’ll get that for you.”

His eyes were so near, so blue. She stepped away from him to break the spell. “You certainly don’t have to.”

“But isn’t it a man’s job to make a woman’s life easier?”

Hackles rose on the back of her neck. “What do you mean by that?”

“Men do the heavier work, and women’s work is lighter.” A smile of amusement played on his lips.

“Oh, is that so?” Was he trying to make her angry?

“Of course. A man likes to feel that he’s doing the heavy tasks, the ones that are too hard for the women.”

Celia folded her arms across her chest and glared at him. He stood there with the full bucket in one hand.

“Isn’t that just so typical?” Celia’s voice rasped. Her face grew warm and her dress was suddenly too tight around her diaphragm. “Men think they’re the ‘lords of creation,’ with that smug attitude that their ‘little woman’ couldn’t live without them. Well, that’s just a load of manure!”

Truett stared a moment, his mouth falling open, then he let out a guffaw and bent forward.

Her face burned. “Maybe some women think they can’t live without you, but I’m not one of them. For your information—”

Celia searched for what to say next, hardly certain what she had just said. She should just stop before she said something she would regret, but words tumbled out of her mouth anyway.

“Not all women are like my mother.” Her voice was a rough whisper. “I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, and so is every other woman who isn’t too silly and stupid to realize it. And if you think you’re so needed around here— The only person around here who needs you is Will!”

She stomped back toward the house with a sinking feeling that she’d just made a fool of herself—and spoken unfairly to Truett Beverly. Oh, no. Was that Will standing at the edge of the yard? Had he heard her?

What had she said anyway? Oh, what was it about this man that made her lose control of her temper and her tongue? Better to have bitten her tongue off than to be unjust to a man who had been so good to her family.

She slunk through the kitchen door. Lizzie stared at her as if she’d turned purple. Celia walked past her, straight into the bedroom, and closed the door behind her.

Oh! Why had Truett provoked her so with his smug grin and arrogant words about men being stronger than women?

Still, she really shouldn’t have said those things. She suspected her anger had little to do with him or what he said. And everything to do with how upset she was at . . . truly, she hardly knew. All she could think was, Daddy, why did you have to bring your family here and then die?

Celia threw herself across the bed, her heart hammering against her chest. She lay still until her breathing slowed to normal. Tears dripped from her eyes, her face still hot.

Men! They thought they could pull their wife up by the roots and move her to the middle of nowhere, to a backward, nowhere place without even a decent store for miles around, and then up and die. And women were even worse! Maybe they deserved their fate, if they went along with whatever their husband told them to do, never speaking their minds . . .

“Why, God?” Celia whispered against her pillow. “Was that your plan when you created marriage? Well, I will not forget my dream of owning my own dress shop just so a man can think he’s the lord of me. I won’t do it. I can’t bear to end up like Mother. She lived for Daddy, and he treated her like a servant, not an equal. She had not one thought in her head except to please him. I can’t be like that, God. I won’t be like that.”

Celia was thankful no one could hear her except God. He knew what she thought anyway. Hadn’t she begged God, since she was twelve, to not let her become like her mother? There was just something terrifying about the way her mother never seemed to have any interest in anything but housework and her father’s every whim or wish.

Celia loved so many things—sewing new dresses, creating dress patterns, and she also loved reading history books, listening to political speeches, and reading fiction stories. The thought of giving those things up for a husband made her shudder in horror, then anger.

“God, please let me go back to Nashville.” She rested her arm over her face as tears ran into her hairline and chilled her. But she also wanted to help Lizzie and her family. If she left, what would happen to Lizzie, Will, Harley and Tempie? She couldn’t leave, with no one to look after them except Mother, who barely even noticed they existed. Still, there had to be a way.

God, please help us. Don’t make me stay here. In two months, when summer is over, Lord, please let us be in Nashville. Get me back to Nashville, God. Please.