An exciting tingle started in her fingertips and spread through her. Seeing the same tenderness and longing that was inside her reflected from his eyes . . . It was almost unbearable.
“Celia, let’s get out of here.” His voice was gruff and he squeezed her hand, bending his head so close she could feel his breath against her cheek. “I’m tired of this place, everything about it. Let’s run away and get married. Marry me, Celia.”
Marry? You’re going to get killed and break my heart, a voice screamed inside her. But he was so beautiful, so noble. Could he actually want to marry her?
Her eyes focused on his lips, so close and inviting. How she wanted to kiss him and hold him and comfort him. Lord help me, I can’t resist.
She placed her palm against his cheek. Gently drawing his face toward her and rising onto her toes, she pressed her lips to his.
The hunger in his kiss turned her inside out. He still held one of her hands imprisoned against his chest, where she could feel the thundering of his heart. He pulled her closer with his other arm.
She stroked his cheek as they kissed. The ache inside her increased and the only remedy seemed to be to keep kissing him and never stop. Slipping her hand around his neck, she buried her fingers in his still-wet hair.
He’s going to leave me just like Daddy. He’s going to die.
Panic gripped her. She was kissing him, precisely what she’d promised herself she wouldn’t do.
The dream-image of him lying dead on the ground forced itself to the forefront of her mind. No. She couldn’t bear it, couldn’t bear to love him and lose him that way.
Celia pulled away and clutched at her chest. “I can’t do this. I can’t—” She gasped, unable to continue. She tried to pull out of his arms but he wouldn’t let go.
“No,” he growled. “You’re not going to do this to me again.”
Celia heard the pain in his voice and stopped struggling.
“I know you care for me,” he said. “What is it you’re so afraid of? What?”
She couldn’t tell him.
He gripped her upper arms. “Tell me.”
“I-I . . . I couldn’t stand it if you died. And you don’t seem to care.” She spoke the last statement in an angry whisper. “Don’t you see? Daddy died and I’m so angry.” She drew in a sharp breath at her words, then choked back a sob.
“Nothing’s going to happen to me, Celia. You have to trust God.”
“God didn’t keep my father from dying, did he? How can I trust Him?”
“You’re doing all right, Celia.” His eyes seemed to plead with her. “God is taking care of you and your family.”
“No, I’m not all right!” Celia tried to take a deep breath to calm herself, but her chest couldn’t seem to hold the air and all the hurt, too. She shook her head. “I’m not all right. I miss my father. I didn’t want him to die.”
He pulled her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and holding her tight. She sobbed against his shirt. How could Daddy let himself get killed, and how could God let him die? God could have saved him. God was all-powerful. But He let him die and now she would never see her father again. He could never provide for her, never comfort or advise. He was gone.
Truett stroked her hair, murmuring, “I know, I know. It’s all right.”
Of course he understood. He’d lost two brothers, and Griff too—at least, the Griff he had known before the accident—and it had obviously broken his heart.
She wrapped her arms around the solidness of him. The tears seemed to have loosened the pain in her chest so that she could breathe again. She took a deep breath, still pressing her cheek against his chest. Finally, when she believed she could speak without breaking down, she said, “I’m afraid for you, Truett. I’m afraid you’re going to die and leave me broken . . . like my mother.” The words made her start crying again. She didn’t like hearing the truth in all its stark ugliness.
“For God hath not given us the spirit of fear,” Truett quoted softly, “but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.”
“I know I shouldn’t be afraid.” She lifted her head to look at him. “But, Truett, I—”
His lips pressed tenderly against her forehead and she forgot what she was going to say. He kissed her temple, and then his lips moved down to her cheek.
His mouth, so tender and warm, continued down to her chin, then moved to her lips, caressing gently.
“Celia? Truett? Are you out here?”
Celia instantly let go of him and stepped backward, hitting the tree trunk with the back of her leg.
Had Will seen her and Truett kissing? Her face burned and she covered her lips with her hand, afraid he would see the evidence of Truett’s kiss there, where the sensation of it lingered.
Truett grabbed her by the elbow to steady her.
“We’re over here!” Truett called. He whispered, bending down to her, “Celia, I—”
“I have to go in. I don’t want Will to see us.” She turned to run but he caught her arm and wouldn’t let go.
“Wait.”
She waited. When he didn’t speak she turned to look at him.
“Can I come tomorrow night—after supper—just to talk?”
“Yes. But only if you promise to kiss me goodnight.” She broke free of his grip and almost laughed at her own brazen words.
By the time she reached Will she had slowed to a walk. She motioned over her shoulder. “He’s over there, by the tree.”
As she reached the back door, Truett called out, “I promise!”
Celia laughed as she stumbled inside.
But later, after everyone else was in bed, Celia sat on the front porch with her face in her hands. “What have I done?”
Kissing Truett had felt so good, but she never should have done it! She couldn’t marry him. She couldn’t believe he had asked.
The question had been posed in the heat of the moment. Perhaps he might not have meant it. And she hadn’t given him an answer, either.
The thought of marrying Truett terrified her, sending panic straight to her toes. At the same time, it also filled her with longing and delicious anticipation.
Celia bent over and moaned into her hands. “Oh, Lord, this is terrible.” She shook her head. “I’m terrible.”
Celia had never been one to ask her mother for advice. But right now she wished she had someone—anyone—she could talk to. Were her fears irrational? She didn’t think so. There was a wanted poster with Truett’s face—er, mask—on it, and a sheriff with a complete disdain for the law out to get him.
I have to save him.
That was it. She had to take matters into her own hands and figure out a way to save Truett.
So if that was settled, why did her stomach feel so unsettled? Because she wasn’t sure she could save him, and she still didn’t know what was going to happen. If she was married, could she still take care of her family and open her own shop? How could she ask Truett to move with her to Nashville and leave his family and his medical practice behind in Bethel Springs?
He seemed willing to leave, but what would it cost him? His family needed him—his mother and Griff. How could they get along without him? And this town needed him. They would all hate her if she took him away.
To marry was to doom herself to long days trapped in a kitchen for the rest of her life. At least, that was what she had always thought. If she married now, so young, it would go against everything she had vowed never to do.
But then again, she’d already done things she thought she’d never do, starting with fainting at the sight of blood, then inviting a man to her house, then kissing him—not once, but several times!
Lizzie and Will had teased her about the way she had stayed out so long in the dark corner of the yard, alone with Truett Beverly. And tomorrow she’d have to deal with more of Lizzie’s raised eyebrows and secretive smiles, insinuating comments and hopeful inquiries about Truett.
But she had loved being with hi
m, listening to him pour out his painful memories to her, feeling his pent-up emotion in the way he kissed her. Oh my. It was wonderful! But terrifying at the same time.
Celia held her stomach and leaned forward in her chair. “Oh, Lord, I don’t think I’ve ever felt more miserable in my life.”
Truett had never felt happier in his life.
In spite of his sore muscles and the fact that he hadn’t slept much, he whistled a lively tune as he unlocked his office door the next morning.
The night before, after his “meeting” with Celia, he and Will had waited outside the henhouse for the possum to come back. Sure enough, they hadn’t had to wait long before he showed himself. Truett handed the gun to Will and let him shoot it. Then he’d gone home to plan his proposal to Celia—which was what kept him up most of the night.
Strictly speaking, he’d already asked her to marry him, but he hadn’t done it right. The words had slipped out before he’d thought. Not that he didn’t mean them. His way of asking just wasn’t conducive to her taking him seriously and giving him an immediate answer. This time he would kiss her after asking, instead of before . . . and during.
He took off his vest and was hanging it on its hook in the back room when the door opened and someone entered.
Truett turned to greet his first patient of the day.
Sheriff Suggs and Almira stood just inside the door, both staring at him with very different looks on their faces.
Almira’s face was red and puffy, her eyes wet. Her mouth hung open and she pierced Truett with a pleading, desperate look.
Sheriff Suggs’s face was hard and angry, his eyes black. A black shadow darkened his face, defying the early morning sunlight.
“Sheriff.” Truett nodded a cautious greeting. “Miss Almira.”
The sheriff was holding Almira by her arm, and he dragged her forward.
His insides knotted. “What can I do for you?”
“Doc, Almira finds herself in a bit of trouble. I want you to make the trouble go away.”
“What exactly is the trouble?” But he was afraid he knew.
Sheriff Suggs mouth twisted in an ugly half-grin. “She’s in the family way. And as you know, she ain’t married. And as you also know, she was raped.”
Almira let out a strangled cry, like a wild animal caught in a steel trap.
The sheriff yanked on her arm, making her cry out again. “But she don’t like to talk about it, as you can probably understand.”
Almira began to sob, her hair hanging down over her face.
The urge to plant his fist in Suggs’s face almost overpowered him for a moment. But he said a quick prayer and managed to calm his racing pulse.
“I’m sorry,” Truett said quietly, “but I don’t see how I can help.”
“Oh, I think you understand perfectly well how you can help us, Doc. You’re a medical man with a medical education. You know how to get rid of this unwanted . . . problem.”
Truett’s face burned. “Sheriff Suggs, am I to believe that you wish me to forcibly abort Miss Almira’s baby?”
The sheriff squinted, looking him in the eye. “See there? You understand me right perfect.”
Chapter 21
Truett forced his voice to sound calm. “I won’t do it. Even if it wasn’t against the law, I wouldn’t do it.”
Almira lifted her tear-streaked face with hope in her eyes.
A muscle in Sheriff Suggs’s jaw twitched as he ground his teeth together. He let go of Almira and she ran out the door. But the sheriff’s eyes never left Truett’s. Suggs stepped menacingly toward Truett until they stood toe to toe and nose to nose. He grabbed Truett by the throat and shoved him against the wall.
Truett knew he should try to make a show of fear, to seem weak, to plead with the sheriff to be reasonable. But it was all he could do to keep himself from breaking the man’s face.
“You’re trying my patience, Doc.”
Truett ignored the sheriff’s tobacco juice spittle that sprayed his face. He forced his clenched fists to stay by his sides.
“You know how to do it,” the sheriff ground out, “so tell me how it’s done. I’ll do it myself.”
“You’ll kill her.”
“So be it. It’s better than bringing this yellow baby into the world.”
“You’re an evil-hearted swine, twisted by hate.”
“I’m a man, not a weak fool like you.”
“No matter what you do to me, it’s nothing compared to what God would do. And I’m more afraid of God than of you.”
An ugly scowl came over the man’s face. He reared back and plowed his fist into Truett’s eye.
Truett slumped against the wall, seeing stars, but he managed to stay on his feet. He blinked a few times, then stared back at Suggs. “That all you got?”
“Your high and mightiness just might get you in more hot water than you can handle.” Suggs’ voice shook with anger as he poked his finger at Truett’s nose. “Just remember, I warned you.” He spun on his heel and left, slamming the door behind him.
Truett bent over. “Ow. Oh. Ow.” He gingerly touched the area around his eye, checking for broken bones. Everything seemed intact.
His face throbbed, but what really hurt was thinking about what Celia would say when she saw his black eye.
In the meantime, what should he do about Almira? He needed to go after her and protect her from Suggs. Who knew what he would do when he caught up with her.
A light tapping came at the back door. That door led to nothing except a stand of bushes behind his office. He went and jerked the door open. There stood Almira.
He gently pulled her inside and locked the door.
“I need a place to hide.” Her voice shook. “Do you think Celia Wilcox would let me stay with her?”
“I believe she would. Let’s go ask her.”
Almira lay down in the back of his buggy and he threw a blanket over her. He glanced around as he drove out of town, but, thank God, he didn’t see Suggs.
When he was almost to the Wilcox lane, he stopped the horses. He turned and Almira sat up and looked around. “Why are we stopping here?” Then she looked at Truett and gasped. “What happened to your face?”
He winced. “I don’t want Celia to see me. I have a feeling she would get upset.”
Almira smiled sadly. “I’m sorry for causing you trouble.”
“It’s nothing. You have your own worries. I’ll be all right.” He helped her down. She hurried toward the Wilcox place, turned into their lane and disappeared.
Now he had a letter to write. He just wasn’t sure how he was going to tell James about what Suggs was trying to do to Almira and the baby, or how he was going to keep any one of them from getting killed.
How could he ask Celia to marry him now? He had no right to ask her when he was in so much danger. But he should also write a letter that was long overdue, to put an end to Suggs’s reign of corruption. He owed it to Celia, if she was ever to become his wife.
Celia realized she’d been rocking the daylights out of the squeaky rocking chair for who knew how long. She forced herself to stop and tucked one foot underneath her.
She’d hurried to clear the table and clean up the dishes after supper. Then she’d made a pallet on the floor of Celia and Lizzie’s room for Almira, who’d insisted on sleeping on the floor because she didn’t want to take anyone’s bed.
That had been two hours ago. Everyone was in bed except Lizzie, who was staying up to finish embroidering a doll dress for Tempie.
Lizzie, ever the sweet, unselfish one. Lord, why couldn’t you have made me more like Lizzie—and less like me?
Where was Truett? He’d said he would come. She’d been so addled by his kiss, which had been mostly her fault, but now she wasn’t so sure she should have said he could come.
She’d started rocking herself again. She stopped. Rocking would only fuel the exhaustion from her nerves, stretched to breaking all day. She was thankful to be able to shelter
poor Almira, but even that was an additional strain. If Mama only knew—the mother of her past, before Father died—she would have a conniption fit at the suggestion that an unmarried woman who had gotten with child was being sheltered under her roof.
As it was, Mama hardly noticed there was an extra person at the table.
As a church-going girl who conformed to most of society’s restrictions, it was a bit disconcerting, Celia had to admit, to know that Almira was with child out of wedlock. Celia was pretty sure how a woman got herself with child, but she didn’t like to let her mind go there. Still, even though her own reputation was in danger just by associating with a “fallen woman,” Celia wouldn’t think of turning the poor girl away with nowhere to go. God, she was sure, would never approve of that.
Celia had intended to concentrate on her career as a dressmaker and to start her own business. Marriage, if it came at all, would come later.
Today, hearing Almira speak of her love for her unborn child, Celia began to rethink a few things. Perhaps it would be sweet to have a baby, a little child that belonged to only her and Truett.
Wait! How did her mind jump to having Truett’s baby? Clearly, exhaustion was driving her insane.
Celia’s eyes were heavy and gritty. She leaned her head against the back of the chair, lulled by the whine and chirp of the crickets and cicadas.
The sound of a horse’s hooves clopping up the lane toward the house rose above the drone of the insects. She was pretty sure she recognized Truett and his horse, though she could only see their outline in the dark.
Why was he so late? If he wanted to talk to her, he should have gotten here at a decent hour. She stayed in her chair, trying to feign indifference.
He wore a wide-brimmed hat pulled low over his eyes, making it impossible to see his face. As he stepped onto the first porch step, his low voice drawled, “Waiting for me?”
The deep timbre of his voice sent a thrill through her.
She forgot about pretending not to care. “It is quite late.”
He sighed as he approached, then sank down in the wooden chair beside her. “I’m a lot later than I intended. If you’re tired and want me to leave, I understand.”