Where Magnolias Lie

By Laurie Nave

Priscilla Freeman had no romantic aspirations, though all her friends were eager to marry. Residing in the small town of Florence, Alabama, she spent her time reading poetry, gossiping with her friends, and riding with her childhood friend Nicholas.

 

Nicholas had known Priscilla since they were small, and they played rough and tumble throughout their childhoods. Now he wanted more. However, she seemed to see him the same way she'd always seen him - as a childhood chum.

 

Then a rival arranges for them to be caught in a scandal, and Priscilla's father sends her to Louisiana to live with a strict aunt. Nicholas worries he will never see her again, until one night, across a ballroom…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Singing River Publishing
• Release date: Jul 15, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201103569

Laurie Nave

I’ve been writing since I could hold a pen. Prior to that, my teachers or mom wrote down the stories I told. I spent years singing throughout the US and in Europe, taught school for 15 years, and even worked for a division of NASA. Now I work as an instructional designer for a state university. Through it all, I have continued to write. My favorite genres are Christian nonfiction, suspense, and romance. When I’m not writing or working, I love spending time on the river with my husband, hanging out with my kids, singing, and spoiling the undisputed queen of our household, Ginger.

Book preview

Chapter One

Every summer, Mother complained about the heat that surrounded the Tennessee River, enveloping Florence in its oppressive weight. She said the only escape came after sundown when she could sleep away the day’s exhaustion. I had the opposite view. During the day, I could always find a distraction from the heat. At night, however, the stillness of my bedroom seemed to amplify the air’s thickness. That was why I spent many summer nights with the window cracked, reading stories or poetry and waiting for the air to move.

Tonight I was reading Robert Burns, specifically, his romantic poetry. I loved the lilt of his words and the way I could hear the brogue as I read them:

O WERE my Love yon lilac fair, 

Wi' purple blossoms to the spring, 

And I a bird to shelter there, 

When wearied on my little wing; 

How I wad mourn when it was torn  

By autumn wild and winter rude! 

But I wad sing on wanton wing 

When youthfu' May its bloom renew'd. ¹

My father didn’t approve of romantic poetry; he believed it would corrupt a young woman’s morals. So I only read it late at night - the book my scandalous friend Lydia had given me in secret. It was late, and my father would be angry if he knew I was still awake, but Robert Burns’ verses were so beautiful. Ten more minutes, I thought, and then I would put out my candle.

Tap...Tap...

I ignored the noise at my window and kept reading the book of poetry. It was probably just a twig tapping the lower windows.

Tap...Tap...Tap...

Only one pest would toss rocks at my window. Sighing, I placed the marker in the book and flounced off my chair, raising the window in irritation and scowling downward to look for the source of the irritating tapping. It was Nicholas. He’d been throwing rocks at my window since we were young children, and he seemed to think we hadn’t grown up yet.

Took you long enough Scillagirl, a loud whisper came from behind the large oak tree.  Thought my arm would fall off before I got your attention.

Nicholas Frederick Giles, what are you doing?  You cannot be out here under my window at night.  We aren’t children anymore!

Nicholas stepped from behind the tree and snorted.  It isn’t even fully dark yet.  And besides, I waved at your mama on the front porch on the way back here.

Did she wave back?

Nope, but maybe she was thinking of something else, Nicholas grinned up at me, tapping his temple with his forefinger.

You scamp, you know she falls asleep in that rocking chair.  I’m going back to my book, which I was enjoying before you started trying to break my window, I reached for the window to close it.

You close that, I’ll just keep throwing pebbles.  I’ve got news to tell you.  So stop acting like a stodgy old spinster and come down here.

With another frustrated huff, I held up a finger to indicate I would be down momentarily.  Then I put a full-length coat around my high-necked dressing gown.  No sense in getting all the way dressed, as it was nearly dark.  I locked my bedroom door and then gingerly made my way down the trellis beside my window.  As I was about to jump from the bottom of the wooden feature, I felt Nicholas’s arms around my waist, and I allowed him to set me softly on the ground.

What in blazes are you doing with a coat on? It’s July, Nicholas smirked at me.  It’s not like I never saw you in a dressing gown before.

I think I was twelve years old the last time that happened, Nick.  It isn’t seemly for you to see me that way anymore.  Daddy would kill us both.  I brushed the hair from my face.  Now what is this news you had to tell me?

Nick offered me his arm.  Let’s sit.  I heard my mother and father talking earlier today about a party to be given this weekend at Sarah Jane’s house.  Practically the entire town is invited.

I sat down and tilted my head at Nicholas. That was your big news? A party?  We’ve been going to parties practically every weekend since the spring.  And who cares about a party at Sarah Jane’s, especially me.  You know I won’t be invited.  She can’t stand me.

Oh, you’ll be invited to this one, Nicholas said knowingly.  This isn’t just any party.  According to my parents’ conversation, it’s an engagement party!

My mouth dropped open in surprise.  Sarah Jane was getting engaged?  As far as I knew, she hadn’t settled on a specific suitor yet; she tended to flit from boy to boy.  Besides, I knew that Sarah Jane had had a crush on Nick since they were children.  At that thought, I stood up and whirled around to look directly at Nicholas.  Not you??

Nicholas’s eyes grew wide, and then he made an exaggerated face of horror.  No ma’am.  I’d sooner be a confirmed bachelor.

That isn’t a very gentlemanly thing to say, I flinched.  Even though I didn’t care for Sarah Jane, I was surprised at Nicholas’s tone.

Sorry, Scillagirl, Nicholas said, flushing a bit.  I forget my manners with you sometimes.

So, do you know who she is marrying?

That’s the thing.  My parents didn’t say.  I have no idea who her fiancé is.  I guess I’ll have to wait until Saturday to find out who the lucky man is.

Suddenly I hoped Nicholas was right about everyone being invited.  I didn’t want to miss the news and have to hear about it later.  I sat back down and toyed with my hair, thinking through the long list of young men who had appeared at Sarah Jane’s door over the last several months. Sarah Jane liked keeping several suitors on a string and pitting them in competition against one another. I didn’t understand the appeal of having boys trailing behind, challenging each other to fights over me. Surely that wasn’t the most effective way to find a good husband. If one actually wanted a husband, that is.

And what about you, Scilla? Nicholas said, sitting beside me.  Anyone sniffing around the Freeman place?

Sniffing around? That’s certainly a romantic way of putting it, I raised my eyebrow.

I know Matthew Sloan was a bit interested this spring. Nicholas’s face clouded.

He was?  I never noticed.  Why didn’t he come to call, I wonder. I said the last part more to myself than Nicholas.  I wasn’t particularly interested in Matthew.  He was short, and he talked of nothing but fishing.  Still, while Sarah Jane had hosted a regular parade, I had had very few callers.  Marriage was the last thing on my mind; after all, I was only nineteen.  But it did make me wonder what Sarah Jane had that I lacked.

What about me? Nicholas asked.  I come almost every day to see you.

Oh Nick, you’re sweet, but you’re hardly a suitor.  After all, we’ve been like brother and sister since we were still in baby clothes.

Nicholas’s face shadowed for a moment, but he replaced it with a grin.  So, in case you don’t get an invite to snobby Sarah Jane’s party, would you like to accompany me? That way you could hear the news firsthand.

I smiled and leaned forward to kiss Nicholas on the cheek.  You think of everything.  I’d love to, Nick.  And now you better shoo off.  As much as Mama likes you, they wouldn’t like knowing I climbed down the trellis to talk to you, whether we are courting or not.  And with that, I walked back to the wall of the house and began climbing up to my room.

SARAH JANE FROWNED as she stood behind a magnolia tree in her backyard, watching as Scilla and Nicholas talked next door.  She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she couldn’t help but notice how close together they sat, and she scowled when she saw Scilla lean forward and give him a kiss.  Nicholas sat up as Scilla climbed the trellis, and Sarah crouched lower behind the tree to make sure she wasn’t seen. 

Her heart pounded.  She had always liked Nicholas, but he never seemed to notice her; his attention was always on Scilla.  She had done every subtle thing she could think of to garner his favor, but he couldn’t be wrapped around her finger the way so many of the boys could.  And now time was running out for Sarah Jane. 

Sarah Jane’s father had subtly but firmly pushed away all of the young men who had come to call on her. They were too young, too inexperienced, too unlikely to amount to anything, too free with their compliments. He had kept up his intervention until the only man who remained was Bertram Jackson. He also happened to be one of her father’s business associates, the nephew of her father’s boss.

Sarah knew her father wanted her to show some genuine interest in his friend’s son.  But the man was so much older than she was, and he was hardly what she would call handsome.  His smile was too eager, and he leaned too closely when he talked. Besides, when he had reached for her hand once, nothing had happened, no spark at all. 

As Sarah Jane watched Nicholas walk to his horse, she shook her head.  Her parents had told her everyone in their circle was to be invited to the party on Saturday, but Scilla’s invitation would get lost.  Sarah Jane was going to have to work harder to gain Nicholas’s interest, and Scilla would only get in her way.

ON WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON, an invitation was delivered to me from Sarah Jane’s home.  I opened it in surprise, though I already knew what it contained.  I was invited to a party the following Saturday.  Nick had been right, I thought.  Laying the invitation on my small desk, I walked to the window and looked across my backyard.  To whom would Sarah be betrothed, I wondered. Sarah Jane and I were the same age and had been debutantes together.  Sarah Jane had always imagined a rivalry between us, and I had never understood why.  True, I wasn’t overly fond of Sarah Jane and her snobbish manner, but I felt no real ill will toward the girl.  And now Sarah Jane would be getting married, as several of our friends and acquaintances had done over the last year.  I sighed.  I was not looking forward to marriage.  There were so many things I wanted to do before I had to settle into a life of home and children and being someone’s wife.  And yet it still sometimes bothered me that so few young men came calling.  Of course, Nick came over frequently and we spent many afternoons picnicking or riding, but he was more like a brother than a suitor.  None of the boys with whom I had grown up sparked my interest.  They were kind, familiar, and mannerly.  But I wanted more.  I wanted passion, though I had no real idea of what that would entail.  The only knowledge I had come from the few scandalous books I had managed to read and hide from my parents.  They were filled with strong men who defied convention and filled the pages with their presence.  In books, these men appreciated a woman with fire and a rebellious streak, but they always brought about her surrender.  I could not imagine a single young man in my town capable of that.  They all seemed to prefer women like Sarah Jane.

After a silent evening meal with my family, I wandered into the gazebo that stood in the center of the yard.  I sat and listened to the sounds of dusk around me; the frogs, the bees buzzing with their last pollen collections, the katydids and crickets.  Closing my eyes, I allowed the noise and the smells of grass and roses to relax me.  Family meals always left me anxious; they were cold and silent most evenings.  As I leaned back on the bench, I heard another sound.  Someone was crying.  Concerned and curious, I stepped down from the gazebo and made my way across the yard toward the weeping.  Sarah Jane sat on a small stool behind her family’s greenhouse, her head in her hands and her shoulders jerking with sobs.  I hesitated, wondering if my intrusion would be welcome, but I had never seen Sarah Jane cry before, and it moved me.  I approached quietly until I was close enough to kneel beside Sarah Jane and touch her shoulder.

What is wrong, Sarah Jane?  Do you need help?

Sarah Jane looked up and jerked backward.  What are you doing here?

I -I heard crying, and I came to see who it was.  Has someone hurt you? Are you ill?

Sarah Jane tried to cover herself, but her dress was dirty, and her face was mottled from crying.  Did you hear anything else?

No, I just finished supper, and I came outside to enjoy the dusk.  Would you like me to fetch your mother?

No! Sarah jerked back even farther.  I do not want anyone.  I just want to be left alone.

I looked at her, puzzled.  At least may I get you a handkerchief or some water?  And your dress -

Mind your own business Priscilla Freeman.  I know you don’t really care what happens to me. Sarah Jane turned her body away from me.

I am sorry, I said softly.  I will leave you, Sarah Jane.  I stood and looked at Sarah Jane for a moment, my heart going out to the girl for some reason I couldn’t understand, and then I walked back into my own yard and through the back door of my house.

Chapter Two

On Saturday morning I selected one of my favorite dresses for the party.  Though I had received my invitation, Nicholas still wanted to escort me, and I wanted to look nice.  He might only be a childhood friend, but I was, after all, nineteen, and it was a social event.  I selected a summer gown of pale peach, which would complement my olive skin and brown eyes.  The hairdresser would arrive shortly after lunch, and I laid out two pastel clips with porcelain flowers and butterflies on my vanity.  I groaned a bit, knowing I would be expected to wear a tight corset, but such was fashion.  The housekeeper had already laid out my underthings and stockings, so there was nothing more for me to do until I was called for lunch.  Taking my book of poetry, I sat by the window, hoping for a breeze, and began reading a Robert Frost selection, Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.  Snow would be a blessed respite from the summer heat, I thought.  When I was younger I would often swim in the large pond behind our house to cool myself from the sweltering heat and humidity of Alabama, but my father had told me that I was too old for such nonsense and that it was unseemly for me to be seen with swimming attire.  I still remembered how he had raised his hand in a threat when I had protested that other girls were still allowed to swim.

Priscilla, my mother called from the bottom of the stairs.  It’s time for lunch, and then we must begin preparing for the hairdresser.

I sat up and rubbed my eyes; I must have fallen asleep reading.  The light dress I was wearing clung to me with sweat, and I brushed my dark hair away from my face.  Food didn’t sound appealing in the least, but a tall glass of cold sweet tea sounded heavenly.  I closed my book, straightened my skirts, and then walked downstairs to the dining room.

Heavens Scilla, my mother huffed.  Have you been sleeping in your clothes?  It’s too hot for that, and you have a terrible crease across your cheek from the spread.  I do hope it fades before the party.

I’m sure it will, mother, I smiled tolerantly.  I sat down and looked at the platters on the table.  Oh, bless Bessie, chicken salad and fruit, the perfect lunch for such a hot day.

Which dress did you select for the party tonight, Scilla? Amelia asked as her plate was filled with salad, fruit, and a slice of bread.  I am so glad you were invited.  It seems you and Sarah Jane have little tiffs from time to time.

She doesn’t like me, I said simply, taking a sip of my tea.

Surely that can’t be true.  Why would you say that?

She hasn’t ever liked me much, Mother.  I think she has her sights set on Nick.

Well, you two do spend quite a bit of time together for a young man and lady who are not courting, my mother commented mildly. "In fact, I am afraid you have given quite a few people a mistaken impression about your friendship.  I wonder if Nicholas’s constant presence here has made other boys shy away from calling.

If a boy wants to court me, he should be persistent enough to find out if his presumptions about Nicholas are correct, I grumbled, cutting a bite of peach and popping it into my mouth.  Besides, I’m only nineteen, hardly an old maid yet.

Amelia gave me a reproving look.  At nineteen I had been married for almost two years.  And your sharp tongue may be just as likely to ward off gentlemen as Nicholas’s presence, dear.  I hope you will speak thoughtfully at the party this evening.

I blushed.  I had always tended to express my thoughts and feelings quickly and freely.  It was part of my nature.  However, my mother was correct.  It was poor manners to give quick retorts. I apologize, Mother.  I will be careful this evening.

Placing her hand over mine, Amelia smiled.  You are so much like I was as a young woman, Scilla.  I understand your expressiveness. Her face was clouded.  But my passionate nature did not always serve me well, and I would like to see you learn some things that I did not know at your age.

After lunch, I returned to my room and washed myself using the lukewarm water in the large basin at my vanity.  I brushed the tangles out of my hair, which was quite a feat considering how it had snarled during my morning nap.  As I fastened the ribbons on my underthings, Ruth knocked on my door.  I’m here to help with your corset, Scilla.

I sighed and rolled my eyes.  Men do not have any idea what women must go through to be ladies, I muttered as I handed Ruth the corset.

That’s true, Scilla, Ruth chuckled as she began tightening the ribbons.  Of course, if you’d wear yours every day it wouldn’t be nearly as difficult to be comfortable.  It’s a good thing you have such a naturally small middle.  She cinched sharply and chuckled again as I grunted.  My own mama used to say we have to suffer to be beautiful.

Once the corset was sufficiently tight, I looked in the mirror.  I had to admit it did make a difference.  My hips curved prettily underneath, and my breasts were fuller pressed upward under the support of the corset.  Ruth opened the crinoline wide, and I stepped into its fullness.  Finally, the peach gown was pulled over my head and arranged around the full slip.  It hugged my waist and was cut away enough to offer a peek at my cleavage.  The cream lace looked attractive against my skin, and I was glad she had selected it.

You are a pretty lady, Scilla, just as you were a pretty little girl.  But you need to stay out of the sun more.

I sighed.  Pale porcelain skin was most fashionable, but it didn’t seem to matter what I did.  A small amount of sun caused my skin to bronze.  Even in the winter months, I was not as pale as most of my friends.  At least my dark hair contrasted with my skin tone.  It seems I am destined to look as if I have been in the sun no matter what I do, Ruth.  But at least I don’t look frail and sickly.

Ruth winked at me in the mirror.  That’s true.  And those dark eyes would look strange if your face looked like a ghost, now wouldn’t it.  Ruth gathered my discarded dress and towel and left the room.

Two hours later my hair was arranged in a flattering updo, the combs shining on each side of my head.  I carried my peach-colored slippers downstairs and sat in the parlor, enjoying the fact that it did not get as much afternoon sun as the front room.  Bessie brought me a glass of tea, and I pressed it against my long neck for a moment before taking a sip.  A breeze slipped through the open window, and I sighed and smiled.  I was smoothing