The Darling Dahlias and the Confederate Rose

It wasn’t a perfect arrangement, but at least it kept her mother out of her hair, most of the time. And it allowed Lizzy to keep her perfect little house to herself, which was exactly the way she wanted it. And if that was selfish—well, so be it.

Fifteen minutes later, Lizzy was walking south along Jefferson Davis Street, her brown felt swagger-brimmed hat perched at a fetching angle and her lunch in her handbag. One block later, at Franklin, she turned right and walked another block, to Robert E. Lee. Just ahead on the left was the imposing Cypress County Courthouse. Built of brick, it sat in the middle of the town square, under a stately clock tower and white-painted dome, surrounded by a few trees and neatly mowed grass. On Lizzy’s right after she crossed Robert E. Lee were Musgrove’s Hardware and the Darling Diner, owned and managed by her friends Myra May and Violet.

Normally, Lizzy didn’t drop in at the diner in the morning, because Myra May, Violet, and their colored cook, Euphoria, were busy serving the crowd of men who regularly ate their breakfasts there. But this morning, she was in a celebratory mood—she was in charge of the office this week! So she opened the door and went in to get one of Euphoria’s famous doughnuts. She’d take it to the office with her.

“Good morning, Liz,” Myra May called from the cash register end of the counter. Violet, carrying a tray filled with two plates of ham, eggs, and biscuits with red-eye gravy, looked up with a smile.

“Hey, Liz,” she said warmly. “Nice to see you. Sit anywhere you can find a seat.”

As usual, the tables were filled, but there were several empty seats at the counter, so Lizzy made her way there. The white Philco radio on the shelf behind the counter was tuned to the morning farm and market reports, and the men’s voices were muted as they listened. Through the pass-through into the kitchen, Lizzy could see Euphoria, dressed in her usual white uniform, flipping pancakes and frying eggs, bacon, and ham. Myra May, wearing a white bibbed apron over her customary slacks and blouse, stepped away from the cash register and picked up a china mug.

Myra May wasn’t the prettiest woman in town, not by a long shot. She had a strong face with a square jaw, a firm mouth, and deep-set eyes that seemed to look right through you. Her intense intelligence made some people squirm—especially men who weren’t used to women with brains. Her friend and co-owner, Violet, on the other hand, was petite and picture-pretty, with loose brown curls, an engaging smile, and a soft heart. If you were in trouble and needed help, Violet was ready to do what she could.

Judging by looks (of course, a lot of people always do just that), Myra May and Violet might appear to be an illustration of the old adage, opposites attract. But whatever pulled them together, their partnership seemed to make perfect sense. As far as business was concerned, Myra May’s no-nonsense, let’s-get-on-with-it management skills were complemented by Violet’s customer-oriented charm and friendliness. On the personal side, Violet’s accepting nature allowed her to deal sympathetically with Myra May’s prickly impatience and smooth out the irks and quirks in their friendship.

Violet and Myra May lived in the apartment over the diner with irresistible little Cupcake, the daughter of Violet’s dead sister. Cupcake wasn’t a year old yet, but she had strawberry curls and the bluest of blue eyes, and while everybody knows that there’s no such thing as a perfect baby (they all cry, spit up, and dirty their diapers), Violet and Myra May were convinced that she was the nearest thing to it and counted themselves lucky to have her. Cupcake spent her days cuddled on a customer’s lap or napping in a bassinet next to the door to the Darling Telephone Exchange, which was conveniently located in the back room of the diner. Conveniently, that is, because Myra May and Violet owned half of the Exchange, with Mr. Whitney Whitworth owning the other half.

The Exchange had started out with just one operator working part time. Now, almost everybody in town had a telephone and so many people made phone calls at all hours of the day and night that Myra May (who managed the switchboard) had to have an operator on duty around the clock. She was looking for somebody to replace Olive LeRoy (Maude LeRoy’s youngest daughter), who was moving to Atlanta to live with her cousin and work at the telephone exchange there. Henrietta Conrad, whose mother ran the Curling Corner Beauty Salon, was trying out for the job.