The Darling Dahlias and the Confederate Rose

“Miz Mosswell,” Euphoria called from the kitchen. “I got the grocery list ready. Somebody gonna go shoppin’ this mornin’, or do I gotta cook what’s on hand?”


Myra May picked up her plate and silver and stood up. “I’ll go, Euphoria. What do we need?”

Euphoria cackled. “Jes’ ’bout everything. List as long as my arm.”

Myra May sighed. “Well, let me see how much cash we have in the register.”

“Long as we can git chickens, eggs, and ham, we’ll be all right,” Euphoria replied. “Them green beans is comin’ on in the garden out there, and we’ll have okra and black-eyed peas right soon.”

“Well, that’s good,” Myra May replied absently. She was already thinking about talking to Liz and wondering how much she could tell her without breaking the Rule. “I guess we can feed folks out of the garden.”

At the table, holding the baby in her lap, Violet pressed her lips together. She wasn’t thinking of the Rule. She was thinking of that fifteen thousand dollars that was missing from the county treasury and imagining all the ways they could use that money, if they had it.





SIX

Bessie



At Bessie Bloodworth’s suggestion, Miss Rogers had worked over the weekend to copy onto paper the mysterious symbols and letters that were cross-stitched on her grandmother’s pillow. She had done the work with painstaking care, making sure to get every little line and dot just right. In the process, she had gained a new respect for her grandmother’s cross-stitching skills, which were truly quite fine. In fact, some of the stitched symbols were so minuscule that Miss Rogers had to use a magnifying glass to make them out. Perhaps even more importantly, she had learned her grandmother’s initials. On one side of the pillow, in tiny letters, she had found the word Rose and a date, July 16, 1861, embroidered in the tiniest of stitches.

“Eighteen sixty-one!” Miss Rogers exclaimed, as she reported this discovery to Bessie as the two of them were collecting the bedsheets for Monday’s laundry. (Each Magnolia Lady stripped her own bed and piled the sheets in the hallway.) “Eighteen sixty-one was just thirteen years before I was born. The first year of the War Between the States.” She pulled her brows together. “And to think that I owe this interesting bit of information to the claws of that wretched cat. Is it actually true that he’s going to a new home?”

“I sincerely hope so.” Bessie picked up a pillowcase. “I telephoned Ophelia last night, after Lucky Lindy did himself in by unraveling Mrs. Sedalius’ knitting. It turns out that Lucy Murphy has been looking for a barn cat to keep the mice down, so Ophelia volunteered to take Lindy out to the Murphys’ place this afternoon. Lucy and Ophelia married cousins, you know.” She paused. “Ophelia also thought she might know where to find a kitten, too—to replace the cat. I hope you won’t object.”

Miss Rogers sighed. “Cat fur is my bête noire. But a kitten is certainly preferable to that scruffy fellow who likes to leap off the draperies and onto our laps. Still, I have to be grateful that he unraveled the cover of my pillow. I might never have discovered that it concealed something important.”

Bessie dumped Maxine’s sheets into the basket. “I’ve got to go shopping this morning. Would you like to come along? We could take your transcription to the Dispatch office and show it to Mr. Dickens. He might be able to tell us something about it.”

Miss Rogers hesitated. “I hope you don’t think . . . That is, I’ve been reconsidering the plan we talked about and . . .” Her voice trailed off and she started again, tentatively. “While I’m acquainted with Mr. Dickens as a library patron, I’m not entirely comfortable around the man. He makes me feel . . .” She stopped, coloring. “You’re going to think I’m very silly.”

“No, not at all,” Bessie said. She straightened up and looked at Miss Rogers. “I’ve been acquainted with Charlie Dickens for a good many years. He’s a very bright man, but he’s . . . well, he’s skeptical, and critical. And he lived in many different places before he came back here.” Charlie may have grown up in Darling, but his years of travel and his life in big cities had given him a different perspective on small-town life. Most Darlingians no longer saw him as a local boy.

“Precisely,” Miss Rogers said in a grateful tone. “Thank you, Miss Bloodworth. Mr. Dickens can be extremely critical at times. And there is something quite ironic about that eyebrow of his. When he lifts it, it’s as if he’s secretly laughing at something you’ve said. I would be glad to have his opinion about the symbols on the pillow. But I would prefer not to hear him say that it’s just some sort of female foolishness.” She sighed. “Which I now suspect that it is.”