The Darling Dahlias and the Confederate Rose

As Myra May poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down to wait for Bettina, Beulah said to Alice Ann, “Alice Ann, honey, you got something on your mind? You’re awfully quiet this morning. Everything all right out at your house? Arnold ain’t sick again, is he?”


It was a kind and caring question, not asked out of nosiness or prying. Beulah’s heart was as large and soft as her other endowments and she was truly concerned about her clients’ welfare—and her own, as well, but in a roundabout way. In her philosophy, beauty really was more than skin deep, and if something nasty and ugly was nagging at you, eating away at your insides like a mean old weevil munching the insides of a cotton boll, you could never be truly beautiful. Your beautician would fail. And Beulah hated to fail.

Alice Ann sighed. “No, Arnold isn’t sick, and, yes, everything’s all right at home, more or less.” She lifted her head and said, to both of them, “Is something going on with Verna Tidwell? I’m worried about her.”

“Verna?” Beulah asked, surprised. “I don’t believe I’ve heard a thing about her recently.” She click-clacked her scissors. “In fact, I haven’t seen her outside of our Dahlia meetings in a while. Seems like she’s been working long hours over at the courthouse.” She leaned forward, lifted her comb and scissors, and snipped a lock over Alice Ann’s right ear. “Her job has just about doubled, you know. Mr. Scroggins is now the county treasurer, as well as probate clerk.”

“I know,” Alice Ann said seriously. “When Mr. DeYancy was treasurer, he put some of the county’s money in our bank. I’ve seen the accounts—several of them, actually. But not all the money,” she added. “One of the tellers told me that a lot of it’s over in Monroeville, in a couple of the banks over there. I’ve never figured that out. Seems to me it all ought to be in one place so people could keep better track of it.”

Myra May had been silent for a moment, listening to this. Now, she took a sip of coffee. “So how come you’re worried about Verna, Alice Ann?”

Her tone was casual, but Beulah picked up on something—some sort of tension or apprehension, something—beneath it. She glanced quickly over her shoulder at Myra May, who always knew what was going on in Darling. She worked the switchboard and waited tables and the counter at the diner, which gave her the chance to hear all kinds of things. What she missed, her friend Violet was bound to pick up.

Myra May returned Beulah’s inquisitive glance, her expression carefully blank. Not even her eyebrow twitched.

Now Beulah was sure of it. Something was going on. “Yes, Alice Ann,” she said, echoing Myra May’s question. “How come you’re worried about Verna?”

Alice Ann met Beulah’s eyes in the mirror. She hesitated, frowning, and Beulah knew that she was debating whether and how much she could tell without breaking one of the bank’s standard rules. “Well, because of something that happened on Friday. Of course, I’m not supposed to talk about what goes on at the bank, and I’m definitely not supposed to criticize. But . . .”

She took a breath and her voice became indignant. “But if I were Verna, I’d want to know what they did. And speaking personally, I don’t think it’s right for somebody at the bank, even if he is the president, to go poking around in people’s bank accounts. That’s private.”

Beulah knew that Alice Ann was talking out of her own bitter personal experience. Not long ago, she had been suspected—wrongly, of course—of taking money from the bank. She must be remembering what had happened and how it felt.

“If this has got something to do with our Verna, we should hear it,” Beulah said decidedly. “She’s a Dahlia.” She bent over and whispered into Alice Ann’s ear. “When we’re talkin’ about another Dahlia and wantin’ to help her, it ain’t gossip, and that’s the good Lord’s truth.” Beulah never encouraged talk that was mean and hurtful. But when one of her friends was in trouble, she definitely wanted to know.

Myra May obviously felt the same way. “Please, Alice Ann,” she said quietly. “If Verna has a problem, we might be able to help.”