The Darling Dahlias and the Confederate Rose

“Well, maybe just this once,” Alice Ann said, pretending reluctance, and Beulah stepped back, suppressing a smile. Alice Ann had been primed to tell and hoping that somebody would give her a little nudge. “It’s got to do with some money that turned up in Verna’s savings account not long ago. I don’t feel right telling you how much, but it was a tidy little sum. I know because I’m the one that wrote in the numbers.” Her laugh was brittle. “And I don’t mind telling you that I’d be tickled pink if somebody put that amount of money into my bank account. I’d pay off all our bills and get Arnold fitted for an artificial leg at the hospital down in Mobile. Oh, and a roof on the house. And a new water well. I’d still have plenty left over, too.”


“Well, hooray for Verna,” Beulah said enthusiastically, and flicked the comb down the back of Alice Ann’s head, looking for ends she needed to snip off. She was thinking that Verna’s financial windfall, whatever its source, must have been fairly substantial. It cost a bundle to dig a well and put on a roof—not to mention buy a new leg. “So she’s got some extra cash. Doesn’t sound like much of a problem to me.”

Myra May put down her coffee cup, got up from her chair, and came to stand behind Beulah, where she could see Alice Ann’s face in the mirror. Beulah felt her tautness, as if Myra May were a wound-up watch spring about to let loose and let fly.

“Yes,” Myra May said, trying to sound casual. “What’s the problem, Alice Ann?”

Alice Ann fidgeted under her pink cover-up cape. “Well, the problem is that Mr. Scroggins—Verna’s boss—came in on Friday and asked to see Mr. Johnson. They went into Mr. Johnson’s office and closed the door. A little while later, Mr. Johnson came out and asked me to get out the records of Verna’s account. He looked them over and made some notes and took them back to his office, where Mr. Scroggins was waiting. I’m sure Mr. Johnson must have showed him the notes.”

Beulah was incensed. “What a lot of nerve!” she exclaimed hotly. “Bank accounts are supposed to be private! I don’t want Mr. Johnson makin’ notes about how much money I’ve got in the bank and givin’ the information to other folks. If he can do it to Verna, he can do it to anybody. To me or—” Indignantly, she pointed her rattail comb at Myra May. “Or you, Myra May. Or Violet or Liz or anybody! What gives that jerk—pardon my French—the right to go pokin’ around in people’s personal business?”

“That bothered me, too, Beulah,” Alice Ann confessed. “All weekend long, I kept thinking how wrong it was, what Mr. Johnson had done. Mr. Scroggins, too. I kept wondering whether I should phone up Verna and let her know about it. But Arnold, he didn’t think I should rock the boat. If Mr. Johnson found out, I could lose my job.” She bit her lip. “But after what happened this morning, I am really sorry I didn’t.”

“Why?” Myra May’s voice was still casual, but Beulah heard that note of deep unease. “I mean, what happened this morning to make you sorry, Alice Ann?”

Alice Ann gulped. “What happened was that Mr. Scroggins showed up again, just before I came over here.” She looked up and her eyes met Beulah’s and Myra May’s in the mirror. “And this time, he had the sheriff with him. They both went into Mr. Johnson’s office.”

“The sheriff!” Beulah and Myra May exclaimed in alarmed unison.

Alice Ann nodded. “And then Mr. Johnson came out and got the book with Verna’s account in it. This time, he didn’t bother taking any notes. He just carried that book back into the office with him. A little while later, maybe ten or fifteen minutes, Mr. Scroggins and Sheriff Burns left. That’s all I know.” She took a deep breath. “Oh, I do wish I hadn’t listened to Arnold! If I had given Verna a word of warning, she might . . . Well, maybe she could figure out what to do. And whatever they’re thinking about her and that money, I know they must be wrong.”

“Oh, dear goodness,” Beulah said, truly distressed. “I wonder what in this blessed world is goin’ on. What do you suppose, Myra May? What can it mean?”

But Myra May was striding toward the door. Over her shoulder, she said, “Beulah, I’ll have to reschedule my appointment. Maybe tomorrow—I’ll phone you up. Okay? Oh, and tell Bettina I’m sorry I missed her, will you?”

“Sure thing,” Beulah said, but Myra May was already flying out the door and down the back steps, the screen door banging shut behind her.

“My goodness,” Alice Ann said weakly, and didn’t say another word until Beulah brushed the hair from the back of her neck and whipped the cape off her. Then she took two quarters out of her purse and handed them to Beulah.

“Thank you, Beulah,” she said. And then, “I wish . . . I just wish—” She looked away. She didn’t finish her sentence.

“I know,” Beulah said sympathetically. “But you did the best you knew how, Alice Ann. And thank you for telling us about Verna’s situation. I know it wasn’t easy. But us Dahlias have to stand together. We’re all we’ve got.”

Mutely, Alice Ann threw her arms around Beulah and they gave each other a long, hard hug.