The Darling Dahlias and the Cucumber Tree

“I won’t tell him,” she said at last. “It feels like being between a rock and a hard place, but I won’t tell him.”


Lucy looked relieved. “You should have seen the poor boy, Opie,” she said soberly. “He was skinny as a fence rail, scratches all over him and welts on his back from the overseers’ whips. Wrists like sticks, too, and his eyes all hollow, and of course not a hair on his poor shaved head. Once I started feeding him, though, he began to look a little better.”

Which must be why, Ophelia thought, Lucy had run out of food and had been desperate to get to the grocery store. “What are you going to do?” she asked. “He can’t stay here forever. Ralph will be back in a week or so, won’t he?”

Lucy sighed. “Yes. Joey has to be gone before Ralph comes home. He’d be furious if he ever found out what the boys and I have done. They won’t tell, of course. They’d be scared of a thrashing.” She looked grave. “I have a plan, but I need help, Opie. Ralph’s Studebaker still isn’t running. I was going to take Junior’s horse, but that foreleg is still pretty bad. I need you to drive Joey and me to—”

“No, no!” Ophelia protested quickly, shaking her head. “Not me. I can’t help, Lucy. Jed would ...” She shivered, imagining what her husband would say—and do—if he caught her aiding and abetting a convict’s escape. “Why, he’d be as mad as Ralph. Maybe madder.”

“I don’t give a hoot about Jed Snow, Opie,” Lucy said fiercely. “And now that you’ve discovered our secret, you’re obligated. You are going to help me get Joey out of here, to a place that’s safe. It’s not hard—your part of it. All you have to do is drive the car. I’ll do the rest. And I don’t want to hear any excuses. Got that?” She leaned forward, looking stern. Her voice no longer sounded like lemon-meringue pie. “Got that?”

Ophelia gulped. Lucy was much tougher than she had thought. “I guess so,” she said in a small voice. She heaved a heavy sigh. “Yes, I guess so. When do we have to do this?”

“Today,” Lucy replied. “Like you said, he can’t stay here forever. Every day makes it more likely that somebody’ll stumble over him, the same way you did.” She pressed her lips together. “Next time, he might get shot, instead of just getting beaned with a jar of jam.”

Ophelia pretended she didn’t hear that. “Today?” She gave a rueful little laugh. “Well, that lets me out, I’m afraid. If it’s a car you need, and if you want it today, you’ll have to find somebody else.”

Lucy narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

“Because the Ford has a flat.” Ophelia made a face. “I parked it beside the road and walked the rest of the way here. There’s a spare on the back but I have no idea how to change it—Jed always handles things like that. I was going to call him later today and ask him to send somebody out to do it for me.”

“A flat?” Lucy laughed. “Is that all? Well, you can stop worrying your head about that. I’m a champion tire changer. And don’t you think it’s something you should learn, too?” She pushed her chair back. “In fact, it would be a good idea if we put the spare on now, while the boy’s asleep. Come on.”

And Ophelia—still wishing she’d worn her other shoes—had no choice but to follow. Lucy had taken charge.





TWENTY-ONE


Verna, Myra May, and Lizzy: On the Case in Monroeville That same afternoon, right after work, Verna, Lizzy, and Myra May all met outside the diner, where they piled into Big Bertha, Myra May’s 1920 green Chevrolet touring car. Bertha had belonged to Myra May’s father, who had taken very good care of her. Even though she was ten years old and was on her fifth set of tires and her second carburetor, she still had a good many miles left in her. Big Bertha was roomy, too. There was ample space for all three of them with room left over, and they started off for Monroeville in high spirits.

It was a warm, sunny afternoon, and they were dressed for an outing in light summer dresses with frilly collars—all except Myra May, who wore her usual trousers and tailored blouse. They all wore summer straw hats, too. Myra May’s was narrow-brimmed and mannish, Lizzy’s was decorated with flowers, and Verna’s sailor hat sported blue and red grosgrain ribbons.

“Did you hear about the excitement in the garden behind the Dahlias’ clubhouse last night?” Myra May asked when they had all piled into the car and were driving off.

“Excitement?” Lizzy asked, startled. “No! What was it? Is everything okay?”

“Somebody was digging in the back garden, under the cucumber tree,” Myra May said. “The ladies at the Magnolia Manor heard it and they all got up to see what was going on. Bessie Bloodworth took her shotgun out there and actually shot at him.”

“Shot at him!” Verna exclaimed.