The Darling Dahlias and the Naked Ladies

Bessie nodded. “That’s right. She wanted to find out about the living arrangements—simple questions she could’ve asked Miss Hamer, if the old lady had a phone, which she doesn’t. Miss Jamison wanted a bedroom for herself and one for Miss Lake, and asked about DessaRae—whether she lives in. One odd question I remember: she especially wanted to know whether many people came to the house.”


Far away to the south, purple clouds were piling high and thunder rumbled. Her shoulder had made the right call—they would get rain before dark. Which was good, Bessie thought. The shrubs could use a good watering.

Liz chuckled. “I suppose you told her that nobody ever goes to that house—except for you and Doc Roberts.”

“Yes, I did,” Bessie said. “To tell the truth, I thought that might change her mind. But it actually seemed to make her feel better.” Another rumble of thunder, this one closer. “I got the idea that she and Miss Lake don’t much want to see people.”

Verna harrumphed. “Well, if that’s her intention, she’d better change her style, because people will want to see her. In fact, Bailey Beauchamp made an extra trip around the courthouse square, just so he could get a better look at that red dress—and what was inside it.” She paused. “You’ve met them?”

Bessie nodded. “I went over to say hello yesterday morning. I talked to Miss Jamison, but not to Miss Lake.” She paused. “There’s a bit of a mystery there.”

The thunder seemed to have broken the quiet of the neighborhood. A screen door slapped shut somewhere close by, and the sound of a neighbor’s lawnmower being pushed across the grass came through the hedge. Down the street, some boys called to one another, and a dog barked excitedly.

“A mystery?” Liz asked, looking puzzled. “You mean—”

“When they got here,” Bessie said, “Miss Lake was wearing a big floppy hat and an old-fashioned black motoring veil that completely hid her face. She didn’t take it off. She just went straight upstairs to her room and that’s where she has stayed. She never comes out, DessaRae says, not even to eat. Miss Jamison takes her meals to her and brings back the empty plates.”

“Ah,” Liz said, nodding. “Sally-Lou told me about that.”

Verna blinked. “Takes her meals to her? That’s odd, don’t you think?”

“No odder than anything that goes on in that house,” Bessie said with a wry chuckle. “There’s no such thing as ‘normal’ where Miss Hamer is concerned.” She was silent for a long moment, feeling the words rising inside her, an irresistible force, like lava from some long-dormant volcano. She hadn’t talked of this to anyone, not since it happened, all those years ago. And now— She heard herself saying, as if the words were coming from someone else, “Did you know that I was once engaged to Miss Hamer’s brother?”

“Really?” Liz was surprised. “I didn’t know she had a brother.”

“His name was . . . Harold,” Bessie said. She said it again, testing it, almost tasting it. “Harold. If we had married, I would be Miss Hamer’s sister-in-law. And Miss Jamison’s aunt-by-marriage.” Put that way, it seemed almost funny, and she smiled.

“But you didn’t marry?” Verna asked gently.

“No.” The sudden, painful sadness washed her smile away, and Bessie felt her mouth trembling. She should stop, she knew. She didn’t want to say the words, or to hear them, either. But she couldn’t. She swallowed and went on.

“It was a long time ago, when I was still in my early twenties. Back then, of course, it seemed like a terrible tragedy, the worst thing that had ever happened to anybody in this world. Which it wasn’t, I know.” She sighed heavily. “But still . . .” Her voice trailed off.

Verna put her glass down, obviously intrigued. “So what happened, Bessie? Did you quarrel?”

Bessie swallowed again. “I never knew what happened,” she said matter-of-factly. “There wasn’t any quarrel. The wedding arrangements were made, the church reserved and everything, and I even had my dress. Harold and I were planning to borrow Daddy’s car and drive over to the jewelry store in Monroeville and pick out our wedding rings.” Her mouth twisted around the bitter words. “But then he was just . . . gone, that’s all. I never heard a word from him. No letter, no telegram, not one single word, from that day to this.”

“I am so sorry, Bessie,” Liz whispered. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, as if she couldn’t think what else to say.

Bessie looked down at her fingers clasped in her lap. “I always suspected that Miss Hamer drove him away. I reckon he just couldn’t take her bossing him around any longer, telling him what to do. She didn’t like me one bit, of course. But then, she wouldn’t have liked any girl Harold wanted to marry. She wanted to keep him all to herself, and she was determined to make life miserable for anybody he cared about. He knew that, I think. So he left.”