The Darling Dahlias and the Naked Ladies

“What an incredible story,” Liz said in a low voice.

“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” Bessie replied. She pulled in a deep breath and let it out. “But as I said, it was a very long time ago.” She closed her eyes, trying to conjure up Harold’s face. “You know, I almost can’t remember what he looked like—not really. I have a photograph of the two of us together, playing in the water at the swimming hole on Pine Mill Creek. When I think of him, that’s how I picture him, smiling and happy, still just a boy. I never think of the way he must look now, gray-haired and wrinkled and maybe even bent and stooped.” She sighed reminiscently. “Sometimes I think how different my life would have been if we’d married. We would’ve had children. And I wouldn’t have—”

“Oh, there you are, Bessie, dear!” came a bright voice at the kitchen door. It was Leticia Wiggins, hobbling down the back steps. She was moving carefully, leaning on her cane with one hand, holding on to the banister with the other. Leticia had fallen the year before and broken her wrist. She didn’t want to do it again. “Maxine and I have finished our canasta game. I won forty-two dollars!”

“Forty-two dollars!” Verna raised her eyebrows. “My goodness!”

“It’s just pretend money,” Bessie said in a low voice. “They started out gambling for pennies but now they’ve made up these colored paper bills. And they can never agree—”

“Forty-two?” Maxine Bechdel snapped, coming down the stairs behind Leticia, her white hair gleaming. “Don’t be ridiculous, Leticia. It was only thirty-two. You added wrong, as usual.” She peered nearsightedly at Bessie’s guests. “Oh, it’s Elizabeth and Verna! Hello, girls. We haven’t seen you for a while. Mind if we join you?”

Liz put her glass down and stood up. “Somebody can have my chair,” she said. “I’m afraid I have to go. It’s thundering, and I need to get home and close my windows.”

“I’d better be on my way, too,” Verna said, standing up. She put her hand on Bessie’s shoulder. “Thanks for sharing all that family history with us, Bessie.”

“You’re welcome,” Bessie said, reaching up to clasp Verna’s hand. She shook her head with a wicked grin. “I’ll bet old Miss Hamer doesn’t have an idea in her head that she’s harboring a couple of vaudeville dancers. But that’s what comes of letting those naked ladies bloom in her front yard.”

“Who’s a vaudeville dancer?” Leticia wanted to know, hobbling across the grass. “You’ll have to speak up, Bessie, if you want people to hear you.” She sat down in the chair that Liz had vacated and glanced at the partly emptied pitcher. “Maxine, darlin’, you’re still up. Bring us two more glasses, will you, and we’ll have us some of this lemonade.” She looked back at Bessie. “Now, do tell, Bessie. Who’s a vaudeville dancer?”

“No, no,” Bessie said hastily, raising her voice. “We were talking about the Dahlias’ talent show. I said that it’s going to be as good as watching a vaudeville review. Don’t you think so, Verna?”

“Oh, definitely,” Verna said, and Liz nodded, too. They said their good-byes, leaving Bessie and her friends to enjoy the fragrance of the Angel Trumpet drifting across the backyard.





EIGHT





Verna Has a Visitor


That was quite a story, wasn’t it?” Verna said, as she and Liz walked down Camellia Street—hurrying a little. The growl of thunder was coming closer and neither of them had an umbrella.

“I wonder what happened to him,” Liz said reflectively. “Bessie’s fiancé, I mean. It’s so sad.” She shivered. “At least I knew what happened to Reggie—his mother got a letter from his commanding officer after he was killed, telling her where he was buried. Bessie never even knew what became of her fiancé. It must be hard to live with a mystery like that.”

“There’s another mystery,” Verna replied darkly. The suspicion had been growing on her all afternoon, while she listened to Bessie tell her story. “Now that I know a little more about this situation, I’m beginning to wonder whether Lorelei LaMotte really is Miss Hamer’s niece.” She turned to her friend. “Honestly, now, Liz. Tell me what you think.”

Liz was silent for a moment. “The other day, I read about an odd situation in Florida. These people’s son was kidnapped years ago, and when he came home, all grown up, they were thrilled to death. It turned out, though, that he wasn’t their son after all. Some smart police detective revealed his real identity and they were shocked at how they’d been duped.”

Verna turned to stare at her. “You know, Liz, the same thing could be true here. Nona Jean’s mother is dead. Her aunt doesn’t know her—not really, I mean. Nobody here in Darling knows her, not a soul.”