The Darling Dahlias and the Naked Ladies

Bessie went on. “And how’s Miss Lake? Is she feeling some better, too?” To Beulah, who was still wielding the comb, she said, in an explanatory tone, “Miss Lake is Miss Jamison’s friend, who came with her from Chicago.”


“Oh, really?” Beulah said. She smiled. “Why, how nice, Miz Jamison. You tell your friend that we’re here to help, whenever she needs a trim or a set. All she has to do is ring us up. Or just come on over. We can almost always fit her in.”

“Actually, DessaRae is kind of worried about her,” Bessie went on. “Says she keeps to her room and won’t come out, even for meals.” She looked back at Miss Jamison. “Is there something we can do to make her feel more at home? Or if she’s sick and needs a doctor, I’m sure Doc Roberts would be glad to—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” cried Miss Jamison piteously. “This is none of your beeswax! Why is everybody in this one-horse burg so damned nosy?”

Beulah leaned forward and put her hand on Miss Jamison’s shoulder. “We don’t mean a thing on God’s little green earth by it, Miz Jamison, really we don’t. We’re just friendly, is all.”

Bettina, who had said nothing all this while, added, “This is the South, y’know, Miz Jamison. Down here, we may not have much to share, but we do care ’bout one another.” She grinned. “That’s partly ’cause we’re all related. Turns out I’m Beulah’s second cousin twice removed, and we didn’t even know it.”

That was the cue Bessie had been waiting for. “Which reminds me,” she said brightly. “I was thinking last night, Miss Jamison—I met your mother when she visited Miss Hamer, years ago. I was trying to remember her name, but my memory isn’t as good as it used to be. I’m sure I have it somewhere in my genealogical records, though. I’ve got family trees for every family in town.” This wasn’t exactly true (she was missing three or four), but she thought it might give Miss Jamison—if that’s who she really was—something to think about.

“My mother?” Miss Jamison said hesitantly, looking startled. “You met her?”

“Oh, I’m sure I did. What was her name?”

Miss Jamison frowned, pulling on her cigarette and blowing out a cloud of smoke. But if she was stalling for time, she was saved by the slam of the screen door. Leona Ruth Adcock burst in, her sweater flapping around her thin hips.

“Sorry I’m late,” she cried in her usual excitable tone. “Miz Jergins came over to tell me that her oldest daughter Jolina is goin’ to have a baby. She’s just thrilled to death. It’s early days yet, though, and she said not to tell anybody. But I’m sure she wouldn’t mind me lettin’ you-all know about it.”

Bessie suppressed a smile. Mrs. Jergins would not have mentioned Jolina’s baby to Leona Ruth if she hadn’t wanted the whole town to know. Everybody in Darling knew that Leona Ruth was constitutionally unable to keep a secret.

Bettina looked up from her work on the back of Bessie’s head. “Jolina’s havin’ a baby!” she exclaimed. “Oh my goodness, that’s just so nice. They’ve been wantin’ one for the longest time. She told me that Doc Rogers said it was likely her husband who couldn’t.” She frowned a little “Guess Doc must’ve been wrong, huh? Either that or—”

“Bettina,” Beulah said briskly, “it’s time you got Bessie finished up. I’m sure she’s got better things to do this mornin’ than sit there waitin’ for you to finish combin’ her out.”

“Yes’m,” Bettina said, and busied herself with the comb.

“There’s coffee in the kitchen, Leona Ruth,” Beulah said. “Help yourself.”

“I just had half a pot, with Mrs. Jergins,” Leona Ruth replied, parking herself in a chair where she could see everybody. She straightened the skirt of her green plaid cotton dress. “I’ll sit down here and take a load off. Mornin’, Bessie.”

“Good morning, Leona Ruth,” Bessie said, and waited to see what would happen next. She didn’t have to wait long.

“Why, I don’t think I know you,” Leona Ruth said, craning her neck to get a better look at Miss Jamison, whose brown bob was by this time nearly finished. “Do I?”

Bessie thought Miss Jamison must be getting very tired of questions, but she managed a halfway civil tone. “I don’t believe we’ve met.” She tapped her cigarette ash in the ashtray on the counter. “I’m Miss Hamer’s niece, over on Camellia Street.” She met Bessie’s eyes in the mirror, almost as if she were challenging.

“Well, ain’t that nice!” Leona Ruth said enthusiastically. “Miss Hamer is a dear soul.” She looked down her long, sharp nose and her tone turned mournful. “Although Miz Jergins—she lives a couple houses down from your aunt—said the pore ol’ thing had a terr’ble bad spell again last night. Said she hollered for the better part of an hour. Sounded like she was bein’ murdered.”