The Darling Dahlias and the Naked Ladies

Lizzy was staring at him, struck speechless. By now, there was no mistaking the compassion in his voice.

“I am deeply sorry to have to tell you this, Miss Lacy. The bank is not in the least anxious to find itself in possession of all these empty houses. We have tried to work out arrangements with the defaulting owners, and in some cases, we’ve been successful. Not, I’m afraid, in your mother’s case. The mortgage payments, principal and interest, were twenty-five dollars and ninety-seven cents a month, on a balance of—” He shuffled through his papers and came up with one. “A balance of nineteen hundred dollars, at four percent interest, on a note to be repaid in seven years. She has been delinquent since the beginning of this year. In January.”

Lizzy pressed her lips together. The bank had tried to make an arrangement? But her mother had said— She took a deep breath.

“Is . . . Is it too late?”

Mr. Johnson put down the paper, frowning. “If you mean to ask whether the bank is still willing to come to an agreement with your mother, the answer is yes, of course. However, she maintained that she had no source of income and that the payment of any sum at all—not even the fifteen dollars a month I proposed to her—was an impossibility. I pointed out that I was aware that she does indeed have a source of income, an annuity that is deposited every month in her account here at the bank. That, at least, was not compromised by her stock market losses.”

The annuity? Her mother had given her the distinct impression that the annuity was gone, and claimed that the bank had refused to negotiate. She had lied on both scores!

Lizzy pulled her attention back to Mr. Johnson. “It is also in my power,” he was saying, “to debit your mother’s annuity for the amount of her mortgage payments. I have declined to do this, since it appears to be her only source of income.” He sighed. “Therefore, since the payments are in serious arrears, foreclosure is the only—”

“Don’t foreclose,” Lizzy heard herself saying. “Sell the house to me. I’ll assume the existing loan.”

The words came out of her mouth without her even thinking of them, and she almost bit them back. Buy her mother’s house? Twenty-six dollars a month? Could she pay that much?

Well, she supposed she could. She earned eighteen dollars a week at Moseley and Moseley and was managing to save five dollars a week for the car she hoped to buy. That was twenty dollars a month, right there. She lived frugally, her own house was paid for, and her mother’s house was certainly worth more than the nineteen hundred dollars she had borrowed against it, or would be, when property values picked up again.

Yes, she could manage it. But should she? What would her mother say when she found out that Lizzy had bought her house?

“Are you sure you are able to do this?” Mr. Johnson asked gently. “I know that you have had steady employment with Mr. Moseley, but I don’t want you to take on a financial burden that you can’t manage.”

“I’m sure,” Lizzy said. She took a deep breath and made herself unclench her fists.

“Very well, then.” Mr. Johnson put his pencil down and spoke with alacrity. “Under the circumstances, I think the bank will be willing to extend the mortgage period to ten years and reduce the payment to—say, twenty dollars a month, principle and interest. We can also waive the delinquent payments and closing costs, as a gesture of goodwill. Will that be satisfactory?”

Twenty dollars. Lizzy let her breath out. “Yes. Very satisfactory. Thank you.”

“Excellent. I’ll have Mrs. Tate draw up the papers for you. If you would like to have Mr. Moseley look them over before you sign, that would certainly be agreeable.” Mr. Johnson paused, regarding her thoughtfully. “I don’t mind telling you, Miss Lacy, that in my estimation, this is an elegant solution to your mother’s dilemma. She is allowed to remain in her home, while you are making an investment that will appreciate in value.”

He didn’t add, “And the bank will get at least some money out of this mess,” although he might well have. Lizzy had just saved him quite a bit of trouble, not to mention money—and the dead weight of another empty house.

Lizzy nodded numbly. It wasn’t elegance she was after. It was her privacy. Her sanity. If she had to live with her mother again—She didn’t finish the thought. She couldn’t.

Papers in hand, Mr. Johnson stood. “Perhaps it’s not my place to say so,” he added diffidently. “But I did think that, with a little encouragement, your mother might be able to market her skills and earn enough to help with the monthly payment. I am not making a recommendation, mind you. Just an observation.”