The Darling Dahlias and the Naked Ladies

Lizzy looked at him, not quite understanding. “Her . . . skills?”


“Why, yes.” He smiled. “That is an extremely attractive yellow hat you’re wearing. It’s one of your mother’s creations, isn’t it? And I happen to know that Mrs. Johnson—who has an eye for the latest fashions in hats—regularly admires the hats your mother wears to church. She has often said that she wished she could ask Mrs. Lacy to make one for her. I would have mentioned this to your mother, but I was afraid that it would seem—” He cleared his throat gruffly. “A little patronizing. Or worse. She might think I was telling her that she should go out and get a job in order make her mortgage payments.”

Lizzy regarded him, thinking how different he was from what she had expected, and from what the townspeople said about him. “Thank you,” she said, and meant it. “I’m glad to have the suggestion.”

As she left the bank a little later, Lizzy was turning Mr. Johnson’s observation around in her mind. She had planned to go straight to the diner to talk with Verna. Instead, she turned right on Rosemont and walked up the steps to the neighboring frame building, which had a decorated sign over the door: CHAMPAIGN’S DARLING CHAPEAUX. Lizzy had two reasons for making this call. One of them was to invite Fannie Champaign to become a member of the Darling Dahlias, something she had promised Verna and Ophelia she would do.

The other had to do with her mother.

Ten minutes later, Lizzy came out again with a new spring in her step and a new hope in her heart. Fannie Champaign, the only milliner in Darling, had taken a careful look—inside and out and from all angles—at the yellow straw hat she was wearing and said that she would be glad to accept Mrs. Lacy’s millinery creations on consignment.

“To be frank, Miss Lacy,” Miss Champaign said, “I don’t sell many hats here in Darling—the ladies don’t have much money and several of them enjoy making their own hats. But my sister has a shop in Miami, and my cousin has another in Atlanta. I often place my work there. I’m sure they would be glad to consider your mother’s work, as well.”

“I’m grateful,” Lizzy said simply. Between the annuity and the millinery work, her mother might make enough to support herself—if she would.

It was a big if. Lizzy didn’t think her mother had ever earned a penny in her life.





SIXTEEN


“The Game Is Afoot!”

When Lizzy got to the diner, the noon rush was over, the place was almost empty, and a happy celebration was going on. Al Jolson was singing “Back in Your Own Backyard,” Myra May was dancing behind the counter, Verna was looking elated, and Euphoria, brandishing a big spoon, was beaming from ear to ear.

“Violet’s coming home on Thursday!” Myra May shrieked when Lizzy walked through the door. “We just got a call from Memphis.” She spun around in a circle, hugging herself, nearly sending the coffeepot flying. “ ‘Oh, you can go to the East, Go to the West,’ ” she sang along with Al Jolson. “‘But someday you’ll come, weary at heart, back where you started from! Back in your own backyard.’”

“That’s grand, Myra May,” Lizzy said happily. “What’s Violet done about the baby?”

“She didn’t say,” Myra May replied, and turned down the radio a bit. “You know Violet—she is so soft-hearted, I’m sure she’s found a good home for the poor little thing. Maybe the baby’s father has some family that’s willing to take her in.” She picked up a cloth and began to wipe the counter. “I am just so happy that she’s coming home!”

“We are, too,” Verna said emphatically. “But until she actually gets here, several of the Dahlias are happy to make themselves available to help out behind the counter, so you can be free to manage the switchboard.” She pulled a list out of the pocket of her dress and handed it to Myra May. “Mildred Kilgore organized the Dahlias. Here are the names. They said to call them and let them know when you’d like them to come in.”

Myra May scanned the list, then looked up, her eyes misting. “Verna, I don’t know how to thank you. What swell help!”

Verna shrugged. “Don’t thank me. Thank Mildred—and the Dahlias. They’re the ones with all the spare time on their hands.” She turned to Lizzy. “Say, Liz, how about if we sit down over there in the corner with a cup of coffee. I want to hear everything you couldn’t tell me over that party line. And we have to come up with some kind of plan.” She glanced at Myra May. “You want to join us? Since a lot of what happened went through your switchboard, seems to me you ought to be in on it.”

“I have to work the board,” Myra May said. “But there are still a few pieces of sweet potato cake left. Let me treat you-all .”