The Darling Dahlias and the Silver Dollar Bush

Something tragic had happened not long after that event, however. Verna had never heard all the details, but Sophie LaBelle was dead and Miss Tallulah had gone away on an extended visit. (It was rumored that she planned to be married to a wealthy gentleman from New York.) The plantation was left in the hands of a caretaker and overseer.

But that had been years before. Miss Tallulah had returned from wherever she had gone, having failed to marry her wealthy New York gentleman, and had taken over the management of the place and the substantial family fortune, a part of which she had used to make repairs to the main plantation house. Now restored to something like its original beauty, the house stood at the end of a long, tree-shaded lane, a Greek Revival–style mansion with fluted Corinthian columns supporting upper and lower galleries. Off to one side, Verna could see an extensive rose garden, just coming into bloom, with a pergola in the center. On the other, a sweep of green lawn led down to the edge of a lake.

“This is such a lovely setting,” Verna said admiringly, as she swung the LaSalle around the circle drive and pulled to a stop. “Like something out of a storybook.”

“Now you can see why I wore my best hat and gloves,” Aunt Hetty said, getting out of the car. She added dryly, “We are going to visit the queen. In her palace. Let’s hope we can encourage a little noblesse oblige.”

Verna swallowed hard, realizing that—under her usual poised exterior—she wasn’t her usual confident self. The future of Darling might be riding on this encounter. Could she and Aunt Hetty convince this woman to help, or would she smile at them and send them away?

Miss Tallulah’s maid met them at the door and ushered them into the elegant library, with an ornate fireplace, a richly colored Oriental rug, and floor-to-ceiling windows flanked by bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes. Miss Tallulah was already settled on an upholstered chair behind a luxuriously appointed tea table. Her fine white hair was piled on her head Gibson Girl style and she was wearing red again, a russet red silk chiffon dress of prewar vintage with fine pleats at the bodice; sheer, wrist-length sleeves; and a skirt that fell in soft gathers to a few inches above the ankle.

“Good afternoon, ladies,” she said in a regal voice. “Hetty, it’s been too long. Mrs. Tidwell, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you outside your office. I’m glad you could get out for a little air this afternoon. I trust the drive was a pleasant one.”

“Yes, thank you,” Verna said, and took the seat Miss Tallulah pointed out. She looked around, a little abashed by the splendor and thinking that the palatial house—furnished with rich carpeting and draperies and what looked to her like valuable antiques—was a stark contrast to most of the homes in Darling, where people had been hit hard by the Depression. She wondered once again why Miss Talullah kept to herself out here. Was it because she didn’t like the people of Darling? Because she felt that she was somehow better than they were, just because she had more money? Or was it something else?

“Nice to see you again, Tallulah,” Aunt Hetty said briskly. “I trust you’re keeping well these days.”

“Well as can be expected, Hetty,” Miss Tallulah replied. “I must say, you look like you’re keeping in good health. Tell me what you’re up to these days.”

And so it went, with idle social chatter. Minding their manners, neither Verna nor Aunt Hetty said a word about business until Miss Tallulah had poured tea and handed around slices of tea cake. Then, holding her cup in one hand and her saucer on the other, the old lady said crisply, “Well, ladies, shall we get on with it? What brought you all the way out to LaBelle? I don’t suppose you’ve come for a casual bit of chitchat, have you?”