The Darling Dahlias and the Silver Dollar Bush

Raylene didn’t advertise her gift, but she didn’t make any secret of it, either, and the people who knew about it didn’t think anything of it one way or another, especially the elders. Back in the old days, almost everybody knew somebody who had the gift, especially among the rural folk who lived along the edges of the swamps. Aunt Hetty’s opinion was that the gift was squelched by city life, so the more people who moved to the cities, the less of it there was. Pretty soon it would all be gone.

Charlie tossed his fedora at the hat rack on the wall under the Dr Pepper clock, missed, and didn’t bother to pick it up. He took a seat at the counter, two stools down from J.D. He was barely settled when the bell over the door dinged again, and Mayor Jed Snow came in, dressed in his usual blue plaid shirt and wash pants. He raised his hand in greeting to Myra May, then picked up Charlie’s hat and hung it, with his own gray Ferguson Tractor cap, on the hat rack. A moment later, Jed Snow was followed by Alvin Duffy, who worked at the bank. Mr. Duffy was dressed in a brown business suit and white shirt and dark red tie and wore a natty brown porkpie hat, which he hung up beside Jed’s cap. Without saying a word, the mayor and Mr. Duffy went to the table in the far back corner of the room.

“Three chickens,” Raylene decided, watching them. “Meanwhile, I’ll fry up some chicken livers for Mr. Dickens. He’ll be wanting some green beans, too. And Mr. Snow will have that last pork chop.” She snuggled Cupcake’s neck and the little girl giggled. “Baby play pots and pans while Grammy Ray does her cooking?”

Cupcake batted Raylene on the head with The Little Engine That Could. “Baby read choo-choo,” she asserted firmly, and Myra May smiled. There was no stopping that child. Maybe she would grow up to be a famous writer.

“Thank you for watching her, Ray,” Violet said gratefully. “I’m on the Exchange this afternoon and it’s hard to keep an eye on the baby when I’m trying to manage the switchboard.”

“Absolutely thrilled,” Raylene murmured against Cupcake’s hair, and took the little girl into the kitchen.

Myra May poured a mug of coffee, black, for Charlie Dickens. Judging from the bags under his eyes and the lines around his mouth, he needed it. “Meat loaf, pork chop, or fried chicken livers,” she said. “With mashed potatoes, canned corn or green beans, and coleslaw.”

Charlie picked up the mug and drank. “Fried chicken livers,” he muttered, wiping his mouth. “I was figuring on a pork chop plate, but those livers sound good. Green beans, too.”

Myra May was not surprised. Where people’s food choices were concerned, her mother got it right 100 percent of the time. She scribbled Charlie’s ticket and slid it through the pass-through. Taking two silverware wraps, a pair of mugs, and a pot of coffee, she went to the table in the corner, not far from Mr. Kinnard’s table. Mayor Snow and Mr. Duffy, their heads together, their voices lowered, were already deep in a serious conversation.

“Something’s gotta be done,” Jed Snow was saying worriedly. His face was grayish and strained. “This bank closing, Mr. Duffy—it’s a crisis, that’s what it is, on top of the layoffs at the bottling plant and the sawmill. By the middle of next week, it’ll be a catastrophe. Nobody can buy anything, nobody can sell anything. We was ready when President Roosevelt shut down the banks, so we made it through. But this was sudden, unexpected-like. We wasn’t ready. And without money, this town just plain can’t function.”