The Darling Dahlias and the Silver Dollar Bush

“Alvin Duffy? I’ve seen him at the bank and on the street, but we haven’t actually met.”


Verna had been as astonished as anybody else when Mr. Johnson named the stranger as the new vice president on the very day that old Mr. Conklin retired, turning Sam Stanton’s career plans topsy-turvy. Why, the man had just arrived in Darling, and nobody knew a thing about him. By itself, this was highly unusual, for in Darling, people were identified by their family connections and the places they came from. (Verna often ran into people who would say, “Why, I know who you are! You’re Maybelline Lynch’s third girl, Verna!” or “I went to school with your Walter’s sister. I was so sorry to hear of his passing.”) And now this outsider, whom nobody had ever heard of, was the vice president of the town’s only bank. It was all very strange.

But Myra May had said something else. Verna frowned. “What do you mean, you need to warn me? Warn me about what?”

Myra May looked over her shoulder to see whether anyone else was close enough to overhear. Melba Jean was at her typewriter, industriously clackety-clacking. Sherrie Brindley was at the filing cabinet on the other side of the room. Sherrie, who had curly dark-blond hair and a ready smile, was a Darling booster. In her spare time, she organized Darling Clean Up Days, Keep Our Darling Beautiful, and other town events. If something was happening in Darling, Sherrie was bound to be in on it, so Myra May especially didn’t want her to hear. She lowered her voice.

“Well, Mr. Duffy and Jed Snow were having lunch together on Saturday. While I was waiting on them, I overheard them hatching a scheme. I couldn’t believe it, Verna, but they are planning to start counterfeiting money.”

Verna rolled her eyes. “Oh, go on, Myra May. You’re kidding.”

“No, seriously, Verna.” Myra May was earnest. “I worried about it all weekend, and then I finally decided I had to talk to you. Mr. Duffy says they need to print enough money to keep Darling afloat until the bank reopens. And your name was mentioned—I heard it! They’re planning to get you involved.”

“Print enough money— But that’s crazy!” Astonished, Verna couldn’t help laughing out loud. “They’ll end up in the penitentiary, sure as shooting. I wouldn’t have anything to do with such a stupid thing.” She paused, frowning a little. “Who do they think they’re going to get to do the counterfeiting?”

“Charlie Dickens, is what they said,” Myra May replied. “He owns the only job printing press in town. Mr. Duffy seems to think he can get the money into circulation, even if the bank is closed. Anyway, he says he’s counting on you and Jed Snow to get people to accept it. And Amos Tombull is in on it somehow, too. At least, that’s what they said.”

Verna had shaken her head, puzzled. She couldn’t believe that two grown, sensible men would come up with such a cockamamie scheme. What’s more, Charlie Dickens didn’t have the kind of printing equipment that could print a piece of paper that looked enough like real money to fool people. And while she didn’t know Alvin Duffy and couldn’t say what he might do, Jed Snow had always struck her as a man who played by the rules.

But maybe Jed was thinking that there weren’t any rules in a situation like this. People were in a state of panic. They might be willing to try just about anything to get themselves out of the current crisis. And Myra May had her head on straight—she hadn’t imagined this or made it up. Verna knew that much for sure.