The Darling Dahlias and the Silver Dollar Bush

Two doors down the street at the diner, Violet put Cupcake at one of the tables with her crayons and a coloring book. Myra May was taking a turn on the telephone switchboard and Raylene was in the kitchen, cleaning catfish. The lunch crowd had been sparse, just a couple of strangers off the train, Mr. Musgrove from the hardware store next door, and Mr. Dunlap from the Five and Dime.

And Mr. Duffy from the bank. Violet colored, remembering. He had come in, sat at the end of the counter, and watched her. Just watched her. Oh, of course he ate—Raylene’s now-famous sautéed liver, topped with sliced apples, bacon, onions (“caramelized,” she called them), with sides of homemade noodles and coleslaw. But every so often he would look admiringly at her, which made her so nervous that she splashed Mr. Dunlap’s second cup of coffee on the counter. And when Mr. Duffy paid for the meal, he touched her hand and smiled, as if they shared some sort of secret message—what it might be, she hadn’t a clue. She was glad when he left.

Violet tidied up, wiped the counter clean, and was brewing a fresh pot of coffee when Twyla Sue Mann came in, her hair nicely curled and smelling of Beulah’s setting lotion. She sat down on one of the red-leather-covered stools.

“I’ll just have me some of that fresh coffee,” she said, putting her pocketbook on the counter and digging inside for a nickel. She found one and slid it toward Violet. “Kinda slow today, huh?”

“Kinda,” Violet allowed. “People are holding on to their cash money, I s’pose. Waiting to see whether the scrip we’ve been hearing about is going to do them any good.” She poured Twyla Sue’s coffee. “How’s your family, Twyla Sue?”

“We’re looking forward to a wedding.” Twyla Sue reached for the sugar bowl. “Grady Alexander is marrying my niece. Well, Archie’s niece,” she qualified. “Sandra.”

Violet nearly dropped the coffeepot. “Grady Alexander . . . marrying your niece?” she gasped. “But everybody knows that Grady is marrying Liz Lacy! They’ve been going together for years.”

“So I have heard,” Twyla Sue said carelessly, spooning the third sugar into her coffee. “But nevertheless, Sandra and Grady are getting married. Saturday, two p.m. I just gave Mr. Dickens the announcement to put in the paper.”

Saturday. Hearing that, Violet got the whole picture and, quick as a flash, understood that there was nothing to be done. Those who danced, as her mother had always said, had to pay the piper. But all the same, she felt a quick upsurge of anger. The wedding announcement was going to be in Friday’s Dispatch and when the paper was delivered, everybody in the county would know about it—if they didn’t already. She pressed her lips together, thinking of Liz, who must be feeling just awful. And Mrs. Alexander, too. Grady’s mother was a fussy little lady, always making disapproving remarks about the way people behaved. She would be hanging her head in shame. And that was all because of something Grady Alexander had done in the heat of passion.

But the moment that thought appeared, Violet scratched it out. Passion was passion—she knew that from her own experience. You loved whoever you loved and it was nobody’s business what the two of you did in private. She wouldn’t want people peering through her windows and making judgments about her love life. She wasn’t about to make judgments about Grady’s.

All that went through her mind in a flash. When she glanced up, she saw that Twyla Sue was looking at her expectantly, so she said, “Well, they’re brave, getting married. It’s tough these days for folks just starting out.” She managed a smile. “At least Grady’s got a steady job, which is more than some can say.”

“Yes, he’s got a good job.” Twyla Sue took a sip of her coffee, then put the mug down. “I was wanting to talk to you about that, Violet. My Purley is looking for part-time work.”