The Darling Dahlias and the Silver Dollar Bush

“You know I can’t say anything one way or the other, Bessie,” Lizzy replied cautiously. She had worked in Benton Moseley’s law office for over ten years now, and always abided by what he jokingly called his gag rule—no talking about what went on in the office, before, after, or during a case.

“Well, I can,” Verna said. “Say something, I mean.” There was a pot of rhubarb sauce cooking on the stove. She picked up a large spoon and gave the sauce a vigorous stir.

Earlynne’s head snapped up. “I hope you can tell us that Mr. George E. Pickett Johnson is going straight to the state penitentiary and will be there for a good long time. It’s no better than he deserves, causing all this trouble.”

“Hang on until we get this done, Earlynne,” Verna replied. “Bessie, I think this sauce is thick enough. Are those jars ready?”

“They will be once they’re scalded,” Bessie said. She took the teakettle off the stove and poured boiling water over the jars and lids. Verna picked up a ladle and began to fill the hot, clean jars while Bessie wiped the jar rims and screwed the lids on tight. The filled jars went into the club’s second canner and the canner went on the stove. Meanwhile, Aunt Hetty took the lid off the first canner and took the hot quart jars out, setting them on a towel on the counter.

Lizzy collected the rhubarb that she, Aunt Hetty, and Earlynne had chopped and measured it into the empty pot—seven quarts.

“That’s the end of the rhubarb,” she announced, “so this will be the last batch.” She added a half cup of sugar for each quart and stirred it in. “We’ll let that stand until it juices. Twenty minutes, maybe. Then we can bring it up to a boil, fill the jars, pressure them for eight minutes, and we’re done.” Chopped rhubarb was perfect for pies, and Myra May, at the Darling Diner, had already said she would buy any extra the Dahlias had available. Raylene Riggs, the new cook, wanted to make some strawberry-rhubarb pies, and Mrs. Meeks had spoken up for a few jars, to make the rhubarb-and-sour-cream cake she liked to serve to her boarders.

“Good job, ladies,” Verna said. She took off her apron and fished her Pall Malls out of her pocketbook, which was hanging on the kitchen doorknob. “I am taking a break.”

“There’s hot water in the kettle,” Aunt Hetty remarked. “Who’s ready for tea?”

“I brought some sour cream cookies,” Bessie chimed in. She went to the cupboard and came back with a plate of cookies, putting it in the middle of the table. “Baked them this morning.”

“My favorite,” Lizzy said, and got up to get five teacups. Several minutes later, the Dahlias were sitting around the table with their tea and cookies.

“Have you heard,” Aunt Hetty began, “that Miss Tallulah is back from her visit to New York? I saw her just yesterday, at the drugstore. She’s looking spry for her age.”

Lizzy smiled. Everybody knew that Aunt Hetty and the legendary Miss Tallulah LaBelle were exactly the same age, which was just over eighty. The two had been girlhood friends. The LaBelle plantation, on the Alabama River west of town, had been home to the county’s wealthiest family for generations, but Miss Tallulah was now the sole surviving member. Lizzy knew that the old lady, one of Mr. Moseley’s clients, had taken the family money out of the stock market just before the Crash and put it into Treasury bills. (Not that Lizzy understood this, but Mr. Moseley said it was a very good idea.) Having made this astute—or lucky—decision, she was in better shape, financially, than almost anyone else in Cypress County. But she was seldom seen in Darling, except when she came to catch the train to take her on one of her frequent trips to New York and Boston. For a woman of her age, she seemed to travel a great deal.