The Darling Dahlias and the Silver Dollar Bush

Verna usually ate lunch with Liz Lacy. On pretty days, they often picnicked on the courthouse lawn, where they could keep an eye on the comings and goings around the square. But on Tuesday morning, very early, Liz had telephoned to say she wasn’t feeling well and wouldn’t be going in to the office. She didn’t sound up to par, and since she had missed work only once or twice in years, Verna was concerned.

“You’re okay?” she asked. “Is there anything I can do?”

“No, nothing.” There was a catch in her voice. “But thanks for asking. I’m sure I’ll feel better tomorrow. Let’s get together for lunch in a day or two, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

“We’ll do it,” Verna said. “In the meantime, I prescribe chicken soup. Works for whatever ails you.”

But Liz had only chuckled—sadly, Verna thought—and said, “I don’t think chicken soup will fix an ailing heart.” Verna (who was not a metaphorical thinker) was about to ask Liz what was wrong with her heart, but she had hung up.

Business was slow at the county clerk’s office, and to keep both Sherrie and Melba Jean busy, Verna had set them to cleaning out the files, which had been accumulating for the hundred-plus years of the town’s existence. Darling’s local historian, Bessie Bloodworth, loved to tell how it was settled in 1823 by Joseph P. Darling—accidentally, it seemed, rather than on purpose, since Mr. Darling was not at all sure where in the world he was.

The Darlings had come by wagon from Virginia: Mr. Darling and Mrs. Darling, with their five Darling children, two field-hand slaves, a team of oxen, a pair of milk cows, Mrs. Darling’s three hens and a rooster, and Mr. Darling’s saddle horse. Mr. Darling intended to push on to the Mississippi, where he planned to build a plantation and make a fortune in cotton. The Mississippi River had become a part of the United States after Mr. Jefferson negotiated the Louisiana Purchase, which in Mr. Darling’s view was a very good idea, even though some folks said it was unconstitutional. Nevertheless, it was bought and paid for, and Mr. Darling was determined to be first in line when the tracts were laid out along the river.

But Mrs. Darling had just about had her fill of riding in that wagon and sleeping under the stars. When they got to Pine Mill Creek, just north of what is now the town of Darling, she announced that she was not going one step farther. If Mr. Darling wanted to plant cotton, he could plant it right here. If he wanted to plant it beside the Mississippi, he could do it without her. Without the Darling children, too. And the milk cows. And the chickens. And before he left he could build her a cabin so she and the children didn’t have to sleep out under the stars.

Since Mrs. Darling was a mild-mannered woman who did not usually deliver ultimatums, Mr. Darling took this one seriously. Their conversation (sadly) was not recorded for posterity, but as Bessie told the tale, the slaves unhitched the oxen and put the cows on picket lines, Mr. Darling set up camp and began staking out a cabin on a little rise above the creek, and Mrs. Darling took off her sunbonnet and put the soup pot over the campfire. They were home at last.

Over time, enough Darling friends and relations joined them to constitute a village, and before long, the village grew into a town, quite appropriately named Darling, after Joseph P. Soon, it boasted a sawmill, a gristmill, a general store, a post office, a school, three churches, and four saloons. And because one of the Darling cousins was a surveyor and the town fathers wanted things neat and orderly, he laid out a tidy grid and platted streets and lots. Within a few years, Darling became the seat of Cypress County, so a brick courthouse was built on the square in the center of town and filled with records of property sales, marriages, births, deaths, wills and last testaments, transcripts of court cases, and all sorts of legal documents.