The Darling Dahlias and the Silver Dollar Bush

Lizzy gulped back the tears. “Sorry for me? But, really, Verna, you should be—”

The doorbell rang again. Verna turned to open the door and Lizzy saw Beulah Trivette and Bessie Bloodworth standing on the porch. Beulah was dressed in her prettiest flower-printed georgette dress and was carrying a gift-wrapped box in one hand and a bag of lemons in the other. Bessie, in her lace-trimmed blue crepe and her Sunday best hat, held a big bouquet of flowers.

“We thought we’d just drop in and say hi, Liz,” Beulah said. With a soft smile, she held out the box. “I’ve brought you some of my lotions and creams and a special shampoo. And if you’ll come over to the Bower whenever it’s convenient, Bettina and I will give you our ultra-beauty treatment. There’s nothing like a little pampering to make a body feel better.” She handed the lemons to Verna. “For lemonade, Verna.”

“And these are for you,” Bessie said, holding out the bouquet to Lizzy. “Peonies, of course, and hydrangea, and a few roses. The girls and I gathered them in the Dahlias’ garden.”

Lizzy had to smile. “The girls” were Bessie’s boarders at Magnolia Manor. Not one of them was under sixty-five. She took the bouquet. “I don’t think I recognize these,” she said, fingering a spray of dark pink flowers.

“Oh, that’s the silver dollar bush,” Bessie said. “You might not have seen it blooming, but you’re sure to remember the seed pods—those flat silver disks that look so pretty in dried bouquets. Just like silver coins.” She chuckled. “If we could spend them, we wouldn’t have to worry about what’s happening with the bank.”

“Except that Miss Rogers would never let us get away with calling them ‘silver dollars,’” Verna reminded them. She turned to go to the kitchen with Beulah’s bag of lemons. “She’d insist on Lunaria annua.”

Everybody laughed, and even Lizzy chuckled.

Bessie leaned toward her. “The girls asked me to tell you that they’re thinking of you in your hour of need, my dear. They’ve all been disappointed in love and they know just how it feels. You have our deepest sympathies.”

“Thank you,” Lizzy said gratefully. “But I hope you’ll tell them that I’m not the one who is in need of—”

“We’re going to have our supper on the picnic table in the yard, where there’s more room,” Myra May announced from the kitchen door. “Is everybody here, Verna? Shall we start putting out the food Raylene sent?”

“What do you mean, ‘Is everybody here?’” Lizzy asked, looking around. “Who’s everybody? What is going on?”

Verna peered out the front door. “They’re here, Myra May,” she called over her shoulder. “You can start setting the food out now.”

Lizzy saw that Ophelia Snow and Aunt Hetty Little were coming up the front walk. Aunt Hetty, leaning on her cane, was carrying a crocheted flower garden afghan in every color of the rainbow. Ophelia, short and round, with flyaway brown hair, was bearing a cake.

“Come on, you two,” Verna called. “The party’s just getting started. You’re the last ones.”

“Party?” Lizzy asked helplessly. “We’re having a party?”

“A few of us Dahlias thought you needed a party tonight,” Aunt Hetty explained, climbing onto the front porch. “Some folks couldn’t come on short notice, but they all send their love.” As she came through the door, she fished in the pocket of her purple sweater. “Mildred Kilgore asked me to give this to you. She thought it might cheer you up.”

Lizzy saw that it was a little book of poems by Edna St. Vincent Millay, called Second April. Millay—her favorite poet!