The Darling Dahlias and the Silver Dollar Bush

“I heard the sheriff was going to arrest Mr. Johnson but Mr. Moseley talked him out of it,” Leona Ruth said sourly. “Wouldn’t bother me none if he did get tarred.”


Mr. Lima shut his cash register drawer, hard. “I hate to say it because I’m a good Baptist, but I could be tempted to pick up a brush myself. I’ll be lucky if this goldurned bank closing don’t put me out of business.” He looked at Leona Ruth. “What’ll you have this morning, Miz Adcock?”

*

Bessie’s next stop was Hancock’s, the only grocery store in town. Before the Crash, it was rumored that the A&P had bought the empty lot next to the Five and Dime where Sevier’s Stationery burned down, and was planning to build one of those new self-serve markets, where customers went around with wire baskets on their arms and took their own goods right off the shelf and carried them up front where they paid a girl who did nothing all day but punch the keys on a cash register.

But Sevier’s was still an empty lot and looked to stay empty until the economy improved, which was just fine with Bessie. If the A&P opened a self-serve store, that would likely be the end of Hancock’s. And that would be a pity. Not only would they make you wait on yourself, but they wouldn’t give credit—you’d have to pay every time you went shopping. And you’d have to carry your own groceries home in a shopping bag or pay Old Zeke or one of the boys to do it for you, instead of getting it delivered at no charge, the way Mrs. Hancock did it.

Bessie took Roseanne’s shopping list out of her purse and handed it to Mrs. Hancock. Every Tuesday night, Roseanne, the Manor’s cook-housekeeper, got out the grocery ad in the Dispatch and made up the list, including prices. Bessie always went over it with her, adding everything up to make sure they could afford it. Today’s list:

3 lbs. pork loin roast, 15￠/lb.

1 lb. Wisconsin cheese, 23￠/lb.

3 cans Campbell’s tomato soup, 3 for a quarter

1 box Pillsbury pancake flour, 13￠

2 lbs. wieners, 8￠/lb.

2 rolls Kewpie toilet paper, 2/15￠

1 box Octagon soap powder, 13￠

1 3-lb. bag grits, 10￠

Mrs. Hancock pulled each item from the shelf, put it in a cardboard box, and added the total amount (in this case, $1.60) to the Magnolia Manor account she kept in her black ledger. Later that same day, Old Zeke would deliver the box in his little red wagon. And at the end of the month, Bessie or Roseanne would come in and pay the bill. Of course, since things had gotten bad, some folks couldn’t settle up completely every month, but Mrs. Hancock always carried them as long as she could, taking in trade whatever they could give her, from garden truck to butter and eggs. People were grateful for her help and everybody did what they could to keep her in business. Bessie seriously doubted if they would feel that way about the A&P.

But this morning, Mrs. Hancock said she couldn’t enter Bessie’s purchase into her ledger. “I’m sorry, but I have to have cash,” she said apologetically, and gestured to a new hand-lettered sign on the wall behind the counter, next to a blue and white poster advertising King Arthur flour. In big black letters, it said CASH AND CARRY ONLY, EFFECTIVE NOW.

“Up until last week,” Mrs. Hancock went on, “I always got credit from the bank to pay my suppliers. Mr. Johnson would carry me until the goods were sold. If I don’t pay the suppliers in cash, I won’t have a thing left to sell.” She was a neat little woman who wore her gray hair twisted up into a round, hard bun on the top of her head. She had a large nose and the tip always glowed red when she was troubled or embarrassed. It was glowing right now, like a red Christmas tree bulb, and Bessie immediately felt sorry for her.