The Darling Dahlias and the Texas Star

There was a long silence. Then she lifted her chin and he heard the hard, fierce honesty in her voice, truer than anything he had said to her.

“Well, then, Charlie Dickens, all I can say is that I’m sorry. I thought . . . that is, I had begun to feel that I loved you. And I thought you cared for me in the same way. I knew we couldn’t expect to make a life together for a while, the way things are these days. But I let myself hope, very unwisely, that we might, when things got better.” She clenched her small hands, the knuckles white and hard, her hard, fierce voice becoming even fiercer. “I can’t believe I let you fool me this way, Charlie. I’ve been so foolish.”

He wanted to say No, I’m the fool, Fannie, the biggest fool in the world. But of course he didn’t. This was what he had wanted, wasn’t it? It was better for her to be angry. Anger would dull the pain. Anger would shield her against the inevitable gossip.

He lowered his head against her fierceness and said, with a contriteness that was agonizingly genuine, “I’m a louse, Fannie. I’m a jerk. I’m a damned two-timing heel. It’s better for you to know that now than to find it out later.”

Outdoors, the last light was gone, and in the room there were only shadows between them. He shoved the rest of the words out roughly, as if he were pushing rocks uphill. “That’s what I want you to tell anybody who asks. Tell them Charlie Dickens is a louse, a rat. Tell them how badly he’s behaved.”

She laughed then, a bleak laugh that was brittle with hurt. “What makes you think that people will have to be told? They have eyes, don’t they, Charlie? When they see you with her, they’ll know what kind of person you are. I won’t have to say a word. Not one single word.”

“I suppose so,” he said, and the darkness grew darker. He had done what he set out to do. His plan had worked as he intended, although he wished that she were angrier, that she would lash out, would lay into him like a cat-o’-nine-tails, the way he deserved. That she would raise her hand and slap his face so hard that it would rock him down to the soles of his shoes.

“Well, then.” She stood up, facing him in the dark, and he braced himself against her fury. But all she said was, “Well, then good-bye, Charlie.”

Charlie looked into her face and she met his gaze quite steadily. He had expected that she might cry, and if she did, that he would feel sorry for her. But she hadn’t cried, and feeling her steadiness, he suddenly felt sorry only for himself—sorry and very, very small. He had been so sure he was doing the right thing. But now he wasn’t.

He looked down into the black void at his feet and wasn’t sure at all.





NINE




“What the World Needs Is One

or Two More Miss Marples”



On Thursday mornings, Mr. Moseley always reviewed the files for the upcoming cases and sent Lizzy over to Judge McHenry’s office with any additional paperwork relating to a pending hearing. Lizzy enjoyed this little task, since she usually took the opportunity to drop in at the county treasurer’s office and catch up on the latest news with her friend Verna.

Of all the Dahlias, Lizzy was closest to Verna, who—by virtue of the work she did in the probate clerk’s office—had developed the mistrustful habit of listening between the lines for whatever disagreeable truths people were trying to conceal. Verna liked to say that whenever she stubbed her toe on a rock, she just had to stop and peer under it to see what was hiding there. Lizzy almost never looked under rocks unless she absolutely had to, but she was always interested in what Verna found.

This Thursday morning, Mr. Moseley had telephoned from Montgomery with instructions to take several folders to Donna Sue Pendergast, the clerk in Judge McHenry’s office. After that, he said, she could take the rest of the day off. He paused.

“This is the Watermelon Festival weekend, isn’t it? And you’re in charge? Why don’t you close up the office today—and take Friday off, too.” With an apologetic chuckle, he added, “It’s the least I can do after standing you up for the Kilgores’ party.”

Well, this threw a different light on the day, didn’t it? Since there wasn’t any office work to do, she could settle down to the garden club newspaper column, “The Garden Gate.” For this week’s column, she had chosen the topic “Summertime Beauty Ideas from the Darling Dahlias” and had collected tips from every club member. Working fast, she got everything typed up in a matter of thirty minutes. She would drop the pages off in the Dispatch office on her way to Judge McHenry’s office.