The Darling Dahlias and the Texas Star

Mildred leaned forward. “What would I say?” Her face was suddenly twisted and ugly and her voice was full of disgust and revulsion. “I would scare her little lacy panties right off her, that’s what I would do. I would make her read that anonymous letter out loud, word by word. I would show her that photograph and those checks. I would threaten to drag her name through the mud if she didn’t stop foolin’ around with my husband. And if she gave me so much as one word of sassy backtalk, I would slap her, hard. Or maybe I’d take a fireplace poker to her.” Mildred’s eyes blazed with an almost volcanic anger. “That pretty face wouldn’t be so pretty when I got through with her.”


Shocked, Lizzy sucked in her breath. “I . . . I really don’t think you would do that,” she said inadequately. Of all the women she knew, Mildred was the most self-contained, always behaving with the calm, unruffled decorum of a Southern lady who never acknowledged such a thing as a hard feeling. “Butter wouldn’t melt in Mildred’s mouth,” Aunt Hetty Little had once said. It had always been true—until now.

Mildred held herself rigid for a moment, then slumped back in her chair, sighing like a deflating balloon, all the energy going out of her. After a moment she spoke in a low, shaky voice.

“You’re right, Liz. Of course I wouldn’t. My mother taught me never to cause a ruckus, never. She would be horrified if she knew what I just said. I take it all back, every word.” She leaned forward again and put her cold hand over Lizzy’s. “Please,” she said urgently. “Forget what I said. Just forget it.”

Lizzy was stunned into silence. Mildred might want to take back her words, but she had said them with a ferocity that made them difficult to forget. And saying a thing and doing it were not all that far apart. If Mildred felt that her marriage and her home and the family business were all in jeopardy, wouldn’t she actually do what she had just said? Lizzy shivered. She didn’t like to feel that her friend would resort to violence, but she had to admit the possibility.

The silence dragged out until at last Lizzy disengaged her hand. She heard herself say, “Well, it probably wouldn’t do any good to threaten Miss Dare, Mildred. Judging from what I heard her tell Charlie Dickens earlier today, I don’t think you can frighten her into doing something—or into not doing something. She is scare-proof.”

And that, Lizzy told herself, is what made Miss Dare such a dangerous person. She did exactly what she chose, without regard for anyone else—or for the consequences. It was no wonder that Mildred was angry, after what she had learned. How many other people were just as angry as Mildred, or even angrier? And even more eager to translate their anger into action? Miss Dare was playing with fire.

Mildred picked up her teacup with a sigh. “I’m sure you’re right, Liz. It wouldn’t do one single ounce of good.” She paused, pushing her mouth into a smile and trying to speak in something resembling her normal voice. “Well, then. Do you know what the plans are for the evening? I’m wondering about supper.”

Lizzy tried to match her tone. “Charlie Dickens is taking Miss Dare to supper and to the special showing of Hell’s Angels at the Palace. That seems to be the plan, anyway. While everybody’s out for the evening, I need to go to my house and pack a suitcase. Verna and I will come back here later and stay the night. But this afternoon, while Miss Dare is sleeping, I have to make some phone calls about the festival. May I use your phone to do that?”

“Verna?” Mildred asked.

“I hope that’s okay,” Lizzy said tentatively. “If it isn’t, I can cancel. I just thought that two of us might be better than—”

“Of course.” Mildred got up. “I’m glad that Mr. Dickens thought of suggesting that you do this, and that Verna will be here, too. That woman has already caused enough trouble. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to her while she is a guest in my house.” She took their tea cups to the sink and rinsed them. “I have some work to do in the garden. Help yourself to the telephone.”

Lizzy spent the next hour on the telephone, checking up on the arrangements for the weekend festival and making sure that everything was going according to plan. The carnival was due to arrive that evening to start setting up at the fairgrounds. Verna reported that the tents hadn’t gone all the way to Indianapolis after all. They had been spotted at Montgomery, put on the next southbound freight, and arrived safely at the depot. The Masons had already picked them up—so that was one problem solved. And Aunt Hetty reported that the watermelon roundup was going even better than expected. “We’re not going to run out this year,” she said triumphantly. “Now, if all the Dahlias will just show up to do the picking for the farmers market booth, we’ll be in great shape.”

Later, when Lizzy was preparing to leave, she asked about Roger. He wouldn’t be home until late, Mildred said in an offhand way. He had to attend a city council meeting, and he and Jed Snow and a couple of the other council members would probably stay behind for a game of poker.

Remembering Roger’s clumsy attempt to get out of Miss Dare’s reach when she had landed a kiss on his cheek, Lizzy wondered whether he might be trying to avoid her—and trying to stay out of his wife’s way, as well. Even though he didn’t know about the anonymous letters and wasn’t aware that Mildred knew about his transgressions, he couldn’t be very comfortable.