The Darling Dahlias and the Eleven O'Clock Lady

Just recently, though, Ophelia had read that President Roosevelt had sent a message to Congress about something he was calling “social security,” which was designed to give older people a little something to live on when they couldn’t work any longer. There seemed to be a lot of opposition to it—some were calling it socialism or even communism—but when Ophelia paid Mother Snow’s doctor bill and bought Dad Snow a pair of new dentures, she felt it would be a godsend if it passed. If it didn’t, she was hoping that Senator Huey P. Long, a Democrat from Louisiana who had a bigger mouth and even bigger ideas than Franklin Roosevelt, would win the 1936 presidential election. She often heard the senator talking on the radio about his plan to make every man a king, and she thought it was grand. If Senator Long was elected, he promised to limit rich people’s annual incomes to a million dollars. The government would take the rest and use the money to guarantee every family two thousand dollars a year and every person over sixty an old-age pension. Ophelia had declared that she was personally ready to cast her vote for Huey P. Long if President Roosevelt couldn’t get his social security program through Congress.

She and Sarah were halfway back to Darling and the turnoff to Camp Briarwood was in sight when Ophelia said, “I want to stop at the camp for a few minutes. I left some papers on my desk, and I need to take them home and work on them.” (That was what Charlie Dickens called her “cover story,” what she would say to anybody who happened to come into the office while she was getting the files that Charlie wanted.) She turned to glance at Sarah. “And you haven’t seen the camp yet, honey, or the building where I work. Let’s take a quick detour.”

“Do we have to?” Sarah asked, pouting. “Really, it’s too hot to be out driving around. I want to get home and show my swell new bathing suit to Connie. It’ll knock her eyes out.” She hugged the swimsuit sack. “The one her mother got her has a skirt on it. A ruffled skirt that comes halfway down to her knees. Of course Connie hates it.” Connie, who lived next door, was Sarah’s best friend.

Sarah was right about it being hot, Ophelia thought. She glanced up at the sky, which was clouding up. It looked like the weather forecast might be right. They might have rain, in which case they might have to move the picnic onto the back porch, if it didn’t come down too hard. Or indoors, if it did.

“We won’t be there very long,” she promised, making the turn. She shifted into second gear and headed down the bumpy graveled road that led to the camp, a mile away. She smiled over at Sarah. “Don’t pout, sweetie. Your face might get stuck that way, and then you won’t look very pretty in your red swimsuit. Which is going to turn your father a dozen shades of purple, you know. He would rather it had a skirt on it—all the way down to your ankles.”

That brought a giggle. “Poor Daddy,” Sarah said, rolling her eyes. “He is such an old fogy. What makes him be that way?”

“Love.” Ophelia reached out and patted Sarah’s arm. “He loves you, hon. He doesn’t want you to grow up and go away from home.”

Sarah was silent for a moment, looking out the window. “Daddy’s an old fogy about your job out here, too, isn’t he? I guess maybe he doesn’t want you to go away from home, either.”

Ophelia sighed. Sarah was an uncommonly perceptive young woman. She had sensed the tension that the Camp Briarwood job was creating in the family. Jed hadn’t been happy with the Dispatch job or the work in Mr. Moseley’s law office, but (as Ophelia had often pointed out), she was just a half block from the farm supply store and only a few blocks from home. Jed knew and liked Charlie and Mr. Moseley, he knew exactly where to find her, and she was always available to him and the children on a moment’s notice.