The Darling Dahlias and the Eleven O'Clock Lady

Charlie shook his head, now feeling entirely in the dark. “I don’t understand, Fannie. Why was this girl going to give us her baby?”


“Because.” Fannie’s eyes were bright with tears. “Because she didn’t want a baby, and I do.”

And all of a sudden, the light dawned. Like any couple about to be married, he and Fannie had talked about having a family. But Fannie had told him, tearfully, that this was out of the question for her; if he wanted children, he would have to find another wife. Charlie hadn’t asked for the details, so he didn’t know why this was true. But to tell the honest truth, he was just as glad. He was old enough to be somebody’s grandfather. All he knew about little babies was that they cried a lot and monopolized their mother’s attention and created mountains of dirty diapers. Having been perfectly happy as a career bachelor for over two decades, he wasn’t eager to take on a young family. And anyway, he didn’t want another wife, he wanted Fannie, and there was nothing more to be said. In fact, he had thought the question was firmly settled, so this confession—she didn’t want a baby, and I do—was . . . well, it was baffling, that’s what it was.

He frowned, not sure what to ask next. “So what kind of arrangements did you make with her?”

She half turned away. “She had been to a doctor in Monroeville, Dr. DuBois. She needed to pay his bill. She was going to need money for the hospital, of course, and a train ticket, and money to start a new life—somewhere else, which I thought was a good idea. I didn’t want to risk her seeing the baby, our baby, and deciding that she wanted to take him back. Or her.” She pressed her lips together, and Charlie saw how close she was to tears. “So I . . . I gave . . .” She couldn’t finish the sentence.

“So you gave her money,” Charlie said gently. “How much?” After a moment, he added, not quite so gently: “And when were you going to tell me about . . . this new addition to our family?”

Fannie bit her lip. “I was waiting for the right moment. I thought. . . I was hoping that when you saw how happy it made me, you would . . . well, soften toward the idea.” She paused. Not looking at him, she added, in a low voice, “I gave her a hundred and twenty-five dollars. She said she would probably need another hundred and fifty or two hundred.” She swallowed. “I know it’s a lot of money, but I’d just gotten a check from Lilly Daché, and I . . . well, I cashed it and gave her what she needed.”

Charlie was stunned. A hundred and twenty-five was more than he made in two months, and Fannie had just handed it over, with no assurance that Rona Jean would keep her end of the bargain. No wonder she hadn’t wanted to tell him. It wasn’t just the baby. It was the money she had paid for it.

“Did you mention anything about this to anybody else?” he asked.

Fannie shook her head. “Why?”

Charlie could think of all kinds of reasons, but he settled for one. “Because I’m not sure that it’s legal to buy a baby in the state of Alabama.”

“I didn’t buy a baby.” Fannie swallowed hard. “Rona Jean didn’t want to be a mother. She wouldn’t have been a good mother, Charlie, and the baby would have no father. I knew we could give it a home—a good home.”

“You paid for the child, Fannie. How could you be sure that she wouldn’t just take the money and—”

“Please stop,” Fannie said despairingly. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Rona Jean is dead, and the baby’s dead, too. And I wanted the baby!” She dropped her face into her hands and began to cry. Charlie got up from his chair, went around the table, and leaned against her back, wrapping his arms around her and resting his cheek on her hair.