The Darling Dahlias and the Confederate Rose

“I know what normal is,” Lizzy said, offering the plate of Roseanne’s cookies to Verna. “It’s sitting here with my best friends in the whole world, drinking tea and eating cookies, waiting for a storm to blow over.”


“Afraid we’ll have to wait a good long time for this storm to blow over,” Verna remarked as she took a couple of cookies. Lizzy guessed that she wasn’t talking about the rain that was beginning to lash furiously at the kitchen window. Verna was thinking about whatever was bothering her. Or about the dismal things that were happening around the country—people losing their jobs, families losing their homes, old folks losing their savings. Children going hungry, lots of people going broke. Hard times.

If that’s what it was, Lizzy had to agree with Verna’s gloomy assessment. As Mr. Moseley’s secretary, she met plenty of folks who had gotten themselves into some kind of financial trouble and needed a lawyer to help them get out. These days, it seemed like most people’s troubles occurred because they were trying to hold on to what they had or get what they needed, and they hadn’t gone about either in the right way. Mr. Moseley had recently agreed to represent (pro bono, without a fee) a fourteen-year-old vagrant from New Jersey who had ridden a Louisville & Nashville freight into town. The boy was accused of stealing five green peaches from Earl Ayers’ peach orchard, out on Pascagoula Road. Mr. Ayers was extremely proud of his prize-winning peaches (most of which—as everybody in Darling very well knew—went to making bootleg peach brandy, a local favorite). He pressed charges against the boy for theft. The case looked like a winner for the prosecution, and it was expected that the thief would get at least thirty days in jail.

But Mr. Moseley had pointed out that there were usually about sixty-five peaches in a bushel of Mr. Ayers’ finest early variety, and that the current market rate was one dollar and forty-two cents per bushel.

“Which means, Your Honor,” he said to the judge (old Judge McHenry, who was known to have a very hard heart), “that each one of Mr. Ayers’ splendid peaches—even when they are ripe and juicy—is worth just a little over two cents. Which further means that the three green peaches that poor, hard-luck kid ate and the two he stuffed into his overall pockets are worth a dime.” He fished in his pocket and pulled out a coin, holding it up. “One dime, Your Honor. One thin silver dime, for five green peaches. Why, you couldn’t pay me to eat five green peaches for a dime. For a dollar, either.” He paused, scratching his head. “Way things are, though,” he allowed, “I might do it if you gave me five.”

A ripple of laughter had run around the courtroom. Old Judge McHenry had no doubt intended to throw the book at the boy. But he probably felt he’d look pretty silly if he did, so he directed Mr. Ayers to let the criminal work off his crime rather than going to jail.

At which point Mr. Moseley reminded the court that Mr. Ayers paid his peach-pickers a dollar a day for ten hours’ work. At this rate, the boy ought to be sentenced to work for an hour. Which the youngster did, then hopped the next outbound freight.

Afterward, Mr. Ayers, highly incensed, had come over to the law office and threatened to get even with Mr. Moseley for making him look bad. That’s what things were coming to these days. Lizzy thought that Verna was right: it would be a long time before this storm would blow over and people got back to normal. Which in Darling meant being nice to one another again.

“Well,” Bessie said with her usual stout common sense, “storms come and storms go.” She looked up at the ceiling and raised her voice triumphantly over the sound of the rain pounding on the roof. “But you can rain as hard as you want to. Y’hear? We’ve fixed the roof! We don’t have to worry about leaks.”

When the Dahlias had inherited Mrs. Blackstone’s old house, the garden wasn’t the only thing that had been in need of some tender loving care—and a sizeable investment of money, as well. The old shingle roof on the house had been in such terrible shape that the Dahlias kept busy emptying buckets every time it rained. And the plumbing was even worse. They couldn’t flush without fear of overflowing, so they couldn’t flush at all. Until they could afford to get the toilet fixed, Bessie had invited them to use the Magnolia Manor bathroom next door. Afford to get it fixed? They were delighted to have Mrs. Blackstone’s house, but there wasn’t a penny for huge expenditures like roofing and plumbing.