The Darling Dahlias and the Confederate Rose

But then—hallelujah and praise the Lord!—they had unearthed a buried cache of family silver, hidden by Mrs. Blackstone’s mother to keep it from falling into the greedy hands of the damn Yankees as they stormed through Alabama near the end of the War Between the States. With the silver, they had found an emerald bracelet, a pair of pearl earrings, a diamond ring, and a velvet bag containing ten gold double eagles that were worth a great deal more than their twenty-dollar face value. The lucky find brought enough to fix the leaky roof and repair the plumbing, with some left over in what Lizzy called the club’s “Treasure Fund.”


Ophelia gave Verna a small smile. “Or to put it a different way,” she said, “there’s always a silver lining to every dark cloud. All we have to do is look for it.”

“And if there isn’t,” Verna replied with a shrug, “you’ll get a bucket of silver paint and slap it on. Ophelia, you are the very most optimistic person I have ever met.” Seeing that she had hurt her friend’s feelings, she softened her tone. “Not that it’s bad to be hopeful, of course. I’m sorry. I apologize.”

Ophelia looked down. “I do try to look on the bright side,” she said, her voice thin and strained. “But sometimes it’s hard.” She swallowed. “To tell the honest truth, Jed says things aren’t looking real good where the Farm Supply is concerned. So I’m a little concerned.”

Lizzy looked at her friend in surprise. Ophelia usually kept her family finances to herself, even when others were discussing theirs. She must really be worried about the situation. But worrying didn’t do any good, of course. Like other businesses in Darling—Hancock’s Groceries and Musgrove’s Hardware and the Kilgore Dodge dealership—Snow’s Farm Supply depended on local trade. If people didn’t have money in their pockets, they couldn’t spend it. And if they couldn’t spend it, the businesses went broke. Already, one of the two printing companies in town had closed, and places like Mann’s Mercantile were cutting back on employees. Of the businesses on the town square, only the diner and the Palace Theater were thriving. It seemed that people could usually find thirty-five cents for a plate of ribs and a piece of pie or a quarter to see a romantic comedy and laugh away their worries for an evening.

“I don’t reckon we’re any different than anybody else in Darling, though,” Ophelia went on bravely. “Everybody seems to be having trouble making ends meet these days.” She straightened her shoulders and put on a quavering smile. “But we’ll get through. It helps to know that we’re not the only ones.”

Lizzy patted Ophelia’s hand, knowing what it took for her friend to confess her family’s troubles. “We’re always glad for your optimism, Opie,” she said. “If it weren’t for you, we’d probably all be as gloomy as Verna.”

“I’m not gloomy,” Verna protested. “I’m just realistic, that’s all. I’m pragmatic. I think we should all get down and dirty with the truth. If we’ve got to deal with a problem, it’s better to know exactly what it is than to try to cover it up or pretend it doesn’t exist.” Lizzy thought Verna sounded determined, and wondered if she was thinking about the thing that was worrying her, whatever it was. Maybe she would say something more.

But Verna only handed Ophelia the plate of cookies. “Here, Opie. Have another one. It’ll make you feel better. Cookies always do the trick.”

“Thank you,” Ophelia said in a small voice, and took a cookie.

Putting down the plate, Verna narrowed her eyes. “Wait a minute,” she said, cocking her head. “Did I just hear a drip?”

“It can’t be,” Bessie exclaimed. “We have a new roof!”

“You’re hearing things, Verna,” Ophelia said. “Or imagining them.”

“I know a drip when I hear one,” Verna said flatly. “And that’s a drip.”

Lizzy looked up. It was still raining but the wind had calmed a little and the thunder was moving to the east. The storm was rapidly blowing over. But there was no mistaking the plink-plank-plunk that they could all hear very plainly now.

Dismayed, she looked toward the stove, where the worst of the leaks had been before the roof was repaired. And there it was. A puddle of rainwater on their new blue and white kitchen linoleum.

“It’s a drip, all right,” she said.

As if to prove the point, three more plinks followed in quick succession.

“That’s not fair!” Ophelia wailed. “How much did we pay Mr. Carlson to put on our new roof?”

“Enough so it shouldn’t be leaking again,” Verna replied bleakly.

“It never rains but it pours,” Bessie said sadly, shaking her head. “I hope it’s not an omen.”

But it was. The Dahlias didn’t know it, but things were going to get worse before they got better.

Much, much worse.





TWO

Verna



The storm had indeed blown over by the time the Dahlias left for home, and as Verna and Ophelia walked together down Rosemont, they were treated to the beautiful sight of gardens after the rain. Diamond drops sparkled amid the blossoms of dogwoods and crabapple and the floppy pink and white blooms of cabbage roses and peonies hanging heavy with wet.