The Darling Dahlias and the Cucumber Tree

Maxwell Woodburn had no telephone, but Myra May was finally able to locate an address for him. He was very, very sorry when he learned about Bunny’s death. They had been corresponding for several years, he said, having met through the Baptist Sunday School Pen Pals list. He was a little surprised to hear that Bunny had been practicing her signature as Mrs. Maxwell Woodburn, for he was serving four years in the state penitentiary (he was truly a “pen pal,” he joked) and would not be able to marry anybody until he got out. But he appreciated the thought and wished that Bunny was still alive so he could tell her so.

Which leaves the mystery of Bessie Bloodworth’s ghost, the one she fired at with her twelve-gauge shotgun. Bessie was right, of course. The cloaked figure with the shovel was no ghost. He was Beatty Blackstone. He would not have revealed himself, except that he was wounded in his encounter with Bessie—not because she shot him (she really did shoot over his head when she discharged her gun) but because he somehow managed to slice his leg quite badly with the sharp edge of his shovel when he was trying to get away from Bessie’s twelve-gauge.

Beatty (who never liked to admit to weakness and didn’t like to spend money on doctors) put off treatment for several days. But when his leg became seriously infected and he could no longer walk, his wife Lenora insisted on taking him to the doctor. Doc Roberts scolded Beatty for not coming in earlier, then cleaned and stitched the wound and painted it with iodine. He had done all he could, he said, but Beatty would be lucky not to lose his leg. It was touch-and-go for a couple of days, but gradually the leg improved, and after a while, Beatty could get around again without too much trouble. But forever after, he walked with a limp.

This ghostly misadventure might not have come to light if it hadn’t been that Beatty, out of his head with pain, told Doc Roberts that he’d been injured when he was digging under the cucumber tree in Mrs. Blackstone’s garden. When Doc Roberts asked him why he was doing such an outlandish thing, Beatty, by that time rambling and incoherent, told him the whole story. Doc Roberts’ assistant, Maureen Wiggins, was helping the doctor sew Beatty up and overheard the tale.

Maureen told her mother-in-law, Leticia Wiggins, who had witnessed the ghost-bagging episode from the window of the Magnolia Manor.

Leticia told Bessie Bloodworth.

And Bessie told the Dahlias, when they met at the clubhouse the following Sunday afternoon.

“Dressed up like the Cartwright ghost!” Aunt Hetty Little exclaimed. “Why in the world?”

“And what was he looking for?” Earlynne Biddle wanted to know.

“He was looking for the Cartwright treasure,” Bessie explained. “Cornelia Cartwright’s mother’s family silver, which Cornelia buried in the garden when she thought that the Yankees were about to overrun the place and steal her blind.”

“I thought it was a baby she buried,” Mildred Kilgore said.

“She did bury her baby,” Bessie replied. “But she buried the silver, too.”

“But why was Beatty digging under the cucumber tree?” Lizzy asked, puzzled. “What made him think he’d find it there?”

“Because he had inherited a big box of papers from Mrs. Blackstone. Most of it was Blackstone family letters and diaries. But one of the items was a letter that Cornelia Cartwright wrote to Colonel Cartwright, telling him that the family silver was buried under their favorite cucumber tree. The poor woman died before the letter could be sent, and nobody ever saw it—until Beatty discovered it. He was hoping to find the Cartwright treasure.”

“Maybe that was why Beatty was looking at the plat books!” Verna exclaimed. “He must have been trying to determine the bounds of the property, to locate the tree.”

“Well, he obviously didn’t find the silver,” Myra May said. “Yesterday, his wife telephoned the grocery with an order. Mrs. Hancock reminded her that they owed four dollars, but Lenora said they could only pay half because it cost so much to doctor Beatty’s leg. If he had found what he was looking for, they’d have sold it to pay the bills.”

Aunt Hetty Little cleared her throat. “Speaking of paying bills,” she said, “we’d better talk about how we’re going to fix the roof on this house. We have a serious situation here, ladies. This afternoon, I mopped up a big puddle of water on the kitchen floor. That roof can’t wait”

“We could hold another plant sale,” Ophelia suggested hopefully.

“We only made two dollars and thirty-five cents at the last one,” Bessie replied. “It was a lot of work, too.”

“How about a rummage sale?” Mildred Kilgore asked.

“The Methodist ladies are planning two rummage sales this summer,” Beulah Trivette reported. “They wouldn’t take competition kindly.”

“We could raise the dues,” Mrs. Johnson proposed.

A collective sigh ran around the group and several shook their heads. But nobody could come up with any more ideas. Mrs. Johnson looked pleased.

“I move that we raise the dues,” she said.

“Let’s table that motion while we give the matter some more thought,” Aunt Hetty Little said, and the motion passed.