The Darling Dahlias and the Cucumber Tree

Mildred Kilgore. A collector of camellias, Mildred is married to Roger Kilgore, the owner of Kilgore Motors, and lives near the Cypress Country Club.

Aunt Hetty Little, oldest member of the club, town matriarch, and lover of gladiolas.

Myra May Mosswell, owner of the Darling Diner and an operator in the Darling Telephone Exchange. Lives in the flat over the diner.

Miss Dorothy Rogers, Darling’s librarian. Miss Rogers knows the Latin name of every plant and insists that everybody else does, too. Lives in Magnolia Manor.

Beulah Trivette, artistically talented owner/operator of Beulah’s Beauty Bower, where small groups of Dahlias gather almost every day.

Alice Ann Walker, bank cashier. Her husband, Arnold, is disabled.





ONE





The Dahlias in Full Bloom


Sunday, May 11,1930





Their new clubhouse, Lizzy thought proudly, as she called the meeting to order after their tour of the garden—although of course the house wasn’t new at all. It was the old Blackstone house at 302 Camellia Street, one block west of the courthouse square and one block south, next door to Bessie Bloodworth’s boardinghouse, Magnolia Manor. Mrs. Blackstone, a lifelong resident of Darling, had died a few months before at the grand age of eighty-two, leaving her house to the club, along with almost an acre of garden in the back, a half-acre vegetable garden in the adjoining lot, and two beautiful cucumber trees, one in front and one in back.

As usual, Lizzy started the meeting with the roll call. All twelve of their members were present on this special occasion. Since it was Sunday, the ladies were wearing their church outfits: summery flower-print cotton and crepe and rayon dresses with pretty collars of organdy and pique and dotted swiss and hats with ribbons and flowers. Their skirts were safely below their knees at last, now that the Roaring Twenties had stopped roaring. They were all very tired of the flapper look (especially since most of them had never been flappers) and ready for pleats and ruffles and those cute, perky angel bell sleeves that were (as Ophelia Snow put it) the very dickens to iron. Myra May was the only exception to the summer-dress rule. As usual, she wore trousers, light-colored, with a leather belt and tailored blouse.

After the roll call, Lizzy moved quickstep through Ophelia’s minutes (adopted, with a correction by Earlynne Biddle, who wanted it known that she had donated a book to the club library) and Verna Tidwell’s treasurer’s report (five dollars and fifty-two cents in the kitty). Bessie Bloodworth reported on the upcoming plant sale, which would be held the next Saturday at the Curbside Market on the courthouse square, and answered people’s questions about where to go and what to bring. She also invited people to volunteer for garden cleanup, which (as they could see from their tour) was going to be a big job. They would need all the help they could get.

Next, Lizzy took up the most important item of business, which was renaming their club in honor of their founder and benefactress, Mrs. Dahlia Blackstone. Henceforth and forever, they would be known as the Darling Dahlias, and their clubhouse would be called the Dahlia House. Ophelia Snow made the motion, Verna Tidwell seconded it, and there was a loud chorus of ayes.

“Which is good,” Lizzy said with satisfaction, “because Beulah has already painted our new sign. It’s leaning up against the tree for now, but we thought we’d have a little ceremony.” She reached for her Kodak. “Why don’t we go outside and I’ll take a picture for Friday’s column.”

For the last five years, Lizzy had written the “Garden Gate” column for the Darling Dispatch, which was edited and published by Charlie Dickens. The paper came out every Friday morning—unless there was a problem with the printing press, in which case it might be Saturday or even Monday, since Charlie would have to send down to Mobile for parts, and the parts would have to come back to Darling on the Greyhound bus. Lizzy loved writing the column, but she had a full-time job as secretary in Mr. Moseley’s law office and had to do it after hours, on the Underwood typewriter at work. She never ran out of things to put in her column, though. There was always something pretty in bloom or something interesting going on in somebody’s garden.