The Darling Dahlias and the Silver Dollar Bush

The Dahlias pulled in their breaths in a unanimous gasp of surprise, and Bessie said softly, “That does take the cake. You’d think she would stand by her husband, wouldn’t you?”


“Can’t say I’m surprised,” Earlynne said, reaching for another one of Bessie’s cookies. “Voleen Johnson has the backbone of a wet noodle. When her husband is arrested, she won’t be able to hold up her head in this town and she knows it.” She munched. “Bessie, these are the best sour cream cookies. I have to get your recipe.”

“Oh, dear,” Lizzy murmured. She had read Verna’s glance, and thought her friend might know more than she was saying. However, Verna had never much liked Voleen Johnson, who was a Dahlia in name only. She usually came to the meetings to cause trouble, rarely offered to roll up her sleeves and help on a workday, and was never, ever seen with a speck of garden dirt under her prettily manicured fingernails. The Johnsons lived in the biggest and fanciest house in town, and while they didn’t have as many servants as they used to, Voleen still had two maids and paid a colored gardener to take care of her garden, which included a large greenhouse full of exotic tropical plants. She loved white flowers and—thanks to that fabled greenhouse—saw to it that there was a big bowl of fresh, pure white blossoms in the lobby of the Darling Savings and Trust every morning. Her exotic blooms always took first place at the Cypress County Flower Show, which made some of the Dahlias grumble resentfully that she was taking unfair advantage of her . . . well, her advantages.

Lizzy hadn’t heard about Mrs. Johnson leaving town, and she immediately felt uneasy. Mr. Moseley always insisted that a person was innocent until he was found guilty by a jury of his peers, and even then, his conviction could be overturned on appeal. Guilty didn’t always mean guilty, in the long run.

But Lizzy knew the citizens of Darling well enough to know that the minute Mrs. Johnson climbed on that train, it was as good as a guilty verdict—and one that couldn’t be overturned on appeal. People would decide that she was leaving town because she knew her husband was guilty and she didn’t want to stay and face the music.

Aunt Hetty nodded regretfully. “I’m sorry to be the one to say it, but Voleen should have had better sense. People’s feelings are running high enough the way it is. Her leaving will just make a bad thing worse.”

It was certainly true that feelings in Darling were running high. Coming back from Lima’s Drugstore yesterday afternoon, Lizzy had overheard a conversation between two farmers who were standing out in front of the bank, glaring at the CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE sign. One of them had gritted his teeth and growled, “Bankers are the damnedest, rottenest liars on God’s green earth.”

And the other had nodded in agreement. “Goldurned shysters and thieves to boot. Somebody oughta take Johnson out behind the woodshed and teach him a thing or two.”

Bessie put her cup down. “Is Mr. Johnson still in jail, Liz?”

“I certainly hope so,” Earlynne said.

Lizzy hesitated. Because of Mr. Moseley’s gag rule, she didn’t feel right, talking about the matter. But what Bessie was asking was a public fact, yes or no. She could answer that, couldn’t she?

“No,” she said. “I mean, well, yes, it’s true that Sheriff Burns took him over to the jail last night, for a little while. But it’s not true that he was arrested. Mr. Moseley went over and had a talk with the sheriff and Mr. Johnson went home.”

She got up to give the rhubarb a good hard stir with the wooden spoon, feeling uncertain. Had she said too much? But Sheriff Burns wasn’t muzzled by Mr. Moseley’s gag rule. He would have told Mrs. Burns, who would have gone straight to the telephone to tell her daughter and her sister-in-law, who were both on the party line.