The Darling Dahlias and the Texas Star

And those five shiners? By Friday afternoon, all five—Mildred’s, Lizzy’s, Verna’s, Miss Dare’s, and Roger’s—were quite spectacular and sure to raise questions. But just before the party, Mildred had come up with a scheme. She cut up a piece of black cloth and made five eye patches, giving them the rakish look of pirates.

She also made five extras and persuaded Myra May, Raylene Riggs, Aunt Hetty, and Ophelia and Jed Snow to wear them. So there were ten people walking around with black eye patches, none of whom would offer a word of explanation (other than the expected “You should see the other guy”). The eye patches were a big mystery, and the other party guests seemed to be amused by it.

Halfway through the evening, Mildred announced the presentation of the beautiful Texas Star (Hibiscus coccineus, as Miss Rodgers’ would say), decorated with a big green bow. Lizzy did the honors, Miss Dare gave a polite acceptance speech, and everybody clapped. The next morning, the Texas Star was kind enough to go with a group of the Dahlias to the garden behind their clubhouse, where they planted the Hibiscus coccineus and put up a wooden sign, handpainted by Beulah herself, commemorating the grand occasion.

Charlie Dickens came to the ceremony to snap a couple of photographs for the newspaper, but he left as soon as he finished. He seemed silent and unusually out of sorts. He hadn’t come to the party, either. Lizzy privately wondered whether his mood had anything to do with the CLOSED sign on Fannie Champaign’s hat shop and the blinds that were drawn at Fannie’s windows in the flat above the store.

Aunt Hetty turned a page of her magazine. As if she had read Lizzie’s mind, she remarked, “Charlie Dickens could do with a slice of humble pie, too.”

“Why do you say that, Aunt Hetty?” Beulah asked. She dipped a fluff of cotton into the setting gel and began patting it along each curler, saturating Lizzy’s hair. She held the bowl close to Lizzy’s head to catch the drips.

“It’s because of the way Mr. Dickens behaved at the picture show with Miss Dare,” Bettina said severely. She tch-tched with her tongue. “Scandalous, if you ask me. And poor Miss Champaign sitting home all alone.”

“Does anybody know where she’s gone?” Lizzy asked. She closed her eyes as Beulah worked around her forehead with the setting lotion and the cotton. “I’m worried about her.”

“She has a sister in Miami and a cousin in Atlanta,” Bessie Bloodworth said. “She might have gone there.” She sighed. “I can’t believe that Charlie Dickens would act like such a louse. Why, he and Fannie were as good as engaged, from what I heard. Why did he do it?”

Nobody knew the answer. But that mystery was eclipsed by a much greater one, which had stunned everyone when they heard about it. It was Myra May Mosswell’s introduction of her mother, whose cooking was such a huge hit at the diner: Raylene Riggs, aka Ina Ray Mosswell.

“When I heard that,” Bettina said, combing Verna’s hair down in the back and trimming with her scissors, “you could have knocked me over with a feather. Imagine finding out that the cook you’ve just hired is really your long-lost mother!”

“Long dead mother,” Verna corrected her. “That’s what Myra May thought, anyway. That’s what her father told her—and the aunt who raised her.”

“What I don’t understand,” Lizzy said, “is why some of the older folks around town didn’t recognize her.”

“Charlie Dickens’ sister Edna Fay thought she looked familiar,” Verna said. “Myra May told me that. But she didn’t recognize her.”

Beulah set the lotion on the counter. “Of course,” she said, considering, “Ina Ray left Darling thirty-some years ago. It’s hard to remember what a person looks like if you haven’t seen her for thirty years.”

“Especially if your memory isn’t very good.” Bessie Bloodworth laughed a little. “Like mine.”

“Especially,” Bettina said, “if you think she’s been dead all that time.”

“Especially if her husband and her sister-in-law have both insisted that she’s dead,” Verna said. “Not once but dozens of times.”

“But you saw through all that, didn’t you, Aunt Hetty?” Lizzy said, catching Aunt Hetty’s glance in the mirror. “You recognized Ina Ray right off.”

“Not right off,” Aunt Hetty admitted, closing the magazine on her finger. “It took a minute. But the more I looked at that lady, the more like Myra May she looked, and then I had it. But of course, I had the advantage of knowing that Ina Ray wasn’t actually dead. Belle Mosswell confessed that to me years ago and made me swear never to let on. Poor Belle. She felt guilty about that lie right up to the day she died, but of course her brother made her do it.” Aunt Hetty narrowed her eyes. “Belle Mosswell never could stand up to that man—she let him walk all over her from the time they were children. I don’t blame Ina Ray for leaving. A pity she didn’t take her baby with her, but I understand. Times were hard back then, almost as bad as they are now.”