The Darling Dahlias and the Texas Star

“Not if all the Dahlias show up for work on Friday afternoon,” Aunt Hetty said. She might be eighty years old, but she was well-organized and had a reputation for getting things done. “The Kentucky Wonders really took off and there are a lot of green beans to pick. There’ll be several bushels of sweet corn, as well as tomatoes, okra, eggplants, and squash—not to mention the watermelons. Lucy Murphy volunteered to load it all into that old Buick of Ralph’s and cart it off to the fairgrounds. Ralph has been laid up with a bad back, but if he’s able, Lucy volunteered him to set up shelves in the tent for our boxes and baskets and such.”


Everybody had to chuckle at that, for they all knew that, in spite of being young and pretty, Lucy wore the pants in the Murphy family. Bad back or not, Ralph would be setting up the shelves—and his two teenaged sons (by the first Mrs. Murphy) would be lending him a hand. The second Mrs. Murphy would see to it or know the reason why.

“I’ll ask Myra May to call the members and remind them of the picking party on Friday afternoon,” Lizzy said, making a note. Myra May and her friend Violet Sims owned the Darling Diner and were half owners of the Darling Telephone Exchange (with Whitey Whitworth, who owned the other half). Myra May was the communications chairwoman for the club, and whenever there was telephoning to do, she took care of it. Since many of the members were on party lines, a few calls went a long way toward bringing everyone up to date.

“I ran into Bessie Bloodworth at Mann’s Mercantile this morning,” Mildred put in. She sipped her lemonade. “She said she made an extra dozen half-pint jars of strawberry jam just for our booth. She’ll bring them on Saturday morning.”

“Oh, wonderful!” Aunt Hetty exclaimed. “People are crazy for Bessie’s strawberry jam.” She made a note on her notepad. “Does anybody know whether Obadiah Carlson has got enough watermelons to give us some?” Every year, the Watermelon Festival offered all the free watermelon that festival-goers could eat. It was Aunt Hetty’s job to round up the watermelons.

“I saw him at the courthouse yesterday and he said he’d bring a couple dozen,” Lizzy replied. “And Alice Ann says her Arnold has a wagonload for us, if somebody’ll come and get them.”

“Mr. Norris told me he’d bring a wheelbarrow full,” Verna chimed in. “His patch is in the field behind my house. He’s got some good-looking melons.” She grinned. “He was out there last night with his shotgun, threatening to pepper the backsides of a couple young kids he caught raiding.”

“If they’ll just wait a few days, they’ll get all the watermelon they want for free,” Aunt Hetty said tartly, adding Obadiah Carlson, Arnold Walker, and Mr. Norris to her watermelon list. “Everybody, if you hear about any more contributions, please let me know. One thing’s for sure, we don’t want to run out. That would be almost as bad as running out of hot dogs.” She scowled. “Or the Ferris wheel breaking down again.”

“Neither of which is going to happen as long as the Dahlias are in charge,” Lizzy said, but with greater conviction than she felt. For some reason—or for no reason at all, she didn’t know which—she was apprehensive about the festival. Something always happened, like Mrs. Peabody’s broken nose. What would it be this year?

She pushed away the worry. “Now, let’s go down this list of chores. Aunt Hetty, you’re done.” She put a checkmark by the first item. “I’m doing publicity. I guess you’ve all seen the articles in the Dispatch.” Lizzy was the right person for this job, since she wrote a garden column for the Darling newspaper and found it easy to write up the publicity for the festival. “I’ve also sent announcements to the Monroe Journal and the Mobile Register,” she added.

Mobile was two hours away by car, but city folks might like to make a day of it at a country festival—especially with this year’s big attraction. In addition, Charlie Dickens, the Dispatch editor and proprietor of the town’s printing shop, had printed up fifty fliers announcing the festival and Lizzie paid Old Zeke fifty cents to put them up all over town and out at the Dance Barn on Briarwood Road, and the Watering Hole. Because of the very special event, they were hoping to attract the biggest crowd ever.

“Verna, what about you?” Lizzy asked, going to the next item. “Have you made the arrangements for the tents?”

Verna was responsible for making sure that the tents and booths were set up and ready for their occupants. She also had to manage the tickets, and supervise the volunteers who cleaned up the fairgrounds after the weekend was over. Altogether, this was a big job, but Verna was the acting county treasurer, the first woman ever to hold that position in Cypress County. She was good at getting things done because she was the one who knew where the bodies were buried. She didn’t have to say one single word: she just looked at people with those dark, searching eyes of hers and they decided they’d better do whatever they were supposed to do, right now.

“The tents are supposed to arrive on Wednesday afternoon by train,” Verna said, “from the rental agency in Mobile that supplied them last time. The guys from the Masonic Lodge are setting them up on Friday morning. The Chamber of Commerce will be manning the ticket booth, starting Friday evening. I think we’re all set.”