The Darling Dahlias and the Silver Dollar Bush

by Susan Wittig Albert

  “But there’s something wrong, Grady.” She was now thoroughly alarmed, and she could feel her heart beginning to pound. “Has somebody . . . died?”

  “You might say that,” he said, and his voice cracked. “But not exactly.” He cleared his throat and tried again. “I . . . I . . . Oh, God, Liz, I’d give anything on this earth if I didn’t have to tell you.”

  “Tell me what?” she cried, clenching her fists. “Grady, what’s wrong? Is it your mother? Is it—”

  “No, it’s me, Liz. It’s me, just me, nobody else. I’ve done something . . . really awful, and I have to pay the price. And that means that you and I . . . we can’t . . . we can never . . .” He stopped.

  Done something awful? Pay the price? It sounded as if he had been arrested and would spend the rest of his life in prison! Lizzy stared at him, perplexed.

  “We can never what?” she demanded. “What in the world are you talking about, Grady Alexander? Why don’t you just come out with it?”

  He dropped his face into his hands. His voice was so muffled that she had trouble making out the words.

  “. . . have to . . . don’t want to . . . hate like hell . . .”

  “Grady,” she said firmly. “I cannot hear a word with you talking that way. Now, sit up and look at me and say whatever you’ve got to say.” She sounded like a schoolteacher, she knew, but he was behaving like a schoolboy, when he needed to act like an adult.

  He looked up and the expression on his face hit her like an almost physical blow. “Liz, I . . . I have to get married.”

  She was nonplussed, then impatient and angry. “Grady, we have discussed this over and over. I am just not ready to get married. I don’t—”

  He shook his head from side to side, hard. “No. No, Liz.” His voice was savage. “Not to you. I can’t marry you. I’m marrying Sandra. Sandra Mann.”

  She stared at him, her heart thumping like a hot fist against her ribs. “You’re . . . getting married?” she asked incredulously. She swallowed, trying to make sense of this. “And who is . . . Sandra Mann? I know Twyla Sue and Archie Mann, of course, but I’ve never heard of your . . . fiancée.” It took every ounce of courage to say that last word.

  “She’s Archie’s niece,” he said flatly. “She lives over east of Monroeville, works at the grain elevator there. I . . . met her last fall. We’ve gone out together a few times.”

  Lizzy felt the way she did the time Lily Dare took her for a ride in her airplane and did a loop-the-loop. It was as if the bottom had just dropped out of the world and she wasn’t sure whether she was upside down or right-side up. She struggled to get her breath, to form words that made some sort of sense, but her lips were stiff and cold. Anyway, she couldn’t imagine what she was supposed to say in a situation like this. Congratulations, maybe? Or I hope you will be very happy.

  The silence seemed to stretch out like a rubber band. Just when it was about to snap, she managed to say something reasonably honest. “Grady, I don’t see how you can possibly marry a girl you’ve only gone out with a few times. I don’t understand—”

  And then she did.

  “Oh,” she said, in a small, thin voice. “This girl. Sandra. She’s . . . going to have a baby. And you have to do the right thing.”

  “Yes.” Grady clasped his hands, unclasped them. His face was gray, his mouth pinched. “I’m sorry. Oh, God, Liz, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to . . . It just happened . . .” He closed his eyes. “Oh, hell.”

  She looked away, biting her lip, thinking of those rubber things in his wallet and wondering why the girl . . . why Sandra hadn’t made him use one. Did she want to get pregnant? Had she deliberately trapped him? Or—

  She took a deep breath. Still not looking at him, she said, “You’re a hundred percent sure you’re the father, Grady?” The minute the words were out of her mouth, she was sorry. If he hadn’t thought of this himself, she had just planted a seed of suspicion that could doom whatever happiness he might have achieved. But he should have thought of it, shouldn’t he?

  He cleared his throat. “How can I . . . I mean, I guess I have to take her word for it. Don’t I?” It sounded like a genuine question, a possibility he hadn’t thought of until Lizzy asked, a possibility that raised an unexpected hope, like a life preserver thrown to a drowning man.

  “I didn’t think of that,” he said, his voice lightening. “Is there a way you can tell ahead of—”

  Then, realizing the futility, he drew back into himself. “No, I guess not. Anyway, it’s no use. It’s too late. The wedding is all set. It’s on Saturday.”

  “Saturday!” She felt as if a big fist had just knocked all the wind out of her. Grady was getting married on Saturday, and she could have prevented it so easily. All she’d had to do was say yes, or not say no, or say nothing at all, and they would have done it. She would have given herself to him there in the hot, sweet dark. And that would have been the end of the story. They would be getting married, she and Grady. There would be no Sandra, no hurry-up wedding.

  She raised her eyes to look at him. “Do you love her?”

  “Jeez.” His face was tired and drawn, and his eyes brightened with unshed tears. “How could I love her? I love you, damn it, Liz. But you—”

  He stopped, biting back the words. He didn’t say, “But you wouldn’t marry me.” He didn’t have to. Unspoken, they hung in the air like smoke, heavy with a sad significance, dark and dense with loss, until he exhaled a long, hopeless sigh and said simply, “I’m sorry.”

  Sorry sorry sorry. Such a little word, so frail, so desperately, hopelessly inadequate. Lizzy sat there for a moment, feeling utterly desolate, devastated, as if she were mourning a death. But to her enormous surprise, she suddenly understood that it wasn’t herself she mourned for, or even their relationship. She was mourning for Grady. She knew him, knew him too well. He would marry the girl and he would love her and their baby, because both love and marriage were right, and expected, and honorable.

  But somewhere deep down inside the loving and dutiful husband and father would be a dark, unhappy core. Grady would always hate himself for what he had done, and the hate would undermine whatever love had grown, like a river flood undercuts a grassy bank until it gives way and crumbles into the brown rushing water. Or maybe it wouldn’t happen that way. Maybe that dark core would grow cold, like a fire going out, the cinder growing dark and hard, and Grady would become resigned and acquiescent and even, eventually, accept what he had done

  But either way, both ways, that was what she mourned.

  Lizzy took a breath, and then another, nearly overwhelmed, not by what she had heard but by her new understanding. Did this—feeling sorry for Grady but not for herself—mean that she had not truly loved him?

  Or did it mean that she had loved him so much that she wanted only his happiness and well-being above all else, with no thought of her own?

  But she couldn’t begin to answer those questions—at least, not now.

  “I’m sorry, too,” she said. “So sorry, Grady.” She reached across the empty space between them for his hand. Sorry for you was what she meant, but she didn’t say that.

  He took her other hand then, and they sat, linked across the widening emptiness, two continents pulling apart, while the April twilight deepened outside the window and a mourning dove called sadly out of the shadows of the sycamore tree in the corner of Lizzy’s front yard.

  And then Grady dropped her hands. He stood and kissed her gently on the forehead and left.

  He didn’t say good-bye.

  SIX

  Twyla Sue Spreads the News

  Tuesday, April 11

  The announcement of Grady Alexander’s impending marriage sped around Darling as fast as a wildfire on a hot, windy day. And as might have been expected, Grady’s mother stayed indoors with the blinds down and a cold compress on her forehead, refusi
ng to speak of the wedding even to friends. Liz’s mother had nothing to say, either. She wasn’t answering the telephone.

  Since the bride-to-be lived more than twenty miles away, the news would not ordinarily have traveled through Darling with such an incendiary rapidity. But it happened that Sandra Mann’s uncle, Archie Mann, owned and operated Mann’s Mercantile, on the Darling courthouse square. Her aunt by marriage, Twyla Sue Mann, was a prominent Darling resident. Twyla Sue was understandably proud of Sandra for landing as fine a catch as Grady Alexander, even if it was a have-to case, which of course she didn’t mention when she announced the wedding to her many friends. They would have guessed, though. Brides-to-be preferred to leave at least three months of daylight between the engagement and the wedding, just so people wouldn’t draw the wrong conclusion. Regardless of the cause, a hastily scheduled ceremony always got folks’ attention.

  Beulah Trivette, owner of the Beauty Bower, heard the surprising news when Twyla Sue arrived on Tuesday morning for her regular shampoo and set. She was a stout lady with several chins, thinning hair, and a large brown mole beside her nose—one of Beulah’s more daunting challenges in the beauty department. She was lying back in the shampoo chair with her feet up on a stool and her head in the shampoo sink when she dropped the bombshell.

  Astonished, Beulah stopped right in the middle of a vigorous shampoo massage. “Grady Alexander?” She wasn’t sure she had heard right. “Your niece is marrying Grady Alexander?”

  “Archie’s niece,” Twyla Sue corrected primly, in her chirpy voice. “She may be a Mann, but she’s a beauty. You know the old saying. Girls are like peony plants—you can tell from the time they’re little whether they’re going to bloom or not. Sandra’s one of the bloomers, I’ve got to say—even if she ain’t but my niece by marriage.”

  Bettina Higgens, Beulah’s beauty associate, had just finishing shampooing Leona Ruth Adcock in the neighboring sink and was about to wrap her head in a towel. She turned sharply to stare at Twyla Sue. “You say she’s marrying Grady Alexander? But what about—”

  Bettina realized that Mrs. Adcock was all ears and bit back the question, but not quite in time.

  “Grady Alexander is gettin’ married?” Mrs. Adcock sat bolt upright, her gray hair hanging down like a wet floor mop. “But what about Liz Lacy? Why, her and Grady have been on the brink of gettin’ married for three or four years, according to their mamas.”

  Beulah’s heart sank. Leona Ruth was the biggest gossip in all of Darling. This juicy bit of information, true or not, would be the talk of the entire town by sunset. Liz would hear it and—

  “Well, I can’t say anything about Liz Lacy one way or t’other,” Twyla Sue replied, with as much dignity as could be reasonably summoned by a lady with her head in a shampoo sink and her eyes shut against splashes. “All I know is that my sister-in-law Louise—she’s Archie’s brother Amos’ wife—rang me up last night to tell me that their middle girl, Sandra, is tying the knot with Grady Alexander. Sandra just turned twenty last week. Louise says she’d rather they wait. But you know young people in love. They’re in a hurry.”

  Beulah did a quick calculation. Twyla Sue was on the party line that reached all the way out to the east end of Dauphin, on the south side of the street. Which meant that at least eight households already had the news, depending on who was home at the time and wasn’t too busy to get to the telephone. And if eight had the news and each one reached one (the way the revival preacher had told them they were supposed to do, to throw their sinful neighbors a lifeline to heaven), that made sixteen households. On the each-one-reach-one principle, it wouldn’t take more than a day for word to reach the farthest outposts of Cypress County.

  Bettina wrapped a towel turban-style around Leona Ruth’s head and helped her out of the chair. “Amos Mann,” she said. “Don’t believe I know him.”

  Leona Ruth bent over to pick up her black patent leather pocketbook from beside the shampoo chair. “When’s the weddin’?”

  “This coming Saturday,” Twyla Sue said. She didn’t open her eyes. “Two o’clock. Amos and Louise live over east of Monroeville, which is why you don’t know them, Bettina.”

  “Saturday.” Leona Ruth said in a meaningful tone. “So soon.”

  Twyla Sue went on cheerfully, just as if she hadn’t understood exactly what Leona Ruth meant by that remark. “Louise says Grady is as impatient as a kid. He’s already got the rings—bought ’em yesterday at Cromwell’s Jewelry, and Louise and Sandra are drivin’ down to Mobile today to get Sandra’s wedding dress. Louise said Sandra has saved up twelve dollars from her job at the grain elevator. They ought to be able to get a real nice dress for that. Shoes, too. You can’t have a nice dress without shoes.” She opened her eyes to look up at Beulah. “Maybe you better put on a double helping of that setting lotion of yours, Beulah, so the curl will hold over until the weddin’. Although humid as it is,” she added with a resigned sigh, “it probably won’t.”

  “I’ll do it,” Beulah agreed. “And I’ll send you home with a little bottle, so you won’t have to worry about it coming uncurled.” But at the mention of the rings and the wedding dress, her heart had sunk even further. Poor, poor Liz! When she heard, she would be devastated.

  Bettina hooked a hand under Leona Ruth’s bony elbow and turned her toward the hair-cutting stations. “You just go over there and have a seat in my chair, Miz Adcock. I’ll be with you in a shake.” To Twyla Sue, she said, “Where did you say they are holding the weddin’?”

  “I didn’t, but it’s at the Rocky Bottom Church of Christ. Preacher Jackson is doing the honors.” Twyla Sue folded her hands across her stomach. “Louise says it won’t be a big crowd. It’s just the families and closest friends.”

  On her way to the cutting chair, Leona Ruth harrumphed. “Just the families,” she repeated knowingly. “And such a hurry.”

  This time, Twyla Sue couldn’t ignore Leona Ruth’s remark. “Actually, it’s because money is so tight right now,” she replied defensively. “Louise said since it’s so far to drive, they didn’t feel they should invite folks to the wedding and not be able to invite them to the supper afterward. So it’s going to be small, and we’re all going to bring a dish for potluck.”

  “Which we all completely understand,” Beulah said soothingly. “It’s hard these days. We’re doin’ a bit of belt tightening at our house, too.”

  “Any word on where the newlyweds are setting up housekeeping?” Bettina asked. Normally, Beulah would have shushed her. Gossip might be a vital entertainment at the Bower (many clients came not just to get beautiful but to catch up on the news), but she didn’t believe that the beauty associates—she and Bettina—should participate. This time, however, she let Bettina’s question stand, since she wanted to hear the answer.

  “Louise says they’re looking at houses here in Darling, since it’s closer to where Grady works,” Twyla Sue replied. “Mr. Manning is showing them the Harrison place.” Joe Lee Manning was Darling’s biggest real estate dealer. “It’s been empty for a couple of years and needs a lot of work. But it’ll clean up nice, I’m sure.”

  The Harrison house, Beulah thought sadly, was just a block away from Liz’s sweet little cottage, which she was so proud of. She would have to see Grady’s house every day, as she walked to and from work.

  “Having them in town will give Mrs. Alexander heartburn, for sure,” Leona Ruth said with barely disguised satisfaction. Beulah remembered that Leona and Mrs. Alexander had had a serious disagreement last year about the way the Baptist church vacation Bible school was run.

  Sensing the problem, Bettina stepped behind Leona Ruth and gave her a little nudge. “Come on, Miz Adcock,” she coaxed. “Let’s get you started. You don’t want to spend all morning getting beautiful.”

  Leona Ruth could not resist another harrumph, and as she sat down in Bettina’s chair, Beulah heard her say, “I’m sure Mrs. Ale
xander must be spittin’ nails. Why, Grady must be all of thirty-five, and that girl has just turned twenty? Robbin’ the cradle, if you ask me.”

  Beulah turned on the faucet and began to rinse Twyla Sue’s hair. As a Dahlia and a friend of Liz Lacy, she couldn’t bring herself to believe that Grady had jilted Liz—who was smart and pretty and every inch a lady—for a girl just out of her teens who worked in a grain elevator over east of Monroeville. And a Mann, to boot! Not that the Manns weren’t perfectly good people, Beulah told herself hastily, because of course they were. Perfectly good.

  Except that Twyla Sue and Archie’s oldest boy, Leroy, was known to be running with French’s bank-robbing gang over in Georgia, and their youngest, Baby Mann, worked in Mickey LeDoux’s bootleg operation. Archie sold Mickey’s white lightning from behind the saddles in his tack room, which would probably be illegal even after Prohibition was repealed. And Archie himself had a volcanic temper and had served six months in jail down in Mobile for assaulting a peace officer.

  “Lucky it wasn’t six years,” Sheriff Roy Burns had allowed, and most of Darling agreed with him, especially since the Manns, as a family, had not been known to darken the door of a church for decades.

  Beulah was a loving, generous soul and tried not to judge lest she be judged, the way the Bible said. But she was perfectly aware that most Darling folks did a fair amount of judging. They would think less of Grady for marrying a Mann when he could have married Liz. They would also suspect, as Beulah did, that he wouldn’t be marrying anybody but Liz if he didn’t have to. He would be tarred with two brushes, so to speak, both at the same time. When the baby was born, people would count the months backward from the wedding date, and when they got to seven or maybe even six or five, the women would press their lips together and nod knowingly and the men would wink.