Miss Dimple Rallies to the Cause

by Mignon F. Ballard

  Sebastian Weaver had been gone only a minute or two when he reappeared with a handful of letters. “The mail just came, so I thought I’d bring it in,” he said, depositing the small stack by Phoebe’s plate.

  Annie jumped to her feet. “Oh, is there anything for me?”

  “Just some old letter from a Cadet Frazier Duncan, but you wouldn’t be interested in that,” Geneva, looking over Phoebe’s shoulder, pretended to toss it aside.

  Miss Dimple received a letter from her brother, Henry, and Velma, one from her sister in Augusta. Charlie finished her dessert and excused herself from the table, intending to wait on the porch for Annie to read her letter before walking back to school together, but Phoebe brushed suddenly past her, dropping several pieces of mail in her hurry.

  Charlie stooped to collect what appeared to be a water bill, a postcard from a former roomer who had moved away, and an advertisement from Rich’s department store in Atlanta. “Wait, Miss Phoebe. You dropped something!” she called after her.

  But her hostess had already disappeared down the hall to the back of the house, and there was only one word for the look on her face. Fear.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Dimple Kilpatrick seldom worried. It did no good to dwell on conditions one could not change, but if there was something she could do to improve a situation, she believed in doing what her father had referred to as “stepping up to the plate.”

  When the other teachers left for school after the midday meal that day, Miss Dimple gathered up her leather handbag decorated with colorful yarn flowers, along with her umbrella, just in case she spied litter along the way, and left them in Phoebe’s front parlor. According to the porcelain clock on the mantel, she had more than enough time to get back to school before the first bell rang.

  And then she made her way down the long hallway, knocked on Phoebe Chadwick’s bedroom door, and “stepped up to the plate.”

  * * *

  Phoebe opened her door only a few inches to see who was standing there, but it was enough for Dimple to notice the woman had been crying, and although she quickly brought up a hand to hide her mouth, it wasn’t soon enough to conceal her quivering lips.

  Dimple spoke softly and calmly, as she would to a sobbing first grader. “Phoebe, dear, I don’t mean to intrude, but it’s obvious that you’re upset, and I want to help if I can. You haven’t received bad news about Harrison, have you?”

  Phoebe shook her head silently, but she didn’t step back and continued to hold the door barely open. Miss Dimple didn’t see how the young man could be in danger this soon after his induction into the service, but casualties didn’t just happen on the battlefield. Also, she doubted if Phoebe had a chance to read the contents of a letter before she ran from the room. Yet something had arrived in the mail that day to cause her friend such distress, and it had to have been something she would immediately recognize as trouble.

  It was obvious that Phoebe wasn’t going to confide in her or invite her into her room, and Dimple Kilpatrick wasn’t the barging-in type. She stepped back to assure Phoebe of that. “We’ve been friends for a long time, and I hope you know you can count on me—” she began.

  Phoebe fumbled for a handkerchief and blew her nose. “Thank you, but I’m all right, really. Must’ve eaten something that upset my stomach.”

  Then we all did, Dimple thought, since everyone at the table had eaten the same thing, but she only smiled and said she hoped her friend would soon be feeling better. Phoebe thanked her and closed the door, but not before Dimple saw the envelope on the table behind her, and that it didn’t have an address on the front at all—only a name.

  * * *

  Josephine Carr and her sister, Louise, along with their neighbor Bessie Jenkins and several others from the area, worked three days a week at the ordnance plant in Milledgeville, where munitions were processed for the war, and Charlie knew if her mother wasn’t there when she got home after school on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, she had probably stopped off at her aunt Lou’s.

  That afternoon she found the two of them in her aunt’s kitchen drinking iced tea and nibbling on something that smelled heavenly.

  “Spiced icebox cookies,” Aunt Lou explained as Charlie sniffed her way into the room. She offered a heaping plate. “Made with molasses and a little brown sugar. I thought I’d give them a try. Might make some for that little party we’re giving for the McGregors next month.”

  “Mmm … good!” Charlie reached for another. Unlike her sister, Jo, Lou Willingham was a fantastic cook, and Charlie managed to stop in for a visit and a snack as often as possible.

  “Did you get the cologne for Bessie?” her mother asked. Their neighbor was celebrating her birthday the next day, and Jo had invited her to join them for supper.

  Charlie patted her handbag. “They only had one bottle left at Lewellyn’s.” Bessie was fond of Yardley’s Old English Lavender and had hinted to Jo that she was almost out. “Sometimes it makes me feel kinda funny to go in there,” she added. “I can still see Daddy in the back filling prescriptions with Phil.” Her father, Charles Carr, and Philip Lewellyn had been partners in the local drugstore before he died of a heart attack when Charlie was in high school.

  Her mother nodded. “I know. I just try not to think about it.”

  “So, what’s going on at school, Charlie?” Lou Willingham, noticing, no doubt, the look of sadness on her sister’s face, poured a glass of tea for Charlie and replenished the others. “I know you must’ve picked up some news at Phoebe’s.”

  Charlie smiled. If her aunt didn’t know about something, it probably hadn’t happened. She told them how Miss Dimple had set Lily Moss straight about the womanless wedding. “And guess who’s going to be the groom? Harris Cooper!”

  Her aunt laughed. “At least he won’t have to wear a dress. I guess I’d better dust off Ed’s old tuxedo since he’s to be father of the bride. I hope he can still get in it.”

  “Annie tells me she tried to bribe Willie Elrod into being the flower girl,” Charlie said. “Told him he could be the pitcher for a whole month when they choose teams for softball during recess, but Willie said he’d rather wrestle an alligator than wear a dress! Heck, he usually ends up pitching anyway.” She shrugged. “They’ll probably have to use one of the younger boys who hasn’t started school yet.”

  “Has Phoebe heard any more from her niece’s son, Harrison?” Jo asked. “I understand she took it pretty hard when the boy was drafted. He can’t be more than eighteen.”

  “Nineteen, I believe,” Charlie said. “Too young, but then so many of them are. She hasn’t mentioned him lately, but something came in the mail today that seemed to upset her a lot.”

  Lou frowned. “Do you know what it was?”

  “She left the room in a hurry, and I didn’t know quite what to do. I think she just wanted to be left alone.” Charlie sipped her tea and made a face. “Ugh! Is there saccharin in here?”

  “Well, there is a war on, you know,” her aunt reminded her, but she smiled when she said it. People used the expression so much it had become sort of a joke to help ease the reality that, because of the war, scarcity was a fact of life.

  “I remember when Phoebe married Monroe Chadwick,” Lou said. “It was the first big wedding we’d ever been to—I must’ve been about sixteen. Her gown was made of Brussels lace, and her hat looked like it had yards and yards of tulle on it. I thought she looked like a princess!”

  “I’ll never forget it,” Jo said. “Phoebe told me later that her mother had made that dress. Like most of us she came from a family of modest means.”

  Her sister snorted. “I don’t think Phoebe ever felt accepted by Monroe’s clan.”

  “Isn’t that Monroe Chadwick’s brother who owns the bank?” Charlie asked.

  Her aunt made a face. “Hubert. Heart as cold as a well digger’s butt.”

  “Louise!” Jo gasped. “What would Mama say if she could hear you talk like that?”

  Louise
Willingham laughed. “I reckon she’d say I sounded just plain common, but it’s the truth, and you know it, Jo. Both Hubert Chadwick and that wife of his act like the Baptist church would dissolve into dust if they weren’t there every time the doors open.”

  Charlie reached for another cookie. “I can’t imagine why anyone wouldn’t love Phoebe,” she said.

  “Oh, well, they supposedly have important relatives in Atlanta—a judge or something,” her mother explained. “Served in the state legislature for several years.”

  “Monroe was into politics, too,” Lou said. “Lord, he was mayor here forever, and ran for Congress a couple of times, remember? I never understood what Phoebe saw in him. Always seemed a bit of a stuffed shirt to me. And now I hear Hubert’s son—you know, the tall one with the receding chin—is thinking of running for governor.”

  “Phoebe’s been a widow almost ten years, hasn’t she?” Jo said. “I thought maybe she’d marry again, but she never seemed interested in anybody else.”

  “Too bad they never had children. She should’ve had a houseful,” Charlie said. “She absolutely dotes on Harrison.”

  “She was that way about his mother, too—her sister’s daughter. Remember Kathleen, Jo? I always thought she was such a pretty child. Her mother used to bring her here for visits in the summers, and Phoebe would always entertain for them.”

  “I don’t suppose we heard from your brother today,” Jo asked her daughter as she glanced at the clock and gathered up her belongings.

  “You know I would’ve brought it along if we had,” Charlie said. “And we did get a long letter from him last week.”

  “But that was last week.” Josephine Carr knew all too well that during wartime, a lot could happen in a week. “Anything from Will or Ned?”

  Charlie shook her head. She and her sister raced to the mailbox every day for news from Delia’s young husband, Ned, who was serving in Italy, and Will Sinclair, whose greatest fear was that the war would be over before he completed his training as a fighter pilot.

  * * *

  Annie was onstage with the fifth- and sixth-grade girls when Charlie arrived at the high school auditorium for rehearsals that Friday night. In fact it seemed that all of those involved in the entertainment were present on time and had been marked accordingly by Emmaline, who sat in the front row, notebook in hand. It was surprising what fear could do to a person, Charlie thought as she slipped into a seat to wait until she was called. She, Delia, Millie, and Geneva were to portray fairy-tale characters in a brief sketch, and she hoped they would be able to run through their part soon, as she had a stack of papers to grade when she got home.

  “I guess we’d better take a few minutes to look over these posters the children made, as I know Buddy wants to get them circulated,” Delia whispered to Emmaline during a lull in the rehearsals. Most of the contestants had colored or painted their entries on pieces cut from cardboard, and Buddy Oglesby had stored them as neatly as possible in a box beside the stage.

  “I have already made my selection, and I’m sure you’ll agree it’s the best one by far,” the woman replied.

  Delia exchanged glances with Millie, who stated calmly that she was sure the poster was good, but preferred to make that judgment for herself.

  “Go on then,” Emmaline said with a wave of her hand. “See for yourself, but I’m sure you’ll find I’m right.”

  “Oh, dear Lord, help them!” Geneva, sitting beside Charlie, muttered under her breath as the other two judges took the box of posters to the other side of the aisle and began to go through them. Charlie darted a look at her uncle Ed, the father of the bride, who sat behind her and bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud. Thank goodness she hadn’t agreed to help with the judging!

  As soon as the younger girls left, Emmaline called for the cast of the womanless wedding, and Bessie Jenkins, tape measure dangling, did her best to outfit them all. Cast-off evening gowns had been donated by some of Elderberry’s older (and larger) matrons, and four of the bridesmaids lined up to see if any of them would fit. Everyone laughed as the Presbyterian minister held up a ruffled pink organdy; Reynolds Murphy slipped into a gold taffeta number with billowing skirt, and Froggie Faulkenberry struggled into an apple green gown with a huge purple sash. The new coach, Jordan McGregor, flushed as Bessie pinned him into a pastel flowered dimity with flowing sleeves, and confessed that he’d made a promise to the players on his team. “If they can get up there and dance, I guess I can be part of the wedding party,” he admitted.

  Bessie peered over her bifocals into the audience. “We’re missing a fifth bridesmaid. Isn’t there supposed to be another?”

  “Here I am. Sorry I’m late, but I couldn’t get away from work.” The voice came from the back of the auditorium, and Charlie turned to see a man she didn’t recognize approaching the stage. Annie, who had slipped into the seat beside her, gasped.

  “What? Do you know him?” Charlie whispered, but Buddy took that opportunity to remind everyone to help get posters up as soon as possible. “We have less than three weeks before the rally, and if anyone wants to buy tickets in advance, they’ll be on sale at the library.”

  Emmaline shooed the newcomer onto the stage to be measured while at the piano Sebastian Weaver ran through a few bars of “The Wedding March.” “Try to be on time from now on,” she commanded. “Can’t have you holding up the wedding, you know.”

  The man looked as if he wanted to say something else, but he took a deep breath instead and told Emmaline he would do the best he could, but in his line of work, the job had to come first.

  “Oh, I know who you are. You’re one of the deputies who works for Sheriff Holland.” One of the high school girls called out from the wings, where the group had been waiting to practice their dance. “Did they ever find out who that woman was who was buried out there?”

  Her dance partner spoke up before the deputy could answer. “Aw, she was probably just one of those tramps that come through here. I don’t reckon they’ll ever learn who she was.”

  “That’s not true!” Buddy Oglesby, his face red, threw his notes to the floor and jumped from the stage.

  “Hey! Wait a minute!” the deputy yelled. “If you can identify that person, you should notify the sheriff.”

  “Maybe he put her there,” someone said.

  Buddy looked about, his face grim. “No. I’m not the one who did that, but I can imagine who did,” he told them before walking up the long aisle and out the door in silence.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Something was going on. He just knew it. The signs were there, but he didn’t dare mention it or he’d start another war, and he couldn’t bear that. Just this once, maybe he was wrong … maybe things would be different. Life was full of maybes, and he could hope, couldn’t he?

  * * *

  “Can I offer you ladies a ride?”

  The truck slowed alongside them as Charlie, Delia, and Annie walked home from rehearsals, and Charlie, recognizing the driver, waited for Annie to respond.

  “Thanks, but it’s not that far and we need the exercise,” Annie said, walking a little faster.

  “Are you sure?” Deputy H. G. Dobbins continued to shadow them. “It’s mighty dark on this side of town.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Charlie told him, sensing Annie’s reluctance.

  “Okay. Suit yourselves, but you all be careful now.” And with a roar of his engine, he was gone.

  “Sure doesn’t seem like he was keeping to the speed limit,” Annie said, watching his taillights disappear.

  “Why didn’t you let him give us a ride?” Delia asked. “We could’ve been home in five minutes.”

  “And how do you think he was going to squeeze all three of us into the cab of that truck?” her sister asked. “Besides, he was only interested in Annie.”

  “Well, I’m not interested in him! I thought I made that clear last week,” Annie said. “I was shocked out of my socks when I saw him there tonight. I had no idea
he was going to be in the womanless wedding.”

  “Speaking of being shocked, do you think Buddy Oglesby knows who was buried out there on the Hutchinsons’ farm?” Charlie asked. “If he doesn’t, he’s certainly been acting peculiar.”

  “From what he said tonight, it sure sounded like he knows something,” Delia said, “but he didn’t hang around long enough to answer any questions.”

  “By the way,” Charlie said, elbowing Delia. “Did the judges reach a decision on the poster contest?”

  “Huh! Millie and I did. One of the fifth-grade boys did a fantastic drawing of a fighter plane with a ship below it, and the slogan said, ‘In the sea and in the air, let them know how much we care! Buy Bonds!’”

  “Sounds great,” Charlie said. “What did Emmaline have against that?”

  “Only that it wasn’t submitted by a relative,” Delia answered. “The one she liked had pictures of soldiers and sailors cut from a magazine and pasted on cardboard and it just said, ‘Help them win the fight!’ I think somebody in your class made it, Charlie.”

  “Really? Who?”

  Delia thought for a minute. “Linda Ann … somebody. Orr … Linda Ann Orr!”

  “You’re right! Her grandmother and Emmaline are first cousins.” Charlie laughed. “What now? How will you decide without starting World War Three?”

  Delia shrugged. “Millie knows a lot more about art than Emmaline Brumlow. She told me she used to be a commercial artist, and some of her work has been in national magazines, but we’ll just let the cast choose between the two of them tomorrow night. Even Emmaline won’t be able to argue with that.”

  “Wanna bet?” Annie said.

  * * *

  Miss Dimple froze as the floor creaked under her feet. Could whoever was out there hear it? And what on God’s green earth was anyone doing on the front porch in the middle of the night unless they were up to no good? In the past, Phoebe had left a small lamp burning on the hall table during the night, but she had discontinued that since the war began. In the event of an air-raid drill, it would be one less light to extinguish, and tonight Dimple was grateful for the darkness. A few steps more and she would be able to look through one of the windows on either side of the door, and if the person seemed suspicious, she would immediately call the police.