The Darling Dahlias and the Silver Dollar Bush (21 page)

Verna Is on the Case

After Rona Jean had told her about Fannie’s surprising outburst of tears following her movie date with Alvin Duffy, Verna had given some thought to the next step in her campaign to learn the whole truth about the mysterious new president of the Darling Savings and Trust. She already suspected that the man was up to no good. The sooner she found out exactly what he was planning, the better.

Of course, she reminded herself, Fannie might not be willing to talk about Mr. Duffy, and she would have to respect that. But if there
was
something between them, it would be good to know what it was before she got back in touch with Ima Gail in New Orleans for the next step in her investigation.

And she had a good excuse for dropping in on Fannie. The two of them were responsible for the upcoming Dahlias Garden Tour, and she had a list of organizational details that they needed to iron out. At some point, she thought, she would try to work Mr. Duffy into the conversation and see what developed.

So on Wednesday, Verna took off a few minutes early at lunchtime and walked across the street to Champaign’s Darling Chapeaux, on the west side of Rosemont. The hat shop, which had been closed while Fannie was in Atlanta, was small but very pretty inside, like a tiny jewel box. One wall held shelves and shelves of Fannie’s beautiful creations, romantic, floppy-brimmed concoctions ornamented with clouds of tulle and bouquets of silk flowers laced with satin ribbons. Most of Fannie’s hats were like those worn by nineteenth-century Southern ladies, rather than the sleek, smart, head-hugging felt cloches that were all the rage in New York and Paris. The Darling ladies loved the fanciful hats, and so did the Darling men, including Charlie Dickens, that crusty curmudgeon, who had once been heard to say that a lady’s hat should make her look like a lady, not like a German artillery officer.

Some of Fannie’s millinery confections were displayed on hatstands in the white-curtained window, others on tall hat racks, others simply stacked on the shelves. Against the far wall, under a large, gilt-framed mirror, stood a small table and boudoir chair, both skirted in white organza. There, milady could try on one hat after another until she found exactly what she was looking for—which could take quite a while, given the wide selection. Shelves on the third wall held bolts of tulle and silk organza and veiling, along with trays of gold and silver ornaments, clear glass bowls displaying bouquets of silk flowers and coils of colored ribbons, and vases filled with fantastic feathers of all colors and sizes, from frothy ostrich feathers down to the tiniest yellow canary feather. Even though they didn’t have much money to spend on hats, every Darling woman thought that Champaign’s Chapeaux was a magical place and they loved to pop in. Still, everyone wondered (privately or to their friends, but never of course to Fannie) how a milliner managed to stay in business in such a small town. The Depression had already closed two hat shops in the much larger city of Montgomery. Fannie’s survival was a mystery.

Verna herself was not fond of fanciful hats—they made her feel like a vaudeville impersonator. She didn’t like cloches, either, so she was in the habit of going bareheaded. But before Fannie went off to Atlanta, she had made a
très chic
blue felt beret for Verna, and she was wearing it today. It went perfectly with her cream-colored blouse and trim gray jacket and skirt.

When Verna opened the door and stepped into the shop, she saw Fannie at her workstation, sewing an ostrich feather on a wide-brimmed white straw hat. She was not a conventionally pretty woman, but Verna thought she looked quite lovely just now, with the light from the front window brushing her cheek and softly tangling in her curly russet-brown hair. She wore a simple dress of pale yellow dotted swiss, with cap sleeves and a white Peter Pan collar. It made her look young and vulnerable.

“Verna!” Fannie exclaimed, laying her work aside. “It’s so good to see you again!” She jumped up and gave Verna an impulsive hug. “I’ve missed you! And I love the way you look in that blue beret!”

That was Fannie, quick and affectionate and at the same time shy and modest, in a fetching, old-fashioned way. Somehow, Verna couldn’t quite square what she knew of her friend with Rona Jean’s report that Fannie had wanted Alvin Duffy to kiss her and then cried her heart out when he hadn’t. Had Fannie’s months in Atlanta changed her?

“I like the way it looks, too,” Verna said. “And I’ve missed
you,
Fannie. It’s awfully good to have you back in town. Listen, if you have a moment, I wonder if we could look over this list of things that need to be done for the garden tour?” She took the list out of her purse.

“Of course.” Fannie reached up and pull Verna’s beret off her head. “But before we do that, let me show you something. I was thinking of you as I put this together.”

She turned and took down a red-and-gray-tweed newsboy-style hat from a hatstand on the shelf. “It’s perfect for you, Verna, especially with your new hairstyle. And it doesn’t need any trimming at all. With this style, plain is better. Here—sit down and try it on.”

When Verna sat down in front of the mirror, she discovered that Fannie’s newsboy hat was, indeed, just perfect for her. It made her feel dashing and adventuresome, quite unlike her usual practical, no-nonsense self—and not at all like a vaudeville impersonator. She picked up the gold hand mirror and turned this way and that, admiring it.

“It’s smashing!” she said excitedly. “I have to have it! How much?”

“How about a dollar fifty?”

Verna rolled her eyes. “Fannie, you never charge enough for your work.” She opened her pocketbook and took out two dollars. “Here—and I still think I’m getting a bargain.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Fannie said seriously.

“Yes, I do,” Verna said. She looked at herself in the mirror again. “I think I’ll wear it. With this gray jacket, I like red even better than blue.”

“I’ll put your beret in a bag for you,” Fannie offered.

“Thanks. And I need your help with this.” Verna handed her to-do list to Fannie, and they spent the next few minutes looking it over, with Fannie making suggestions and Verna scribbling quick notes.

When they were finished, Verna tucked the list away and said, offhandedly, “Oh, there’s something else, if you have just a moment.”

Fannie handed her the bag containing her blue beret. “What is it?”

Verna took a breath. “I understand that you and Mr. Duffy are . . . friends.”

“The Darling grapevine at work,” Fannie said with a fatalistic sigh. “Nothing in this town escapes notice, does it?”

“Well, are you?” Verna pressed.

Fannie gave her a straight look. “Acquaintances is a better word. I ran into him at the movie the other night. We sat together during the show and he walked me back to Mrs. Brewster’s. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m staying there until I can get into my flat. Miss Richards is supposed to have it until June, but I think she may be moving out early.” She made a face. “I hope so, anyway. Mrs. Brewster’s is like a prison. I would have much preferred to go to the Magnolia Manor, but all Bessie’s rooms are taken.” She raised one eyebrow. “So why are you asking about Mr. Duffy?”

Verna met her eyes. “Because one of the girls who lives on your floor saw you say good night to him. And then she heard you crying. She put two and two together and thought you might be upset because of something Mr. Duffy said.” Verna didn’t mention the missed kiss, which Rona Jean might or might not have interpreted correctly. And she didn’t mention Rona Jean’s name, not wanting to get her into trouble.

“The girl added wrong,” Fannie said tartly. “I do confess to crying, though. I stayed away until I thought I was over him and I could safely come back. But now I—” She threw up her hands. “Yes, I was crying, Verna. I’m afraid I do too much of that.”

“But not about Mr. Duffy?” Verna asked in surprise. Rona Jean had been mistaken.

“No, of course not. Why would I cry over him? I barely know the man. In fact, when we said good night, he asked me out to dinner. I thought it would be an agreeable thing to do—and Mr. Duffy certainly seems like a perfect Southern gentleman. I was about to say yes, but when I opened my mouth, I heard myself saying no.”

A perfect gentleman?
Verna was jolted. That assessment didn’t fit the picture of Mr. Duffy she had been drawing in her mind.

“But if you thought it would be an agreeable thing to go to dinner,” she asked, “why did you say no?”

Fannie sighed. “Because I suddenly realized I was still in love with . . .” She bit her lip and turned her face away.

“With . . .” Verna prompted. Was it someone Fannie had met in Atlanta? Myra May had said something about a broken engagement. Or was it—

“With Charlie Dickens.” Fannie turned back, her eyes filled with tears. “I know I should be mature enough to forget about him, Verna, but I can’t. I’m sure you heard what happened last summer. I thought that Charlie and I . . . well, that he was serious about me. But I did something very foolish. I told somebody that we planned to be married. It was wishful thinking more than anything else, I suppose, but it got all over town. And then I found out I wasn’t the only woman in his life. He was already involved with Lily Dare, the aviatrix.”

“Oh, I don’t think—” Verna began, but Fannie cut her off.

“No, no, it’s true,” she said emphatically. “He told me so. I’m sure you remember when she was in town to do that air show. He made it very clear that they would spend that time together. It hurt too much to see him—or to see
them
—so I decided to go to Atlanta and stay with my cousin for a while. She has a dress shop there, and I knew there would be a market for my hats—there, and in Miami, where my sister has a shop. I expected that by the time I came back, I could start all over again, fresh. But I can’t.” She swallowed hard. “I still—”

She broke down and began to sob.

Verna put her arms around Fannie and they stood close together, Verna feeling a jumble of emotions, sadness for Fannie and guilt for her own foolishness. She had been too quick to leap to the wrong conclusion, based on Rona Jean’s faulty information. After a moment, she dropped her arms and stepped back.

“I’m so sorry,” she said quietly. “Have you tried to talk to Mr. Dickens since you got back?”

“No, of course not.” Fannie shook her head vehemently. “I’m too embarrassed. I know I made a fool of myself. And after Lily Dare—” She gulped. “Anyway, it’s no use. He made that perfectly clear when he told me about her. I even thought of staying in Atlanta, of not coming back to Darling at all. But I love my little shop. And I have friends here—you and Liz and Myra May and the others. The Dahlias are my family. And Darling feels like home.” Her voice dropped so low that Verna almost missed the last few words. “The only home I have.”

But Verna heard the pain in Fannie’s voice and thought of the way Charlie Dickens had looked since she left, as if he had lost his last friend, or lost his way in a forest of regrets. She knew she ought to speak.

“I think,” she said, “that there may be a basic misunderstanding here.” The clock in the courthouse tower cleared its throat and began striking noon. “I have to go—I need to make a long-distance phone call. But would you mind if I dropped just a word or two in Mr. Dickens’ ear? I won’t say anything that would embarrass you, I promise. But if he understood how you feel—”

“Oh, thank you, but I don’t think so, Verna,” Fannie said quickly. She picked up a piece of fabric and began turning it in her fingers. “I shouldn’t have worried you with my problems. It’s best just to leave things as they are. Most people have probably forgotten about my foolish claim to an engagement. And I don’t want Mr. Dickens to feel that I’m still carrying a torch for him, like some impressionable young schoolgirl. Even if I am,” she added, with a wry twist to her mouth.

Verna persisted. “Well, then, could you agree to leave it to me? The next time I see him, I could raise the subject, and if he seems to want to discuss it, I could approach it very . . . well, discreetly. He would never know that you and I have talked.”

Fannie bit her lip. “Are you—are you
sure
?” She darted a glance at Verna. “I really wouldn’t want him to think I—”

“He won’t, I promise.” Verna picked up the bag with her beret in it. “I’ll check back with you later. Okay?”

Fannie gave her a long look. “Oh, all right,” she said with a sigh. “But I’m sure it won’t do any good.”

After Verna left, Fannie went back to work on the hat she was making—a fanciful creation that she planned to send to Lilly Daché, the glamorous French milliner who had happened to see her work in Atlanta and commissioned one or two hats a week for her shop on New York’s Fifth Avenue. Mme Daché also had a shop in Hollywood, where she designed hats for actresses to wear in the movies. With a smile and a wave of her hand, she had said that Fannie’s hats were
très
glamorous, and confided, “Glamour is what makes a man ask for your telephone number. But it also is what makes a woman ask for the name of your milliner.”

Of course, the hats that Fannie was sending to Mme Daché would be sold under Mme Daché’s internationally famous name, not Fannie’s. But Fannie didn’t mind this little deception in the slightest—she was just glad to have the work. Her hats sold quickly and for very good prices, and she didn’t need the recognition. All she wanted was to continue to do the creative work she adored and to live in Darling, the town that held her heart. She would have been happier, naturally, if she could live with the man she loved. But she couldn’t, so she would just have to learn to adjust.