The Darling Dahlias and the Confederate Rose (27 page)

Lizzy put down her coffee cup. “I agree, Verna. I think that’s exactly what you should do. Talk to Mr. Tombull. First thing tomorrow morning.”

Charlie looked up at the clock on the wall. “It’s already tomorrow morning.” He grinned. “And don’t forget. The minute you’re in the clear, Verna, I get the story.”

Verna gave him a tight smile. “That’s right, Charlie. You get the story.”

TWENTY-ONE

Monday, April 27, 1931

Confederate Day, an Alabama state holiday, was celebrated on the fourth Monday of April. It marked the surrender of Confederate General Joseph E. Johnston to Union General William Tecumseh Sherman, on April 26, 1865, after the last major Confederate offensive of the War near Durham, North Carolina.

Confederate Day was always an important day in Darling. Last year, there had been four Confederate veterans to be honored—white-haired, bearded old men who got their gray uniforms out of the camphor chest and proudly donned them for the parade around the courthouse square, down Robert E. Lee, and out Schoolhouse Road to the Darling Cemetery. Last year, they’d ridden in two cars, but old Abner Prince hadn’t made it through the winter, and the three who were left would be riding in Andy Stanton’s open-topped 1928 Franklin touring car, with Rebel flags fluttering fore and aft and Andy at the wheel, decked out in his summer whites, with a Rebel flag stuck in the band of his white straw hat and a big cigar stuck in his mouth.

The ceremony took place at the cemetery, where the town’s Stars and Stripes were run down for the day and the Confederate flag run up beside the stage that had been built for the occasion. The Reverend Carl Mason of the First Baptist Church gave the invocation, Mayor Jed Snow gave the welcome, and the speeches flowed like good corn whiskey.

And at the very end, there was a special tribute. Lizzy Lacy, dressed in her prettiest spring dress and wearing a new pink straw hat with pink and green velvet ribbons, reminded folks that they should be sure to notice the row of Confederate roses along the fence at the front of the cemetery.

“The planting of the Confederate roses was a project of the Darling Dahlias Garden Club,” Lizzy said, “led by Miss Dorothy Rogers, whom all of you know as our town librarian. Miss Rogers, will you please stand so we can thank you for helping to make our cemetery the most beautiful in Cypress County?”

And Miss Rogers, blushing as pink as a peony, stood up and received the audience’s appreciative applause. When the clapping had died down, she said, in her prim, precise voice, “I’d like everyone to know that the Confederate rose isn’t a rose at all. It is actually an hibiscus.
Hibiscus mutabilis
is its real name.” As everyone chuckled, she sat down again, smiling and obviously glad to have set the record straight.

“And there’s another Confederate Rose to be honored today,” Lizzy went on. “Miss Rogers recently learned that she is the granddaughter of Rose Greenhow, whom many have called the Confederate Rose. Mrs. Greenhow served as a Confederate spy in Washington, D.C., during the first year of the War Between the States. In 1862, she was imprisoned by President Abraham Lincoln.” (At the mention of Lincoln’s name, a low, hissing exhalation of breath swept through the audience.) “After her release, she was sent to Europe by President Jefferson Davis”—someone in the back row cheered—“as an ambassador for the Confederacy. Upon her return, she was shipwrecked and drowned, weighed down by the gold she was bringing for the Confederate treasury.” (Someone cried, “Oh, dear!” and quite a few people clapped.)

“Over the years,” Lizzie said, “Miss Rogers kept a piece of her grandmother’s needlework. It was recently discovered that this needlework provides a key to some of the puzzles of Mrs. Greenhow’s espionage. To tell this part of the story, I’ll call on Mr. Charles Dickens, editor and publisher of the Darling
Dispatch.
”

At that point, Charlie got up and told about the secret code that Mrs. Greenhow used to send messages to General P. G. T. Beauregard, and about the key to the code that was embroidered on the outside of the small pillow that Miss Rogers had kept ever since she was a little girl. Hidden in the pillow were several important documents. He had been in touch with two experts who had verified this surprising discovery. They would be using the information it provided to uncover more of the mysteries surrounding the work of Mrs. Greenhow, who had contributed so much to the Confederate cause.

When Charlie sat down, Lizzy presented Miss Rogers, who by this time was utterly engulfed in tears, with a certificate (printed in fancy letters on Charlie’s job press) that honored the Confederate Rose. Then, as she did each and every year without fail, Mrs. Eiglehorn recited all five stanzas of Henry Timrod’s poem, “Ode,” (“Sleep sweetly in your humble graves, Sleep, martyrs of a fallen cause . . .”), which was first recited on the occasion of decorating the graves of the Confederate dead at Magnolia Cemetery in Charleston, South Carolina, in 1867. After that, Eva Pearl Hennepin, accompanied by Josiah, led everyone in a rousing rendition of “Dixie”:

I wish I was in the land of cotton,

Old times they are not forgotten;

Look away! Look away! Look away! Dixie Land.

In Dixie Land where I was born in,

Early on one frosty mornin’,

Look away! Look away! Look away! Dixie Land

And then, to the very same tune and at the very top of their lungs, everyone sang “The Confederate States of America War Song,” which they all knew by heart:

Southern men the thunders mutter!

Northern flags in South winds flutter!

To arms! To arms! To arms, in Dixie!

Send them back your fierce defiance!

Stamp upon the cursed alliance!

To arms! To arms! To arms, in Dixie!

After all four verses of that rousing battle hymn, the crowd quieted and George Timson played “Taps” on his bugle and the Confederate flag was lowered to half-staff, where it would fly for the rest of the day. Reverend Trivette gave the benediction (he was much too long-winded, as usual), and the beautiful ceremony was over.

The members of the Daughters of the Confederacy went through the cemetery, placing beautiful wreaths of spring flowers on the graves of Darling’s Confederate dead. While they were doing that, everyone else took their picnic baskets and jugs of tea and lemonade and adjourned to the neighboring picnic ground for a huge potluck and musical jamboree, featuring all the local fiddlers and guitar players and accordion players playing old-time music.

The Dahlias, with their families, had commandeered several picnic tables in the shade of a pair of large sycamore trees. They spread tablecloths on the tables and put out platters heaped high with fried chicken and barbecued spareribs, covered with tea towels to keep away the flies. With the platters, there were big earthenware crocks filled with green beans cooked with fatback, creamy potato salad, Mildred Kilgore’s coleslaw with pecans, and Aunt Hetty Little’s stewed okra with bacon, tomatoes, and corn. There were dozens of deviled eggs and pints of pickles and gallons of iced tea and lemonade, and far more chocolate cakes and sweet potato pies than everybody could eat, along with Mildred Kilgore’s homemade strawberry ice cream, made with fresh berries in the Kilgores’ hand-crank ice cream maker. It was a picnic potluck to remember, especially because Miss Rogers couldn’t help bursting into tears every time she looked at the certificate honoring the Confederate Rose.

After the meal was over and the leftover food (there wasn’t much) put back in the picnic baskets, the men went to play horseshoes and talk politics while the women sat at the tables, chatting and listening to the music and watching the boys playing baseball in a nearby field while the girls played jacks and jumped rope.

Lizzy and Verna had just sat down together when they were joined by Myra May and Violet, who was carrying Cupcake on her hip. Cupcake and Violet wore matching yellow ribbons in their hair.

“Well, hey, Verna,” Myra May said, “I heard from Buddy Norris yesterday that there is no longer a warrant out for your arrest. Congratulations.” Buddy Norris was Sheriff Roy Burns’ deputy. He was sweet on Violet, so he hung around the diner whenever he wasn’t riding around on his Indian Ace motorcycle, keeping the peace. The sheriff liked to brag that Buddy was the only mounted deputy in all of Alabama.

“Word travels fast,” Verna said. “But, yes, Buddy got it right. The warrant’s been canceled.”

Violet perched Cupcake on her knee, fluffed up the baby’s strawberry curls, and retied her yellow ribbon. “Just out of curiosity, Verna,” she said, “how did you manage that?”

“It wasn’t easy,” Verna replied in a mysterious tone.

“She discussed the whole thing with Mr. Tombull,” Lizzy said. “It didn’t take much to convince him that Earle Scroggins had trumped up the ‘evidence’ against her. Scroggins wanted to shovel the problem under the rug so he wouldn’t look bad to the voters, so he jumped at the first explanation, which was
definitely
not the right one. What’s more, the way he went about it meant that his so-called ‘evidence’ would never have been admissible in court.” At least, that’s what Mr. Moseley had said when Lizzy told him about it by telephone. (Actually, what he said would have earned the ire of old Judge Parker, who never allowed swearwords in his courtroom.)

“That’s right,” Verna confirmed. “After Mr. Tombull thought about it, he said he’d have Scroggins cancel the warrant.” She grinned. “Scroggins wasn’t very happy about that, but he did it.”

Myra May propped her elbows on the table and leaned forward. “This is not to be repeated,” she said in a low voice, “but I hear that the commissioners are going to tell Mr. Scroggins that he has to step down as acting treasurer. He’ll keep his job as probate clerk, because that’s an elected office. But he’s finished as treasurer.”

Lizzy and Verna exchanged startled glances. “You’re kidding,” Verna said incredulously. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Just never you mind,” Myra May said loftily, and Violet busied herself playing pat-a-cake with Cupcake. Lizzy knew that it had been overheard on the switchboard.

“Well, I guess I’m not surprised,” Verna said after a moment. “I had to tell Mr. Tombull the whole thing, which included that business with Coretta Cole. It was obvious that Scroggins was using her to set a trap for me. I don’t blame Coretta—her family needed money and she did what she had to in order to get it. And she signaled her ulterior motive strongly enough to raise our suspicions—Liz’s and mine, I mean.”

“That’s true,” Lizzy said. “The way Coretta acted, neither of us felt we were able to trust her. The more I’ve thought about it, the more I think it was deliberate. She was letting us see that she couldn’t be straight with us.”

Verna nodded, agreeing. “Anyway, Scroggins was way out of line, doing what he did at the bank,
and
with Coretta. If he got away with pushing the blame onto me, there was no telling what else he might try the next time he had a chance. Mr. Tombull is a straight shooter. I guess he figured that now was a good time to clean house in the treasurer’s office, since he had the auditor’s report in his hands.” She grinned. “And especially after Charlie Dickens interviewed him for that article he’s planning. I think Mr. Tombull saw the writing on the wall, so to speak.”

“I suppose the next question is who the county commissioners are going to appoint to fill the treasurer’s job,” Lizzy said. “If Scroggins is out, who’s in? One of the commissioners, maybe?”

“Uh-uh.” Myra May shook her head, her eyes alight. “Guess again.” Violet giggled.

“You
know
?” Verna asked in surprise, looking from Myra May to Violet.

Lizzy elbowed her. “There’s precious little these gals don’t know,” she said. “Even when a meeting is held behind closed doors, they’re bound to get wind of it, sooner or later.”

“Well,
who
, then?” Verna demanded.

Myra May and Violet looked at one another. Violet raised her eyebrows. Myra May nodded. Then they both leaned forward and said, together and in a loud whisper, “Verna Tidwell!”

Lizzy gasped. “Verna?”

“Me?” Verna exclaimed, rolling her eyes. “That’s ridiculous. That bunch of old rascals would never in the world appoint a
woman
as county treasurer—not even on an acting basis.”

“Maybe they’ve decided to appoint somebody who knows what she’s doing,” Violet suggested. “After all, you were the only one who knew how to track down that missing money. Scroggins didn’t even know where to begin.”

“Right,” Myra May said. “So appointing you would seem to be a smart move, wouldn’t you say?”

“Maybe.” Verna’s tone was acid. “But nobody ever accused the Cypress County commissioners of being smart. Mostly, they just do as little as possible and hope for the best. They wouldn’t appoint me—they know I would actually do the job.”

“Well, no skin off our nose if you don’t believe us,” Myra May replied with a shrug. “You’ll hear about it soon enough. The commissioners are meeting tomorrow night. If I were you, Verna, I’d expect a telephone call and an invitation to the meeting. You should go.”

“And be prepared to act surprised when they announce their decision,” Violet put in. “You don’t want them to know that you were tipped off ahead of time.”

Lizzy looked from Myra May to Violet. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you? You’re not making it up?”

“Of course we’re not making it up,” Violet said, and smiled at Verna. “Congratulations, Verna. We’re all very proud of you. Why, I’ll bet that you’re the only female county treasurer in the whole state of Alabama.”