She stopped, startled. A kindness? Did she really think that? But after all these years, the real truth was that she still didn’t know what to think.
“My gracious, Bessie,” Verna said in surprise. “I never heard a word of any of this.”
“No reason you should,” Bessie replied with a short laugh, “either one of you. It’s not something I wanted to talk about. And it happened a long time ago.”
“But didn’t you think it was really strange that he didn’t try to get in touch with you?” Verna persisted. “Especially since you hadn’t quarreled.”
“Of course I thought it was strange, Verna. I was devastated.” And now that she’d said this much, the rest just came tumbling out, as if the words were speaking themselves. “For once in his life, my father was kind to me, even though he could barely hide how glad he was that Harold had left. He’d never made any secret of the fact that he hated the idea of our getting married. But he was kind to me-canceled all the wedding arrangements himself, so I wouldn’t have to do it. For months, I wouldn’t talk to Miss Hamer, because I was convinced that she knew where her brother had gone and was refusing to tell me. And of course I just kept thinking there’d be something-a letter, or a postcard. But there was nothing. It was as if he had fallen right off the face of the earth.”
“And Miss Hamer?” Verna asked, narrowing her eyes. “She didn’t hear from him either?”
Bessie could feel her mouth trembling and she pressed her lips together. “If she did, she didn’t tell me. I’d ask, and she’d just shake her head. But of course she wouldn’t tell, since she was the very reason he left.”
“So sad,” Liz murmured. She looked stricken. “For both you and Miss Hamer. For Harold, too.”
“Yes,” Bessie said stoutly. “I survived, maybe because I knew I hadn’t done anything to drive him away.” She had always felt good about that, in the private corner of her mind where these memories were stored away-that they hadn’t quarreled, that her last words to him had been soft and loving. “But I think she blamed herself, and the thought of what she did has been driving her crazy.”
“You mean, really crazy?” Verna asked.
“Nutty as a fruitcake,” Bessie said. “And she’s gotten crazier and crazier every year. Ask the neighbors-they can hear her screeching like a madwoman, sometimes in the middle of the night. Or ask DessaRae, or Doc Roberts. They know.”
“And Miss Jamison?” Verna asked, tilting her head. “What does she know?”
Bessie frowned. “I haven’t heard Miss Hamer shrieking since the ladies got here, so Miss Jamison probably doesn’t know about that yet. And there’s no reason why she would know anything about Harold-unless Miss Hamer told her, which I’m sure she wouldn’t.” But now that she thought about it, she wondered whether she herself ought to tell Miss Jamison. It might help her to understand the situation she had moved into.
“What an incredible story,” Liz said in a low voice.
“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” Bessie replied. She pulled in a deep breath and let it out. “But as I said, it was a very long time ago.” She closed her eyes, trying to conjure up Harold’s face. “You know, I almost can’t remember what he looked like-not really. I have a photograph of the two of us together, playing in the water at the swimming hole on Pine Mill Creek. When I think of him, that’s how I picture him, smiling and happy, still just a boy. I never think of the way he must look now, gray-haired and wrinkled and maybe even bent and stooped.” She sighed reminiscently. “Sometimes I think how different my life would have been if we’d married. We would’ve had children. And I wouldn’t have-”
“Oh, there you are, Bessie, dear!” came a bright voice at the kitchen door. It was Leticia Wiggins, hobbling down the back steps. She was moving carefully, leaning on her cane with one hand, holding on to the banister with the other. Leticia had fallen the year before and broken her wrist. She didn’t want to do it again. “Maxine and I have finished our canasta game. I won forty-two dollars!”
“Forty-two dollars!” Verna raised her eyebrows. “My goodness!”
“It’s just pretend money,” Bessie said in a low voice. “They started out gambling for pennies but now they’ve made up these colored paper bills. And they can never agree-”
“Forty-two?” Maxine Bechdel snapped, coming down the stairs behind Leticia, her white hair gleaming. “Don’t be ridiculous, Leticia. It was only thirty-two. You added wrong, as usual.” She peered nearsightedly at Bessie’s guests. “Oh, it’s Elizabeth and Verna! Hello, girls. We haven’t seen you for a while. Mind if we join you?”
Liz put her glass down and stood up. “Somebody can have my chair,” she said. “I’m afraid I have to go. It’s thundering, and I need to get home and close my windows.”
“I’d better be on my way, too,” Verna said, standing up. She put her hand on Bessie’s shoulder. “Thanks for sharing all that family history with us, Bessie.”
“You’re welcome,” Bessie said, reaching up to clasp Verna’s hand. She shook her head with a wicked grin. “I’ll bet old Miss Hamer doesn’t have an idea in her head that she’s harboring a couple of vaudeville dancers. But that’s what comes of letting those naked ladies bloom in her front yard.”
“Who’s a vaudeville dancer?” Leticia wanted to know, hobbling across the grass. “You’ll have to speak up, Bessie, if you want people to hear you.” She sat down in the chair that Liz had vacated and glanced at the partly emptied pitcher. “Maxine, darlin’, you’re still up. Bring us two more glasses, will you, and we’ll have us some of this lemonade.” She looked back at Bessie. “Now, do tell, Bessie. Who’s a vaudeville dancer?”
“No, no,” Bessie said hastily, raising her voice. “We were talking about the Dahlias’ talent show. I said that it’s going to be as good as watching a vaudeville review. Don’t you think so, Verna?”
“Oh, definitely,” Verna said, and Liz nodded, too. They said their good-byes, leaving Bessie and her friends to enjoy the fragrance of the Angel Trumpet drifting across the backyard.
EIGHT
That was quite a story, wasn’t it?” Verna said, as she and Liz walked down Camellia Street-hurrying a little. The growl of thunder was coming closer and neither of them had an umbrella.
“I wonder what happened to him,” Liz said reflectively. “Bessie’s fiancé, I mean. It’s so sad.” She shivered. “At least I knew what happened to Reggie-his mother got a letter from his commanding officer after he was killed, telling her where he was buried. Bessie never even knew what became of her fiancé. It must be hard to live with a mystery like that.”
“There’s another mystery,” Verna replied darkly. The suspicion had been growing on her all afternoon, while she listened to Bessie tell her story. “Now that I know a little more about this situation, I’m beginning to wonder whether Lorelei LaMotte really is Miss Hamer’s niece.” She turned to her friend. “Honestly, now, Liz. Tell me what you think.”
Liz was silent for a moment. “The other day, I read about an odd situation in Florida. These people’s son was kidnapped years ago, and when he came home, all grown up, they were thrilled to death. It turned out, though, that he wasn’t their son after all. Some smart police detective revealed his real identity and they were shocked at how they’d been duped.”
Verna turned to stare at her. “You know, Liz, the same thing could be true here. Nona Jean’s mother is dead. Her aunt doesn’t know her-not really, I mean. Nobody here in Darling knows her, not a soul.”
Liz frowned. “Didn’t Walter’s cousin tell you that he had known her when she was a girl back in Monroeville?” A streak of lightning raced across the southern sky, under a pile of threatening clouds.