It’s planting time again! Lots of people think that gardeners do all of their work in the spring. But every gardener knows that fall is another good time for planting. Here are some of the things the Dahlias will be putting into their gardens through the end of October: shrubs; spring-flowering bulbs (hyacinths, daffodils, crocuses); hardy winter vegetables (turnips, mustard, kale, spinach, onion sets); and hardy annuals, such as pansies, poppies, and sweet peas. Oh, and strawberries, of course. You don’t want to miss out on strawberry shortcake next spring!
Aunt Hetty Little wants to remind you that as you clean up your garden, you should burn or bury any plant debris that has insects in it. These little pests like nothing better than to snuggle up for the winter inside a curled-up leaf or a dead stem and jump out and surprise you in the spring. Right now, she says, you need to be on the lookout for cabbage loopers. If your cabbage leaves have turned to lace, you definitely have a problem. The best cure: hand-picking. (Use gloves if you’re squeamish.) Aunt Hetty says: “To convince these little boogers that they don’t want to mess with your garden, you can mash up a couple of cups of hot peppers and some garlic, stir into a pint of water, and spray. Some people also like to smoosh up a few of the little boogers themselves, and dump them in the mix, on the theory that this will scare all their friends and relations. Next year, be sure to move your brassicas (cabbage, broccoli, cauliflower, Brussels sprouts, and the like) to a different corner of the garden, so the bugs will at least have to go looking. Replanting in the same place makes it just a little too easy for them.”
Alice Ann Walker reports that she has been remodeling her garden this month, now that it’s a little cooler. Her husband, Arnold, is disabled, but he doesn’t let that stop him. He is a talented whittler and has made several large wooden animals and birds for her, including bunnies, chipmunks, ducks, and pink-painted flamingoes. He has also made a flock of wooden geese with wings that go around and around like a windmill, painted in all different colors. Arnold is willing to sell a few of these for just thirty cents each, so if you’d like to buy one, stop out front and honk and somebody will come out and help you pick the color that’s just right for your garden. (Arnold says the flamingoes are for sale, too.)
While I’m mentioning colors, I should like to say that I have some beautiful lilies in my garden just now. There are the usual daylilies, but also spider lilies, ox-blood lilies, and some naked ladies (not as pretty as those in Miss Hamer’s front yard, on Camellia Street). I also have some truly gorgeous torch lilies. (Miss Rogers will remind me that I should use a proper name: Kniphofia Pfitzeri.) A reader from Florida sent me a delightful ginger lily (Hedychium coronarium, Miss Rogers), which has two other pretty names: butterfly lily and garland flower. The ginger lily is four feet tall, a strong, robust plant, with leaves like cannas, sprays of fragrant white flowers, and showy pods full of bright red seeds. It likes partial shade to full sun; a hard frost will kill it to the ground, but it’ll come back again. It’s easy to propagate: just dig it up, slice the root into six-or eight-inch pieces, and replant. If you want some, let me know. I’ll be digging next week and will be glad to save some for you.
And don’t forget to turn to the back page and read the Dahlias’ “Dirty Dozen” tips for cleaning house without spending a lot of money. You’re bound to learn something you didn’t already know! If you have tips to share, they’re welcome. Just write them down and leave them for Elizabeth Lacy at the Dispatch office.
EIGHTEEN
After Leona Ruth was safely asleep-and snoring-Bessie started for home, only a few blocks away. As she walked, she was thinking about what had happened, and was glad that Frankie Diamond was on his way back to Chicago and that nobody in Darling needed to be afraid of him.
But she was also troubled, once again, with the questions that had been swirling in her mind and heart since yesterday, when she had told Liz and Verna about Harold. Now, she was sorry she had spoken of him. Those old sad times were behind her, and there was no point in reawakening the memories or in wondering what had happened to him. She should just forget it. But Bessie knew herself well enough to know that she wasn’t going to be satisfied with this easy, just-let-it-alone answer. Now that the questions were all stirred up again, she couldn’t let them go.
So, in her characteristic way, Bessie took action. Instead of going home to get ready for the Dahlias’ card party that evening, she went to the front door of Miss Hamer’s house and knocked. After a few moments, she knocked again, and at last, DessaRae opened the door. She was a thin-faced, narrowboned woman, slightly stooped and very black, with graying hair clipped close to her head, and dressed in a black maid’s uniform and white apron.
“Hello, DessaRae,” Bessie said. “Is Miss Hamer in?” It was a silly question. Miss Hamer was always in. She hadn’t been out of the house for ten years, so far as Bessie knew.
“Who is it, DessaRae?” called an anxious voice. It was Miss Jamison, standing at the top of the stairs. She sounded afraid, and Bessie thought she knew why. She also thought she would like to tell her that Frankie Diamond was safely on the train and headed back up north, but she wasn’t sure she should. She found herself wondering, as well, whether she should tell Miss Hamer that Miss Jamison, aka Lorelei LaMotte, was wanted for shooting the man who had slashed Miss Lake’s face. But she wasn’t going to do that, either. That wasn’t what she was here for.
“It’s Miz Bloodworth, from across the street,” DessaRae called over her shoulder. “She here to see Miz Hamer.”
“That’s fine, then,” Miss Jamison said, sounding relieved, and disappeared.
DessaRae turned back. “Miz Hamer a bit wandery today, Miz Bloodworth. More’n usual, maybe. You sure you want to see her?”
“Thanks for the warning,” Bessie said. “Yes, I’d like to see her.”
DessaRae nodded and stepped back. “Well, then, come on in.”
Bessie followed DessaRae into the parlor on the right-hand side of the hall, where Miss Hamer spent her days. Endless days, Bessie thought, at least, they must seem endless. The old lady-she must be nearly eighty-was slumped in a wooden, cane-back wheelchair with pillows at her back and sides, a book on her lap. But she wasn’t reading, Bessie saw. Her spectacles hung around her neck on a black ribbon, and the watery blue eyes in her lined face, as leathery and wrinkled as a dried fig, held a vacant look. Her cheeks were hollowed and empty. Her arms were so thin Bessie could see her bones, fragile, like the bones of a bird. Her white hair, under an old-fashioned ruffled cap, was dry and wispy.
DessaRae bent over her chair. “Miz Bloodworth’s here to see you, Miz Hamer,” she said loudly.
“Tell her I’m busy,” Miss Hamer said, as petulant as a small child. She picked up her book and held it in shaking hands. “I’m reading. I don’t have time for visitors.”
“How nice to see you, Miss Hamer,” Bessie said, unperturbed. It had always been this way. Harold’s sister always said she never had time for visitors. Bessie usually took no for an answer and left, since there was nothing to be gained from trying to talk to somebody who wouldn’t talk to you. But today she was determined. She pulled up a chair and sat down.