The Darling Dahlias and the Cucumber Tree Read Online Free PDF

But if they found a house unoccupied and unlocked, it might be a different story. There wouldn’t likely be any vandalism—they were just ordinary men and boys (and some of the boys no more than children), down on their luck and looking for a dry place to sleep. But she didn’t want to take a chance. She wasn’t as optimistic as Ophelia about people’s good intentions.
    Lizzy was going down the walk, thinking about this, when a low, cracked voice said, at her elbow. “Afternoon, Miz Lacy.”
    Lizzy jumped and put her hand to her throat. “Oh, Zeke!” she exclaimed. “You startled me!”
    “Sorry,” Zeke muttered. The old colored man was grizzled and thin, with a leathery face and a nose that was smashed to one side—he’d been a boxer in the old days, Lizzy had heard. He wore a shapeless felt hat mashed down on his head and bib overalls over a white shirt, clean, because this was Sunday. “Wonderin’ if there was somethin’ I could do to he’p out here.” He gestured toward the garden. “Reckon the grass might oughta be mowed purty soon. An’ there’s plenty of snippin’ an’ clippin’ and cleanin’ in them flower beds.” He shook his head. “Sho’ looks a mess. Po’ Miz Dahlia must be turnin’ over in her grave.”
    Lizzy looked around. Zeke was right, she thought. The grass was ankle-high, and if it wasn’t clipped soon, the job would be a lot harder—maybe too hard for Zeke, who must be in his seventies. But he was strong still, strong enough to make a living delivering groceries for Mr. Hancock and doing odd jobs around the neighborhood—when he wasn’t drunk or recovering from an extended bout with the bottle.
    “Thanks for pointing that out, Zeke,” Lizzy replied. “Our club members will handle the cleanup on the flower beds, but maybe you could cut the grass for us.” She looked again at the long stretch down toward the woods. “How much did Mrs. Blackstone pay you for the work?”
    Zeke brightened. “A quarter’s whut she paid, Miz Lizzy.”
    “Good.” Lizzy opened her purse and took out a quarter. “Oh, and there’s something else you might could do for us, Zeke. It doesn’t have to be this week, but please dig a hole for the sign and plant it, out there in front of the house, under the cucumber tree. We want people to see it as they go past.” Considering his habits, it would probably be better if she didn’t give him all the money at once. “If you’ll come by my house when you’re finished, I’ll pay you for it”
    Zeke nodded, grinning a snaggletoothed grin. “Yes’m, I’ll do that” He pocketed the money, giving her a questioning look. “What folks’re sayin’ is true, then? Mr. Beatty Black stone ain’t never gonna live here? This place don’t belong to him or his’n?”
    There was something in the tone that arrested her, but she only said, “No, Zeke. Mrs. Blackstone left the house and the lot next door to the garden club. The Dahlias will be keeping the garden up—as best we can, anyway—and using the house for our meetings. It’s what Mrs. Blackstone wanted.”
    “Yes’m,” Zeke said, and looked away. “Reckon you know about the Cartwright ghost”
    Many Alabama houses have their resident ghosts, of course, especially if the house has had a history of tragedy. The Cartwright house was burned during the War (always spoken of in Darling with a capital W) and the Cartwright ghost, dispossessed, was said to wander through the old gardens looking for something she had lost, variously reported to be a baby, a family treasure, or even her shoes.
    “I’ve heard about it, of course,” Lizzy said. “I haven’t seen her myself, though,” she added.
    “Lots of folks has seen it.” Zeke was serious. “Never bothered Miz Blackstone much, ’cuz it’s her fam’ly ghost. She wuz familiar. But other folks might be afeerd, if they ain’t never seen her.”
    “Have you seen her?”
    Zeke looked wise. “Oh, reckon I have. More’n once, too,