Miss Dimple and the Slightly Bewildered Angel (20 page)

“I can't see that my being along will keep her from having a flat, Lily. And everybody knows I have no sense of direction.”

With everyone else away, the two were enjoying a late breakfast, and Phoebe, reluctant to leave the table, lingered over a second cup of coffee, something she seldom had an opportunity to enjoy.

Her face a mask of disapproval, Lily picked up her plate and headed for the kitchen. “After all, she
is
your cousin,” she reminded her.

“Ada is my late husband's cousin.” And since Monroe has been gone these many years, he's not here to make me feel guilty, Phoebe thought. “Besides,” she added, “I sent the bride a whole place setting in her silver.”

Lily sighed. “Well, I hope some of the family will offer to put Mrs. Ashcroft up for the night,” she said, and disappeared into the kitchen.

“Why, Lily, I do believe you're trying to get rid of me!” Phoebe said on her return. “You must be planning a secret rendezvous.”

“Why—why, Phoebe Chadwick, the very idea!” Lily's cheeks turned almost as pink as the fabric rose pinned to the neck of her blouse. “You didn't go with the others to Tennessee, so I just thought you deserved some time away.”

“I'm sorry, Lily. You're right, of course, and I suppose I should go to the wedding, but what about you? I hate to leave you here alone.”

“I won't be the only woman alone tonight. Just think of all those young wives whose husbands are fighting overseas. If they can bear the loneliness day after day, I can surely manage for one night.”

My goodness, Phoebe thought as she tidied up the kitchen, Lily Moss sounded almost noble. She couldn't remember her being so eager to be left alone. Naturally, she wondered why.

Was love blooming between the modest sixth-grade teacher and the new assistant principal? Or perhaps it was portly Craig Defore, who came there to teach history and math.
But Phoebe shook her head. Neither seemed her type.

As it turned out, demure Lily
did
have a rendezvous of sorts in mind, but it wasn't the kind Phoebe had suggested. Earlier in the month, the scandalous new novel
Forever Amber
had been confiscated when one of the more daring seventh-grade girls was found relishing it behind a textbook in Ethel Willoughby's English class. The forbidden book was then placed in a locker in the faculty room, where it became available to any of that group who wanted to take advantage of the information.

There was little doubt that Lily Moss lacked in that area more than most. She intended to remedy that tonight.

*   *   *

A dim lamp burned in the hallway downstairs and the one in the parlor window sent a yellow slant of light across the otherwise-dark front porch. The house was quiet except for the intermittent creaking that seemed to come from first one place and then another. Only the ordinary noises of an old house settling for the night, Lily told herself. Strange she'd never noticed them before, but of course there were always others about, as well as the usual sounds—a radio show, kitchen clatter, water running in the bathtub, doors opening and closing.

After Phoebe left for the wedding, Lily'd made sure to lock the door behind her and had checked to see the one in the back of the house was secure, as well. She made herself a cup of hot chocolate and took it upstairs, along with a few of the molasses cookies Augusta had made before she left. The four women had been gone a little over a day now and Lily wondered if they had met Dora Westbrook's sister and if she had been able to help them.

It was lonely here without them, and Lily wished she hadn't lost the key to the room she shared with Velma as she closed the door behind her, but the chocolate was hot and sweet and the cookies had just the right amount of spice. What would we have done without Augusta in Odessa's absence? she wondered. Lily admired Augusta, although she wasn't quite sure what to make of her. Why, she had even changed the way she wore her hair because of something Augusta said.

“You have a lovely wave in your hair but no one can see it when you pull it straight back like that,” she'd commented one morning at breakfast. “Why not let it frame your face, so everyone can see?”

Lily wondered why no one had suggested that before, as the soft waves around her face seemed to make her look much younger, and, well, almost pretty, or at least she felt that way. Even Mr. Taylor, the assistant principal, had complimented her on her new look.

Not that his opinion mattered. Certainly not! Still, it was nice to be noticed.

Later in pajamas and robe, Lily curled up in the small boudoir chair covered in a cheerful yellow-and-blue print in the same fabric as the bedspreads. The light was just right, and with a cozy pillow at her back, Lily picked up the book to begin her adventure.

She had read as far as page two when the sound of breaking glass came from the kitchen below.

 

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-THREE

“Bobby Tinsley was to have let Dora's sister know we were on the way, so she should be expecting us,” Velma said at breakfast the next morning. All had ordered scrambled eggs and biscuits, and no one seemed to be in a hurry to leave, as a steady rain had begun to fall and the restaurant was warm and comfortable.

“I wonder what she said—Dora's sister, I mean. She must wonder why all of us are coming.” Annie poured syrup over a steaming biscuit and licked her fingers, looking first to see if Miss Dimple was watching.

But Dimple Kilpatrick's attention was on the rain pounding the awning over their window and collecting in puddles in the asphalt parking lot below. Or that's where she seemed to be looking. They had spent the night near Lynchburg, would pass through Shelbyville before noon, and then Lewisburg, where they hoped to meet Dora's sister, Elaine. Dimple's memories of that area were of daisy-dotted meadows and winding streams, of vast fields of corn and tobacco, and of a tree-shaded village still in its youth. As she had been.

“My goodness, Dimple, you've hardly touched a thing,” Velma said. “I hope you're not coming down with something.”

“I'm just saving my appetite for that picnic lunch,” Dimple said, “but it would be a shame to waste these biscuits. I'll ask our waitress if they could spare us a little wax paper to wrap them. You never know when they might come in handy.”

Annie made a face. “I don't mind leftover biscuits, but I believe I'll pass on cold ones.”

“Then you've never been hungry.” The other three spoke at once, and then, of course they all laughed.

Later, they would have cause to remember that conversation.

The restaurant cook had packed a picnic of fried chicken, deviled eggs, pickles, and pimento cheese sandwiches; and for dessert had added crisp red apples from a nearby farm. The chicken smelled so inviting, they all agreed it should travel in the trunk of the car and away from temptation.

“I hope this rain lets up before we get to Lewisburg, or we might have to picnic in the car,” Velma said as they left the motor court with its welcoming café behind them.

Glancing at the sky, Dimple said they all should look for a patch of blue large enough to make a pair of Dutchman's britches, because that meant it was going to clear.

“Poor Dutchman! Looks like he's going to have to wear his old pants,” Annie observed a while later, as there seemed to be no letup from the rain. A little after noon, they pulled off the road and lunched in the car in a spot overlooking a narrow stream of rushing brown water.

“It looks like this weather's going to follow us all the way to Lewisburg,” Velma said. “I was hoping we could find a nice place to take a break and stretch our legs.”

Augusta ate the last bite of her pickle and announced that as far as she was concerned, fried chicken tasted just as good no matter where you ate it.

Rain and muddy roads delayed their arrival in Lewisburg, and they decided to spend the night in a tourist home there and try to visit with Dora's sister the next morning.

“After we see Elaine tomorrow, I would think our next step should be to try to locate the person Dora visited in Macon,” Augusta said. “Dora must have gone there for a purpose, and whoever she went to see would be the last person she confided in before getting off the bus in Elderberry. Maybe Elaine will be able to come up with a name and address.”

“I'm afraid none of us has the time or the money—not to mention the gas coupons—to go all the way to Macon,” Dimple said, a bit peeved that Augusta suggested what she herself had in mind.

Augusta twirled her colorful necklace around her fingers. “I believe I know someone there who can help.”

Velma avoided a huge puddle in the road as she spoke. “My goodness, Augusta, you certainly know a lot of people. How did you come to know somebody in Macon?”

“I've been fortunate to meet a lot of people in my line of work, and I think I know just the one. I'll try to get in touch with Grace as soon as I can, as I believe she'll just be bang up to the elephant.”

Annie laughed. “She'll be
what
? ‘Bang up to the elephant!' What in the world does that mean?”

Augusta smiled. “That's just an old expression I picked up in London years ago. It means perfect, and I think my friend Grace should be exactly what we need.”

“This agency you work for certainly covers a large area,” Dimple said. “When were you in London, Augusta?”

“Oh, it was many years ago. I once had the good fortune to see the queen on one of her hospital visits to the troops. Always wore black—not a good color for her, I'm afraid.”

“The queen?” Velma gasped. “Why, Augusta, Victoria's been dead for years! You're much too young—”

“Oh, Augusta, you're so funny!” Annie said, laughing, “and we can use a little humor on a dreary day like this, but do you really know somebody who might help us in Macon?”

“I'll see what I can do,” Augusta said. “Now, where is this tourist home they told us about at the gas station back there? I'm ready to kick off my shoes and relax.”

“And after wading through all these puddles, they should be soaking wet,” Velma said. Augusta was the only person she knew who wore sandals in October. “We should be there soon. I believe it's in a small place called Willow, a few miles on the other side of town. Maybe that's the sign now.… Dimple, can you read it?”

But Dimple Kilpatrick had already gone back to Willow, Tennessee. It was August 1898, and she was nineteen.

 

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-FOUR

Upstairs in her room, Lily curled in the chair, afraid to move, as if the chair itself could protect her from whatever was going on below. Had she left a glass too near the edge of the sink? But, no, she had washed the handful of dishes she'd used at supper, dried them, and put them away. There had been no glass on the sink, no cup, no plate, and whatever had been broken was larger than that, much larger. Like the glass from a window.

Still, she froze, clutching the arms of the chair. She could call for help, but the telephone was downstairs in the front hallway. If only she could lock the door to her room!

Putting the scandalous novel aside (in the first two pages, she was yet to be shocked), Lily turned off the lamp by her chair, but another burned in the window. Surely the intruder would notice the light and realize he was not alone. Terrified that whoever was below could hear her every breath, every footstep, she crept across the room and switched off the other lamp. Now the room was in darkness.

What would she do if he came upstairs? She had no weapon or any other means of defense, and there was no telling what ghastly things he might do. She was certain it was a man. Why, whoever heard of a female burglar? Oh, why had she insisted that Phoebe go to that wedding? Whoever was down there probably thought the house was empty, and she would be at his mercy.

Feeling her way in the darkness, she stumbled over a basket of magazines beside Velma's bed but regained her balance before she fell. Did he hear? Was he on his way upstairs? Shedding her slippers, Lily felt the edge of the rug beneath her bare feet and felt her way around the wall until she came to the door—the unlocked door. There was nothing here heavy enough to block the way. Besides, he would hear her dragging furniture about. There had to be something she could do.

Her heart was beating so fast and so loudly, she was sure he would be able to hear it. Why, Emma Elrod next door could hear it! What was it Augusta had said to do in moments of frenzy when it was necessary for one to react in a calm manner?
Think blue, of course!

Lily Moss took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and thought
blue,
but instead of becoming calm, she became angry—no, not angry,
incensed.
The very idea for this intruder, this criminal, to break into this house that had become a home to all who lived here, a home filled with respect, and, yes, even love for one another, and it was up to her to stop him.

And now he was clomping up the stairs, not even bothering to tiptoe, as if he thought the house was his to explore. Well, he had another think coming.

Moving quickly but quietly, Lily grabbed an empty soft-drink bottle—Orange Crush, if she remembered correctly—from the desk she and Velma shared, and snatching a coverlet from her bed, inched into the dark hallway and waited. The pale glow from the streetlamp gave just enough light through the fanlight over the front door for her to make out the shape of a shadowy figure halfway up the stairs. And statuelike, she waited. And waited until the intruder was almost opposite and a few inches below her, and then with a shriek, she landed a blow with the empty bottle to the person's head.

The burglar's howls blended with her own, until it became impossible to tell whose was whose, and dropping the bottle, Lily shook out the coverlet and threw it over his head.