Miss Dimple Rallies to the Cause (7 page)

Delia exchanged glances with Millie, who stated calmly that she was sure the poster was good, but preferred to make that judgment for herself.

“Go on then,” Emmaline said with a wave of her hand. “See for yourself, but I’m sure you’ll find I’m right.”

“Oh, dear Lord, help them!” Geneva, sitting beside Charlie, muttered under her breath as the other two judges took the box of posters to the other side of the aisle and began to go through them. Charlie darted a look at her uncle Ed, the father of the bride, who sat behind her and bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud. Thank goodness she hadn’t agreed to help with the judging!

As soon as the younger girls left, Emmaline called for the cast of the womanless wedding, and Bessie Jenkins, tape measure dangling, did her best to outfit them all. Cast-off evening gowns had been donated by some of Elderberry’s older (and larger) matrons, and four of the bridesmaids lined up to see if any of them would fit. Everyone laughed as the Presbyterian minister held up a ruffled pink organdy; Reynolds Murphy slipped into a gold taffeta number with billowing skirt, and Froggie Faulkenberry struggled into an apple green gown with a huge purple sash. The new coach, Jordan McGregor, flushed as Bessie pinned him into a pastel flowered dimity with flowing sleeves, and confessed that he’d made a promise to the players on his team. “If they can get up there and dance, I guess I can be part of the wedding party,” he admitted.

Bessie peered over her bifocals into the audience. “We’re missing a fifth bridesmaid. Isn’t there supposed to be another?”

“Here I am. Sorry I’m late, but I couldn’t get away from work.” The voice came from the back of the auditorium, and Charlie turned to see a man she didn’t recognize approaching the stage. Annie, who had slipped into the seat beside her, gasped.

“What? Do you know him?”
Charlie whispered, but Buddy took that opportunity to remind everyone to help get posters up as soon as possible. “We have less than three weeks before the rally, and if anyone wants to buy tickets in advance, they’ll be on sale at the library.”

Emmaline shooed the newcomer onto the stage to be measured while at the piano Sebastian Weaver ran through a few bars of “The Wedding March.” “Try to be on time from now on,” she commanded. “Can’t have you holding up the wedding, you know.”

The man looked as if he wanted to say something else, but he took a deep breath instead and told Emmaline he would do the best he could, but in his line of work, the job had to come first.

“Oh, I know who you are. You’re one of the deputies who works for Sheriff Holland.” One of the high school girls called out from the wings, where the group had been waiting to practice their dance. “Did they ever find out who that woman was who was buried out there?”

Her dance partner spoke up before the deputy could answer. “Aw, she was probably just one of those tramps that come through here. I don’t reckon they’ll ever learn who she was.”

“That’s not true!” Buddy Oglesby, his face red, threw his notes to the floor and jumped from the stage.

“Hey! Wait a minute!” the deputy yelled. “If you can identify that person, you should notify the sheriff.”

“Maybe he put her there,” someone said.

Buddy looked about, his face grim. “No. I’m not the one who did that, but I can imagine who did,” he told them before walking up the long aisle and out the door in silence.

C
HAPTER
S
IX

Something was going on. He just knew it. The signs were there, but he didn’t dare mention it or he’d start another war, and he couldn’t bear that. Just this once, maybe he was wrong … maybe things would be different. Life was full of maybes, and he could hope, couldn’t he?

*   *   *

“Can I offer you ladies a ride?”

The truck slowed alongside them as Charlie, Delia, and Annie walked home from rehearsals, and Charlie, recognizing the driver, waited for Annie to respond.

“Thanks, but it’s not that far and we need the exercise,” Annie said, walking a little faster.

“Are you sure?” Deputy H. G. Dobbins continued to shadow them. “It’s mighty dark on this side of town.”

“We’ll be fine,” Charlie told him, sensing Annie’s reluctance.

“Okay. Suit yourselves, but you all be careful now.” And with a roar of his engine, he was gone.

“Sure doesn’t seem like
he
was keeping to the speed limit,” Annie said, watching his taillights disappear.

“Why didn’t you let him give us a ride?” Delia asked. “We could’ve been home in five minutes.”

“And how do you think he was going to squeeze all three of us into the cab of that truck?” her sister asked. “Besides, he was only interested in Annie.”

“Well, I’m not interested in him! I thought I made that clear last week,” Annie said. “I was shocked out of my socks when I saw him there tonight. I had no idea he was going to be in the womanless wedding.”

“Speaking of being shocked, do you think Buddy Oglesby
knows
who was buried out there on the Hutchinsons’ farm?” Charlie asked. “If he doesn’t, he’s certainly been acting peculiar.”

“From what he said tonight, it sure sounded like he knows something,” Delia said, “but he didn’t hang around long enough to answer any questions.”

“By the way,” Charlie said, elbowing Delia. “Did the judges reach a decision on the poster contest?”

“Huh! Millie and I did. One of the fifth-grade boys did a fantastic drawing of a fighter plane with a ship below it, and the slogan said, ‘In the sea and in the air, let them know how much we care! Buy Bonds!’”

“Sounds great,” Charlie said. “What did Emmaline have against that?”

“Only that it wasn’t submitted by a relative,” Delia answered. “The one she liked had pictures of soldiers and sailors cut from a magazine and pasted on cardboard and it just said, ‘Help them win the fight!’ I think somebody in your class made it, Charlie.”

“Really? Who?”

Delia thought for a minute. “Linda Ann … somebody. Orr … Linda Ann Orr!”

“You’re right! Her grandmother and Emmaline are first cousins.” Charlie laughed. “What now? How will you decide without starting World War Three?”

Delia shrugged. “Millie knows a lot more about art than Emmaline Brumlow. She told me she used to be a commercial artist, and some of her work has been in national magazines, but we’ll just let the cast choose between the two of them tomorrow night. Even Emmaline won’t be able to argue with that.”

“Wanna bet?” Annie said.

*   *   *

Miss Dimple froze as the floor creaked under her feet. Could whoever was out there hear it? And what on God’s green earth
was
anyone doing on the front porch in the middle of the night unless they were up to no good? In the past, Phoebe had left a small lamp burning on the hall table during the night, but she had discontinued that since the war began. In the event of an air-raid drill, it would be one less light to extinguish, and tonight Dimple was grateful for the darkness. A few steps more and she would be able to look through one of the windows on either side of the door, and if the person seemed suspicious, she would immediately call the police.

Whoever it was certainly wasn’t very tall. Maybe it was an animal. Willie Elrod’s dog, Rags, was forever getting loose and running about the neighborhood, and she always coaxed him home when she found him. Dimple Kilpatrick frowned as she peered through the glass. But this wasn’t Willie’s dog crouching on the porch tonight. It was Willie himself!

Miss Dimple quietly opened the door before speaking. “William Elrod, just what in the world are you doing out here in the dead of the night? Do you realize what time it is? I’m sure your mother has no idea where you are.”

“Oh, lordy, Miss Dimple! You ought not sneak up on a person like that. You just about scared me half to death!” The child jumped to his feet and began to back away.

“You haven’t answered my question, William.” Miss Dimple spoke in her no-nonsense classroom voice. “What were you doing out here? It appears that you’ve been looking in Mr. Weaver’s window. Just what did you expect to see?”

Willie shrugged. “I was just looking for Rags. He got away from me when I went to put him out on the screen porch.”

Miss Dimple knew that Willie, who lived next door, smuggled his dog into his bed at night and moved him to his box on the porch before his parents woke in the morning. She also suspected that Willie’s mother was aware of his nocturnal activities. She looked at the boy without speaking until he began to stare at the floor and shift from one foot to the other. “And what makes you think Mr. Weaver has Rags inside with him?”

“I was just lookin’ after things,” the child mumbled. “Somebody has to, you know.” He looked up at her and his face seemed almost angelic in the pale glow of the streetlight, but of course she knew better. “You said yourself you don’t know what you would’ve done without me when those bad things happened last year,” he told her.

There was nothing Dimple Kilpatrick wanted more than to gather this little boy into her arms and kiss his freckled cheek, but she knew such an act would probably embarrass him for the rest of his natural life and cause awkwardness on both sides in the pleasant relationship they shared.

“And I meant every word of it,” she said, “but that doesn’t explain why you were looking in the window.”

“Because…”

“Because why?” she insisted.

“Well, because he talks funny—scary, like those Nazis in the movies. And he used to live there, you know. Germany, I mean.”

“Mr. Weaver came here from Austria,” Miss Dimple explained.

“Same thing, ain’t it? Aren’t we fighting them, too?”

“
Isn’t it!
And indeed we are, but I doubt if some of them had a choice.” Miss Dimple sat in a rocking chair in order to face him on his level. “William, Mr. Weaver came to the States before our country was even involved in the war with Germany. He had nothing to do with any of that.”

The child’s expression was doubtful. “But how can you be sure? They might’ve sent him here to spy on us, you know.”

Although not infallible, Dimple Kilpatrick considered herself an astute judge of character, and the gentle nature of the shy musician was discernible even through his often sad countenance. It was possible that
someone
in this house had slipped a message for Phoebe into the mailbox, and it might have been Sebastian Weaver—or it could’ve been anyone. It was most distressing to contemplate. “I understand your concern, William, but I don’t believe you have to worry about Mr. Weaver,” she said, “and it would do him a great disservice to spread hurtful rumors when we have no reason to believe they’re true. How would you feel if someone did that to you?”

“But I’m not German,” Willie said.

“The man can’t help where he was born, William, but he’s here now and contributes to the community
and
to the war effort in a meaningful way. Why, Miss Annie tells me he’s being a great help with the entertainment for the rally.”

Willie sighed. He would rather eat cold oatmeal with turnips in it than give up seeking out spies. After all, wasn’t it up to him to help defend his town and his country? And he had done a fine job of it, too! But Miss Dimple … well … she understood things better than most grown-ups, and he knew he could trust her.

“I’m right here in the same house with Mr. Weaver, and if anything suspicious takes place, I’m sure I would notice it,” Miss Dimple persisted as she looked into his brown eyes with her keen blue ones. “I want you to go home now and get some sleep. Tomorrow’s a school day, you know, and let’s keep this little adventure our secret.”

“But you will let me know if he starts doing anything weird—like talking in code and stuff like that?”

She nodded. “That I will, now off with you, and remember, this is just between the two of us.”

“Yes, ma’am. I promise.” Willie yawned. He would just have to spy on somebody else.

*   *   *

“I don’t know when chicken has tasted so good to me,” Bessie said as she cuddled Delia’s little Tommy on her lap. “And that sweet-potato cake just hit the spot, but you shouldn’t be using your precious sugar rations on me. I insist on paying you back.” She paused to kiss the back of the baby’s plump neck.

“You’ll do no such thing!” Jo told her. “As many times as we’ve borrowed from you! And Jesse Dean at Mr. Cooper’s saved us that small plump hen especially for you.”

“Well, bless his heart! That’s just like him, and it’s a treat to have something besides that everlasting Spam!” Bessie rescued her glasses from Tommy. “I think I’ve had it fried, baked, battered, and just about any way I can think of except in ice cream. And I can’t thank you enough for my cologne. How did you know it was my favorite?”

Charlie avoided her sister’s eyes. They had been supplying their neighbor with English Lavender for as long as she could remember. “I hate to run,” she said, “but Delia and I better be off to rehearsals if we don’t want to suffer the wrath of Emmaline Brumlow.”

Bessie reluctantly surrendered the baby to Delia, who took him upstairs to bed. “I don’t see the need for me to go tonight, but I’ll check back later this week to take care of alterations and to see if they have anyone new who needs to be fitted.” She paused. “You know, I was in Peabodys’ Cleaners this morning and Hiram Peabody told me
he
was supposed to be one of the bridesmaids but that Dobbins fellow talked him into letting him take his place.”

Jo Carr pulled her chair a little closer. “That’s strange! Why would he want to do that? Most of these men had to be dragged into it kicking and screaming.”

Charlie thought she knew why but decided it was best to keep it to herself. “Reynolds Murphy told me he had to practically beat the bushes to line up the cast. And now Buddy Oglesby’s trying to back out of helping with the rally. Said he didn’t mind being in charge of publicity but he’d rather we’d find someone else to take his place.”

Bessie lowered her voice. “I suppose the girls told you what he did last night—got all upset over that poor skeleton they found,” she said to Jo. “I don’t know what’s going on with Buddy, but as the old man said, it’s gettin’ curiouser and curiouser!”