When Bessie got home from the Dahlias’ meeting, she went upstairs and changed into the gray cotton work dress and old shoes that she wore in the garden, then took a pair of clippers and went out to deadhead the roses. The peaches from the trees near the back fence were already in their jars in the cellar, pickled and spiced and canned, and the apples would soon be ripe. They had picked the last crop of green beans and would be digging the sweet potatoes in another few weeks, to wrap in newspaper and store in bushel baskets in the cellar. The Magnolia Ladies had a lot to show for their gardening efforts this year.

“Yoo hoo, Bessie!”

She looked up from her work to see Liz and Verna ducking through the hedge between the Manor and the Dahlias’ clubhouse. She dropped the clippers into her basket and wiped her forehead with her sleeve, pushing her hair out of her eyes. It was a muggy afternoon. The way her shoulder was hurting, there’d be rain by supper time.

“Whew,” she said. “Enough of that. Come and see my Angel Trumpet.” She left her basket where it was and led them to a corner of the garden where a tall, sturdy-looking shrub was growing against the fence. It had large, coarse green leaves and was covered with huge, pendulous blossoms, a beautiful shade of creamy peach. They were tightly furled now, ready to open at twilight. “You can’t believe the perfume,” she said. “It’s heavenly. We leave all the upstairs windows open when we go to bed, just so we can smell it.”

“Gorgeous,” Verna said, touching one of the blossoms with her finger. “Will you save us some seed?”

“Or a few cuttings,” Liz said enviously. “I have the perfect site for it.”

“Of course,” Bessie said. “Oh, and you can mention it in your ‘Garden Gate’ column, Liz. Tell folks that they can come and get some cuttings. But you might also tell them it’s poisonous. They need to be careful with it, especially if there are children around.”

“Hard to believe that something so beautiful could be harmful,” Liz said.

Bessie nodded. “My grandmother claimed she smoked it for her asthma, but it’s a pretty powerful narcotic. Now, shall we sit down?” She led them toward a trio of white-painted chairs and a little table in the shade of a weeping willow, pausing at the kitchen door to ask Roseanne to bring out a pitcher of lemonade and some glasses.

“Where is everybody?” Verna asked as they sat down. “It’s such a lovely afternoon, I figured they’d all be out here in the garden.”