Beulah’s feeling of kinship was reinforced when the stranger lifted her hands, gasped at the flowers, and cried, “Oh, how stunning! What a lovely thing to see on a Monday morning. Flowers do get the week started out just right, don’t they?” She sounded like a Yankee, but as far as Beulah was concerned, anybody who loved flowers was a true sister.

“They purely do,” Beulah said happily. She turned to Bettina, who was staring, openmouthed, at this platinum-haired vision of feminine loveliness. “Bettina, honey, would you fill this bowl with water, please?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am,” Bettina said, and jumped up, scattering Kurley Kews all over the floor.

Beulah left Bettina scrambling to pick up the curlers and turned back to her customer. “Now, dear, how can we help you on this beautiful mornin’?”

The woman’s face became serious, and she looked around, as if she were making sure she had come to the right place. “I hope you do coloring,” she said hesitantly. “Not just shampoos and sets.”

“’Course we do colorin’,” Beulah said, in her most comforting voice. “We do tints, dyes, and color rinses, in all shades. And it sure looks like you could use some fresh color, honey, if you don’t mind me sayin’ so. Those roots are gettin’ just a teensy bit dark. And you’re way too pretty to let that happen, Miz—” She paused, letting the word hang delicately in the air.

“Jamison,” the woman said, holding out her gloved hand. “I’m Nona Jean Jamison. I’ve come from Chicago to stay with my aunt, Miss Hamer, over on Camellia Street. She needs a little taking care of, and I’m between . . . projects.”

“So nice to meet you, Miz Jamison,” Beulah said cordially, taking her hand. Chicago. She wasn’t surprised. She knew that bright blue bolero dress hadn’t come from Darling, or even from Mobile or Montgomery. Carson Pirie Scot and Company, on the Loop, maybe. Beulah had never been to Chicago but she had read that Carson’s on the Loop was the place to shop for women’s fashions. “I am Mrs. Beulah Trivette, owner of the Beauty Bower. And that’s Bettina down there on the floor, pickin’ up the Kurley Kews.” Bettina lifted a hand, waved, and smiled nervously. “Welcome to Darlin’, Miz Jamison. We’re a real friendly little town, and we’ll do our best to help you feel at home for just as long as you’re here. Now, if you’ll just let me have your hat, we’ll get started on those roots.”

Miss Jamison took off her hat and handed it to Beulah, who put it carefully on a shelf. “Actually,” she said, putting a hand to her hair and fluffing it up, “I don’t want the roots retouched. I want you to dye my hair dark. And bob it.”