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“We’d best get these pies to the booth before the judging starts in an hour,” Alice said, scooting out of her chair and picking up the empty dishes to wash.
“Bryant and I will take them,” I offered, getting up and gratefully scraping my breakfast leavings into the slop pail for the pigs. “You can take the applesauce cakes. We’ll see you both there.”
Both of us loaded down with armfuls of pies, we headed downstairs and out through the storefront where Henry was now opening for business.
Greetings were called to me from the women and crude jests called to Bryant as a suspiciously tired new husband from the men as we headed together down the main street. The entire town was decorated in autumn leaves, corn stalks and maize, bales and scatterings of hay. It had been a good year for the local farmers, and all of their produce was in ripe abundance and display.
The contests commenced, the entire town in county fair mode. By early afternoon my previous anxieties were forgotten and energy and enthusiasm restored. Bryant had kept a careful eye on me the entire morning, but now he stopped hovering and asking me if I was all right every twenty minutes.
Alice’s black-raspberry pie won first place, but her applesauce cake rolled in at fourth. The men finagled Bryant into a makeshift ball game that looked to be a mixture of lacrosse, cricket and American football. His team didn’t win, but he seemed to enjoy the camaraderie, finishing with a round of Heidi Gunderson’s homemade beer.
There were horse and wagon races, quilting contests, fair games and nineteenth century carnival rides, and a huge smorgasbord of amazing food and desserts that filled me to the brim.
By sunset the events ended with a mishmash hillbilly band playing a concert that moved quickly into country dancing. I was even able to draw Bryant into a few rounds until we both collapsed with exhaustion on one of the benches.
“I’ll get us something cold to drink,” he said, wiping his brow with the back of his arm.
“Letty Baxter said that all the beer kegs are empty now,” I said, catching my breath. “I’ll run back to the store and make some lemonade for us instead.”
“No need,” he said.
“There is for me,” then waggled my brows adding, “And if you don’t want any, then I’ll bet Wiley Baker will want what I have to offer.”
He smacked my hip with a teasing warning glare. “I’ll bet he would, the letch, but you’d better not be offering it to him, if you don’t want to pay the consequences later when we’re alone.”
“Hmm, is that a threat or a promise?”
“Wicked, wanton woman,” he growled hungrily, then grabbed my hand to draw me down to plant a very long and instructive kiss on my mouth.
“Be right back,” I said, pulling away, trying to level my now spinning brain back into place.
Before he could pull me back for another dizzying kiss, I playfully hopped out of his reach, then headed down the street, dodging people as I went.
Humming “Oh, Suzanna”, the last tune the band played, I practically skipped into the store, surprised to see Henry behind the cash counter rummaging through his handful of developed photographs.
“Hi, Henry. What’re you doing here? I hope you haven’t been minding the store all day while everyone else is enjoying the festival.”
He continued to finger through every photo. “No, no, I’ve just come from...Did you happen to take any of the photographs, Callista?”
“No. Are you missing some?”
“Just one,” he said, filtering through them again. “It’s my better one, in fact, where you’re reaching for the can of...Anyhow, it came out much clearer than the others, and I wanted to show Mayor Barnes who was asking after them. You didn’t take any then?”
“No, sorry. Don’t worry, you probably just laid it around here somewhere. Why don’t you show Mayor Barnes the one you took of the rodeo two weeks ago. He would probably find that more interesting anyhow.”
“Oh! Yes, perhaps you’re right. Yes, here it is. Great suggestion, Callista.”
“Always glad to help.”
Henry selected the photo in question, then stacked the rest back into its box and tucked them underneath the cash counter.
“Can you close up the store for me?” he rushed out.
“Will do. Go on,” I said.
With a quick wave, Henry darted out of the store, and I closed the door, then headed upstairs to make a small pitcher of lemonade.
I had just come down the stairs with filled pitcher in hand when the front door opened and Ray Wilkens stormed inside with blood in his eye. He was spoiling for a fight, so I quickly surmised that Ruby told him about our conversation yesterday.
