Nevada State Fair
September 9, 1916
The grounds of the Nevada State Fair were a swarm of activity, even though it wasn’t open to the public for another two days. Ella had been coming to the fair with her father since she was a little girl, and every year it was the same. Vendors set up their stands, unfurling banners for amazing items that every home had to have or treats that would make your mouth water at the sight of them. Workmen unloaded trucks by the various exhibition buildings. In the livestock area, pens and stalls were filled with horses, pigs, cows, chickens, and every kind of animal one could imagine finding on a farm.
Ella walked up to the whitewashed fence on one of the swine enclosures and waved at the man on the other side. “Good morning, Mr. Evans. Those are some fine-looking pigs.”
Felix Evans was probably only in his fifties, but he’d looked about seventy for as long as she’d known him. Still, he was wiry, energetic, and always convivial. When he smiled, Ella suspected he’d lost at least one more tooth since the last time they’d met.
“Thank you, Miss Daniels. Yep, you can’t go wrong with Berkshires. Now others, they prefer the pale-skinned Yorkies, but not me. Dark skin, darker meat. That’s a good pig! I expect we’ll be taking home a ribbon or two.”
He said almost the same thing every year. Ella chuckled. “Good luck to you. And to Mrs. Evans. I assume she’s entered in the canning competition again?”
“Absolutely.” Mr. Evans nodded enthusiastically. “It was a good year for peaches. She canned some beauts. And she’s got a great pie to make for the recipe contest. That is, if I don’t eat it before the judges get to it.”
Laughing along with him, Ella backed away from the fence. With a cheery, “See you later,” she was on her way.
Looking around her, Ella couldn’t help but be in high spirits. There were times when she wished her world was bigger than just the dairy. She yearned to live in a big city, where everyone didn’t know everything about her and she could stretch her artistic muscles. But then there were days like today, when she was surrounded by other people living the same kind of life she did. She felt the camaraderie, the community. At times like that, she couldn’t imagine her life any other way.
A chorus of moos greeted her as she approached the bovine enclosures. Since she was the only butter sculptress at the fair, the Daniels Dairy had been given their customary space in the center, complete with its own icehouse. Next to it, Geraldine was happily ensconced in a special stall all for her. In a large corral beside that were the ten Jerseys her father had brought to sell.
Digging in her skirt pocket, Ella found the treat she’d brought. “Here you go, gorgeous.”
As Geraldine munched the carrot, Ella scratched her behind the ear. This would be a good time to start working on the sculpture. The wooden frame, which she’d created already, was in the icehouse and waiting for her to apply the base layer of butter. It was much more a laborious task than an artistic one, so she always did it ahead of time. There was so much she needed to do in private with the doors shut before the crowds arrived day after tomorrow. Ella rubbed her hands together, anticipating the coming chill. Might as well get to work.
Before she could open the door to the icehouse, she heard the sound of someone clearing his throat.
“Excuse me.”
She turned around to see a man in a light brown suit. He tipped his flat-topped straw hat and bowed slightly. Ella smiled at him. “May I help you?”
“I believe you can. More to the point, I believe we can help each other.” His voice broke and a red flush crept up his neck from beneath his celluloid collar. “What I mean to say is … oh dear. My name is Orville Henderson. I’m with Igloo Ice Works, manufacturers of dependable iceboxes for over fifty years.”
She shook his hand after he extended it. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Henderson, but I think you want to speak to my father. He owns the dairy and makes all the purchasing decisions.”
“No, I’m not trying to sell you anything. Are you the butter sculptress?”
“I am. Ella Daniels.”
He looked so relieved, she might as well have told him she’d discovered the Fountain of Youth. “Wonderful. Wonderful.”
She waited for him to explain, but he just kept nodding and smiling. Finally, she had to prompt him.
“Why do you want to talk to me?”
“Oh! Oh, yes, of course. Sorry. Your sculptures have done so well advertising the dairy, I was hoping you could do the same for me. For us. For Igloo Ice Works, that is.”
The poor fellow was having quite a time expressing himself. Rather than tell him flat out she had no interest in promoting anything other than the family business, she clasped her hands together, gave him her full attention, and waited for him to continue.
“You see,” he said, “we’d like to sponsor your sculpture this year.”
Now she had to say something. “Sponsor? As in, pay?”
“Yes. We agree on a fee, and then I can put our advertising on the side of your icehouse.”
A poster or two on the wall didn’t sound so bad. “Is that all?”
“Well, actually, no. You see, Igloo has an exhibit in the Homemaker’s Hall. We’d like to demonstrate how well our icebox works by keeping one of your butter sculptures in it.”
“Oh dear—”
“Not a full-sized sculpture,” he rushed to assure her. “Something small and easy.”
Small and easy. There was nothing easy about sculpting with a medium that melted almost as soon as you touched it. He had no idea what he was asking.
“Mr. Henderson, I’m sorry. If I’d known ahead of time, we might have been able to work something out. But there’s no way I can make an additional sculpture on such short notice.”
The man was crestfallen. “Are you sure? Perhaps—”
“I’m sure.”
“I see. Well, of course, I understand.” He sighed. “Would you mind if I took a look in your icehouse? Just a professional courtesy. I like to see how they’re configured and if I can do anything to improve the efficiency.”
“Be my guest.” Ella motioned to the building.
Giving a brief nod, Mr. Henderson hurried over, pulled open one of the big doors and disappeared inside, closing the doors behind him. Ella supposed he was more comfortable by himself, surrounded by ice. Why else would he willingly go into the frigid space? Which reminded her, she had been about to get working on her project before Mr. Henderson showed up. Now, where had she put the valise with her overcoat and scarf?
She was double-checking the area next to Geraldine’s stall when another voice called out, but this one was so familiar, she didn’t need to look to know who was coming.
“Miss Daniels,” Max boomed. “Is that you?”
What was he doing there? Was she never to be allowed to get to work?
“You know perfectly well it’s me,” she sputtered at him while tromping around the stall. “What in the world do you—Oh.”
Max wasn’t alone. The man beside him sported an imposing mustache and was dressed a bit too well for the fair. When he smiled, she caught the faint sparkle of a gold molar just beyond the corner of his mouth.
Motioning to the man, Max made introductions. “Miss Daniels, this is Mr. Philip Stanley.”
He held out a gloved hand. Ella hesitated, knowing that, after a day of setting up her work area and petting Geraldine, she would likely mar the pristine white cotton, but when he showed no signs of retreat, she acquiesced.
“Pleasure meeting you, Mr. Stanley,” she said as he pumped her arm.
“And you.” His eyes swept the paddock and stopped when he got to the icehouse. “I understand you’re the one who sculpts cows from butter.”
Before she could answer, Max jumped in. “She’s the very one. For years, she’s been proving that butter is hard as a rock.”
“What?” Ella couldn’t hold back her shocked reaction.
“The detail she gets is amazing,” Max continued. “It’s definitely not something you can do with margarine.”
Mr. Stanley nodded. “Yes, you want something that holds its shape if you’re sculpting a statue. But not if you’re spreading it on a fluffy homemade biscuit.”
Ella glared at Max. How dare he bring this stranger to meet her if all they were going to do was insult her? “I don’t see how this is any business of yours.”
“I’m so sorry, miss.” Mr. Stanley put his palm against his chest, giving her such a fake look of contrition it was insulting. “I should have explained that it actually is my business. I’m with Majestic Electric, maker of fine electric appliances, such as the Sure-Frost Refrigerator.”
“How nice for you.” Ella looked at Max. “What is the meaning of your visit?”
Max glanced at the other man, who nodded. “I wanted you to meet Mr. Stanley to make a point. The electric refrigerator is the wave of the future, the same way that margarine is. Iceboxes and butter are things of the past. It won’t be long before both of them disappear in favor of what’s newer and better.”
“Which is why,” Mr. Stanley added, “Majestic Electric has decided to partner at this fair with the Joy Margarine Company.”
Rather than scream at them, which is what she really wanted to do, Ella remained calm. “What do you mean by ‘partner’?”
Max hooked his thumbs under his suspenders and rocked forward on the balls of his feet. “Majestic Electric is sharing advertising with Joy.”
“Together, we’ll show how the same refrigerator that keeps your ice frozen will also keep your margarine at a perfect, spreadable temperature.” Mr. Stanley slapped Max on the back. “The housewives are all going to beg their husbands for one.”
Ella’s mind was whirling. She’d never really believed that margarine was a threat to their business. To her, it was a fad, like mismatched socks or collecting lost hairpins. No one in their right mind would ever choose a tub full of chemicals over a stick of wholesome, rich butter. But what if she was wrong? The icebox manufacturers certainly had reason to worry. Maybe she did, too.
The door to the icehouse opened, and Mr. Henderson walked out, looking a bit red in the nose and cheeks.
“Everything in there looks good. You obviously know what you’re doing.”
There was no time to think. Ella simply acted. She rushed to the man’s side and linked her arm through his then pulled him up to the other two gentlemen.
“Congratulations, Mr. Sinclair, but you’re not the only one with news.”
Confusion clouded Mr. Henderson’s face. Meanwhile, Max frowned. “Oh, really?”
“This is Mr. Orville Henderson, of Igloo Ice Works, maker of fine iceboxes.” Ella smiled broadly. “Igloo is partnering with the Daniels Dairy.”
Max wagged his finger from one to the other. “You mean …”
“Yes.” Ella looked Mr. Henderson in the eye and nodded, hoping he’d understand. When he began to smile, she looked back at Max. “Igloo is sponsoring my sculpture this year.”