September 12, 1916
Homemaker’s Hall was always crowded but never quite so much as this. The closer Max got to his destination, the thicker the crowd became, until finally he reached the concentrated mass of women gathered in front of the Igloo exhibit. The closely packed bodies raised the temperature at least ten degrees, making him glad he’d left his jacket back at the Joy display.
A handsome young man wearing a smart Igloo Ice Works uniform was speaking to the crowd. “For years, Igloo has been the brand you know and trust, keeping your food fresh and at the perfect temperature, and that hasn’t changed. Our newest model has even more features you’ll love. Remember, with Igloo, there’s no need to worry about electric wiring or power availability. Our trusty icemen make sure you have everything you need.”
Orville Henderson was off to the side, a place Max was sure he felt more comfortable. He stood behind a table, handing something to the ladies in front of him. It wasn’t until Max made it all the way through the crowd that he saw what it was.
Even if it hadn’t been made out of butter, there was no mistaking Ella’s work. The peacock was lovely, although its tail was thinning by the second as Orville cut off butter feathers, put them on slices of bread, then handed them out.
“Excuse me.” Max slid between two matrons who were discussing which flour produced the best bread, and got as close as he could to Orville without attracting the man’s attention. Then, he watched.
The butter sculpture rested on a slab of ice, keeping it cool enough to hold its shape. The bread, however, was on a platter that was on top of three bricks, which no doubt had been heated to keep the bread warm. A small sign next to it announced that the bread was provided by blue ribbon winner Mavis Beechum. It was a smart move, involving another exhibitor. Max frowned to himself as he scanned the excited crowd. Ella was definitely getting more out of her partnership than Max was from his.
“Ladies, now, there’s no need to worry.” Orville spoke up as some of the waiting women began to jostle one another to move closer. “There are more feathers in the freezer of the Igloo. And we have more coming every day.”
More feathers? Max considered this new information. Ella must be making replacements. How was she finding time to do this and create her usual sculpture?
The canvas at the back of the display rustled, and Max noticed there was a slit in the middle that extended to the floor and went right through the center of the igloo. A moment later, as if his thoughts had made her appear, Ella came through carrying a full buttery tail of peacock plumage on a wooden tray covered in wax paper. The man in the Igloo uniform also saw Ella and made a big deal of her to the crowd.
“Here she is, ladies, the closest thing we have to an Eskimo and the queen of butter sculpting, Miss Ella Daniels of the Daniels Dairy.”
Blushing slightly, Ella smiled and nodded at the announcer then looked out over the crowd, smiling and nodding as she went.
And then her eyes landed on Max.
Her smile melted into a frown, and Max wondered if the butter in her hands would melt if she didn’t set it down. She turned, gave the tray to Orville, then walked up to the announcer and whispered something to him. He glanced at Max, nodded at Ella, then addressed the crowd.
“Ladies, let me introduce another exhibitor here at the Nevada State Fair.” He motioned to Max. “Mr. Sinclair represents the Joy Margarine Company. It seems they’re as interested in butter as all of you are.”
Orville’s eyes grew wide when he finally recognized him. Then, without appearing to think it through, he buttered a slice of bread and held it out to Max. He refused it, but it didn’t matter. The women around him laughed, and the announcer jumped on the opportunity.
“You see, even the people who sell margarine know that everything is better with butter!”
Coming to check up on the Igloo exhibit had been a bad idea, but there was no undoing it now. Pasting on a smile, he stepped up onto the stage and addressed the crowd.
“I agree that everything is better with butter.” A whisper of surprise rippled through the ladies in front of him. He moved toward Ella, enjoying the shock on her face. “But,” he said, raising his voice, “I absolutely believe that everything is marvelous with margarine!” To emphasize the point, he bowed low, and when he straightened back up, he grinned and winked.
The crowd loved it. Laughter and applause came at him like a wave, encouraging him to say more.
“I hope you ladies visit me in the Hall of Innovations for a sample of something truly delectable.”
One woman waved at him. Several giggled behind gloved hands. Beside him, Ella grabbed his wrist and pulled him closer.
“Come with me,” she said.
She glared at Max, but he looked her straight in the eye. “Yes, I believe you and I should talk.”
He followed her to the back of the stage and through the opening in the painted igloo. As soon as they were safely behind the display and away from the eyes of the onlookers, Ella stiffened, arms rigid at her sides, fingers curled into tight fists. “How dare you come over here and cause a scene.”
Max let out a huff of frustration. “Me? I caused a scene? What about you?” He gestured back with a slash of his hand. “I was just standing there, watching, not saying a word. There was no reason to point me out to that man so he could throw verbal barbs at me.”
“Quit acting put-upon. You took full advantage of the situation. Everything is marvelous with margarine? Please. As if that vile product could possibly compare to butter.” She shook her head. “No matter how much you dislike me, I never thought you would stoop so low. First the posters, now this.”
Two things struck Max. She still thought he was responsible for the posters, which irked him. And she thought he disliked her, which irked him even more.
“Ella,” he said in a low, calm voice, “no matter what you think, I have never, ever disliked you.”
She blinked. Her fingers relaxed, and she pressed her palms against the sides of her skirt. She blinked again. Max allowed himself an instant of satisfaction at the fact that he had managed to render her speechless. Then he decided to speak up before she returned to her old self.
“We are in competing businesses, yes, and I plan to do what I can to promote my product. But I won’t do it by hurting you or the dairy.”
For a moment, she dropped the protective shield she kept up and looked at him, really looked at him, the way she used to. Thoughts of their time together filled his mind: talking for hours, laughing as they chased down a rogue cow, sharing their first kiss behind the milking barn … How he had loved her.
He reached out, and his fingertips grazed the curve of her cheek. “Ella, I—”
She jerked back as if he’d cut her. “No. I’m sorry. But after everything … I just can’t.” She hurried away, sliding between booths, where she disappeared into the flow of people.
What had she meant? Can’t what? Can’t trust him? Can’t think about their time together? Can’t admit she still loved him?
Max slammed the door on those thoughts. They were part of another time, one they couldn’t get back. He needed to focus on the present. He had a job to do, and he’d best get back to it.
But first, he needed to stop by the bakery displays and find something on which to sample his margarine.
By the time Max had made his way back to his own exhibit, he’d managed to banish thoughts of Ella Daniels from his mind. For the most part. It had been over a year since he left the dairy, and he still thought about her nearly every day. He’d come to accept the fact there was no way to completely remove her from his memory. Instead, he threw himself into his work.
Stepping up on the raised platform, he thanked Eric for taking over during his break and sent him back to the Majestic Electric booth. Max set down the box he was carrying and took out a sack filled with fluffy biscuits. He’d failed at several tries to find a homemaker who didn’t sneer at his proposal. Then he met Susan Reynolds, a progressive young baker who was thrilled to be associated with margarine. She was so happy to be involved, the single Miss Reynolds also gave him a plate, a knife, and an invitation to join her family for Sunday dinner. He politely declined the dinner but took everything else with a smile and effusive thanks.
Max took a container of margarine from the Majestic Electric refrigerator next door and put it on the table. Then he worked on the biscuits. As he cut them into thirds—so there’d be enough to go around—and arranged them on the plate, people began to stop in front of his table. Unlike Homemaker’s Hall, the Hall of Innovation was populated by a majority of men. Regardless, the lure of free food was apparently enough to grab their attention. Thankfully, several were accompanied by their wives. Max knew that, while the men held the purse strings, the women really made most of the buying decisions, especially when it came to food.
This was going to work out better than he’d hoped.
Max smiled and addressed the people as he worked. “I’m so glad you came to see what the Joy Margarine Company has for you. How many of you use margarine already?”
Only two hands were raised, and those only to shoulder level. He was used to people who were embarrassed to admit they used margarine. Chances were good at least half the crowd had but wouldn’t admit it.
“In that case, let me show you the best thing to happen to biscuits since God created honey.”
Wanting to show them the entire process, Max took the lid off the container and used a spatula to scoop the contents out into a glass bowl.
“As you can see, fresh margarine is white. It’s perfectly fine to use it as is, but many homemakers like to give it a little color first. That’s why, with every purchase of Joy Margarine, we include a bottle of food dye.”
Max hadn’t realized until the moment he reached for the bottle that he wasn’t wearing his suit jacket. “Excuse me one moment.” He retrieved it from the back of the chair he’d left it on, dug in the pocket, and found the bottle. Returning to the table, he held it up for the crowd to see.
“I’ll tell you a secret.” He continued talking as he removed the lid and poured a few drops into the container. “Dairy farmers like to say that margarine is inferior because we have to add coloring. What they don’t tell you is that color is added to butter, too.”
A few surprised gasps came from the crowd as he mixed.
“The coloring doesn’t change the taste or the quality of the margarine in any way.” He held the bowl up, showing how he’d managed to achieve an even, pleasing yellow tint. “See how lovely that is? And it was easy, wasn’t it?”
Affirmatives rose from the crowd. Several of the women were smiling, and one clutched her husband’s arm and whispered in his ear. He had them on the hook. Now it was time to reel them in.
He picked up a piece of biscuit. “Here’s something you can’t do with butter.” He slathered on a generous amount, spreading it easily with the knife. “Soft and smooth. Spreads like a dream. Now, who wants to be the first to try it?”
Almost everyone responded, except for a burly man in the front. Max could tell by looking, he was the kind of fellow who was skeptical about everything. If he could win this man over, he’d tell everyone he knew about how fabulous margarine was.
“Here you go, sir.” Max held the biscuit out to him. “Why don’t you give that a try?”
The man hesitated, but eventually he took it, raised it to the woman beside him as though offering a toast, then popped the whole thing in his mouth. Max watched closely, wanting to experience that split second when skepticism turned to delight.
What he saw was skepticism turning to shock then to disgust.
The man coughed hard, his eyes bulging and watering. The woman pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of her dress and handed it to him. He promptly spit out the partially chewed biscuit and wadded up the cotton square, all the while coughing and retching. Max jumped down from the stage and pounded the man on the back.
“Are you all right, sir?”
“Stop hitting me!” It came out as a strangled cry.
“I’m sorry,” Max said. “I thought you were choking. I—”
The man put up his hand in a signal for quiet. He leaned over, hands to his knees, and took several deep breaths until the coughing subsided. When he stood up straight, he looked at Max.
“That was, beyond a doubt, the worst thing I’ve ever tasted in my life.”
Max wasn’t sure what to do. He’d never seen anyone react that way. “I am sorry, sir. Perhaps it was the biscuits? I should have tasted them first.”
Another man who was right in front of the table reached up and grabbed one. All watched expectantly as he smelled it first then pinched a piece from the side and popped it in his mouth. “Nope. That’s a good-tasting biscuit, right there.”
Unhappy rumblings spread through the crowd as the people began to walk away. Desperate to save the situation, Max jumped back on the stage and called to them. “It was probably just a bad batch. Let me get another container.”
The unfortunate taster, whose face was still blotched with red from the exertion of coughing, shook his head. “What, and let you kill me this time? No thanks. You couldn’t pay me to eat that vile stuff.”
As they walked away, Max made out bits and pieces of what they said.
“Batch probably went bad in the refrigerator when the electricity went out.”
“Told you it was bad.”
“See, butter is better.”
Max tossed the biscuits back in the sack then he stared down at the bowl of margarine. What had gone wrong? He picked it up, looking closer, and then it hit him.
The smell.
Margarine had no discernable smell. But he was definitely getting a whiff of something pungent as he brought the bowl closer to his face. It almost smelled like … onion?
That was crazy. He put the bowl down then used his index finger to swipe up a bit of margarine. One taste was all it took to convince him. It was definitely onion.
How had that happened? He was relatively confident there wasn’t an onion anywhere in the building, so how had the margarine become tainted? Someone must have altered it on purpose. But why? He’d taken the container from the refrigerator in the Majestic Electric exhibit. They were his partners. Not only that, but someone was watching what went on at all times. No one could have gotten to it. Which left only one answer.
The food dye.
He unscrewed the cap and held it beneath his nose. After muttering a few impolite words under his breath, he put the cap back on. It smelled as though someone had pressed the juice from an onion and added it to the bottle. Somehow, someone had managed to sabotage his food dye, therefore ruining the margarine. Now at least one man, and probably many of the others, would forever have a negative impression of the product.
Whoever did it would have to know that he mixed the coloring into the margarine as people watched, and know that he kept the bottle of dye in his jacket pocket. A thought popped into his head, just the seed of an idea. He tried to ignore it, to push it away, but the more he tried, the more it grew.
He stepped to the edge of his display and motioned to the one next door. “Eric!”
The young man hurried over. “Already time for another break?”
“No. A question. When I was gone before, did anyone come behind the table? Maybe go over to the chair?”
Eric cocked his head to one side as he thought. “No. Not that I saw.”
If he was there the whole time, there was no way he would have missed it. “Did you stay here the whole time?”
“Almost. At one point, quite a few people were asking questions, so I had to go help John. But it was just for a few minutes.” Eric frowned. “Why? Did something happen?”
“Maybe. Don’t worry about it. Thanks.”
Max moved slowly back to the table. He picked up the bowl and dropped it into a trash basket. It hit the bottom with a thud at the same time Ella’s words rang in his ears.
“As if that vile product could possibly compare to butter.”
He didn’t want to believe it, but it made sense. When she’d come by the other day, he’d been mixing color into the margarine. She’d seen him drop the bottle in his pocket. Today, she would have had plenty of time to sneak into the exhibit. It was a terrible thought, but who else would do such a thing? She already believed he’d tried to undermine her, so why not respond in kind?
Ella had sabotaged him.