So, did you set out my jars like I asked?” Mama stood close, stretching her neck to see through the swarm of farmers’ wives gathered in the hall.
“Yes, Mama,” Paige replied. “Right in front of where the judges will stand when they come to those tables.” Some might frown upon giving the previous year’s prizewinners special placement, but she’d been put in charge of the culinary division, and the presentation of the entries was entirely her prerogative.
Mama wrung her hands in the folds of her cotton dress. Though she’d accompanied Paige to Cheyenne earlier in the year to purchase some newer dresses in a more modern style, Mama hadn’t bought anything for herself.
“Those pretty things might be worthwhile for visits to town or even wearing to church on Sundays,” she’d said. “But on the farm? My cotton and calico are much more durable.” Then, she’d leaned in and whispered to her daughter, “Besides, I can’t imagine tying an apron over one of those fancy dresses. And what would Papa think about me uncovering so much of my legs?”
“I don’t know, Mama. Papa might just appreciate it.”
And for that, Paige had received a playful swat on her arm as Mama blushed and turned away. Not before Paige had caught the twinkle in her eyes, though. Paige’s older two sisters might have married and left the farm, but Paige remained for now, and in the past four years, her relationship with her mother had grown tenfold. Sharing things like this judging experience at the fair had drawn them closer than ever.
“Oh, I don’t know if I can take it any longer, Paige,” Mama whispered. “When are they going to move on from the pickles and preserves to the jellies, cobblers, and pies?” She clenched the skirts of her dress so tightly, her knuckles were turning white.
Paige slipped her arm around Mama’s waist. “Don’t fret.” She pointed to where the judges made their final notations on their notepads. “There. See? I believe they’re finished with the first two tables.” She placed a comforting hand on Mama’s arm. “Now, I’m going to have to see to my duties and collect the results.” Paige caught sight of Millie, who wasn’t too far away, and nodded. “Millie’s going to come and stand with you, so you won’t have to be nervous alone.”
Mama barely acknowledged her, eyes trained solely on the tables at the front and the individual items the judges tasted. Millie appeared, and Paige smiled her thanks to her friend then moved to the front of the crowd to stand a few feet to the side of the judges. Mrs. Waverly moved behind them and approached Paige, silently handing her the notations from the first two rounds. Paige accepted the papers and lowered them to her side as Mrs. Waverly resumed her position near the trays of water used to cleanse the judges’ mouths between each bite.
As smoothly as the first two tables received their ultimate judgments, the remaining three displayed their wares for the discerning judges while the owners of the tasty samplings awaited the results. With just a small spoon and one tiny morsel, each of the three judges made their pass across the assorted variety and jotted down their thoughts within seconds.
Paige recalled that very first year she oversaw this division. She’d foolishly spoken out about how quickly the judges came to a decision, when they only seemed to test such a small bit. After a soft reprimand from Mrs. Waverly and quiet observance of the proceedings, she came to realize experienced judges such as these didn’t need to eat much to know which offerings pleased the palate the most.
“You know, it’s a good thing they don’t deliberate too long over their conclusions,” a low voice spoke from just behind Paige’s right shoulder. “These farmers’ wives and self-proclaimed culinary experts might revolt.”
Paige turned her head and found the reporter she’d all but knocked out just a short while ago. What was his name? Aaron? Adam? Andrew? Andrew! That was it. Andrew Lawrence. “Shh,” she whispered. “You’re going to distract the judges. And Mrs. Waverly will not stand for that.”
Mr. Lawrence peered around her, as if searching for the woman she’d mentioned, then rocked back on his heels and chuckled. “Appreciate the warning,” he whispered in return. “I certainly wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of one of her glares.”
Paige pressed her lips into a thin line to avoid the giggle that threatened to escape. He’d just given words to the very thoughts in her head on numerous occasions while working with Mrs. Waverly over the years. Yet, stern though she might be, she got the job done, and that was all that mattered.
The reporter shifted his stance, and his arm brushed against hers. He stood close enough for his warm breath to stir some of those loose tendrils of hair that had escaped their pins during her fall earlier. One or two strands lightly tickled her cheek. A tiny shiver traveled up her back, and she raised her arm to hide it. With a few tucks, she managed to confine the few rebellious wisps.
“So.” Mr. Lawrence’s baritone came low and soft near her other ear. “Are there any creations present that originated from your kitchen?”
Paige glanced over her shoulder to find the reporter bent at the waist with both hands on his knees. He appeared to be using her as a shield and had to duck low to match her height. He’d moved closer to the back wall, possibly to avoid being overheard, or maybe even to better hide from Mrs. Waverly. His nearness was quite unsettling.
His gaze met hers, and he raised both eyebrows. “Well?”
Well, what? She furrowed her brow. Had he asked her something? Oh, yes. Did she have anything entered? Should she tell him? What if she didn’t win any prize at all? Oh, pish posh. This was no time for pride.
“Yes. Mama and I have a cherry cobbler entered, and she entered her strawberry jelly for the first time this year, along with her prized raspberry pie.”
“Ahh, a combined effort on the cobbler. Excellent.” Mr. Lawrence set his notepad on one knee and made some notes resembling a series of squiggly lines and curves.
“What is that?”
“Shorthand,” the reporter replied without looking up. He finished writing then tilted his chin toward her. “Can’t divulge any of the details of my story, now, can I?” he said with a grin.
“Did you write something about Mama and me?”
“That would be quite difficult, since I don’t even know your name.”
He said it in such a matter-of-fact way, Paige couldn’t tell if he was teasing or not. Come to think of it, though, she hadn’t ever given him her name. He hadn’t asked for it, either … until now.
“Paige Callahan,” she said.
Mr. Lawrence made a quick notation on his pad and nodded. “Perfect. And in answer to your question, perhaps. You’ll have to wait for the article to appear in the paper to find out.”
But she didn’t even know the newspaper for which he wrote. How in the world would she know where to look for the article, or even when for that matter?
“Mr. Lawrence, I—”
She didn’t get a chance to finish as Mrs. Waverly interrupted their conversation with a quiet but stern clearing of her throat. Paige glanced toward the judges to see they had concluded their proceedings, and all eyes from everyone in the room were now on her and Mrs. Waverly.
“It’s time to award the ribbons, Miss Callahan,” the woman stated, barely moving her lips. “Would you please retrieve them and bring them to the front?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Paige replied and immediately did her bidding. When she reached the front, Mrs. Waverly handed her the final list of names from the judges, save one piece of paper.
“I’ll be announcing the cobblers this year,” Mrs. Waverly answered. Her tone brooked no argument.
“Very well.” Paige accepted the other lists of winners and stepped to the center of those assembled.
Mrs. Waverly set out the ribbons on one of the tables and reached for the first one. Paige read the first two names, and the ladies came forward to accept their prizes. She looked at the top name on the list and smiled.
“And the blue ribbon for the best dill pickles goes to … Mrs. Caroline Harris.”
Applause followed as demure Mrs. Harris approached, her sweet smile a nice complement to the honor. She’d been runner-up for the past four years. This year, she’d managed to deliver the crunchiest and tastiest dill pickles at the fair … according to the judges. And for the first time, she’d be taking home the coveted blue ribbon. Paige made a mental note to talk to Mrs. Harris after the ribbons were all awarded. She wanted to find out what she’d done differently.
Next, it was on to the sweet pickles, then the preserves and jams and jellies. Paige caught Mama’s eye. All year long, at various festivals and events, jams had been a tug-of-war between Mama’s best friend and Mrs. Greene for as long as she could remember. Every year at the state fair, Mrs. Greene’s jams remained the winning entry. This year, though, Mama and Miss Dorothy had worked together, hoping between the two of them, they’d upset the predictable outcome.
With sweet pickles and preserves done, Paige shifted the papers in her hand for the jams category and glanced down. Yes! Both Miss Dorothy and Mama were on the list! And so was Mrs. Greene. With great delight, she called Mama’s name first.
“It’s all right, Paige,” Mama said with a smile as she accepted the ribbon for third place. “At least I have a ribbon. Not disappointing at all for my first attempt at making a jam worthy of the fair.”
Mama was right. They might secretly wish Mrs. Greene would taste the bitterness of defeat just once, but they needed to focus more on what they’d accomplished instead of what they hadn’t yet achieved. Paige called Miss Dorothy’s name next.
The woman gave Paige’s arm a gentle squeeze and smiled. “It just means we’ll have to try that much harder next year,” the woman who’d been like a second mother to her remarked. Her thoughts almost paralleled Mama’s.
Forcing brightness into her voice, Paige made the winning announcement in jams. “And the blue ribbon goes to … Mrs. Virginia Greene.”
The way Mrs. Greene came forward, as if she had expected to win, made Paige wish all the more that Mama or Miss Dorothy could have bested her this year. If only the woman didn’t look so confident and smug at the same time, her winning the top ribbon might be easier to take. With her back erect and her nose raised toward the roof of the Ag Hall, Mrs. Greene only garnered polite applause for her accomplishment. Her jams did possess a certain level of sugary sweetness combined with the slight tartness of the berries she used, but the way she boasted about them left a sour taste in Paige’s mouth the last time she’d had some. It would be a long time before she’d purchase any jams from Mrs. Greene again. And now that Miss Dorothy and Mama had teamed up to perfect their own recipes, she had all the jam she’d ever need.
Movement to her right caused Paige to glance in that direction. Mr. Lawrence frantically scribbled on his notepad and flipped the page to continue scrawling. She’d almost forgotten about him in all the excitement. A lock of his dark brown hair fell across his forehead and bounced as he wrote. As if her thoughts had become words spoken directly to him, he looked up and caught her watching him. A slow smile spread across his lips, and Paige quickly looked away, feeling the warmth of a blush creep up her neck.
She looked out again at the ladies assembled, silently praying no one noticed. They all looked back in anticipation, seemingly oblivious. Everyone that is, except for Millie. That observant girl regarded Paige with one eyebrow quirked, her eyes going back and forth between Paige and the reporter. She’d hear about this later. No doubt about it.
All right, time to move on to the last two categories she was announcing, jellies and pies. She read through the names for jellies and moved on to pies. Her mouth fell open a little when she looked at the list in front of her and Mama’s name wasn’t there. Really? Mama always received a ribbon for one of the top three spots. Friends and neighbors always asked for more raspberry pie whenever Mama made it. Guess this year, things decided to mix themselves up a little.
The third- and second-place spots went to a mother and daughter who had recently moved to Douglas from Casper, about thirty miles to the west of them.
“And the blue ribbon for the best pie this year goes to … Mrs. Beatrice Weatherby, for her rhubarb pie.”
Well, if Mama had to lose her regular place, it didn’t hurt so much seeing that spot given to the woman who would soon become Matthew’s mother-in-law. Paige smiled as Mrs. Weatherby made her way to the front. The Weatherbys had moved to Douglas a few years ago from Cheyenne because Mr. Weatherby wanted to spread out a little and have a larger farm. The moment Matthew met Constance, he’d been smitten. Amazing how it had turned her older brother into a mature and responsible man, ready to prove he could effectively manage a farm and provide for a wife.
Mr. Weatherby had taken a shine to Matthew, too, and readily agreed to allow his daughter and Matthew to court. By the time the proposal of marriage came, the Weatherbys approved unanimously. Paige couldn’t remember her brother being so happy, and Constance would make a great sister-in-law. Now why couldn’t she find the same kind of happiness? Charlie could provide nice conversation every once in a while, but he always spent so much time analyzing everything and planning, she didn’t know if he even knew how to just relax and enjoy himself.
“Thank you, my dear,” Mrs. Weatherby said, accepting the blue ribbon and bringing Paige’s attention back to the present. “You are doing a wonderful job with all of this, Paige. I’m certain your mother and father must be quite proud.”
“It’s not a difficult task when I love it so much,” Paige replied. “Congratulations on your pie.”
Mrs. Weatherby winked. “It appears your mother and I need to compare recipes, now that we each have prize-winning pies.”
“Oh, Mama would love that, I know.” And Mama would, too. Perhaps next year, they would both win a ribbon.
Well, she’d come to the end of her list of winners. Paige angled toward Mrs. Waverly and waited to see how she’d proceed. With no hesitation at all, the woman transitioned smoothly, like they had planned this all along.
“And for our final category, we have the ever-popular cobblers everyone loves to sample this time of year.” She allowed a small smile to form on her lips. “It might be a sign that summer is coming to an end, but we’re not about to let it disappear without a great deal of enjoyment, now, are we?”
Murmurs of agreement resonated throughout the ladies—and some gentlemen—present. Something was different. The woman almost seemed congenial and likable. Not that others didn’t like her. It just took quite a bit of time to truly understand who she was and what motivated her. Most people had trouble getting beyond the brusque exterior.
Paige stepped back and allowed her mentor and supervisor to be front and center, careful not to stand too close to the reporter. He remedied that for her by taking two steps in her direction. Oh well. He didn’t leave her much choice. She couldn’t exactly step away from him now. It would be too obvious. Let others think what they may. She’d just remain extremely professional. She was, after all, one of the organizers and supervisors at the Ag Hall. It made perfect sense for a reporter to be talking to her.
“Well, now,” Mr. Lawrence intoned. “Seems that first-time entry from your mother appealed to the judges’ palates enough to earn her third place.”
“Yes, she and the lady who won second prize actually made their jams together.”
“Trying to come up with a way to best Mrs. Greene?”
How could he possibly have known that? Paige jerked her head to look up at him only to find what was fast becoming a familiar grin on his lips and a gleam in his eyes.
Mr. Lawrence shrugged. “I wouldn’t be a reporter worth my salt if I didn’t at least do a little poking around beforehand to get a feel for those I’d be interviewing, now, would I?”
He had a point. “No, I guess not.” Paige watched the two ladies walk to the front to accept the third- and second-place ribbons for their cobblers. Here it was. The final ribbon for her department.
“And the blue ribbon goes to …” Mrs. Waverly paused again for effect, just as Paige had done on all previous categories. Then, her voice caught as she smiled big. “Mrs. Lorena Callahan and her daughter Paige, for their, as the judges noted, ‘absolutely divine’ cherry cobbler!”