Chapter 19
The city flagged the day with automobile rumblings and horn blasts and a busy crawl in its air as Rose drove us through downtown Louisville. I hurried to choke down the last bite of one of my cheese sandwiches I’d brought from home. Craning this way and that, I gaped at the long block of tall buildings.
“There’s even a store that sells books, Rose!” W. K. STEWART CO.—BOOKS—STATIONERY—OFFICE SUPPLIES, the sign read.
“Look, it’s as big as the Feed & Seed! Imagine! A whole store for books . . . just books? and looka there at that big one. Rose! Over there.” I jabbed my finger at another building. “All that for clothes?”
Rose laughed and slowed. “Look there, kid”—she pointed across me—“remember me telling ya ’bout the folk art they sell.... There ya go.” I followed her finger and sucked in a breath. Leon’s Art Studio and Fine Art. It was a skinny building tucked in between the bigger ones, with a bright yellow awning hanging with the shop’s name. In the window were pictures of landscapes, portraits, and there on an easel sat a large charcoal drawing of an outhouse in the weeds.
Giddy, I clapped my hands in astonishment.
“Lots of big doings round a big-doing city.” Rose perked. “Lots.”
“Ain’t never been out of Nameless, unless you count going to see the president in Inez, and once when Gunnar took me with him to Loyall to look at a used tractor.” I whistled low.
Dressed in fancy clothes and looking important, people strolled into buildings. I smoothed down my new dress and hugged Mama’s snakeskin purse closer. Why, wasn’t that much fancy in all of Nameless’s packed Sunday churches—or a courthouse meeting. Here it was almost eight on a Monday morning and folks weren’t in the mines, out in the fields, or in the barn milking. They were at book and clothing stores doing important things.
Despite little sleep, I felt full of energy, like I’d drank a cup of Gunnar’s black coffee.
A few minutes later we drove under a WELCOME TO THE KENTUCKY STATE FAIR sign and stopped by a tiny shed. A sweaty man popped his head out the window, gave Rose a ticket, and pointed to a parking lot.
Rose pulled into a big grassy field and snugged her Canopy alongside other automobiles and trucks.
“Never seen so many automobiles.” I turned to Rose. “Reckon they’re all here for the fair?”
“Uh-huh. Most folks in this permit lot got here on Saturday to unload, but they’ll be a few stragglers like us coming in today. Let me fix myself up right quick,” she said, reaching around to the back and pulling out a bag with a canary-colored satiny blouse and matching heels inside. She hopped out of the automobile. I followed.
In a jiff she’d scrunched down behind the tailgate, wiggled out of her traveling blouse and into the clean one. Then she pulled out a pair of nylons from her pocketbook. Balancing against the tailgate, she stuffed her feet inside them, walking the hosiery tightly up her legs, wriggling, snapping her garter straps to them.
I handed her the heels.
“C’mon, kid, let’s get your ’bacco signed in”—she put on her snazzy yellow shoes—“and then ya can help me set up my stuff. It’s getting late.” She opened the tailgate, rearranging her boxes, and slid out a skinny wagon.
I gripped my Three States tobacco pail where I had my other cheese sandwich stowed for supper, and clutched Mama’s purse. I took deep breaths of a world that smelled a lot like a Sunday dinner. Onions and scents of pie exploded, perfuming the grassy field.
Nearby, I glimpsed folks with their own carts, some dragging stuffed bags and boxes, others leading goats on rope and carrying caged chickens and other critters I couldn’t get sight of.
Then, against the fresh morning light, I saw it way across the field, glinting against the morning sky. I stood loose-jawed and pointed.
Rose followed my finger. “That’s the Ferris wheel,” she said. “Never seen one, huh?”
“Never,” I said, wishing Rainey was here to see it with me. It was like a big shooting star speckling over a summer day.
I watched the big wheel spin around once, twice, then nailed my stare to the ground to keep from dizzying my mind.
Folks walked past not even noticing the big metal contraption.
Rose must’ve sensed my stupor, because she patted my arm. “Let’s go, kid, or they’ll close your entry out.”
A couple in dapper clothes strolled past, laughing and chatting. The red-haired woman stopped and turned back. “Why, is that you, Rosie gal?” she called out musically, thrusting her shapely body our way.
Rose turned around. “Well, now, if it ain’t Bonnie Kate!”
The woman hurried back to Rose and dotted her in small smacking kisses, then turned to me.
“This is RubyLyn,” Rose told the couple. “She’s going to exhibit today.”
From behind her, the man mumbled a howdy while the woman looked me over, and said, “Hi, RubyLyn.”
“Hi,” I said.
“Now, ain’t you something.... Looky here, Samuel, this is Rosie’s little girl. The artist she’s always telling us about,” the woman said.
The man tipped his straw hat my way. “Rosie’s little girl,” he said warmly.
I set my Three States tobacco pail down, tucked my purse behind my back, and nodded, then half-curtsied, not knowing what to do, my face scalding with embarrassment. I wanted to correct them, but it felt good hearing them call me an artist and, even better, someone’s little girl.
“Rosie showed us some of your drawings over the years,” the woman chatted on. “Masterpieces if I ever saw one. And, Rosie, I see you finally finished yours.” She poked her slender finger toward my dress.
Rose picked up my pail and set it on her tailgate. “Sure did.”
The woman said, “RubyLyn, we have us a little novelty store, Zachery’s Novelty and Fireworks, in Tennessee. Maybe you’d like to put some of your artwork in there to sell? Come by the booth and I’ll give you our address.”
Flattered, I managed to bob my head.
Rose shook hers. “Can’t promise we’ll have time ’cause we’ll be leaving to go back to Nameless tonight. But I’ll be sure and write it down for her, see if I can’t drop ya off something the next time I’m in Tennessee.”
“Oh, Rosie, do try and stop by the booth for a drink at least,” the woman pouted. “Samuel brought along one of his fine bottles of Van Winkle. And you know ain’t nothing better than visiting our Kentucky cousin, Old Rip.” She latched on to her husband’s arm and flicked a wave over her shoulder as they strolled away.
Rose chuckled. “The Zacherys are good people. Bonnie Kate’s a belle from the Tennessee sticks. Owns the biggest novelty store three states deep. Sells fireworks, Elvis rugs and mugs; you name it, they trade it. She gave me the material you’re wearing.”
“You made this dress?”
“Sure did. Worked on it last year in the exhibit room on a friend’s old Singer and finished putting on the buttons just two weeks ago. Knew it would fit ya, too.” She smiled sheepishly.
Warmed, I leaned over and pecked her cheek. “Ain’t never owned something this beautiful. A grand birthday gift . . . I’m going to wear it every time I come back here so I can remember this first time,” I declared, suddenly feeling proud and stylish. “Thank you, Rose.”
“Work to do.” She fanned a hand in front of her flushed face, shooing me away.
I ran my hand down the front, admiring the perfect tight stitches I’d missed earlier. What a grand thing to wear this fine dress that was made right here at the Kentucky State Fair. Surely that was a good omen.
Together we lifted out my tobacco plant and put it on the wagon. I put on a pair of Rose’s old work gloves, scooped up fallen dirt, and placed it back into the bucket. Rose guided the wagon through the rows of automobiles. I tucked my purse underneath my arm and rested my other hand on the Pepsi drum, steadying the tall plant.
When we passed by a big wooden platform up near the front of the exposition building, I stopped to gander. Rose stopped, too, and hitched a hand to her hip.
Sitting atop the stage were eight men and one woman in folding chairs. Another man wearing a white straw hat and yellow bowtie stood in front of them with a microphone, dandying himself back and forth in front of a crowd of onlookers.
The man motioned to one of the seated men on the stage. The tall man in bib overalls stood and took the microphone. The crowd hushed and the man let out a string of squeals, then another. Folks hooted and clapped.
Puzzled, I looked at Rose. She caught my eye, and explained, “A hog calling contest.”
After the caller was finished, another man in a blue cap stood and did the same, belting out screeches.
Then the announcer called for the lady named Emma.
Emma stood up, straightened her flowery dress, and stepped up to the microphone. The white-haired woman curtsied to the audience. She took a breath, tucked her arms behind her back, and let out a long string of quivering soo-ee, soo-ee, soo-ee’s, followed by a trail of quick musical yelps. The crowd cheered. The announcer came forward, took her hand in his, and raised them to the sky. He bowed to Emma, then pinned a blue ribbon onto her lapel. “Winner!”
Someone stepped forward and took a photograph.
Rose nudged me to move on. We pulled the wagon out of the crowd. I peeked back over my shoulder and saw Emma bowing to the audience, face lit up like a candle, a silky white slip hung inches below her colorful dress. She caught my eye and smiled kindly.
Blushing, I smiled back.
“Come on, kid, I want you to meet Freddy.” Rose led the wagon to the front of the exposition center.
I laughed when she pointed to Freddy, a huge wooden doll almost as tall as the building, wearing jeans and a denim shirt, sitting on a big haystack. A white picket fence surrounded him. Freddy had his hand half raised in a friendly wave.
Rose pointed, and said, “Now, if you get lost, RubyLyn, ya come wait here by Freddy till I can find ya, okay? He helps folks find each other. And be sure and check in here at suppertime to see if I’m around if ya can’t make it back to the booths.”
Then all the sudden, Freddy said in a deep, smooth voice, “That’s right, RubyLyn, lots of folks come to me when they’re lost. If you’re lost, just give a whistle. I like to get folks together.”
Stunned, I finally found my tongue. “Yes. Yessir.” I stepped forward and leaned over the fence, studying him. “A talking doll . . .”
Rose laughed. “That Freddy’s a smart one, all eighteen feet of him.”
Someone rubbed my arm. I turned my head sharply. A tall man with dirty hair, wearing an oil-stained plaid shirt, pushed against me. “Hello, good lookin’,” he said, his eyes traveling the length of me. His whiskey breath blew hot and ugly in my face.
Rose batted him out of the way with her elbows, squeezed herself next to me. “Don’t mind the likes of him, he’s carny trash.”
“Carny?”
“Works for the carnival rides. He bothers ya again, I’ll sic security on him.” Then louder and to him. “Stay away from my girl.” She cut a mean eye toward the man, elbowing him farther away.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw another man slip in on my other side. I scooted closer to Rose as he gave a low whistle.
He tapped the fence, wagging a missing nub on his left hand. I couldn’t believe it. Of all the people in Kentucky, I’d never thought I’d be seeing him again. Leaning against the picket fence, he stared at me. He had smiling blue eyes and wore tight-fitting jeans and a gray T-shirt that stretched across a broad chest and slim waist.
“Now ain’t you a pretty sight for lonesome eyes,” he said with a lazy grin, rubbing his morning whiskers.
I looked closely at him, his slicked-back locks and easy smile. He sure had changed in two years.
Beside me, Rose loudly cleared her throat.
“Why, if it ain’t Miz Rose . . . Rose Law,” he said, surprised, stretching his neck her way. “Thought I’d see you here yesterday. Hey, hope you brought a lot of musical spoons. I have a fella here that wants to buy a set.”
“Yup,” Rose said, “I’ll be setting them up as soon as I take my charge into her exhibit.” She hooked my arm, in a hurry to leave. “Let’s go, RubyLyn.”
“Exhibit ya say?” he said, looking at his watch and then back at me. “Why, Miz Rose, I’m working in the exhibits and I can escort her in.” He shot me a smile.
She squeezed between us and blocked him. “Time to go, RubyLyn.” She shook her head at the man. “No thanks, Mr. Crockett.”