CHAPTER 4
Mary Dell met Donny Bebee at the county fair in August of 1970.
The fair was always an exciting time for the residents of Too Much, a week of leisure and entertainment for folks who could afford little of either. And for the Templetons, this year’s fair held special promise. Lydia Dale was competing for the title of Miss Limestone County. If she won, she would earn the right to go to Fort Worth and compete for the title of Miss Texas.
For the previous eight years, all of Taffy’s maternal energies had been focused on bringing Lydia Dale to this moment. Taffy was in a tizzy, and who could blame her? On the long list of things that Texans revere—the Alamo, quarterbacks, good barbecue, and the Lone Star flag—beauty queens figure right near the top. And the girl who wins the Miss Texas crown is more than a conqueror, more than a beauty queen, for though her claim to the title lasts only a year, from the moment that tiara touches her head, the woman christened Miss Texas is transformed for life, a monarch for the ages, Rio Grande royalty.
Mary Dell was excited for her twin, as well, and proud that Lydia Dale had asked her to sew her dress for the evening gown competition. The full-skirted, starlight-white-satin gown, with a scoop neckline and 150 turquoise bugle beads hand-stitched to the smooth bodice, was made up according to her sister’s exact instructions.
Mary Dell worried that the gown was too sedate to catch the judge’s eye, but she was certain that no other contestant’s dress would be better made, just as she was sure that no dress in the Homemade Fashions competition could possibly outshine her entry. Mary Dell had labored over every detail of the design and construction of her entry and couldn’t wait to model her creation at the 4-H fashion show later that afternoon.
Mary Dell had been praying about this day for weeks—that His Will Be Done, of course, but humbly pointing out to the Almighty how perfectly perfect it would be if His plans meshed with hers. There was no harm in making a suggestion, was there? And if everything went the way Mary Dell prayed, she and Lydia Dale would haul home the top honors from the fair—honors that could launch them into enchanted futures. Lydia Dale might end up in Fort Worth at the Miss Texas pageant and then on to real foreign realms like Atlantic City, New Jersey, and the Miss America Pageant. And for Mary Dell, a place she could visualize more clearly than ever—a shop on Main Street with a big picture window. And around the block she could see the line of women who had traveled hundreds of miles, from all over Texas, and were willing to stand patiently for hours for the chance to buy a Mary Dell original. It could happen, couldn’t it? Good things had to happen to somebody, after all. Why not her?
Taffy and Lydia Dale hauled four suitcases filled with clothes, high heels, every sort of undergarment known to womankind, makeup, tweezers, eyelash curlers, blow-dryers, curling irons, hairbrushes, teasing combs, and six cans of Aqua Net hair spray into the auditorium. Dutch was off to the midway in search of deep-fried food and a shooting range. Mary Dell, with the garment bag containing her dress held high so it wouldn’t wrinkle, headed to the 4-H pavilion.
As she passed the rodeo ring, a voice coming through a crackling loudspeaker was announcing the preliminary rounds of the bull riding competition. In a hurry and with her vision partially blocked by the garment bag, she didn’t see the stray horseshoe on the path. She tripped, accidentally knocking the hat off a cowboy who was walking by, and landed in a heap in the dirt. Before she could get to her feet, a big, calloused hand reached down to help her.
Mary Dell’s eyes traveled from the hand, down to a pair of black Justin boots, well-worn but polished, and up again to a pair of long legs in denim, past a shiny silver belt buckle as big as a pack of cards, to a slim torso clad in a clean white Western shirt, to a pair of broad shoulders and a handsome head topped with thick dark hair.
In truth, she couldn’t tell if the cowboy was handsome, not at first. When she looked up, the sun was so bright in her eyes that she couldn’t make out his features. Sunbeams radiated out from his dark halo of hair, leaving his face in silhouette, but from the sound of his voice and the way her heart was pounding in her chest, she figured he must be handsome. And when he reached down to pick up his black Stetson from where it had fallen, then put it back on his head, blocking out the sunlight, she saw it was true.
“Oh, my . . .” she said weakly.
The cowboy frowned, his dark eyes concerned. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” Mary Dell blushed. “Clumsy but fine.”
“One of the farriers must have dropped that horseshoe. They should be more careful.”
He picked up the garment bag, smiled, and handed it to her. His teeth were as straight as pickets in a new fence. And so white! She’d never seen a grown man with teeth so white.
The voice of the rodeo announcer came crackling through the loudspeaker. “Oh, my! That one hurt! But it was a good try by J. D. Hooper from Corpus Christi. Let’s give him a hand, folks. Up next, we’ll have young Graydon Bebee from Lubbock . . .”
The cowboy’s head jerked up as he heard his name. He touched his hat. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
“Lubbock,” she sighed to herself as she watched him run off toward the rodeo ring. “I knew he was too handsome to be from around here. Too bad.”
But it was just as well, she decided as she resumed her date with destiny, the first stop on the journey being the 4-H pavilion and a blue ribbon with a rosette. She couldn’t afford to be waylaid by distractions or detours today. And a man as good-looking as Graydon Bebee could be very distracting indeed.
Taffy was too busy fixing Lydia Dale’s hair for the pageant to attend the 4-H fashion show, but Dutch sat in the third row, eating a deep-fried Twinkie on a stick and waiting for his daughter’s name to be announced.
When it was, Mary Dell, wearing her red satin dress with a bow at the back and three rows of rhinestones at the neck, sleeves, and hem, walked across the platform. The skirt hit Mary Dell just below the knee, or would have, but for the six layers of netting underneath. She had used two yards of every color of netting available at Waterson’s Dry Goods Emporium to make the underskirting, which lifted the red satin and made it stick out at an angle from the waist, giving everyone a generous peep at the petticoat rainbow beneath. It was, in effect, a square-dance dress modeled after one she’d found in Grandma Silky’s closet, but Mary Dell had decided to make her version “more elegant.”
As Mary Dell moved to the front of the stage, Dutch bolted down the last of the Twinkie and sprang to his feet, clapping and hooting for all he was worth. Dutch wasn’t the most capable provider on earth, but he loved his wife and children with his whole heart. He stuck his fingers into the sides of his mouth and let out an earsplitting whistle, so loud that Mary Dell didn’t hear the snickers from the rest of the crowd.
As she executed a graceful pirouette in front of the judges, Mary Dell was positively beaming. Passing in front of her father, she blew him a kiss from the tips of her fingers. Dutch wiped a tear from his eye. The dress was awful, he knew that, but his daughter was beautiful, and he was proud of her.
When Dutch reached into the back pocket of his jeans, searching for a handkerchief, he noticed another man a couple of rows away who was also on his feet, whistling and clapping as Mary Dell made her turn, a tall fellow with a black Stetson covering his dark hair and wearing a rhinestone-studded shirt in a shade of peacock blue he’d never seen on a cowboy. For a moment, Dutch thought the man was making fun of Mary Dell, but when he gave the fellow a second look, Dutch could see his admiration was sincere. That cowboy was applauding for all he was worth.
After the contestants had changed into their regular clothes, their creations were hung back up in the display booths, and the judges pulled out their clipboards and gave the entries a closer look. When they got to Mary Dell’s dress, one of them commented that she’d never seen a better-constructed garment. The inset of the sleeves was perfect, the fit and tailoring flawless, the hand stitches on the hem as tiny and even as possible, and every single seam had been “frenched,” encased within an envelope of fabric so not a single raw edge was visible. The overall visual image was a nightmare, they agreed, but the workmanship was impeccable. After a lengthy discussion, they pinned a ribbon on Mary Dell’s gown and moved on.
Mary Dell tried to look nonchalant as the judges made their rounds. But when they moved away from her gown, she rushed to the booth, eager to see her ribbon, sure that she had won the prize, that her real life was finally about to begin. But instead of the first-place blue or even a second-place red ribbon Mary Dell had expected, the judges had awarded her gown only a green ribbon—an honorable mention.
Her shoulders drooped. She rubbed the green slip between her fingers. The fabric was a cheap nylon blend, not satin, not silk. It didn’t even have a rosette.
A deep voice rumbled behind her, catching her so by surprise that she jumped. “Pardon me, ma’am. Hope you don’t mind my saying so, but you were robbed. That’s about the prettiest dress I ever saw.”
Mary Dell quickly swiped her nose with the back of her hand and turned around. She nearly gasped when she saw the black Stetson, dark hair, and dark brown eyes, thinking the handsome bull rider had tracked her down, but a second look told her that this was not the same man. His build was the same, his hands just as capable looking, his teeth picket-fence straight, and he too was handsome. But his nose was a little longer, his eyes a little wider-set, his frame a little shorter, just an inch, and this cowboy’s shirt was peacock blue and studded with rhinestones instead of plain white. An improvement, Mary Dell thought.
The cowboy touched his fingers to the brim of his hat and gave a slight nod. “I’m Donny Bebee, from Lubbock, and I was wondering—can I take you out dancing? You and that beautiful dress?”