Chapter Four

Charlotte walked by Bob’s side as they strolled under a large sign at the gate that read, WELCOME TO THE FAIR. She’d dropped Emily off at Kepler’s Pharmacy and then arrived at the fairgrounds just as Bob was parking. His face looked red and flushed as he walked beside her, and she hoped it was only from the heat.

She readjusted her sun visor over her short, cropped hair and smiled as she took in the neatly trimmed grass of the Adams County fairground. The tension of the day almost seemed to melt from her shoulders as the excitement of another fair took its place. Workers moved around the grounds like ants on an anthill, delivering food items to the concession stands, cleaning out exhibition halls, pitching fresh hay into the barns.

In her mind’s eye she imagined what it would be like in a few days when the people arrived. It would be a mix of cowpokes with pointy-toed boots and senior citizens in motorized wheelchairs. Little girls wearing pigtails and little boys in cowboy hats. Older boys strutting around trying to impress the girls, and girls doing the same, attempting to get the attention of the boys—as if they didn’t already have it.

Walking in the warm sunshine, she slipped her hand into her husband’s and again attempted to simply enjoy this brief moment of celebration between summer and fall. A time of fun before the work of harvest began. A time when everyone’s attention was focused on who had the fattest pumpkin, the prettiest ear of corn, and the rosiest strawberries. One’s hard work was weighed against his or her neighbor’s efforts, but in a fun-loving way.

It was a time when big-city folks came down from Harding, and even some from Omaha, to focus on family and play. And Charlotte had to admit, fair evenings were her favorite time of the year to stroll and catch up with neighbors.

She and Bob slowed as they neared the fair office and waved to Arnold Humphrey, a member of their church, who was raking grass clippings into a large black garbage bag.

“Can you feel the excitement in the air?” Arnold paused and leaned on his rake.

“Hard to miss, Arnold.” Bob waved.

Charlotte grinned. “Keep up the good work.”

They slowed, and Bob opened the door. They entered, and Charlotte noticed the other board members already gathered around the table. She just hoped the agenda was short today. Although she’d already prepped the crusts for her pies, she had a lot of baking yet to do.

“With the extra money from the concert, I think we should modernize the fairgrounds,” Dwayne Cook, a farmer who lived just a few miles from Heather Creek, was saying. “The RV area could use some new showers and maybe even an RV dumping station. It would be nice for folks if they could just take care of that here.”

“And how about a new stage?” Hannah smoothed her hands across the table as if she were picturing it in her mind’s eye. She paused to wave to Charlotte. “I heard that in Omaha they can put on quite a production.”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure if people would like that too much.” Ned Patton, who had been on the fair board longer than Hannah had been alive, patted Hannah’s hand to show he meant no offense. “It seems that people like coming and getting a glimpse of the American past. They like things the way they are. Why change them?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard people say that ‘bit of American past’ line before, and in my opinion it’s just laziness. Should we let the fairgrounds crumble around us like all the soddies and old barns crumbling around the county?” Hannah jutted out her chin as Charlotte sat down beside her, feeling as if she should applaud her friend’s vigor.

“Now, the fair isn’t all about the big show,” Ned’s wife Betty said, her eyes appearing twice their size from behind her thick glasses. “It’s about people getting together, rewarding one another for small accomplishments, gently competing. Right, Charlotte?”

Charlotte swallowed hard as all eyes turned in her direction. “Actually, I see points on both sides of the argument, and personally I think we need to strike a balance. There’s a place for the quilts and the sunflower displays as much as there’s a place for the demolition derby. Besides, is this really something we need to discuss now? Like I tell the kids, I don’t think we should count our chickens before they hatch. Yes, I think it will be a great turnout, especially at the concert, but I vote to table this conversation for two weeks, until after all the grounds have been cleared, the bills have been paid, and our funds are totaled.”

The room grew quiet. Out the window they had a view of the carnival workers setting up their rides on a large patch of dirt that would soon be transformed into a mechanical playground.

Finally, Dwayne Cook spoke up. “Yes, I understand, but I don’t see how we won’t make extra money. Shae Lynne is a popular young lady. As soon as the posters started going up we began getting calls in the office. Ticket sales are up. Some people are coming in all the way from Colorado.”

“Oh my, I just love her song, ‘You’ll Miss Me When I’m Gone,’” Hannah said, humming a tune that sounded slightly familiar.

“Oh yes, but that’s not my favorite,” Betty piped up. “My favorite is ‘Believe in Second Chances.’”

Charlotte looked at Betty in surprise. She had to be at least eighty, yet the elderly woman was more familiar with the rising country star than Charlotte was.

“What?” Betty asked. “I love listening to the radio when I’m canning.”

“I must be the only one who’s never heard of this woman.” Charlotte shrugged.

“Sure you have.” Betty cleared her throat. “Believe in second chances … because second chances believe in you,” she sang with a quiver in her voice.

Charlotte smiled and nodded; she didn’t have the heart to tell Betty she still didn’t know the song. She didn’t want to burst her bubble. Then, when everyone else around the table joined in, Charlotte wished she had a camcorder. There had never been a fair board meeting quite like this.

SAM WAS SKATING AROUND the parking lot of the feed store when he saw the familiar truck coming down the road. He waved to his uncle and skated over to the truck as Pete parked it. Pete’s order was waiting for them, and it took less than ten minutes to load it up.

Pete patted Sam’s shoulder. “Thanks for your strong back. I need to go pay my bill and then we’ll be heading out in one minute.”

Sam followed Pete into the store and checked out the baby ducks while Uncle Pete chatted with one of his friends. So much for being done in one minute. He brushed a finger over their yellow fluff and then he heard a snicker behind him.

Pete and his friend were eyeing a “cowboy” who had walked through the door. He looked the part, but it was clear from his outfit that his cowboy boots were right off the shelf. His Levi’s still had the creases from where they’d been folded. His vest was bright, colorful. Too colorful. It looked like something one would see onstage, but not around Bedford. Sam couldn’t help but chuckle too.

He watched as the man made his way up to the counter, but he couldn’t hear the conversation over the squawking of the baby ducks. Sam rose and walked closer, pretending he was checking out the rack of postcards near the front counter. Country music played on the staticky radio, and Sam couldn’t help but shudder. He didn’t understand how people actually listened to that stuff.

“Yeah, I know a perfect spot,” the man behind the counter was saying. “Heather Creek Farm is a pretty place. In fact it just won an award. Was named Adams County Farm of the Year, or somethin’ like that. In fact …” The clerk pointed. “The owner of the farm is right over there.”

The man turned and approached Pete. Sam sauntered over, eager to know what this was about.

“Are you Pete? I’m William Taylor, up from Nashville. So, I hear that you have an amazing farm.” The man thrust his hand in Pete’s direction.

“Well, I think so, but what’s this about?” Pete shook the man’s hand reluctantly.

“Oh, sorry. How rude of me. Let me explain. I’m here to shoot a video—a music video, to be exact, and it sounds like your farm is just the type of place I’m looking for.”

At the mention of a music video, Sam’s eyes widened. He elbowed his uncle. “You’re going to do it, aren’t you?”

Pete removed his cap and scratched his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m pretty sure Dad won’t appreciate a bunch of people roaming around the place. Heck, he follows me around and keeps an eye on everything I do. I can’t imagine him letting strangers on the farm, doing who knows what, and shooting a video to boot.”

“Uncle Pete.” Sam grabbed his uncle’s arm. “Shouldn’t you think about this?”

“Heck, I’ll let you use my farm.” A man’s voice called from the next aisle over.

Pete laughed. “Yeah, see?” He pointed to the other farmer. “There you go. Problem solved.” Then Pete turned to Sam. “Ready, Sam?”

“Are you sure?”

But Pete strode out the door, and Sam had no choice but to follow. The ride home was silent, as if Uncle Pete was deep in thought.

Finally, Sam couldn’t keep it in. “I don’t understand. What are you thinking? Our farm could be famous.”

“Sam, were you just born yesterday? Did you see that guy? He was some type of scam artist. Someone from Nashville wouldn’t be dressed like that. He probably came in with the carnival and is trying to pull a fast one on someone. Who knows what would happen if you let a guy like that on your property? Why, I saw on one of those investigation shows that people come on your property, pretend to be hurt, and then sue you for the whole thing.”

“But what if it’s true, Uncle Pete? What if he is here to do a music video? What if …” Sam’s eyes widened. “What if the video is for Two Dead Brothers? They’re a rocking group.”

Pete glanced over at Sam and cocked an eyebrow. “You really think that rock-and-roll group you like would be filming in Bedford, Nebraska? In fact, what music star comes here?” Pete paused and scratched his head. “Actually, that one country singer’s coming to town. What if it’s for her?”

“Shae Lynne? Ugh, not country music.”

“Your sister likes that Shae Lynne chick. Dana too.” Pete looked in his rearview mirror as if he was considering turning the car around. Then he shook his head. “Oh well, it’s probably too late now.”

Sam leaned against the door and put his elbow out the window, letting the breeze hit his face, cooling him off. “I’m sure it was Shae Lynne. Good thing you didn’t say yes. Jordan feels the same about country music as I do. I mean, who really likes to listen to songs about dead dogs, pickup trucks, and dudes whining about the girl who got away?”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Pete chuckled. “Let some other poor sap deal with that.”