by Tricia Goyer
Emily bit her lip, and Charlotte could tell she was conflicted. “Actually, I wanted to stay with Ashley because she says things get crazy when the fair starts. She has to help her mom at work, and she’s lucky to get even one night off to go to the fair. But maybe I can help you bake tomorrow.”
“No problem. Don’t worry. Enjoy your time with your friend. And, yes, I’ll remind you when you get home about that CD. I just have to find out what all the fuss is about.”
Chapter Three
Sweet,” Sam muttered as he busted out a backside 360 ollie, flying off the curb and landing in the parking lot, rolling to a stop.
“Dude, do it again.” Paul crossed his arms over his husky chest.
“Seriously? Did you miss it the first time?” Sam called over his shoulder, tossing his head to get his bangs out of his eyes. “Maybe you should get some glasses.” Yet even as Sam said the words he picked up his skateboard and carried it to the sidewalk to try again.
He’d spent the night at Paul’s house and promised his Uncle Pete he’d meet him at the feed store by three o’clock. Uncle Pete claimed he needed help loading stuff in the truck, but Sam knew the truth. Pete just wanted to make sure he was around to do the evening chores.
Finding the right spot to launch, Sam kicked off on his board. He set his front foot right behind the front trucks and the ball of his back foot on the toe edge of his board, at the base of his board’s tail. As he rolled near the edge of the curb, he bent his knees and wound up his shoulders.
Just before the front wheels hit the curb, Sam turned his shoulders and arms the opposite way from his spin, winding up tight, feeling as if he were ready to explode.
Sam reached the curb and ollied hard, very hard.
Adrenaline pumped through him. His heart pounded, and his body felt hot with excitement as he hung in the air. He scooped his skateboard with his back foot, spinning the board in the same direction he was moving. A second later, Sam bent his knees, preparing for the landing. As smooth as butter, his feet reconnected with the board and the board with the ground. Cheers rose from Paul. Jake cheered too, waving his long, lanky arms in the air. Sam also heard female voices cheering. Heat rushed to his cheeks.
Sam turned and spotted Emily and Arielle sitting under a tall oak on the lawn. They clapped and cheered, and Sam waved a hand their direction as if to say it was no big deal. Yet inwardly he was pleased Arielle had seen him nailing his best 360 yet.
He kicked off again, riding down the sidewalk, zipping closer to where Emily and Arielle sat on the grass.
“What are you doing here?” he called.
“Grandma is over at the fairgrounds for a meeting,” Emily said. “I dropped off a roll of film to get developed at the one-hour photo place. Ashley has to work for another hour, and I saw Arielle in town waiting for her dad. We were just walking around wasting time; then we saw you guys and headed over.”
Sam crossed his arms over his chest. “Cool. I—”
“Oh look, horses!” Arielle interrupted. She jumped to her feet and hurried across the parking lot to where two guys were unloading horses from a horse trailer.
Sam watched as his sister followed his girlfriend, a camera in her hands.
Sam glanced over to Paul and Jake, who didn’t seem as excited that the girls had shown up. They continued skating, trying to land a 360 ollie themselves. They motioned for Sam to join them, but instead he kicked up his skateboard, caught it, and walked after the girls. Arielle and Emily stood to the side as they watched the men with the horses. Sam stood behind them. The cowboys took a dark brown quarter horse with a white nose out of the trailer first. Next came a gray Appaloosa.
“Wow, what beautiful horses.” Arielle tucked her hands into the pockets of her jean shorts. “What are their names?”
“Rimrock and Stetson,” answered a tall, thin cowboy wearing a black hat.
“Which one’s which?” Arielle inched forward, and Sam tried not to act jealous. He didn’t like the fact she was ignoring him and talking to these guys.
“The dark brown one is Rimrock. The speckled one is Stetson.”
“They are so beautiful,” Arielle called.
“They look strong,” Emily added.
“So where are you from?” Sam called.
“Omaha.” The cowboy with the black hat turned to his friend. “How long did it take us to get here, two hours? Three?”
“At least.” The shorter cowboy walked over with the speckled horse on a lead, stretching out its legs. “And then they told us that we can’t get into the fairgrounds today,” he complained.
“Do you mind if I take their pictures?” Emily asked.
“I don’t mind if you promise you’ll come to the barrel races and cheer for us.” He tilted his hat back on his head, dabbing his forehead with his handkerchief.
“Oh, please. If you’ll cheer for us,” Sam mimicked under his breath.
Arielle turned as if just remembering he was there. She sidled up to him and placed her hand on his back. “Have you ever seen barrel races?”
“No. Can’t say I have.”
She chuckled. “Well, we need to get some country into you, city boy.”
He reached behind and took her hand, holding it in his. Her hand was small and soft, and holding it made him smile.
Emily snapped a photo of the cowboy leading the horse. She walked close to him, looking up at him. “My friend Hunter is gonna ride in those races. He’s good. I’ve seen him practice.”
Emily turned to Sam. “We can all go together. It will be fun.”
“Nah, I don’t think I’m gonna be at the fair much.”
Arielle’s eyebrows shot up as she glanced up at him. “Why not?”
“The fair? Are you serious?” he scoffed.
“What’s wrong with the fair?” Arielle’s voice rose an octave. “You’re not saying you’re too good for the fair, are you?” She pulled her hand away from his.
Sam dropped the skateboard and pushed it back and forth with his foot. He raised his hands. “Hey, no offense. It’s just that—”
“It’s just that his friend Jordan is gonna be here,” Emily butted in. “He’s from San Diego, and Sam’s afraid he’s gonna think the fair is lame. Afraid that Jordan will go back to San Diego and tell everyone how stupid Nebraska is.”
Sam crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah, we’re just going to skateboard and stuff instead.”
“Sam Slater, that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. You’d rather hang around a parking lot and jump in the air instead of spending the week having fun and hanging out with your friends? I bet Jake and Paul are going.” Arielle called to them and motioned them over. “Jake, Paul!”
They skated over and looked at her expectantly.
“Yeah?” Paul asked.
“Are you guys going to the fair?”
“Of course,” Paul shrugged. “Why?”
Arielle placed a hand on Sam’s arm. “Because Sam doesn’t want to go, and I’m trying to talk him into it.”
“Oh, I never said I didn’t want to go. I just think Jordan won’t want to.”
“No, seriously, it’s cool. Have you ever heard of the demolition derby?” Jake’s eyes brightened.
“Yeah, man, they take these old cars, and they drive around and smash each other. Pieces of metal fly everywhere,” Paul added.
“Well, I guess that doesn’t sound so bad.” Sam shrugged, not letting on that it actually sounded cool.
“And don’t forget the rodeo,” one of the cowboys said, hoisting a bucket of feed from the back of the horse trailer. The muscles in his arms bulged as he carried it and then poured it into a pile on the asphalt parking lot. “The rodeo isn’t for wimps.”
“Didn’t say it was, sir.” Sam lifted his hands, realizing he wasn’t going to get out of this conversation easily.
Gee, thanks, Arielle. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. As if reading his mind, she just grinned and shrugged.
�
��And remember the pig wrestling?” Jake said. “We were on a team last year and—”
“You mean you actually wrestle a pig?” Emily interrupted.
“Yeah, a big one.” Paul spread his arms. “There is this pen with mud in it, and you have to run in there, pick up the pig, and drop it into a barrel in the middle.”
“By yourself?” Emily asked. “That would be something fun to take pictures of!”
“No, you’re on a team of four people. Sometimes the pigs pee in the mud and—”
“Dude, that seriously is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” Sam tried to hide his shocked smile behind his hand.
“Not if you win. It’s a big deal. Last time the winners won a thousand bucks.”
Sam scratched his head. “Wow. Just for picking up a pig and putting it in a barrel?”
“Yup.” Arielle took his hand again. “Now you’re interested, aren’t you? See? I knew there would be a way to get you there. Now I know it’s the pigs.”
Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. It all depends on what Jordan wants to do.”
“Maybe Jordan will want to join a pig-wrestling team. Maybe the four of us guys should do it together.” Jake flipped his ball cap backward on his head.
“Well, for a thousand bucks …” Sam let his voice trail off as he imagined the ways he could spend that money. “Yeah, maybe.”
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.”