Courting Faith

by Kay Stuart

  “Now ladies and gentlemen what you have been waiting for, the opening of Junction City’s Annual Fair. Ladies and Gentlemen,” Pillsdale’s voice boomed over the crowd. “I don’t have to tell you for the past two months Mr. Morse has been handing out tickets to anyone spending more than five dollars at one time in his store. To start off today’s festivities at nine thirty on the dot Mr. Morse will hold his drawing. The lucky winner will receive twenty five dollars to spend at the general store.” A murmur ran through the crowd. Twenty five dollars was as much as most families earned in a month. While Mr. Pillsdale droned on Mr. Morse took out his pocket watched and counted down the minutes. He stepped forward signaling to Pillsdale it was now nine thirty by his watch.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen the time has arrived,” Pillsdale’s voice boomed. “Mr. Morse will now select this year’s winner.”

  On the table in front of Mr. Morse was a glass pickle jar and placed inside were countless pieces of paper. He placed his hand inside the jar and stirred the contents. Everyone held their breath as Mr. Morse lifted out one folded paper. With great fanfare the General Store owner held up the paper for all to see. “The winner is,” Pillsdale announced in a booming voice. “May I have the name,” he asked turning back to Mr. Morse. “Sadie Newcombe,” Pillsdale announced a moment later.

  The middle aged woman was beside herself. Her face turned chalk white then beet red. The man beside her held onto her arm to keep her from falling. “Oh my. Oh my,” she was heard shouting.

  “Sadie Newcombe,” Pillsdale announced again.

  “Here,” the man shouted waving his hat over his head. “I think she has fainted,” the man bellowed amid laughter.

  “No,” the woman called. “I am on my way.” She pushed her way to the front of the crowd and climbed the steps. “Oh my,” she repeated. One hand held over her pounding heart.

  “A delighted winner,” Pillsdale shouted.

  Mr. Morse handed the woman a slip of paper saying twenty five dollars would be credited to her account.

  “Do you wish to say a few words,” Pillsdale asked the befuddled woman.

  “Oh my,” she replied amid friendly laughter from the crowd.

  “I take that to mean she is satisfied with her winnings,” Pillsdale called. The woman was escorted off the platform. Well wishes rang out from family and friends.

  “Next,” Pillsdale shouted. “Next,” he repeated as the crowd quieted down. “On today’s agenda will be the Ladies Horserace. The race will start at the far end of town in fifteen minutes. Tables are set up outside the saloon for anyone wanting to place a bet. The contestants are Miss Caroline Pillsdale riding Moonlight. Miss Courtney Layfield riding Arrow. Miss Imogen Gaines riding Get-a-long. Miss Mary Dials riding Wind Dancer. Miss Alice Delaney riding Gentle Lad. Miss Sarah Freeburg riding Prince. Miss Susan Freeburg riding Chief. Miss Rose Randall riding Top Notch.”

  The men rushed towards the saloon and betting tables. The women headed towards the far end of town where bleachers were erected and the race course was laid out.

  “Come sit with us,” Lydia said tucking her hand under Royce’s arm. The young woman looked up at him hopefully.

  “Thank you,” Royce replied. “I will be delighted.”

  Lydia bubbled with happiness. Truly, she was the prettiest of the Gaines sisters. Her pale yellow hair was braided under a wide brimmed straw hat. Her brown eyes glowed with red lights. She had an impish smile. Her slim figure was still boyish. Royce delighted in the transformation of the once shy girl. Someday she would be a heartbreaker.

  “Imogen is riding Get-a-long,” Lydia announced. “We call him Get-a-long because he is as stubborn as a mule and it takes persuasion to get him to get along.” She laughed merrily. “He usually comes in last.” The girl added softly.

  “Is that right! I am glad I didn’t place a wager,” Royce replied.

  “No one ever bets on Get-a-long. Imogen rides for the fun of it,” Lydia explained her smile widening. “Come along we don’t want to be late. The bleachers are always full. We don’t want to have to stand along the fence. I won’t be able to see.” Lydia tugged on Royce’s arm hurrying him towards the race course.

  “What is your accomplishment,” Royce asked as they approached the bleachers.

  Lydia blushed a deep crimson. “I entered canned applesauce,” she whispered softly.

  “Canned applesauce? What in the world is canned applesauce,” Royce asked.

  Lydia laughed out loud her brown eyes sparkling. “The Food Canning Contest,” Lydia explained patiently. “We women enter our best canned items. The Judges taste whatever is entered then decides what taste the best.” Lydia continued to pull on Royce’s arm to hurry him along.

  “What do you win,” Royce asked.

  Lydia gave Royce a puzzled frown. “Haven’t you ever been to a Fair,” she asked impatiently.

  “Not that I can recall,” Royce admitted.

  “They give out ribbons,” Lydia explained. “Blue for the best, then red for second best and then white. The grand prize winner gets a special blue ribbon and five dollars.”

  “You entered canned applesauce,” Royce asked intrigued by the girl’s proclamation.

  “Not just canned applesauce,” Lydia continued to explain. “I used my grandma’s recipe for applesauce. Back in Pennsylvania grandma always won the grand prize. Come along we don’t want to miss out on seeing Imogen ride Get-a-long. She expects us to cheer when she crosses the finish line.”

  “She does,” Royce asked. “Even coming in last?”

  Lydia gave him a glaring look. “Of course,” she insisted.

  “Father, look who I found,” Lydia announced a moment later. “Mr. Hargadon. He is going to sit with us.” Royce noticed Faith glance his way before she turned to stare at him. He looked different in a green plaid shirt and hip hugging denims. He wore a gunbelt and holster and carried his Henry rifle in one hand. The Shooting Contest was the next event after the Ladies Horserace.

  “Mr. Hargadon,” Reverend Gaines greeted extending his hand towards Royce. “We have a nice day for the Fair. Usually it rains,” the Minister added looking up at the sky as if he expected to see big black clouds forming on the horizon.

  “September can be an uncertain month,” Royce agreed.

  Royce sat beside Reverend Gaines. Lydia climbed the bleachers and sat down beside Faith. “Move over,” she whispered in her sister’s ear.

  “Lydia,” Faith whispered back. Lydia was pushing her against Mr. Hargadon’s thigh. Lydia opened wide innocence looking brown eyes. Having decided Mr. Hargadon was too old for her the next best thing was to have him for a brother-in-law. Since she did not like Mr. Cook, Lydia had concluded it would be better if Faith married Mr. Hargadon.

  Mr. Pillsdale stood on a large wooden platform built at the side of the road. His booming voice rose as he announced, “Ladies and Gentlemen we are ready to start the Ladies Horserace. Riders will bring their horses to the starting line.” Eight horses lined up in the order Mr. Pillsdale had announced the young women’s names. All were seated on sidesaddle. Their long dresses hanging over the left side of their horses. They all wore wide brimmed hats. Some adorned with tall peacock feathers. Others decorated with paper flowers and ribbons. It was clearly a fashion show as well as a horserace.

  Sheriff Walden raised his gun in the air and fired.

  For a moment everyone held their breath. Then Miss Freeburg’s horse bolted across the starting line. Get-a-long was the last horse to cross the line with Imogen leaning forward on the saddle coaxing the animal into a run. It was a spirited race with the two Freeburg sisters out in front. Both Sarah and Susan determined not to let her sister win. As the riders circled a grove of trees they were hidden from view. A few seconds later they emerged on the other side of the trees with Miss Pillsdale now in the lead. A moment later Miss Randall the blacksmith’s sister was nosing ahead of Miss Pillsdale. The spectators on the bleachers were standing and shouting encouragement to
their favorite rider. The men standing along the fence were shouting and waving their hats in the air. Miss Susan Freeburg regained the lead and crossed the finish line ahead of Miss Randall.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen,” Mr. Pillsdale’s voice rose above the noise. “Ladies and Gentlemen the winner is Miss Susan Freeburg. In second place Miss Rose Randall.” The rest of what Mr. Pillsdale said was drowned out by enthusiastic applause.

  Imogen raised one hand above her head and waved to her family. A warm smile brightened her face. She had come in last. Yet her smile was the smile of a winner. Sheriff Walden reached up to help Imogen off her horse. He stood beside the young woman with his hand resting on her arm. Imogen turned startled eyes towards the sheriff. Then her features softened. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Sheriff Walden breathed deeply not sure what to say. Imogen’s eyes sparkled with life. Her cheeks were aglow with excitement. “You are a grand horse,” Imogen said patting Get-a-long on the neck. “Don’t you think he did splendidly,” she asked Sheriff Walden.

  “Yes ma’am,” Walden replied after dislodging a lump in his throat.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen,” Mr. Pillsdale’s voice boomed above the noise. “The next event will take place behind the Feed and Grain. All men entered in the Marksmanship Contest please be ready in fifteen minutes.”

  “I will hand Get-a-long over to Father then I will walk you over,” Imogen said shyly. Her heart thumped loudly in her breast before taking wing. Why had she not noticed how pleasant Sheriff Walden’s smile was before now.

  “That’s you,” Lydia said leaning in front of Faith to speak to Royce. “We will come along and cheer you on,” she added hooking an arm through her sister’s arm. “Won’t we Faith.”

  “Yes of course,” Faith replied. “Where’s Imogen, she . . .,” Faith stopped speaking and stared as she saw her younger sister being escorted across the field my Sheriff Walden. “What do you know,” she exclaimed.

  “Miss Gaines,” Royce asked.

  “Nothing,” Faith replied still shocked at seeing Imogen and Sheriff Walden together. It was not possible. Well maybe, she admitted to herself. It was time Imogen became interested in a man. But, Sheriff Walden of all men!

  The shooting event was to take place in the open field behind the Feed and Grain Store. The ends of wooden planks had been buried in the ground. The boards stood erect in the field so that contestants were firing away from town. A paper target was nailed to the front of each plank.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen,” Mr. Pillsdale’s voice rose to silence the crowd. “We have twelve contestants. Will you men step forward and select a number.” Mr. Pillsdale held a hat in one hand. He tossed the numbers in the hat to mix them before allowing Mr. Forbes to take the first number.

  The old man rubbed his chin turning the piece of paper around in his hand. He held it away from him then brought the paper up close to his eyes. He turned the paper upside down. “Young man,” he said turning towards Royce. “Can you make out what this says,” he showed his selection to Royce.

  “Number seven,” Royce replied.

  “Seven,” Mr. Forbes replied. “Are you sure,” he asked. “I don’t want there to be a mistake.”

  “Seven,” Royce answered realizing the man could not read. “I am the new schoolteacher,” he explained.

  “You don’t say,” Mr. Forbes said looking Royce over for the first time. “You don’t look like a schoolteacher,” he declared. “No sir. Schoolteachers are frumpy old ladies that smell funny.”

  “Men were teaching school long before women,” Royce replied not offended by the older man’s remarks.

  It was Royce’s turn to take a number. He reached into Pillsdale’s hat and drew out his number. The number five.

  “Contestants will line up behind the line,” Mr. Pillsdale announced. For a brief span of time the men shuffled around lining up in the order of the number they drew. John Layfield stood at the end of the line having drawn the first number. “One at a time each contestant will fire three shots at the paper target in front of him,” Pillsdale explained, “Starting with John Layfield.”

  John Layfield raised his rifle to his shoulder. The morning air was split by three blasts. Mr. Pillsdale and Mr. Morse were judges. After looking over the target Mr. Morse took a silver dollar out of his vest pocket and placed it over the holes. Mr. Pillsdale nodded his head. “All three shots fit inside a silver dollar,” he announced. “You’ve been practicing,” he added with approval.

  John Layfield grinned broadly.

  Milton Ferguson had drawn number four. He stood beside Royce muttering under his breath. The man smelled of flowery toilet water and his stringy hair was coarse looking. His face streaked with grime. Royce was beginning to suspect there was more to Ferguson than met the eye.

  The next two contestants shot wide of Layfield’s opening standard. Ferguson mumbling to himself raised his rifle to his shoulder and shot three times. Then, he placed the butt of his rifle against the ground and waited Mr. Pillsdale’s and Mr. Morse’s verdict. “All three shots fit inside a silver dollar,” Mr. Pillsdale announced as the crowd murmured.

  “Mr. Hargadon can beat that,” Lydia whispered to her sister.

  “Shush,” Faith whispered wondering why her heart was beating wildly. Her hands felt clammy and she wiped them against the sides of her dress. She crossed her fingers noticing Lydia did the same. She jumped when Royce fired three shots. The sound of his Henry rifle echoing off the hills. Faith had not heard the other rifles’ echo. Breathlessly she awaited Mr. Pillsdale’s announcement.

  “All three shots fit inside a silver dollar. Ladies and Gentlemen I have never seen such shooting. Three finalists have been chosen so far,” Mr. Pillsdale’s voice boomed with excitement.

  Royce wondered why he had entered the contest in the first place much less his shooting so well. He should have had enough sense to shoot wide. Sure questions would be raised about his prowess with a rifle. Was he trying to impress Miss Gaines or was his shooting designed to anger Milton Ferguson. The man had won five years in a row. Was he irritating Ferguson to see what the man would do. One thing was for certain Ferguson displayed too many contradictions to be genuine. Then there was the man he had seen entering Miss Ferguson’s house. No one he asked seemed to believe Miss Ferguson had more than one brother. Of course that did not mean she did not have another brother.

  The next two men were disqualified. The next man placed his shots close together. Mr. Pillsdale’s booming voice announced as much. Standing and waiting for the final four contestants to shoot, Royce wondered if the man’s booming voice was the reason he was elected Mayor. Amos Walden was the last man to shoot. He was the only remaining man to make the finalist list. Pillsdale announced the next round was pistol shooting. The paper targets were replaced as he announced the rules. The men checked their revolvers. The contestants lined up in reverse order with Walden shooting first. Mr. Morse’s silver dollar was placed over the holes. “Our first finalist,” Mr. Pillsdale shouted excitedly.

  Royce glanced towards the crowd. Imogen Gaines was clapping and cheering, bouncing up and down on her toes. The young woman’s color was high on her cheeks. So, that was the way the wind was blowing, Royce thought. George Dean would want Imogen to find happiness. It had been four months since the Marshall’s death. It was time Imogen moved on. Sheriff Walden was a good man. Royce no longer had suspicions where the sheriff was concerned.

  Royce remembered to space his shots. Spreading them just wide enough apart not to arouse suspicion. “Holes touching the rim of the silver dollar,” Mr. Pillsdale’s booming voice announced. Royce waited for the remaining contestants to take their turn. Mr. Pillsdale and Mr. Morse conferred. “We have our winner,” Mr. Pillsdale announced. “Sheriff Walden.” The crowd was exuberant. “In second place,” Mr. Pillsdale shouted and waited for the crowd to quiet. “Mr. Hargadon the town’s new schoolteacher!” A gasp ran through the crowd before applause broke out. “In third place Mr. Ferg
uson! I want to thank all the contestants for a very spirited contest. Mr. Cobb our Gunsmith will hand out prizes. First place winner receives an antique Revolutionary War pistol donated by Mr. Fenton.” Mr. Pillsdale waited while the crowd quieted down. “Second and third place winners each receive five dollars and our congratulations. Now, Ladies and Gentlemen we will break for lunch,” Mr. Pillsdale announced. “Our next contest will be at one o’clock this afternoon. Boy’s Horserace.” Crowds dispersed before Mr. Pillsdale could finish his speech.

  Lydia hurried towards Royce. Her young face was bright with happiness. “I knew you could do it,” she said coming to a stop beside him. “You are to have dinner with us to celebrate.”

  “Yes, please do,” Faith added her invitation. Lydia’s grip on her sister’s hand had compelled Faith to follow her.

  “Thank you. I will be delighted. Who is doing the cooking,” he asked.

  “We all helped,” Lydia whispered.

  Faith found she was tongue tied. An event that had never happened to her before. Royce’s green eyes caressed her face lingering for a moment on her lips. The feeling was so strong Faith felt as if he had touched her.

  “Do you know,” Lydia whispered leaning towards Royce. “I have never seen Miss Ferguson and her brother together. What do you make of that?”

  “What did you say,” Royce asked. His attention had been on Faith and her reaction to him.

  Lydia stood frowning, staring after Milton Ferguson and did not reply.

  The gathering at the Gaines home was a festive one. Valerie introduced the young man accompanying her as Robert Morse the son of a local rancher and nephew to Mr. Morse the grocer. Sheriff Walden looked around the parlor appearing uncomfortable. Remembering how uncomfortable he had felt on his first visit Royce sympathized with the man. Imogen stood beside Sheriff Walden one arm hooked inside his while her other hand rested on top of his arm. Royce decided, now that Imogen had gotten her man she was not about to let him escape.