The Beef Princess of Practical County

by Michelle Houts

  Mule let me set him up without so much as a wiggle on his part. The same judge had returned, wearing the same green boots, but in a tan shirt this time. He was slowly making his way down the line.

  Hold still, I told Mule without speaking. A tap here, a rub there. I could tell him exactly what I wanted. My nervousness had been spent on the first round. Being out in the ring with Mule now felt like second nature. We were a team. A superduo, Mule and I.

  Without warning, a sad, crushing feeling came over me. It was the same feeling that had kept me awake late on those hot, sticky summer nights. It was the same feeling that had led to my completely irrational decision to open the back gate on the Fourth of July. It was a feeling that had the power to bring tears in a heartbeat.

  I clenched my teeth, blinked once, and concentrated on the judge, determined that if Mule didn't win this show, it wouldn't be for lack of showmanship on my part. The judge stopped and motioned for me to step out of line and circle the ring with Mule. After a brief hesitation, Mule stepped out in great form.

  As I passed the bleachers, I couldn't help noticing the Darling family perched in the very front row. Ohma was trying to catch my eye, and she gave me a small smile. I looked away. I wasn't going to trust her ever again.

  I noticed that Jack looked pretty confident when he walked his steer in front of the judge. When Precious pranced by me with a triumphant smile, I saw the white spot on her animal's forehead. For crying out loud, it looked more like California than Ohio! How could they think no one would notice they'd made a switch? One more look at Precious's smug face, and I was starting to regret my decision to keep quiet.

  The judge was coming back. The audience waited silently while he ran his hands along the side of each animal.

  A turn of the judge's hand and we all rotated our steers, this time so the judge was looking them square in the hind end. I prayed Mule wouldn't lift his tail and leave a pile of crap at the judge's feet.

  One last turn and we were looking at the judge again. The sun had set an hour ago, but the heat of the Indiana July night was almost unbearable. Under the lights of the arena and the tension of the show, it was amazing that Precious Darling's makeup was holding up as well as it was. I was sweating like crazy, and I thought it might be interesting to see Precious's face melt into gooey globs of pink blush and blue eye shadow.

  All at once, the judge was at the microphone. He hadn't even lined us up yet. I wondered what that meant.

  With a crisp white handkerchief, he wiped the sweat from his brow.

  “I'd like to thank you folks for having me here in Practical County tonight.”

  You're welcome.

  “I've got to say, ladies and gentlemen, I thought your young exhibitors put on a real great show here in the arena this afternoon…”

  Okay, you said that earlier.

  “… but tonight, well, there's no denying you've got some of the state's top steers in the ring. And with that, you've got some top-notch showmen in these young exhibitors. Let's give them a round of applause for their hard work.”

  I glanced at Precious, who was now basking in the applause that she so totally didn't deserve. She glared back at me. I could see Mom and Frannie clapping. Granddad had moved over to stand with Dad near the gate. My arm was really tired from the constant motion of the show stick, and even Mule, the calmest steer on the planet, was starting to fidget.

  “Folks, I'm going to pick you a Grand Champion Steer.”

  A hush came over the place as the judge took one last, long look. Jack's steer let out a loud, impatient bellow, which broke the tension and caused a ripple of laughter to echo through the audience. With nervous anticipation, the arena fell silent once again.

  The judge circled each pair of animals and exhibitors. He paused in front of Precious's steer and studied him from all angles. He sucked in his breath and held it in his cheeks, as if he was giving serious consideration to the small black steer held by Precious.

  If he picked Precious's steer for Grand Champion, I would regret for the rest of my life not turning her in for cheating. One more look at all four steers, and the judge made a move toward Precious.

  I held my breath. I couldn't look.

  A squeal of the microphone made everyone, including the judge, look in the direction of the announcer's stand. Mr. Fields, president of the Cattlemen's Club, held the microphone.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I'm sorry to interrupt the competition at such an intense moment, but it has just come to my attention that one of these exhibitors has been disqualified from competition.”

  There were gasps and murmurs throughout the bleachers. Before Mr. Fields could even announce her name, Precious was protesting.

  “What? That's not true!”

  That was when I saw Ohma standing at Mr. Fields's side. I couldn't believe it. She had turned her sister in to the Cattlemen. She looked sick, and I knew it must have been a difficult thing to do. I also knew that the flak she would likely suffer from the rest of her family wouldn't be pretty.

  “Precious, you will need to take your steer out of the arena,” Mr. Fields said as he leaned over the announcer's stand, his hand covering the microphone. He was trying his best to spare her as much humiliation as possible. But it wasn't in the nature of the Darling family to bow quietly out of anything. Mr. and Mrs. Darling were on their feet, shouting at Mr. Fields. Two other gentlemen from the Cattle-men's Club escorted a defiant Precious and her steer out of the ring.

  The judge and Mr. Fields held a hushed conversation while the stands buzzed in reaction to Precious Darling's disqualification.

  I patted Mule's side, which by now was wet with perspiration. He was being so patient. At the far end of the arena, I saw Ohma, and she appeared to be getting an earful from an irate Lil. I couldn't believe Ohma had had the courage to do what was right. She'd been braver than I had. I hoped I would get a chance to talk to her before her family dragged her away to face whatever punishment they would dole out for doing the right thing.

  But that would have to wait. The judge was back in the arena. He gave ample attention to each of the three remaining steers but seemed to make up his mind rather quickly.

  He walked to the center of the ring, paused just briefly enough for the audience to draw in their breath in suspense, and made a beeline toward Josh Joseph. He clapped Josh's steer on the shoulder and extended his hand to Josh, and the arena erupted with whistles and applause.

  Josh Joseph had shown Practical County's Grand Champion Steer.

  “You did a good job, Mule,” I whispered as I stroked his head gently.

  My head was down, and I didn't see the judge coming until his green boots were right beside Mule's front hooves.

  The judge placed his hand firmly on Mule's neck and said, “Congratulations, young lady. You've got the Reserve Champion.”

  I shook his hand in disbelief as the applause pounded in my ears. Mule was Practical County's Reserve Grand Champion steer. It wasn't Grand, but it was Ryansmeade's highest award, and it was my very first try. I was so proud of Mule, and hoped Dad and Granddad would be just as proud of me. At the end of the arena, Dad was clapping and Granddad had two fingers in his mouth, and I heard his trademark whistle squeal out over the applause.

  “We did it, Muley!” I shouted in his ear. “You and me, we did it!”

  The judge took the microphone stand and started his explanation.

  “This pair of animals before us here no doubt represent the best of Indiana's beef industry. I'll start with this handsome Shorthorn on my left. He's just a real nice …”

  Josh and I pulled our steers to the center of the ring, where cameras flashed and the judge's voice continued, but I don't think I heard a word.

  When the judge finished, a fresh-looking Lil Darling came prancing out into the arena, sash and tiara prominently displayed, proudly fulfilling one of her final duties as reigning Beef Princess. She looked as if she had completely recovered from the disgrace her sister had suffered
just minutes earlier.

  Lil's pink-and-white-striped skirt and jacket looked crisp and clean, but her four-inch white heels kept sinking deep into the manure and sawdust in the show ring. She seemed minimally disturbed by the manure as long as the cameras kept flashing while she presented Josh and me with our trophies and rosettes.

  Soon the pictures were done, the crowd began to mill around, and I pulled Mule to the gate where the whole family waited.

  “My grandchildren are so proud of you!” Frannie bounced around. Mom gave me a big hug.

  “You were wonderful out there, Libby.” Mom beamed.

  “You bet she was!” Ronnie exclaimed. “And who taught you everything you know?”

  “Um, Dad?” I teased.

  Ronnie pretended to be hurt, and then grinned from ear to ear.

  “I'd say all of Ryansmeade can collectively share in tonight's success,” Granddad said thoughtfully, “with the greatest share going to you and this fine fellow.”

  He squeezed my shoulder and gave Mule an affectionate pat.

  Carol Ann leaned in close and whispered, “You got the Darlings in this competition, Lib! One down, one to go!”

  “Here, let's hang your rosette on Mule's halter, and I'll take a picture of the two of you,” Mom suggested.

  I had to admit, Mule looked great with that big red ribbon streaming down the side of his face. His blue eyes blinked and he took in all the camera flashing and hugging with a calm that I knew even sweet Piggy couldn't have mustered.

  “Didn't I say this fellow had potential?” Dad boasted.

  “Yes, Dad, you did,” I admitted. He had seen it in Mule from the very beginning. “I think I underestimated Mule.”

  “I believe I underestimated someone else,” Dad said, his face serious and regretful. He put one arm firmly around my shoulders. “I underestimated my little girl, who has just proven in no uncertain terms that showing cattle can in-deed be a girl thing.”

  It was a reward far greater than a ribbon of any color.

  “I'll tell you something else, Libby girl.” Granddad pulled one of my braids. “All of Practical County is talking tonight. They're saying, ‘That Ryan girl is one fine show-man.’ Yes, sir, they'll be keeping their eyes on you and your animals for years to come.”

  I was happy like I'd never been happy before. It was like floating on a cloud. And I didn't think I'd ever come down.

  Then I heard Mayor Thompson, who never missed an opportunity where there was a crowd and loudspeaker to tell everyone what a fine town we had in Nowhere, Indiana.

  “The Practical County Fair is the pride of Nowhere,” he boasted from the podium, “and I want you all to come back Saturday evening for the Practical County Fair Livestock Auction. Folks, I'm telling you, with animals as fine as the ones you've seen here tonight, you're not going to want to miss this one. Bring your checkbooks, bring your neighbors, 'cause, folks, we're gonna sell some beef!”

  Suddenly that cloud I had been floating on took a nose-dive, brought down by the mere thought of parting with Mule. Clouds are just air, Libby, I told myself. And clouds can't stay up in the air forever.

  Eventually, what goes up must come down.

  “I can't believe I'm doing this,” I said.

  “I can't believe you didn't do it before.”

  Carol Ann tied the long sash at the back of my dress as we stood before the full-length mirror in my bedroom. After months of thinking about the Beef Princess pageant, I could not believe it was here. I was far more nervous about this than I had been about entering the show ring for the first time. Maybe it was because Mule would not be by my side. There was no animal to hide behind. All eyes would be on me.

  “Bow or knot?” she asked.

  “Knot, of course.”

  She laughed. I looked in the mirror.

  “You know I am totally against beauty pageants,” I said matter-of-factly.

  “This is so not a beauty pageant, Libby, and you know it! Think of it as a public service. Now sit.”

  Carol Ann was wound up. She spun me around and nearly pushed me into a chair, where she proceeded to touch up the makeup she had carefully applied to my face. “Don't add any more color,” I warned her. “I don't want to look like a—”

  “Darling?” Carol Ann finished.

  “I was going to say clown.”

  Just then, Mom appeared in the doorway. She froze.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Look at you! You are absolutely gorgeous! Isn't she, Carol Ann?”

  “Mom!” I protested.

  “Yes, Mrs. Ryan, she looks awesome!”

  Part of me wanted to get out of that silky blue dress and into some holey blue jeans. But some other part of me was pleasantly surprised by what I saw in the mirror. The Libby Ryan who looked back at me was a totally different person than the Libby Ryan whose reflection I usually saw. It wasn't all bad to look good.

  Earlier in the week, Mom and I had managed to reach an agreement about hair. She wanted to take me to the salon for an elegant updo, complete with sparkly hairpins and a whole can of hair spray. I wanted my ponytail. We agreed on some hot rollers and a little bit of hair spray. The result was a soft curl just fancy enough to not be ordinary but still a long way from glamorous. I just didn't think I could do glamorous.

  Dad came in.

  “Are we ready to go?” he asked.

  He, too, stopped in the door. What was with the door-way? Enough with the freezing in the doorway. It was like someone had covered it with plastic wrap so that everyone who tried to come through it bounced right off.

  “Whoa! Back up the apple cart!” Dad did a double take.

  “Dad!”

  Carol Ann was cracking up.

  Dad made his way through the invisible barrier.

  “Is this the same girl who was sweating in the show ring earlier this week?”

  “Charlie, we have a lot to do here.” Mom ushered him out of the bedroom. “Why don't you go pull up the van?”

  “Do you remember your beef breeds?” Carol Ann asked.

  “Yes, I know them all.”

  “Remember not to walk too fast,” Mom coached. “This is a pageant, not a race.”

  “I know, Mom.”

  “Oh, and be sure to spit out that gum. Judges hate chewing gum,” Carol Ann advised.

  Okay. That was enough coaching. It was time to get this over with.

  The activities tent was packed despite the heat of the evening and the threat of thunderstorms. Parents with video cameras took front-row seats while grandmothers fanned themselves with the programs Lil Darling was handing out to all who entered the tent, perhaps her last official duty as Beef Princess.

  I had my eyes peeled for Precious. Surely, since it was Ohma, and not me, who had turned her in, she wouldn't try to make good on her threat to sabotage my dress before the pageant. Especially now that it was on me. But then again, I wouldn't put anything past Precious.

  The eleven contestants were pulled back behind the curtain to the staging area for instructions. Once we heard Mr. Fields, who was the master of ceremonies, start the show, we shuffled to our seats in our high-heeled shoes.

  It wasn't until we were all seated that I realized that Lil was here without Ohma. Surely Ohma wouldn't miss the pageant.

  I scanned the audience. I caught a glimpse of Frannie with two empty chairs beside her. I pitied the poor soul who attempted to sit on Eugene. There was no sign of Ohma, but Mr. and Mrs. Darling were sitting front and center with Precious right beside them. A strange, sympathetic feeling passed over me. Why hadn't Ohma decided to participate in the pageant? Was she still so devastated over losing her steer? What had her sisters done to her after she exposed Precious's dishonesty?

  My thoughts were broken by the squeal of feedback from the microphone. Mr. Fields, looking flushed in his suit jacket, was center stage mopping the sweat from his forehead with a white handkerchief. The pageant was un-der way.

  The first round of questions was
easy enough. Tell us your name, your grade in school, and why you like living in Practical County. Most of the contestants, like Karen Elliott and Jennifer Joseph, had done this before, making repeated attempts to beat the Darling duo.

  Karen stepped out onstage, smiling, as if there weren't a hundred people packed into a hot tent and watching her. I prayed for half the poise she possessed.

  When it was her turn, Lil strutted to the microphone and straightened her tiara as if to remind the judges that she was the incumbent. She had forgotten to spit out her ever-present bubble gum, which she popped and snapped into the microphone as she spoke. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Carol Ann mouthing, “I told you so.”

  “Next,” Mr. Fields announced.

  I looked around. No one moved. The stage and tent were quiet. I realized everyone was looking at me.

  How could I be so stupid? I jumped up from my folding chair too quickly and knocked it over. The metal chair hit the stage floor with a deafening crash. I tried to pick it up and stepped on the hem of my dress. There was a long, loud rrrrrrrrrrrrip and I looked down to see a ten-inch tear in the bottom of the dress, my heel still attached.

  Obviously, I didn't need Precious to destroy my dress. I was doing a great job all on my own.

  Bending down, I hopped on one foot to the microphone while I freed my shoe from the fabric. There was nervous laughter from the audience, and Mr. Fields tried to make me feel better by making light of my clumsiness.

  “Well, Miss Ryan, take it easy now.” He patted my shoulder. “Don't be in such a hurry to get to the microphone. Take a deep breath, dear. Good. Go ahead and answer the first question.”

  I did just as he said and inhaled deeply, then let it out slowly. That was better. Now, I needed to answer the first question. Wait. What was the first question?

  “Whenever you're ready, Miss Ryan,” Mr. Fields said through his ever-present smile.

  I stared out at all the people fanning themselves in the hot tent.

  “The first question,” Mr. Fields prompted.

  Oh, yes, introduce myself. Okay, that was easy enough.

  “Hi, um, I am Libby Ryan. I, um, I live fourteen and a half miles from Nowhere on my farm. Well, it's not my farm. It's my dad's farm. Well, really, it's not my dad's farm totally. It's my mom's too. And my grandfather's. Yes, it was my grandfather's farm first and now it is my dad's. And my mom's.”