The Blue Ribbon Brides Collection

by AlLee, Jennifer L. ; Breidenbach, Angela; Franklin, Darlene

  “What shall we do this year?” Ella leaned against the door and stroked the cow’s neck. “A garland of flowers around your neck? A sassy hat?”

  “Why stop there? How about an evening gown?”

  Even before Ella turned at the sound of the deep voice, she knew who was walking toward her. Maxwell Sinclair was just as handsome as the last time she saw him, over a year ago.

  “Hello, Max. I didn’t know you were in town.”

  “Visiting the family.”

  “I see.” Ella crossed her arms. “And what brings you to our lowly little farm? Have you finally decided it’s time to leave the fake butter business?”

  Max chuckled. “It’s not fake butter; it’s margarine. A completely different and far superior product.”

  “You make it in a factory, not a farm.” Ella wrinkled her nose in disgust. “It can’t possibly be better than butter.”

  “Ah, yes. Making something from milk drawn from a cow in a barn full of heaven knows what kind of contamination is bound to be much healthier.”

  Ella bristled at Max’s sarcasm. How dare he malign the dairy? He’d worked there himself until he left a year ago. He’d started when he was just sixteen, and over the next ten years he’d cleaned the barn, tended to the cows, maintained the milking machine, and done just about everything a dairyman could do. He’d become her father’s most trusted employee. Not only that, but he’d become part of the family. The betrayal of his decision to join the Joy Margarine Company had cut deep.

  “Why are you here?” Ella asked, her voice flat.

  Max frowned. “I wish we could put the past aside and move forward. Are you going to stay mad at me forever?”

  Yes, I am, because I loved you with my whole heart and you broke it the day you left.

  But Ella would never say that to him. Instead, she just repeated herself. “Why are you here?”

  “I see how it is.” Max puffed out an exasperated breath. “I came because I wanted to talk to your father. We didn’t part on the best of terms, so I was hoping to mend fences.”

  Of course. She hadn’t for a moment thought he might have come to see her. Still, the confirmation of that fact left her feeling hollow.

  “Dad’s in the milking barn. You’re free to talk to him. Unless, of course, you’re afraid of all the contamination in there.”

  His eyes narrowed, and he looked like he was about to toss out a snappy comeback. Instead, he put his hands in his trouser pockets and nodded.

  “Thank you. Take care of yourself, Ella.” He walked away but threw one more comment back over his shoulder. “See you around.”

  That had been a spectacular failure.

  Max left the small barn and stalked toward the bigger one, shoulders hunched and hands still in his pockets. What had possessed him to look for Ella? He should have known she still had a chip on her shoulder. Why couldn’t she understand that he left the dairy for something better, but he didn’t leave her? He’d hoped that time would have softened her, dulled the sharpness of his departure. Obviously that wasn’t the case. Hopefully, Walter Daniels would be more sensible than his daughter.

  Upon reaching the milking barn, he took one more deep breath of semifresh air. Then he opened the door. Just as he remembered, the smell of cow hit him in the face like a warm, moist wall. That was one of the many reasons he preferred margarine. No cows were involved.

  As dairies went, the Daniels Dairy was one of the best. Walter made sure the place was clean, the equipment well maintained, and the cows taken care of. At the moment, about a dozen cows were lined up in a row, their halters attached by rope to a feeding trough in front of them. They happily munched and swished their tails while being milked. Four men were doing the milking, so the other eight cows waited their turns.

  The clank of an empty milk pail hitting the ground got Max’s attention. Walter Daniels was walking toward him, looking serious.

  “Well now, if I didn’t know better, I’d say Max Sinclair stopped by for a visit. But that can’t be, since Max works for the enemy now and knows better than to darken my door.”

  Obviously Walter’s sensibilities were aligned with his daughter’s.

  “Come now, Walter.” Max grinned and used his best let-bygones-be-bygones voice. “It’s been over a year. You can’t still be upset.”

  “Can’t I?” He quietly gazed at Max, as if taking inventory. “You broke her heart, you know.”

  He looked Walter straight in the eye. “I know. But it was never my intention. I’ll always regret hurting her. And you.”

  It was unusually quiet in the barn. The only sounds were the cows chewing and the occasional clink of a harness when one shook its head. Even the ping, ping, ping of milk shooting into the tin pails had ceased as the men stopped to watch the exchange.

  Walter looked in their direction and swatted his hand through the air. “Get on with you, then. Nothing going on over here that’s any of your concern.”

  That was all it took for the milking to resume.

  Walter turned back to Max and sighed. “My father used to say life is too short to hold grudges, and I suppose he was right.” He held his hand out.

  With a solemn nod, Max took his hand and shook it. “Thank you.”

  “Just don’t make me regret it.”

  “Of course.” Max smiled and looked around the barn. “The place looks as good as ever. How many head do you have now?”

  “About fifty Jerseys.” He pointed in the direction of the men on their stools. “I’ve got four hands that do nothing but milk.”

  Max knew that. Each cow was milked twice a day, and each man was probably responsible for about a dozen cows. Walter most likely took up the slack. He wouldn’t be surprised if Ella pitched in, too, when she wasn’t sculpting.

  “Quite a few dairies are using the new milking machines,” Max said. “Have you considered switching over?”

  Walter pulled a face. “Not a chance. I don’t trust those things. Hard to keep all the tubes clean, so it’s easier to contaminate the milk. Besides, they’re not good for the cows. Nope, we get a cleaner, healthier product doing it the right way.”

  Max held back a laugh. To Walter, there was his way, and there was the wrong way. Anything new and innovative couldn’t be trusted. He’d undoubtedly fought pasteurization tooth and nail.

  They spent awhile talking about the business, the milk yield, how much butter was produced. Talk of butter naturally brought the conversation back around to Ella.

  “I assume she’ll be going to the state fair this year,” Max said in a way he hoped sounded casual.

  “Oh yes, she’s coming with me. And Geraldine, of course.” Walter chuckled. “You know, people who go every year have watched that cow grow up, in real life and in butter.”

  Max nodded. “People do love the butter sculptures. That really was a stroke of genius, using them to advertise the dairy.”

  The pride was so apparent in Walter, his chest seemed to puff up on the spot. “Wish I could take the credit, but it was all Ella’s idea. That girl is something else.”

  “Yes, she is.”

  And she should be something else. She shouldn’t be tied to a dairy farm with her hands in a greasy, smelly cow byproduct. She should be someplace where she could use her creativity in something permanent and beautiful. But that would never happen as long as she felt responsible for the dairy’s success.

  Max steeled himself. The real reason he’d come to see Walter could very well get him unceremoniously booted out of the barn. But it could also pave the way for something better for everyone concerned, especially Ella. There was no turning back now.

  “Walter, there was something I wanted to talk to you about….”

  Chapter 2

  Nevada State Fair

  September 9, 1916

  The grounds of the Nevada State Fair were a swarm of activity, even though it wasn’t open to the public for another two days. Ella had been coming to the fair with her father since she was a
little girl, and every year it was the same. Vendors set up their stands, unfurling banners for amazing items that every home had to have or treats that would make your mouth water at the sight of them. Workmen unloaded trucks by the various exhibition buildings. In the livestock area, pens and stalls were filled with horses, pigs, cows, chickens, and every kind of animal one could imagine finding on a farm.

  Ella walked up to the whitewashed fence on one of the swine enclosures and waved at the man on the other side. “Good morning, Mr. Evans. Those are some fine-looking pigs.”

  Felix Evans was probably only in his fifties, but he’d looked about seventy for as long as she’d known him. Still, he was wiry, energetic, and always convivial. When he smiled, Ella suspected he’d lost at least one more tooth since the last time they’d met.

  “Thank you, Miss Daniels. Yep, you can’t go wrong with Berkshires. Now others, they prefer the pale-skinned Yorkies, but not me. Dark skin, darker meat. That’s a good pig! I expect we’ll be taking home a ribbon or two.”

  He said almost the same thing every year. Ella chuckled. “Good luck to you. And to Mrs. Evans. I assume she’s entered in the canning competition again?”

  “Absolutely.” Mr. Evans nodded enthusiastically. “It was a good year for peaches. She canned some beauts. And she’s got a great pie to make for the recipe contest. That is, if I don’t eat it before the judges get to it.”

  Laughing along with him, Ella backed away from the fence. With a cheery, “See you later,” she was on her way.

  Looking around her, Ella couldn’t help but be in high spirits. There were times when she wished her world was bigger than just the dairy. She yearned to live in a big city, where everyone didn’t know everything about her and she could stretch her artistic muscles. But then there were days like today, when she was surrounded by other people living the same kind of life she did. She felt the camaraderie, the community. At times like that, she couldn’t imagine her life any other way.

  A chorus of moos greeted her as she approached the bovine enclosures. Since she was the only butter sculptress at the fair, the Daniels Dairy had been given their customary space in the center, complete with its own icehouse. Next to it, Geraldine was happily ensconced in a special stall all for her. In a large corral beside that were the ten Jerseys her father had brought to sell.

  Digging in her skirt pocket, Ella found the treat she’d brought. “Here you go, gorgeous.”

  As Geraldine munched the carrot, Ella scratched her behind the ear. This would be a good time to start working on the sculpture. The wooden frame, which she’d created already, was in the icehouse and waiting for her to apply the base layer of butter. It was much more a laborious task than an artistic one, so she always did it ahead of time. There was so much she needed to do in private with the doors shut before the crowds arrived day after tomorrow. Ella rubbed her hands together, anticipating the coming chill. Might as well get to work.

  Before she could open the door to the icehouse, she heard the sound of someone clearing his throat.

  “Excuse me.”

  She turned around to see a man in a light brown suit. He tipped his flat-topped straw hat and bowed slightly. Ella smiled at him. “May I help you?”

  “I believe you can. More to the point, I believe we can help each other.” His voice broke and a red flush crept up his neck from beneath his celluloid collar. “What I mean to say is … oh dear. My name is Orville Henderson. I’m with Igloo Ice Works, manufacturers of dependable iceboxes for over fifty years.”

  She shook his hand after he extended it. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Henderson, but I think you want to speak to my father. He owns the dairy and makes all the purchasing decisions.”

  “No, I’m not trying to sell you anything. Are you the butter sculptress?”

  “I am. Ella Daniels.”

  He looked so relieved, she might as well have told him she’d discovered the Fountain of Youth. “Wonderful. Wonderful.”

  She waited for him to explain, but he just kept nodding and smiling. Finally, she had to prompt him.

  “Why do you want to talk to me?”

  “Oh! Oh, yes, of course. Sorry. Your sculptures have done so well advertising the dairy, I was hoping you could do the same for me. For us. For Igloo Ice Works, that is.”

  The poor fellow was having quite a time expressing himself. Rather than tell him flat out she had no interest in promoting anything other than the family business, she clasped her hands together, gave him her full attention, and waited for him to continue.

  “You see,” he said, “we’d like to sponsor your sculpture this year.”

  Now she had to say something. “Sponsor? As in, pay?”

  “Yes. We agree on a fee, and then I can put our advertising on the side of your icehouse.”

  A poster or two on the wall didn’t sound so bad. “Is that all?”

  “Well, actually, no. You see, Igloo has an exhibit in the Homemaker’s Hall. We’d like to demonstrate how well our icebox works by keeping one of your butter sculptures in it.”

  “Oh dear—”

  “Not a full-sized sculpture,” he rushed to assure her. “Something small and easy.”

  Small and easy. There was nothing easy about sculpting with a medium that melted almost as soon as you touched it. He had no idea what he was asking.

  “Mr. Henderson, I’m sorry. If I’d known ahead of time, we might have been able to work something out. But there’s no way I can make an additional sculpture on such short notice.”

  The man was crestfallen. “Are you sure? Perhaps—”

  “I’m sure.”

  “I see. Well, of course, I understand.” He sighed. “Would you mind if I took a look in your icehouse? Just a professional courtesy. I like to see how they’re configured and if I can do anything to improve the efficiency.”

  “Be my guest.” Ella motioned to the building.

  Giving a brief nod, Mr. Henderson hurried over, pulled open one of the big doors and disappeared inside, closing the doors behind him. Ella supposed he was more comfortable by himself, surrounded by ice. Why else would he willingly go into the frigid space? Which reminded her, she had been about to get working on her project before Mr. Henderson showed up. Now, where had she put the valise with her overcoat and scarf?

  She was double-checking the area next to Geraldine’s stall when another voice called out, but this one was so familiar, she didn’t need to look to know who was coming.

  “Miss Daniels,” Max boomed. “Is that you?”

  What was he doing there? Was she never to be allowed to get to work?

  “You know perfectly well it’s me,” she sputtered at him while tromping around the stall. “What in the world do you—Oh.”

  Max wasn’t alone. The man beside him sported an imposing mustache and was dressed a bit too well for the fair. When he smiled, she caught the faint sparkle of a gold molar just beyond the corner of his mouth.

  Motioning to the man, Max made introductions. “Miss Daniels, this is Mr. Philip Stanley.”

  He held out a gloved hand. Ella hesitated, knowing that, after a day of setting up her work area and petting Geraldine, she would likely mar the pristine white cotton, but when he showed no signs of retreat, she acquiesced.

  “Pleasure meeting you, Mr. Stanley,” she said as he pumped her arm.

  “And you.” His eyes swept the paddock and stopped when he got to the icehouse. “I understand you’re the one who sculpts cows from butter.”

  Before she could answer, Max jumped in. “She’s the very one. For years, she’s been proving that butter is hard as a rock.”

  “What?” Ella couldn’t hold back her shocked reaction.

  “The detail she gets is amazing,” Max continued. “It’s definitely not something you can do with margarine.”

  Mr. Stanley nodded. “Yes, you want something that holds its shape if you’re sculpting a statue. But not if you’re spreading it on a fluffy homemade biscuit.”

  Ella gl
ared at Max. How dare he bring this stranger to meet her if all they were going to do was insult her? “I don’t see how this is any business of yours.”

  “I’m so sorry, miss.” Mr. Stanley put his palm against his chest, giving her such a fake look of contrition it was insulting. “I should have explained that it actually is my business. I’m with Majestic Electric, maker of fine electric appliances, such as the Sure-Frost Refrigerator.”

  “How nice for you.” Ella looked at Max. “What is the meaning of your visit?”

  Max glanced at the other man, who nodded. “I wanted you to meet Mr. Stanley to make a point. The electric refrigerator is the wave of the future, the same way that margarine is. Iceboxes and butter are things of the past. It won’t be long before both of them disappear in favor of what’s newer and better.”

  “Which is why,” Mr. Stanley added, “Majestic Electric has decided to partner at this fair with the Joy Margarine Company.”

  Rather than scream at them, which is what she really wanted to do, Ella remained calm. “What do you mean by ‘partner’?”

  Max hooked his thumbs under his suspenders and rocked forward on the balls of his feet. “Majestic Electric is sharing advertising with Joy.”

  “Together, we’ll show how the same refrigerator that keeps your ice frozen will also keep your margarine at a perfect, spreadable temperature.” Mr. Stanley slapped Max on the back. “The housewives are all going to beg their husbands for one.”

  Ella’s mind was whirling. She’d never really believed that margarine was a threat to their business. To her, it was a fad, like mismatched socks or collecting lost hairpins. No one in their right mind would ever choose a tub full of chemicals over a stick of wholesome, rich butter. But what if she was wrong? The icebox manufacturers certainly had reason to worry. Maybe she did, too.