The Blue Ribbon Brides Collection

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

  The door to the icehouse opened, and Mr. Henderson walked out, looking a bit red in the nose and cheeks.

  “Everything in there looks good. You obviously know what you’re doing.”

  There was no time to think. Ella simply acted. She rushed to the man’s side and linked her arm through his then pulled him up to the other two gentlemen.

  “Congratulations, Mr. Sinclair, but you’re not the only one with news.”

  Confusion clouded Mr. Henderson’s face. Meanwhile, Max frowned. “Oh, really?”

  “This is Mr. Orville Henderson, of Igloo Ice Works, maker of fine iceboxes.” Ella smiled broadly. “Igloo is partnering with the Daniels Dairy.”

  Max wagged his finger from one to the other. “You mean …”

  “Yes.” Ella looked Mr. Henderson in the eye and nodded, hoping he’d understand. When he began to smile, she looked back at Max. “Igloo is sponsoring my sculpture this year.”

  Chapter 3

  The first day Max walked into the milking barn of the Daniels Dairy he’d met fourteen-year-old Ella. Her hair hung down her back in a lopsided, messy braid and her worn, brown work dress was soiled around the hem from heaven-knew-what. But when she looked over her shoulder and smiled at him, her fingers still wrapped around the cow’s teats, he felt like the earth shifted beneath his feet. The warmth of her smile and the sparkle in her eyes had him absolutely smitten. Ten years later, he still thought she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever known.

  She was also the most stubborn, irritating, opinionated woman on the planet.

  Walking to the Hall of Innovations, he nodded and made appropriate noises as Philip prattled on about the workings of the Sure-Frost Refrigerator, but hardly a word the man said registered. Max couldn’t stop thinking about Ella.

  He had hoped the news of his company’s partnership with the appliance manufacturer would prove that margarine was a serious product. Dairy farmers were understandably uneasy about anything that would cut into their profits, but they couldn’t ignore the inevitable. Ella was smart. Surely she would understand. Not for a second could he have guessed that she’d obtain a sponsor for the dairy, too.

  “What do you think, Max?”

  “What?” Max shook his head. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  “You’re thinking about the milkmaid, aren’t you? I don’t blame you. She’s a pretty thing.”

  Yes, he had been thinking that. He always thought that, but Philip had no business thinking it. “I was thinking she and her sculpture will get a lot of attention. It will be hard to compete, especially since Joy wasn’t given a spot in the Homemaker’s Hall.”

  “That’s because it’s so much better than the old-fashioned option. Margarine is new, it’s modern. It belongs in the Hall of Innovations, right alongside Majestic Electric.” He slapped Max’s shoulder. “That’s why we’re a great team.”

  “Of course, you’re right.”

  “I almost always am.” He laughed. “Back to what I was saying before, when you were daydreaming. We should talk to Walter Daniels, appeal to his good sense. Help him see it’s just a waste of his time and money to fight progress. He’s the owner, after all.”

  Max shook his head. “Remember, I used to work for them. I know how they do things. Walter is one hundred percent in charge of the livestock, but anything specific to the business end of things is left to Ella.”

  “Ella, huh?” Philip’s smile turned slightly lecherous. “How well do you know her?”

  Well enough that I want to punch your smug face. “We worked together for several years.”

  He chuckled. “That could help, too. You might know something we can take advantage of. Give us some leverage, so to speak.”

  Max stopped dead in his tracks. Philip was a few steps ahead when he realized what had happened. He stopped, too, and turned back to look at Max.

  “Something wrong?”

  “I need to make something clear. I have no intention of taking advantage of anyone. I want to be successful and do a good job for my company, but I will not sink to dishonest tactics.”

  “Whoa! Hold your horses there, son.” Philip put his hands up in surrender. “You’ve got me all wrong. I didn’t say you had to be dishonest.”

  A warm flush crept up the back of Max’s neck. “Good. My apologies for overreacting.”

  “I understand. You’ve got principles. That’s a good thing.” The genial attitude disappeared, replaced by a face so serious, he might have just been told his mother died. “But you need to remember something. This is business. It’s not a game, not a family matter. There’s a lot more at stake here than you and your feelings. You may have to get pretty close to that line of yours and do things you don’t feel good about. Are we clear?”

  Max looked back in the direction of the Daniels Dairy enclosure. They were far enough away that he couldn’t see Ella anymore, but he knew she was there. And he knew what needed to be done.

  “We’re clear,” Max said.

  They started walking again, this time in silence.

  “You agreed to what?”

  Walter Daniels was usually a very calm man. Ella could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times she’d seen her father flustered. This was one of those times.

  Following him through the pasture, she nearly had to run to keep up with him. “It’s not really a big thing. He’s going to pay us to put advertising on our icehouse, and we get to advertise the dairy over at his display for free.”

  “Not a thing in this world is free.” He walked faster, swinging the empty pail in his hand like a pendulum. “What do we have to do for them?”

  “You don’t have to do anything. I agreed to create a butter sculpture for them to keep in their display.” Ella hoped this would placate her father. Instead, it just increased his agitation.

  “Another sculpture. Which means more butter, which is less that we have to sell. Those silly sculptures may be made of butter, but I’m not!”

  Ella stopped and watched her father walk away. She couldn’t have been more shocked if he’d doused her with a pail of milk. He’d never said anything negative about her sculptures before. Not when she originally told him about her crazy idea to promote the dairy. Not when she did her first sculpture at the fair and most of the other farmers had laughed at the foolishness of using so much of their butter on such a frivolous endeavor. No, he’d supported her for her ingenuity, encouraged her not to be swayed by the opinions of others, and when her sculptures began to draw crowds of fairgoers, he’d bragged to anyone who would listen about his talented daughter. Now he called them silly and seemed to think they were a waste of money.

  Up ahead, her father left the paddock and went into the outbuilding where they kept their supplies. With a sigh, Ella trudged in that direction, keeping her eyes on the ground to make sure she didn’t step in something she shouldn’t. By the time she reached the gate and looked back up, her father had come out of the building and was leaning on the fence.

  He opened the gate for her, his expression somber. “I’m so sorry, darlin’. I didn’t mean what I said. You know how proud I am of you.”

  Ella nodded. She was sure her father hadn’t meant to say what he did, but he still said it. So there had to be a grain of truth in the sentiment.

  “You’re right, Papa. I shouldn’t have made the deal with Mr. Henderson. At first, I said no, but then Max came, and he just made me so mad—”

  He frowned as he cut her off. “Wait, Max was here? What does he have to do with it?”

  She didn’t want to admit how her mood could be swayed by a conversation with Max, but there was no avoiding it now. “The Joy Margarine Company has an exhibit in the fair this year. Max came by to gloat about it and to introduce me to his sponsor, a Mr. Stanley from the Majestic Electric Company.”

  “Let me guess. They’re touting the new electric refrigerator?”

  “Yes. Both of them were going on and on about the superiority of margarine, and Mr
. Stanley was so … so … arrogant about the whole thing. Well, I just decided right then that the dairy should have a sponsor, too.” She hung her head, realizing what a rash decision she’d made. “I’m so sorry.”

  Strong arms encircled her as her father drew her into a hug. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You did the right thing.”

  She hugged him back then pulled away to look him in the eye. “I did? Really?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised,” he said with a laugh. “You have a much better head for business than I do. That’s why I let you handle so much. Honestly, I don’t know why I snapped at you. I suppose I’m just feeling a bit of stress lately.”

  “About what?” Stress wasn’t something her father usually gave in to.

  “Oh, life in general. Things are changing so fast. I haven’t felt quite right ever since last year….”

  The sentence trailed off, hanging between them in midair, not needing to be verbalized for both of them to hear the rest of it: when your mother died.

  “There’s a war going on in Europe that we’ll likely be joining,” he continued. “Wars almost always mean rationing, and that’s an opportunity for the margarine companies.”

  She’d heard rumblings of that already from women at church and in town. “You can’t be saying you think they’re right.”

  “Not entirely. No one will ever convince me that margarine is superior to butter. But it may be necessary for a time. Before long, people will get used to it. And once someone is used to something, they’re not likely to go back to what they did before.” He shrugged. “It’s the nature of people.”

  Ella chewed on her lip. There had to be a way to sway the public before margarine became an even bigger problem. “Max and Mr. Stanley kept talking about how much better margarine is, but we know they’re wrong. And we’re going to prove to every single person at this fair how wrong they are.” A plan began to form, and like a lightning bolt streaking from the heavens, inspiration struck. She knew exactly what she would sculpt for Igloo Ice Works.

  Grabbing her father’s hands, Ella laughed out loud. “Margarine may be the wave of the future, but we’re going to show them what every wife and mother out there already knows. Everything is better with butter!”

  And while they were at it, she’d show Max that she was better off without him, too.

  Chapter 4

  September 11, 1916

  Ella was up to her elbows in butter. Literally.

  For the last two days, she’d immersed herself in what she now called the “Better with Butter” campaign. Planning just the right subject for the Igloo minisculpture had been more challenging than anticipated. Because she didn’t have any materials, not to mention time, to construct a frame, the sculpture had to be something solidly built. So, the peacock that she originally thought of creating couldn’t be standing. Those skinny little bird legs wouldn’t hold up the rest of the butter body, and fanned out tail feathers would most certainly bend under their own weight. After an hour of sketching, she finally hit on the perfect way to pose the bird. Then, she immediately set to creating it, working until the wee hours.

  The finished peacock sat on a block of ice, waiting for her to take it to Mr. Henderson. Meanwhile, Ella fought exhaustion as she worked on the first layers of her sculpture of Geraldine. This part of the process didn’t require precision, so she was able to wear gloves, which allowed her to spend more time in the icehouse. She hadn’t even bothered to bundle up, hoping the cold air would be invigorating.

  Scooping up handfuls of partially softened butter from a nearby bucket, she couldn’t help but wonder what Max was doing right then. No doubt he’d had a good night’s sleep. If he was even awake this early, he was probably enjoying a hearty breakfast and a cup of strong coffee before heading to the fairgrounds. Meanwhile, she’d never left, catching a few hours’ sleep on a cot in the supply room and munching on an apple for breakfast.

  Max had no idea what it meant to be a dairyman. Oh, he’d worked at the dairy for years, but as soon as a more comfortable opportunity presented itself, he’d run after it. A real dairyman didn’t do that. The dairy was in your blood. It was part of who you were. Her mother knew that. Even after she was diagnosed with cancer and everyone, including her father, had begged her to stay in the hospital, she’d refused.

  “The time will come when it’s my time to go,” she’d told Ella. “And when that time comes, I don’t want to be surrounded by strangers, looking at white walls and hospital equipment. I want to be right here in the home I built with your father. I want to be able to look out my window and see the cows grazing in the pasture. This is where I belong.”

  Ella blinked against the tears that stung her eyes. Even more than a year after her mother had died, thoughts of her were still bittersweet. Max had been with them during it all. He’d done extra work around the dairy in order to free up Ella so she could care for her mother. He’d supported Ella, encouraged her, held her when she cried. They’d grown so close. She came to depend on him, she even thought she loved him. And then, four short months after the funeral, he’d left.

  With a bit too much vigor, she slapped more butter on what would become the cow’s left hind leg. She had to stop thinking about Max, her mother, and everything that could go wrong. It was time to focus on the good things in her life. Ella firmly believed that a person’s mood translated into their work. It wouldn’t do to create an angry, hurt version of Geraldine.

  The door to the icehouse cracked open, and her father stuck his head inside. “You doing all right?”

  “Wonderful,” Ella chirped, using the happiest voice she could muster.

  “Good. You’ve been in here so long, I was afraid you might have frozen in place.”

  Oh dear. How long had she been in there? “What time is it?”

  “Almost eight.”

  Ella rose from the stool she was sitting on and stretched, pointing her fingers to the ceiling. “This is a good time for a break.”

  “Good. You need some rest.”

  “No time for that.” Ella stripped off her gloves and work smock and draped them over the front part of the wooden frame, which still was butter-free. “I need to visit the Igloo exhibit and deliver their sculpture.”

  He protested, as she knew he would, but Ella stood firm. With his help, they loaded the crate on a hand wagon. A few minutes later, she pecked a good-bye kiss on his cheek and set off up the dirt path to the exhibition buildings. It was rough going at first, trying to avoid rocks and other impediments. She said a little prayer of thanks when the dirt of the livestock area gave way to the paved footpaths of the exhibition area.

  The inside of Homemaker’s Hall was a flurry of activity. One half was reserved for home goods that had been entered into various competitions. Rows and rows of canned preserves and fruits, intricately stitched quilts of every color imaginable, and needlework samplers that must have taken months to complete vied for space with one another. Each piece was more delicious, more beautiful, more breathtaking than the next. As she did every year, Ella marveled at how much talent was on display.

  The other half of the great hall was full of exhibits of products to make home life better. It wasn’t hard to find Mr. Henderson. He stood in front of a giant painted canvas with a scene that came straight from the arctic: a white landscape, a polar bear prowling in the distance, up front a domed igloo, and beside that, two penguins cavorting in the snow. Off to one side was the newest model of the Igloo icebox. Mr. Henderson was hunkered down beside it, checking something underneath.

  Ella pushed the wagon up to the display. “Good morning, Mr. Henderson.”

  He jumped up and rushed over to meet her. “Good morning, Miss Daniels. You’re looking lovely today.”

  She appreciated his kind words, even though she suspected he was merely being polite. “Thank you. Are you ready for the crowds?”

  “Yes, absolutely. I was just double-checking the drip pan, and all is well.” He eyed the crate expecta
ntly. “Might you have brought me something?”

  “As agreed, here is your butter sculpture. Would you mind helping me lift it?”

  They put the crate on the table, and Ella carefully lifted out the sculpture. Mr. Henderson moved the crate out of the way so Ella could set it down.

  “Oh my.” His voice was hushed as he bent slightly, putting his face close to the statue so he could get a better look.

  The peacock was sitting in a nest, delicately designed so you could see each strand of grass or hay, or whatever they made their nests out of. The peacock’s tail made up half of the sculpture, stretching out behind it, fanned out and laying on the ground.

  “What do you think?” Ella asked.

  Mr. Henderson shook his head as he straightened up. “I’ve never seen anything like it before. It’s beautiful.”

  Ella smiled. She was quite pleased with how it had turned out, and even more pleased that Mr. Henderson liked it.

  “It’s not just decorative, you know.” Ella pointed to the tail feathers. “I designed it so that each one of these can be removed.” She took a dull knife from her skirt pocket and demonstrated, cutting off the last feather on the back row.

  Mr. Henderson gasped as if she had mutilated a priceless painting. “Why would I want to do that?”

  Ella grinned. This was the best part. “Because now, you have a pat of butter. Which you can put on a delicious slice of freshly baked bread.”

  Eyes wide, Mr. Henderson seemed to understand where she was going. “I didn’t realize your sculptures were edible.”

  “Usually, they’re not. But I made sure this one is. I used fresh, clean butter, sterilized my carving tools, and kept my hands clean. I thought, what better way to convince people how good butter is, when it’s kept in an Igloo, of course, than to let them taste it? Every day, I’ll make more feathers to replace the ones you’ve used.” She grinned at him. “Just make sure you don’t take any slices from the body.”

  “That’s a wonderful idea. But there’s one problem,” he said with a frown. “I don’t have any bread.”