The Blue Ribbon Brides Collection

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

  “And you didn’t do anything to ruin the margarine sample, did you?”

  She gave her head a slight shake. “No. I would never.”

  “I believe you.” Without even thinking, he lowered his lips and kissed the top of her head.

  “Max?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Did you just kiss my head?”

  He heard the humor in her voice. “As a matter of fact, I did.”

  “That’s what I thought.” She pressed a little closer to him.

  Perhaps getting locked in an icehouse together wasn’t such a bad thing. Max didn’t know if it was the frigid temperature or the fact that they had no choice but to talk to each other, but they were finally talking about things that mattered.

  “Can I tell you a secret?” Ella asked.

  He squeezed her shoulder. “Of course.”

  It took her so long to speak, he thought she’d changed her mind. But then she took a deep breath. “I really don’t like butter.”

  Max was at a loss. Saying she didn’t like butter was like a singer saying she didn’t like music. It didn’t make sense. But he had to say something. “You don’t? Well. That’s … surprising.”

  She pushed away from him just enough so she could look up into his eyes. “It’s awful, I know. The butter sculptures were my idea, but I thought I’d only do it once or twice, and then the novelty would wear off and I could move on to something else.”

  Now he understood. “Instead, they just became more popular, and you felt you couldn’t stop.”

  Shaking her head, her eyelashes fluttered as if she was trying not to cry. “I love my father, and I love the dairy. I do. But I don’t know how much longer I can stand this.”

  “Have you said any of this to Walter?”

  “No. It would break his heart.”

  Max didn’t agree. “He might be disappointed, but he’d understand. I think what’s most important to your father is your happiness.”

  “I suppose.” Her eyes shifted and she looked past him, as if seeing something in the distance. “But I can’t help but think of my mother. She wouldn’t quit on Papa. How can I?”

  Ah, now they were at the crux of it. “Your mother was a remarkable woman. The dairy was her life. That was her choice. But it doesn’t have to be yours.”

  She looked back at him. “What do you mean?”

  “Ella, you have a great talent. You should be exploring that, creating art in clay, marble, stone, anything else. Just because your family dedicated their lives to the dairy doesn’t mean you have to. You need to decide what will make you happy. That’s the life you should have.”

  “Like you did.”

  There was accusation in the statement but also something else. An unspoken question.

  “I did what I had to.”

  “Why?” She blinked, and a tear escaped and ran down her cheek. “We made plans together. You told me you loved me. What was so wonderful about working for a margarine company that you had to leave?”

  “It wasn’t a farm. I grew up on a farm, and I knew I didn’t want that life. Then I tried the dairy, but it didn’t fit me any better. I had to find a way out.”

  “Without me.”

  Max huffed out a breath. “When your mother got sick, I watched you. How you took care of her. How the less she could do, the more you did, trying to take her place at the dairy. You were as determined as she was not to leave there. If I’d asked you to come with me, that would have put you in a terrible position.”

  “You should have let me decide for myself.”

  “Maybe, but I didn’t want to hurt you more by making you choose between me and your family.”

  Every fiber of Max’s body wanted to touch her, even as his mind screamed it was a bad idea. He ignored the screaming. Caressing her cheek, his fingertips wove into the hair at the base of her neck. Her eyes widened in surprise.

  “Ella?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Can I tell you a secret?”

  Her lips parted slightly, and she nodded.

  “I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, but the biggest one was leaving you.”

  His head dipped, slowly, giving her time to stop him if she wanted. Instead, she leaned toward him. Their lips were so close, he could feel her breath. Just another fraction of an inch—

  A heavy pounding on the outside of the door made them jerk apart from each other. Then a voice called out.

  “Ella! Are you still in there?”

  It was Walter.

  Ella scrambled to her feet. “Papa! Yes, I’m in here. So is Max.”

  “What? Wait a second. Hold tight.”

  As Walter did something on the outside, Ella stripped off the gloves and the coat, returning them to where they’d come from. Slowly, Max stood up. He was glad they wouldn’t have to spend the entire night in there, but the timing was abysmal.

  When Ella turned to look at him, her face was flush, and there was a hint of a smile on her lips. “I’m glad we were able to talk.”

  He nodded. “Me, too. Think we can pick this back up later?”

  Her smile widened. “Absolutely.”

  There was the sound of a key scraping in the lock. A moment later, Walter was standing in the open door, looking like he’d found an elephant in the icehouse.

  “How did you two end up locked in here?”

  “It’s a long story.” Max moved to the door, clapping Walter on the shoulder as he walked by. “I’ll let Ella tell you. For now, I need to get some sleep.”

  As he walked down the path, he could hear them talking, although he couldn’t make out what they were saying. Max smiled. He should have been thinking about who’d put the lock on the icehouse door, but it was the last thing on his mind.

  For now, all he could think about was the kiss that almost was, and the promise of the kiss to come.

  Chapter 7

  September 13, 1916

  Ella chose to sleep on the cot, but it wouldn’t have mattered if she’d slept on a slab of stone. Exhaustion sent her to sleep as soon as her head touched the pillow.

  The sound of urgent mooing woke her at 6:00 a.m., and she sat up quickly, filling her vision with sparkling pinpricks. She’d slept later than usual, and now her father was trying to milk the cows by himself. After a quick check in the mirror to fix her hair and an attempt at smoothing the wrinkles from her skirt, she grabbed a pail and hurried outside.

  “You should have woken me, Papa.”

  Five cows were still tethered to the fence, waiting to be milked. Walter looked up from the one he was working on. “I figured you needed some extra sleep. You’ve been burning the candle down to the wick.”

  Her milking stool was waiting for her, right by the feed trough. She grabbed it as she walked by and settled at the cow beside her father. Wordlessly, she got down to the business of milking. The steady rhythm of the milk shooting from the cow’s teats and pinging against the pail had a soothing effect. As she worked, her mind wandered back to the previous night. The conversation with Max had been a long time coming. She was glad they’d had it, but still, in the light of a new day when she wasn’t locked into an ice-cold room for heaven knew how long, she couldn’t help but wonder about the sincerity of it all. Had Max meant what he said? Did he really regret leaving her? And why had she admitted how much she’d grown to dislike butter?

  “I had a real good talk last night with Hank Jepson, one of the other dairymen.” Walter interrupted her thoughts as he finished milking one cow and unsnapped the rope from her halter.

  “What about?”

  “Oh, how the industry is changing. What we need to do to compete.” He poured the milk from his pail into a tall, metal milk can then moved his stool to the next cow. “Hank’s looking to expand his business. He’s ready to pay top dollar for a good herd. I don’t guess anyone has a better herd than we do.”

  Ella stopped milking and looked in her father’s direction, even though her view was blocked by the Jersey. “You�
��re not thinking of selling them, are you?”

  “Of course not. No.” He kept on working. “Although, it did get me thinking.”

  Resuming her milking, Ella tried not to do too much thinking of her own and simply listen.

  “The times are changing, and it will take a considerable amount of work and investment to keep up. I’m not sure I’m up for it.”

  “We’re doing just fine, Papa.” Just fine might be an exaggeration. Ella kept the books, and she knew there were months when they barely squeaked by. Still, they had enough to keep the dairy running, pay the bills, pay the workers, and keep food on the table.

  “We wouldn’t be well at all if it weren’t for you.”

  “Papa—”

  “No, now listen. I never told you this, but five years ago, we were on the verge of going broke. If you hadn’t come up with the idea of doing butter sculpture and getting everyone talking about us, we would have lost the dairy.”

  It was a shocking revelation. Back then, she hadn’t kept the books. In fact, she’d been looking into the idea of attending college and trying to figure out how to convince her parents it was a good idea. She’d known they were having financial problems but not the extent of it.

  Max’s words came back to her. “You need to decide what will make you happy.” She should talk to her father, tell him what she’d told Max. But how could she after what he’d just disclosed? He was obviously worried about keeping the dairy running. What would it do to him if he found out she wanted to walk away and do something else?

  For now, she would keep her feelings to herself.

  They continued working, saying nothing, listening to the ping, ping, ping of milk in the pails.

  “Mark my words: good Americans love margarine!”

  Max spoke to the crowd that had gathered in front of the table to try the samples. After opening a brand-new bottle of food dye, carefully mixing it with the margarine, then spreading it on pieces of fresh biscuits, Max had tasted it himself. It was perfect. And he only had to eat two more pieces in front of the crowd to convince them that trying his product wouldn’t kill them. Today should go a long way to correcting the previous day’s debacle.

  Just as expected, a man piped up with a question. “How does eating this make me a good American?”

  He had the crowd’s complete attention as he explained that rationing was imminent, and how margarine was a more readily available product. The inevitability of entering the Great War was on everyone’s mind, even if they tried to ignore it. Finding another way they could support the fight for freedom, small though it may be, was encouraging. It would have been quite a mercenary way to sell something, except that Max firmly believed what he was saying. Not everyone could go overseas to fight, but this was something everyone could do.

  For the next two hours, he interacted with the sea of people that flowed past the Joy exhibit. He answered questions, offered samples, complimented housewives on their smart attire and husbands on their excellent taste in women. It wasn’t until his stomach began to rumble that he realized it was dinnertime.

  Right on cue, Eric bounded over from the Majestic Electric exhibit. “Time for dinner.”

  Max looked at his watch. “Thank you. What about you? Don’t you ever take breaks?”

  Eric shrugged. “When I need to.”

  With another thanks and a promise to be back in half an hour, Max hopped off the stage and hurried toward the exit door.

  Being at the state fair, there was no shortage of cut flowers available. After a quick detour to purchase a bouquet, he hurried to the livestock area. He passed coops of chickens, pens of pigs, and corrals of horses. Sheep, goats, ducks, turkeys … it was a menagerie of farm animals and smells that usually would have curled his nose hairs. But nothing could dampen his mood or wipe the smile off his face. He was going to see Ella.

  When he entered the Daniels Dairy area, there was already a group of mostly women and children standing in front of the open doors of the icehouse. They watched as Ella, wearing her smock but not the gloves, stood beside the replica of Geraldine, carefully sculpting details into the hindquarters. Muscles were emerging, the tendons visible in the lower legs, hip bones pushing up from beneath the skin. It really was amazing how much she could do with such an odd substance.

  After waiting ten minutes, Max made his way carefully through the crowd and went into the icehouse. She was so engrossed in her work, she didn’t even notice.

  “Excuse me,” he said, holding the flowers in front of his face.

  Ella looked up. “Oh, I’m sorry, you can’t—” Max moved the flowers, and Ella laughed. “Never mind. You can.”

  As he handed her the bouquet, a chorus of oohs and ahhs came up from the crowd.

  “Say,” one woman called out, “isn’t that the Joy Margarine man?”

  Ella and Max exchanged a look. “I think that’s my signal,” she said. Then she turned to her audience. “I’ll be taking a break now, but if you want to come back later, you can see how much progress I’ve made. Feel free to visit Geraldine. She loves the attention.”

  They weren’t happy about missing whatever was about to transpire between the margarine man and the butter lady, but they moved on. Max shut the doors but not all the way.

  “Good idea,” Ella said. “We don’t want a repeat of last night.”

  Max grinned. “I wouldn’t remind repeating part of it.”

  She lowered her eyes, but her smile widened, bringing to life a dimple in one cheek. “True. It wasn’t all bad. Thank you for the flowers. They’re lovely.”

  “I was thinking it’s a shame for us to spend all this time here and never get to enjoy the fair like a regular visitor. Would you do me the honor of strolling the grounds with me?”

  Her smile fell and her brows lowered in a frown. “I’d love to, but I can’t. I have to do more work.”

  Max nodded. “All right. How about tomorrow?”

  “Yes.” The smile returned and her eyes sparkled. “Same time?”

  “Perfect.” He leaned down and brushed a kiss on her cheek. “Until then.”

  He left the icehouse and went in the direction of the exhibition halls. But before he was out of her sight, he looked over his shoulder and saw Ella, her nose buried in the flowers. Then her eyes met his, and she waved. He waved back and forced himself to keep walking. Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.

  Chapter 8

  September 14, 1916

  In all the years she’d been coming to the fair, Ella had never really taken the time to experience it. The newly installed electric lights shone down on the brightly colored stalls and displays. There was so much to see and do, it was almost overwhelming. That and the fact that she was on the arm of Maxwell Sinclair, the man she’d loved, and lost, and seemed she might be able to love again, was quite an assault on her senses.

  They bought their dinner—hot dogs and pink lemonade—from one of the many vendors calling out to everyone who passed. They strolled through horticultural displays, listened to a band playing in the pavilion, and visited the midway, where Max attempted, and failed, to win a prize for her. It was a wonderful evening, and it was over entirely too fast.

  “I suppose it’s time to take you back now,” Max said as the clock tower chimed for the eighth time.

  Ella sighed. “We both have to be up early, so, yes.”

  As they walked the dirt roads through the livestock area, Max took her hand. Happily, Ella intertwined her fingers with his.

  They hadn’t talked about their respective businesses at all, but now that their date was almost over, Ella wanted to bring something up.

  “I talked to my father yesterday about the dairy.”

  “Really?” Max sounded surprised. “You brought it up?”

  “No, he did. He said he talked to someone, and it got him thinking about the future, about competition, whether or not he wanted to keep the dairy at all.”

  Max didn’t respond right away. “Did he say who he ta
lked to?”

  “One of the other farmers. Mr. Jepson, I think.”

  “Oh. All right.” He sounded relieved.

  Ella looked sideways at him. “Is something wrong?”

  “No. Not at all.”

  They came around a bend in the road, and Ella gasped. She could see the Daniels buildings and corrals. The icehouse was glowing, and smoke billowed out under the doors.

  It was on fire.

  Ella dropped his hand and ran. Max began calling out to anyone who might be around to hear him.

  “Fire at the Daniels Dairy! Get the fire crew! Hurry!”

  Ella had almost gotten to the icehouse when Max grabbed her arm and jerked her to a stop.

  “Let go! I have to do something.”

  Max’s face was grim. “What do you think you can do? The two of us can’t stop it. We need the fire crew.”

  Panic rose, almost strangling her. She looked around wildly. “My father. Where is he?” She ran to the supply building, but he wasn’t there. Whirling, she ran back toward the burning building. “He might be in there.”

  Max stopped her again. “He’s not. Didn’t you tell me he spends evenings visiting with the other farmers? I’m sure that’s where he is.”

  His words sounded positive, but the look on Max’s face said something else. It said what Ella was thinking but didn’t dare say: If he is in there, it’s too late.

  The pounding of running feet sounded behind them as a group of men filled the yard. Relief flooded Ella as she saw the man leading them was her father.

  “Papa!” She threw her arms around him, hugging so hard he had to pry her hands loose.

  “I’m fine, darlin’. Now let me get to work.” Max moved to join him, but Walter shook his head and pointed at Ella. “You stay with her.” Max didn’t attempt to argue.

  Within moments, the men had formed a bucket brigade and were scooping water from the trough and throwing it on one side of the building. A moment later, the clang of the fire wagon bell sounded. The yard was a flurry of activity, but Ella wasn’t watching it. Now that she knew her father wasn’t in danger, she could think of what was really happening.