by AlLee, Jennifer L. ; Breidenbach, Angela; Franklin, Darlene
Even before the men and fire crew started dousing the building, water had been seeping out under the doors and around the foundation. Mixed into the water was a pale yellow substance. She stared at it, unable to tear her eyes away, even when Max tried to hug her to him.
Melted ice. Melted butter.
Her sculpture was gone.
The fire was out. The remnants of the icehouse were a soggy black mess. The doors had fallen off when the wood around the hinges became unstable. Like a great gaping mouth, the doorway left the inside on display for anyone who wanted to take a look. But no one did.
When Ella finally allowed herself to cry, she couldn’t stop. Max held her, whispering soothing words in her ear as she sobbed into his shirt.
“I’ll take her now.” Walter put his arm around Ella and maneuvered her away from Max and into his own arms. He squeezed Max on the shoulder. “Thank you.”
The attention of her father seemed to help. The crying subsided, becoming sniffles and the occasional gasping breath.
Walter looked at the icehouse. “I don’t understand how this happened. There was nothing in there that would start a fire.”
Max considered it. “Could it have been a short in the electric light?”
“No.” Ella shook her head. “I turned the light off when I left. And I locked the door.”
“She’s right,” Walter agreed. “I double-checked it before I went to meet my friends.”
The answer was obvious, although Max had no intention of being the one to say it. The only way the fire could have started was if someone set it.
“Maybe this is a sign,” Walter said. “Maybe I should take you up on your offer.”
Ella pulled back from her father. “What? What offer?”
No, Max thought. Not now. Don’t bring it up now.
“Max brought me an offer from the Joy Company to buy the dairy.”
“When did he do that?”
“A few months ago. That day he came by. They think it would make a nice place for a processing plant. After tonight, I’m thinking they might be right.”
With snail-like slowness, Ella turned her head toward Max. Her mouth was set in a grim line, her eyes narrow. “You.”
The one syllable hit him like an arrow finding its target. “No. I didn’t do this.” She just stared at him, until he had to say something else. “You know it couldn’t have been me. We were together when it happened.”
“That doesn’t mean you didn’t get someone else to do it.” A groan escaped her lips, and she put her face in her hands.
“What’s wrong?” Walter looked back and forth between them. “What are you trying to say?”
Ella put her hands down. “It was all a lie. Everything you said to me, the encouragement, that you still loved me. You made me trust you, and then you took me out tonight so we wouldn’t think you did this.”
Walter glared at him. “Is this true?”
“Of course not.” Max felt helpless.
“You want my father to sell the dairy. Then you told me I should leave the dairy.” Ella looked away. “You’d do anything to get what you want.”
“I would never hurt you,” Max said. “Either of you.”
“You hurt me once before. Why should now be any different?” Ella looked up at her father. “Can we go, please?”
“Of course.”
As they started to leave, Walter stopped and addressed Max. “Don’t come around us anymore.”
Father and daughter walked away, leaving Max alone in the smoldering remnants of what might have been.
Chapter 9
September 15, 1916
Stories about the fire spread through the fair, hopping from one exhibitor to the other like hungry fleas on a pack of dogs. Rumors abounded. Some said the fire had been set by Max Sinclair in an angry attempt to undermine the competition. Others said Walter Daniels had set the fire to gain sympathy and to point the finger at Max. Very few believed it had been an accident. The wildest theory was that Ella Daniels had set the fire in order to destroy her statue and hide the fact that she just wasn’t as talented as she used to be.
Manning his exhibit, Max fought the urge to speak up every time someone came up with another ridiculous idea. He wasn’t even interacting with the crowd like he used to. Instead, he put out the margarine samples and sat back in a chair, watching them pick up pieces of biscuit as they walked by. He just had to get through that day and the next, and then the fair would be over. He could go home and put this all behind him.
Except he doubted he could ever forget. Holding Ella while she sobbed, the look of anguish on her face, which then changed to anger. The cold steel of Walter’s voice as he told him to stay away. The hollow ache in his gut whenever he thought about what had happened. There was no way to escape feelings like those.
“Why the long face?” Philip Stanley sauntered over to him, one hand in his trouser pocket.
Max grunted. “Haven’t you been listening to the gossip?”
“What, that?” Philip laughed. “Don’t let that get you down, son. People are talking, and that’s always good. You’ve just got to use it to your advantage. Turn a negative into a positive.”
Had he heard him right? “How can any of it be positive?”
“Easy. If Daniels hadn’t been such a champion of iceboxes, there would have been no icehouse, so there wouldn’t have been anything to burn. It’s just another reason why the electric refrigerator is safer and better.”
“All right,” Max said slowly. “That’s a positive for you. But how does it help me?”
Philip smiled, but it was forced and somehow brittle. “We’re partners, remember? What’s good for me is good for you, and vice versa. Now that the butter cow is gone, so is the milkmaid, and that’s good for both of us. What’s not good for me is the way you’re moping around here, scaring off potential customers.”
An uneasy feeling crawled up Max’s spine and prickled the base of his neck. Philip sounded like he was happy about the fire. Max stood up, taking advantage of his height, and looked down at the man.
“What did you do?”
Philip tried to look shocked. “How can you ask me that?”
Right then, he knew. He had no way to prove it, but there was something he could do. He stepped close to Philip and looked him straight in the eye. “Our partnership ends now.”
Any congeniality he’d tried to imitate disappeared. “You don’t want to do that.”
“Yes, I really do. Furthermore, I’m leaving today. I refuse to be associated with a man like you.”
“You’re making a big mistake.” Philip took a step back and shook his head. “Joy will not be pleased that you left a day early. And you can be sure I’ll let them know what a disappointment you turned out to be. Don’t expect to have a job to go back to.”
“Not a problem. I was thinking of changing careers, anyway.” Max plucked his jacket off the back of the chair. “Just tell me one thing. If you’re so dedicated to being my partner, why did you sabotage the food dye?”
Philip cocked his head. “You really don’t understand this business at all. There’s no reason for me to sabotage you. But who does have a reason?”
With that, Philip returned to the Majestic Electric exhibit, immediately calling out to the people nearby with his carnival barker voice.
Philip was right about one thing: Max’s work for the Joy Margarine Company was over. He left all the promotional pamphlets on the table, as well as the rest of the margarine and biscuits. Then he walked out of the building. He needed to talk to Ella, but first, he had one more stop to make.
Inside Homemaker’s Hall, even more talk circulated about the fire and what had caused it. Max was sure he saw several exhibitors point and whisper as he passed by. He kept his head down and kept walking until he reached the Igloo exhibit.
Orville Henderson was slicing feathers off the extremely bare tail of the butter peacock. When he caught sight of Max, his eyes grew wide with fear. �
��What are you doing here?”
“I just want to ask you a question.”
“All right.”
“Why did you put the onion juice in my bottle of food dye?”
Orville blanched, confirming what he knew to be true.
“It was because of the posters,” Orville stammered. “I … I didn’t want to hurt anybody. I just wanted to teach you a lesson. I never thought you’d burn the icehouse down.”
“I didn’t,” Max said with controlled intensity. “Stanley did that.”
Mouth dropped open like a cod fish, Orville stared at him. “Somebody could have been hurt. Even killed. You have to report him.”
“I would, but I have no proof.”
Orville hung his head. “I’m so sorry.”
Hopefully, his guilt would move him to assist Max. “Right now, I need to convince Ella that I had nothing to do with any of it. Will you come with me and talk to her?”
“I can’t.”
Max took a step closer. “Listen here—”
“Wait. You don’t understand.” Orville held his hands up to ward him off. “I would if I could, but they’re gone.”
“Gone? Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. Miss Daniels came by early this morning to tell me. She apologized that she couldn’t give me any more butter for the peacock. Such a shame.”
Orville kept talking about what nice people they were, but Max had stopped listening. He turned and walked away. His last hope of making amends with Ella had just vanished.
Chapter 10
September 30, 1916
The clay was a red lump of nothing, just waiting for her to shape the beauty within it. Ella smiled, excited about the challenge. It was good to have something to smile about again.
After the fire, neither she nor her father had the heart to stay at the fair. Hank Jepson had been happy to purchase the ten Jerseys Walter had brought for sale. After she’d talked to Mr. Henderson, being careful not to run into Max when walking through the exhibit halls, they’d loaded up Geraldine and headed home.
Ella had spent the next two days in bed. Finally, Walter had coaxed her out with the promise of making her french toast, just like when she was a girl. It was the one thing she knew he could make without burning, so she’d come downstairs. Sitting at the family table, sharing breakfast, they finally talked about everything that had happened. Then they talked about what could happen. It had been enlightening.
As much as her fingers itched to dig into the clay, Ella knew she had to wait. They were expecting company, and she couldn’t give a proper greeting with red-stained hands. She draped a wet cloth over the clay to keep it moist then went outside.
It was a beautiful day. Geraldine wandered in the pasture, along with the two other cows they’d decided to keep. Once her father had made up his mind to sell the dairy, things had moved quickly. Mr. Jepson had been so pleased with the cows he’d already purchased, he jumped at the chance to acquire the rest of the herd. Walter also made a good deal on most of the equipment. Now, the milk barn was mostly empty, as was the icehouse where Ella had done her sculpting.
There would be no more butter, no more butter sculpting, and no more butter-stained clothes. That part of her life was over, and she was ready to move on to the next part.
Gravel crunched beneath tires as a car came down the drive. Ella smiled to herself. The representative from Joy was right on time.
She walked up to the car just as the driver opened his door and got out.
“Hello, Max.”
He looked utterly confused. “I assume this is the reason I got my job back.”
Ella nodded. “Papa refused to deal with anyone but you. If Joy wanted to buy the dairy, then you had to represent them. They must really want this property.”
“I guess they must.” Max swallowed hard, as if afraid to go on. “Ella, I don’t … What does this mean?”
She reached into the pocket of her skirt and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “This should explain it.”
He took the paper and unfolded it. It was a letter. “Dear Miss Daniels,” it began, “I must inform you of an egregious error I made, as well as grievous misdeeds done by Mr. Philip Stanley.” His eyes jumped down to the bottom of the page. “My most sincere apologies, Mr. Orville Henderson.”
“I don’t believe it,” Max muttered.
“I was quite surprised when it came. He explains everything.”
“And you believe him?”
Ella nodded.
She could see the relief as it surged through Max. “Thank God. Now you know the truth.”
“Thank God, indeed. I’ve been thinking about that. About how God can use something terrible and turn it into something good.” She smiled at Max. “I thought I’d lost everything that night, but since then, God has done some big things in my life.”
He reached out as though he wanted to touch her, but then drew back. “What kind of things?”
She tapped her lips with her finger as if thinking. “I told my father how I feel about butter and what I really want to do. And he told me that he was tired of trying to keep the dairy going. As it turned out, we both wanted something else.”
“That’s great. Is that all?”
“No, there’s one more thing.” Now it was Ella who held out her hand. “A very important thing.”
Max took her hand. “You have my complete attention.”
“Good. Because God showed me how important love is, and how once you find it, you can’t let it go.”
Squeezing her fingers in response, Max nodded his agreement.
“I love you, Max. I don’t know if you still feel the same about me, but I had to tell you. I had to make sure you know.”
A laugh burst out of him. “I’ve loved you for so long, I don’t remember a time when I didn’t.”
He pulled her close, wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her. He pulled back and held her face gently between his palms, looking down into her eyes.
“Marry me,” he said.
“Yes. Oh yes.”
They laughed together and shared another kiss. Then Max stepped back, straightened his tie, and cleared his throat. “I suppose we should get the business out of the way.”
“Of course. Let’s get that out of the way.”
He leaned into the car and took some papers out of a briefcase. “This is the contract.” Before she could respond, he held it up and ripped it in half.
Eyes wide, Ella placed a palm flat against her chest. “What are you doing?”
“This property really isn’t right for processing margarine.” He looked around shaking his head. “I have a much better idea. Something that involves having a place for you to work on your art and filling up the house with many children. Why don’t we go talk to your father about it?”
He offered her his arm, and Ella took it. There was no wiping the smile off her face now. God was obviously still working in mysterious ways. And that was just fine with her. She may not have won a blue ribbon at the fair, but she’d come away with something much better: a future.
Jennifer AlLee believes the most important thing a woman can do is discover her identity in God—a theme that carries throughout her stories. She’s a member of American Christian Fiction Writers and RWA’s Faith, Hope and Love Chapter. When she’s not spinning tales, she enjoys board games with friends, movies, and breaking into song for no particular reason. Jennifer lives with her family in the grace-filled city of Las Vegas, Nevada. Please visit her at www.jenniferallee.com.
Dedication
For my in-laws, Bob and Marilyn Whitham
~and~
For Jody Turner and Denise Keenan:
Childhood friends who, for different reasons, color my memories of the fair.
Do the Puyallup!
Prologue
Comisky Park
Chicago, Illinois
April 1917
Robert Montgomery wrapped his cold fingers around the steering wheel of the stri
pped-down Model T. The machine-gun staccato of an unmuffled engine hammered his eardrums and gasoline fumes stung his nostrils.
“Time for a little razzle-dazzle, eh, big brother?” Mitch shouted their good-luck phrase from the passenger seat. He lifted his long-handled polo mallet like a jousting lance and stared at the opposite end of the field, where two cars were lined up rim to rim between goal posts. “Theo Caplan looks like he’s ready to blow a gasket.”
No surprise there. Theo Caplan was always threatening retribution for one thing or another. The rivalry between Caplan’s Crusaders and the Montgomery Marauders was the bitterest on the auto polo circuit. Spectators flocked to their matches, which was exactly what the Auto Polo Association wanted when, eight months ago, they’d teamed up the Crusaders and Marauders for a yearlong tour that stretched from coast to coast.
Except this time, Theo’s retribution was personal.
Glancing to his left, Robert checked on his teammates. Bruce held his mallet above his head, eyes forward, while Eddy gripped the wheel, thumbs up. They were ready.
Robert returned his attention to the field’s center and inhaled as the referee lifted his flag. Robert revved up the engine; the crowd roared. At the opposite end of the field, blue flames leapt from the Caplan’s Crusaders cars.
The flag dropped.
Four cars raced toward a dingy white ball. Eddy let up at the prearranged spot, and Robert steered left to give his brother first shot at the ball.
Hanging on to the roll bar, Mitch stood on the running board and swung, pounding the ball fifty feet toward the Caplan’s goal posts. Theo Caplan drove straight at Mitch. Slamming the car into REVERSE, Robert whirled the steering wheel, catching the brunt of the impact on the front tire. Mitch leapt clear as the two cars tangled.
A cheer lifted from the crowd.
The referee held up the flag to indicate a stop in play until the damage could be assessed.