“I’ll be here with bells on and bread baked,” Stella said.
I was on the side of the picnic table that faced the corn maze. I didn’t have the courage to sit with my back to it; if that had been the only option, I probably would have stood. The temperature wasn’t really cool, but it didn’t feel warm either because of a continual light breeze, which was made evident by the stalks’ gentle dance to and fro. The motion did not make the corn maze more appealing. But it was the shadow I saw move through the stalk-lined, serpentine twists that downgraded my assessment from unappealing to absolutely off-limits.
I didn’t realize I’d gasped.
“What, Becca?” Stella asked.
“I thought . . .” I looked around the table. “Never mind.”
“No, what? I want to know,” Henry said.
I laughed. “Nothing. I just thought I saw something moving through the maze.”
“Some gypsy magic?” Henry gently elbowed me.
I swallowed hard but tried to hide it. “What do you know about gypsy magic?”
“Nothing, just what I keep hearing around here. People talking about the Ferris wheel and how it killed its operator. People are saying that odd, unexplainable stuff happens all the time around Orderville, but usually it’s good stuff. I’ve heard them talk about their ‘gypsy protector.’” Henry bit into his roasted corn.
Stella, Brenton, and I looked at each other. When he didn’t continue, Stella said, “Who’s their gypsy protector? Do you know her name?”
“Oh,” Henry said with a full mouth. He chewed, swallowed, and then wiped his napkin over his chin. “No, they won’t say her name. It’s weird and kind of funny, but she lived in the house that was on this property. That billboard is a picture of the house. Ask me, though, I think they made it look scary just to fit with all the woo-woo magic stuff they like to talk about.”
I knew I had seen a dark shadow move through the maze, just a few feet inside the perimeter. Or, I thought I had. Given that I wasn’t fond of corn mazes in the first place, maybe I hadn’t really seen anything more than what my overly active imagination had conjured.
“I’ll check it out if you want,” Henry said.
“No, that’s okay. I’m okay.”
“You’re spooked,” Stella said as she turned and looked at the dried stalks of corn.
“Not really.” I wanted to change the subject. “Hey, my inventory is so low that I don’t have much to sell this afternoon. I’m going to stick around because I said I’d do something with Scott later, so I thought I’d check out the animals and ride some of the rides. Anyone game?” I still might decide to leave and return at ten for tonight’s poker game, but I was beginning to think that the fair, outside the corn maze, of course, could use a closer look. If someone wanted to join me, all the better.
“Not me. I’m headed home and putting my feet up once all my stuff is gone,” Stella said.
“You want someone to hang out with?” Brenton asked, but I could hear hesitation in his voice. If he sold out, too, he’d probably rather go home.
“Nah, just wondering if anyone wanted to. When we weren’t busy, I didn’t take the opportunity to experience the whole fair. I wish I had.”
“Sounds fun. I’m up for it,” Henry said sincerely.
“Good,” I said as I smiled at Brenton. He’d be free to leave without feeling like he’d abandoned me. I turned to Henry. “You ready for that roller coaster?” I nodded to my left.
“Not sure I’m brave enough, but if you are, I’ll fake it and make you think I’m not scared.”
I wasn’t sure I was brave enough either to venture onto something that made the screeching, clunking, and grinding noises the coaster cars made as they rolled over the tracks, but I’d think about it.
After lunch, Stella and Brenton told Henry and me to go enjoy the fair’s offerings. They went back to the tents, promising that they could handle selling whatever products we still had.
For our first stop, Henry and I ventured into one of the barns. It was full of smaller animals, like tiny goats and cuddly rabbits, as well as shrieking children who wanted to hold or pet something soft and cute.
My initial impression had been correct: the people who manned the barns made sure the animals weren’t mistreated and the kids had a good time. This could not have been easy, but the fair workers’ patience and observational skills balanced the loud and youthful exuberance bouncing off the barn walls. It took compassion and talent to know when it was time to gently move an animal back from hands that might not know how best to pet a tired or overly taxed creature, and these workers had all the right skills.
“You have any animals?” Henry asked me. We admired a rabbit with fur so long that I wondered if there was really a body underneath.
“I do, a dog. You?”
“My wife has a parrot, but it doesn’t like me and would be offended if I claimed part ownership of it.”
I laughed. I had no idea he was married with a parrot, or that he had a sense of humor; it was nice to see him loosening up.
“What does your wife do?”
“She’s a nurse. We moved to the farm from Charleston. She was a supervisor in a big hospital there. She’s now a nurse at the small emergency clinic on Main Street.”
“That change of pace okay with her?” I said as I scratched between the ears of a snow white rabbit.
“She’s getting used to it. I gave her fair warning when we got married. I knew I would eventually inherit my uncle’s farm. We talked about selling it when that became a reality, but thought we’d give it a go first.”
“I inherited my farm from my aunt and uncle, too.”
“Was it in good shape when you got it?” Henry asked as he reached down to pet a black and gray goat that was desperate for his attention.
“Perfect.”
“Nice. Ours, not so much. I think that’s been the hardest thing on my wife, all the work we’ve had to do on the house and the fields. Squash is great, but in his old age, my uncle kept decreasing the size of his crops. He neglected much of the land, and there’s a lot involved in getting it back to good production quality. And the house is as close to a disaster as you can get without it being officially condemned. I was doing some construction recently and we ended up not having running water for a week. As I tell Mandy, my wife, she must love me, because she didn’t leave even then.”
“Where’s your farm?”
“Just southeast of Monson.”
“That’s opposite of where I live, but Allison and her family live out your way. If you or your wife need . . . well, anything, I’m sure she’d be fine with you stopping by.”
“I know. That’s how we met. Opening a stall at Bailey’s hadn’t even occurred to me, but Mandy met Allison when she was at the hardware store picking up some mousetraps—yeah, that’s a whole other story—and Allison told her about the market.”
We’d come upon two miniature horses or ponies, I wasn’t sure which, who were bright-eyed and willing to investigate our outstretched hands.
“Hey, there,” I said to one.
“Ouch,” Henry said. “Got me.”
“She’s a biter. Sorry about that,” said the man sitting on a stool next to the small corral. He was tall and thin with a sharp-angled face. He wore a straw hat and jeans and a long-sleeved button-down shirt with an emblem over the heart that said “Grover Acres.” “She doesn’t bite kids, but adults bug her, probably because they’re so tall. I should have warned you, but she’s been pretty good lately. Again, sorry.”
“No problem. She didn’t hurt, just got my attention,” Henry said. And to prove it, he reached for her again. This time she let him pet her and scratch behind her ears. Henry looked at me. “See, you just have to show them who’s boss.”
“Yeah, I see.” I smil
ed at his gentle touch. I bet the parrot only pretended not to like him.
Situated in between the first and the second barns were the butter sculpture displays. They were set up in refrigerated containers and were much more impressive than I would have predicted. Each sculpture was a few feet high and/or a few feet wide. There was a cow, a pig, a collie-type dog, a chicken, and a creature that was either a beaver or a possum—I thought it might have been accidentally left out in the heat too long, but since you never knew if the artist was close by, Henry and I just shared looks of perplexed wonder and didn’t comment.
The second barn housed the large animals. One corral held some of the biggest and pinkest pigs I’d ever seen. We petted some very vocal cows. Inside the last corral on our right, I saw two beautiful brown horses.
One of the horses seemed to be minding his own business as he chomped on feed from a bucket, but the other horse, clearly agitated, yanked at his reins, which were being held by a woman I thought I’d seen selling cotton candy. Scott was next to the woman, and they looked like they were trying to have a conversation but the horse’s behavior kept interrupting them. Something about Scott’s and the woman’s evident impatience made me want to know what they were discussing. I put my hand on Henry’s arm. He, somehow understanding I was curious, played along. We both stood still and silent as we observed.
The woman was trying to be gentle with the horse, but the animal was obviously stronger than her petite though fairly wide frame could handle. Scott leaned down slightly to talk to her and began gesturing with his right hand to emphasize his point. I’d seen the maneuver often enough. When he was trying to be adamant, he’d speak with that hand, punctuating his words by chopping the air.
Mostly, the woman focused on the horse, but once or twice she looked back and up over her shoulder at Scott. Each time she craned her neck, her expression conveyed annoyance and maybe even bitterness.
After the second look, Scott started shaking his head. He put both hands into his jeans’ pockets and seemed to suddenly become resigned to having lost the argument. I didn’t have a chance to interpret more because he saw me and Henry, and pasted a smile on his face before he signaled us toward him.
“Hey, Becca, Henry,” he said. “This is Dianna Kivitt. She runs a bar in Orderville, but she does a bunch of other work around here, too. Tell ’em what you do, Dianna.”
She looked at him with the same disdain I’d seen her direct at him a few moments earlier, and then she turned it toward me and Henry.
“I make sure there’s plenty of popcorn and caramel corn around here, and I try to take care of the horses if they need some attention.” Dianna turned back to the animal, who had calmed as we approached, or was it that Scott and Dianna had calmed down, and the horse sensed their the mellowing mood? I wondered.
“It’s working,” I said as I nodded at the horse.
“Dianna’s amazing,” Scott said blandly. Then he reached for the cell phone on his belt and excused himself to take a call. I watched him hurry out of the barn and realized I was seeing vintage Scott. He was avoiding something: me, Henry, Dianna, the horse? I had no idea what it was, but I’d seen him do it in one way or another hundreds of times before.
“How well do you know Scott?” I asked Dianna.
She shrugged and continued to pet the horse’s nose.
I glanced at Henry, who was somewhat amused.
“You know Scott from outside the fair?” I rephrased the question to Dianna.
“We all get real friendly around here real quick like. It’s the best way to survive,” Dianna said.
My mouth fell open, and I was suddenly at a loss. Her words were ominous and unexpected, and I had no real response. I looked at Henry again, who was no longer amused. His eyebrows had come together and his mouth was set in a firm line
“Excuse me. I got someplace I have to be, too,” Dianna said. She stepped out of the corral and back from the horse, who was no longer in any distress. In fact, he blew out an exclamation through his nose, turned calmly, and joined the other horse in eating whatever was in the bucket. Either Dianna had truly had a soothing way with the animal, or he was relieved that she finally let go of him. She followed the same path Scott had taken, and left me and Henry with matching perplexed looks.
“That was weird, right? That wasn’t just me thinking it was weird?” I said.
“No, that was pretty weird, but Scott, and pardon me for saying this because I know the two of you were married, but he’s kind of strange.”
“He is? I mean, I’m not insulted in the least, but I never noticed that he was strange. Childish, impulsive, goofy, and bad with money, yes, but strange? No, never.”
“Well,” Henry began as we started to make our way out of the barn, “I didn’t work with him for long, but he was so secretive.”
“He was? I can’t imagine. The Scott I knew would tell you about the scar on his behind that he got from falling on some broken glass, and then he’d offer to show it to you if you really wanted to see it. There wasn’t much that he kept to himself when he and I were together.”
After the two barns, there was only one more large building to tour, so as we exited the second barn I meandered purposefully in that direction.
“Well, maybe it’s his wife,” Henry suggested as we walked. “I didn’t work with Scott all that long, but when he went from unmarried to married, he seemed to quiet down—no, not quiet down, just get more silent, I guess. I’m not sure I’m explaining it right.”
“He grew up?”
Henry hesitated. “I don’t know. I probably shouldn’t have said anything in the first place. I didn’t know him well enough to tell you much of anything. Sorry, though, if I said something I shouldn’t.”
“You didn’t. No worries at all. I haven’t seen him for years. We didn’t stay in touch. I’m kind of enjoying seeing him again, and the fact that we aren’t married only adds to that enjoyment.”
Henry laughed. “Well, that’s honest, I guess.”
“Oh, he’s a good guy, very loyal. It was just for the best that we got divorced. For both of us. It wasn’t one-sided. We both drove each other crazy, I’m sure.”
“That happens,” he said.
Just by his tone I could tell it hadn’t happened in his marriage. Just the way he’d spoken about his wife earlier made me think they only drove each other crazy in good ways. I looked forward to meeting Mandy.
“Ready to look at the pies and quilts?” he asked as we reached the entrance to the Ribbon House.
“I am, but if you’d rather not, I understand.”
“Actually, I want to, especially the baked goods. I make amazing pies. I thought about entering one of mine, but since we’re working here, I figured I might not be allowed.”
Thinking he might be teasing me, I smiled as I looked at him. But he wasn’t joking. “What’s your specialty?”
“Strawberry rhubarb. Seriously, I’m good.”
“Let’s go check out who your competition might have been.”
I’d been to a few fairs in my day, assessed a few pies and quilts, but the entries on exhibit in the Ribbon House were some of the best I’d ever seen. The intricate and precise detail on the quilts was stunning. I didn’t have the patience for such exacting work, but the beautiful entries gave me an urge to pick up a needle and thread and give it a try.
The pies were beautiful, too, though I would have enjoyed the experience much more if we’d been able to sample them as we walked through. I knew two expert pie bakers: my Bailey’s stall neighbor, Linda, and Mamma Maria at the Smithfield Market. They could probably both win prizes in pie competitions, but I wondered if either of them could have bested the apple pie that was currently decorated with a super-sized first place blue ribbon.
Some people have a gift for baking pies with what I call “flawed
perfection.” Their pies look both perfect and homemade at the same time. Linda and Mamma Maria had that gift, but so did Beth Jenkins.
Beth just happened to be standing next to her pie when Henry and I stopped to drool.
“Hi, how y’all doin’? I’m Beth,” she said with a big smile and exuberant handshakes for us both. Beth was short and round with dimples, bright green eyes, and a smile that could rival Julia Roberts’s.
“Congratulations on the blue ribbon,” I said.
“Oh, shoot, I’m just so honored. I can’t tell you how many years I’ve been baking pies. This was the first year I tried my grandmother’s old standby apple, and whadda ya know, I won.” She laughed.
“It looks great,” Henry said.
“Thank you kindly. I wish I could bring a bunch of them and give everyone a slice, but after the two I baked for the contest, my oven up and quit on me. I’m chalking it up to that old gypsy magic at work again. I must have been supposed to win with Grammie’s pie so Je— I mean, so that old gypsy must have worked her magic to stop me from baking anything else.”
“Gypsy magic, huh? You were about to say her name.”
Beth blushed. “I know, I know, I should never utter it aloud unless I want the hex and vex.”
“I’m not superstitious and I’m not from around here, but I’ve heard about the gypsy magic. Would you mind telling me her name?” I nodded in the direction of the billboard that beckoned from the maze outside.
Beth looked around and then leaned toward my ear. “I’m not superstitious either. It’s just that everyone around here is, so I try to be sensitive to all that silliness. Her name was”—Beth looked around again before she continued—“Jena Bellings.”
“Tell me about her,” I said.
Proving either that gypsy magic was, indeed, at work, or that I had terrible timing, Beth’s phone jingled.
“Oooh, sorry, gotta take this, y’all. Forgive.” She hurried away as she answered the phone. She glanced back briefly before disappearing behind a navy blue curtain. She wasn’t coming back while we were still there, that much I knew. She might have said she wasn’t superstitious, but I suspected that she’d only shared Jena’s name because she was the type of person who liked to share a secret.
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