"Are you really thinking of opening your own shop?" Tassie asked. "That would be wonderful. You're such a talented seamstress."
Josie gave the bodice another tug. "Well, it's not going to do me much good if you burst through this dress in front of everyone."
Josie peeked out of the curtain and Tassie gasped. "That's quite a crowd out there."
Josie gulped. "Yes, the big prize money has brought in a lot of competition and spectators."
Tassie felt horrible for her friend. "I have no idea what happened. I've been eating the same as usual and I even skipped the lemon pie Mrs. Campbell brought over the other day. It just didn't even look good."
"I bet Cal didn't mind having some extra," Josie said with a grin. Tassie admired her good humor in a stressful situation.
Tassie stared down at the dress and sucked in her breath as hard as she could. As long as she held it, the dress fit perfectly, but as soon as she exhaled, the top button went flying and pinged off the canvas wall.
"Oh no!" She wailed. "Oh Josie, what'll we do now?"
Josie hurried to search for the button, her own dress getting dirty as she crouched down on the ground to find the errant button.
Tears stung at Tassie's eyes. She hated letting anyone down. She'd tried so hard not to make friends in Juniper Junction but once she married Cal and felt comfortable with the folks in town, she'd gone full tilt into friendships with the young ladies of Juniper Junction and now she was about to ruin things for one of them.
Josie stood up and dusted off her hands. "I can't find it."
Mrs. Campbell called out from the other side of the curtain, "Josie, you’re up next. Are you ready?"
The two girls exchanged a panicked look and then both stared down at Tassie's exposed bosom.
A determined look came over Josie's face and she grabbed a swath of fabric. "Yes, Mrs. Campbell, just putting the finishing touches on. We'll be ready in just a minute."
Tassie gaped at her. There was no time to attach a button and besides, they didn't even have one to sew on. Josie, however, was calm as you please. She took the length of fabric that matched the dress and gave it a few folds, then created an elaborate bow that she managed to pin to the front, concealing Tassie's bosom and creating quite a fashion statement in the process.
Tassie let out a sigh of relief and the two of them stepped from the tent and nodded to Mrs. Campbell who announced, "Next up is an original creation from Josie Lawson being modeled by Mrs. Cal Watson, the wife of our own sheriff."
On shaking legs, Tassie moved forward and strolled down the aisle between the rows of seats that had been set up in the tent. Whispers went through the crowd and reached her ears. "I've never seen anything like that before."
"It must be the latest fashion. I've heard that big bows are all the rage back east."
"What a clever design."
Soon the whispers morphed into applause and by the time Tassie reached the front of the tent and the judges' table, the whole tent was abuzz over Josie's clever design.
And when Josie won the fifty-dollar prize, Tassie could not have been happier for her friend.
Still, she couldn't understand why her bosom had gotten so big. Maybe there was just a problem with the dress and Josie's measurements. When she returned to the dressing area and Josie unpinned the giant bow, Tassie breathed a sigh of relief.
"Oh Tassie," Josie said excitedly. "I've already got five orders for new dresses with bows on the front, can you believe it?"
Tassie hugged her friend. "Of course I can believe it. You're incredible. I can't believe you thought of putting that big bow on there at the last minute."
Josie let out a sigh of relief. "I guess it's my lucky day. Thank you so much, Tassie. I'll let you get changed by yourself." She stepped out and closed the curtain and Tassie quickly removed the rest of the prize-winning dress and happily reached for her own dress, grateful to put on something that fit properly.
Except this time she struggled to close the bodice too. She finally got herself dressed and despite the warm summer day, she borrowed a length of fabric from Josie and used it as a makeshift shawl to keep her decent during the rest of the day at the fair.
"Look," she said to Cal, opening up her shawl so he could see the way her dress gaped. "I'm sorry, Cal, but I'm going to need to get my dresses let out. I can't understand what's happening."
A sly smile slid over Cal's lips. "Looks fine to me."
"Cal!" She gave him an exasperated look. "This isn't funny. I can't believe how much weight I've gained."
He leaned down and whispered in her ear, "Looks like you need to be thoroughly searched to find the cause of the problem."
POSEY
"Oh, Posey, thank you so much for agreeing to help with the judging," Mrs. Blake from the general store said when Posey entered the tent. "With the anonymous donor making the fair prizes so much higher, especially for all the ladies' events, we've been overrun with entries and it's been hard to find impartial judges who haven't entered any of their own food."
Posey shrugged. "I guess it's a good thing I didn't have time to put up much food this year. I've been busy at the post office, you know."
"Yes, that is a big responsibility. I'm just grateful that you can help."
"Glad to do my part, though I don't know much about what I'm supposed to do."
"Oh, that's the easy part, just sample each of the entries and decide which one you like best."
"I should be able to do that," Posey said, feeling happy that she could do an important job and also help out Mrs. Blake who had always been so kind to her.
"We're going to start with the pickles." Mrs. Blake led her to a long cloth covered table that held jars of pickles. Each jar had a number on it so that the maker would be anonymous to the judges. "We've already opened each jar and put a sample of each one on a plate next to the jar it came from. Here's a piece of paper for you to make notes." She handed Posey a paper and pencil and then left to oversee one of the other competitions.
Posey picked up the sample from the first jar and ate it. Yum. That was one good pickle. It was tart and flavorful and seemed to satisfy an unidentified craving she'd been having lately. She made some notes on the paper and moved on to the next sample. It was good too. Really good. Was it better than the first one? She went back and retrieved a pickle from the first entry and ate it. Then she had a second pickle from the other jar.
They were both so good. Then she looked down the table and saw a dozen entries. She kept going. All of them were delicious. The few people who had been watching her during the judging had gotten bored and moved over to the cake competition where they were passing out samples to the spectators, leaving Posey alone with all the pickles.
She continued taking notes and sampling and then to be extra sure, she went back and sampled some of them two or three times. She just couldn't stop. Her fingers were sticky and so was her mouth. She ought to be thirsty from eating so many tart pickles but all she could think about was eating more and more pickles.
When she finally got to the end of the table and the final jar it was the best of all. She could say that because she ate four pickles from that entry and each one tasted better than the last.
She had to select first, second and third place. She knew for sure which one would take first place, but second and third were still unclear. She reviewed her notes and went back to some of the jars, eating additional pickles.
Finally she had the order just how she wanted it and looked at her list with a sense of pride. Mrs. Blake would be pleased with her performance as a judge and maybe she'd ask Posey to do it again next year. She hoped so, because she'd developed quite a hankering for pickles.
A gasp from behind startled her and she turned. Mrs. Blake stood there, with her hand over her mouth. "P-Posey, did you eat all those p-pickles?"
"They were so good. It was like I couldn't get enough. That's okay, isn't it?" Posey glanced at the jars and noticed some of them were nearly empty an
d one or two were completely empty.
"Posey, I guess I didn't make it clear, but you're just one of three judges and we need enough pickles for everyone to try."
Posey gasped and gaped up at Mrs. Blake, wide-eyed. "Oh dear. I'm so sorry. I didn't know. What about the ones where I ate all the pickles? Those were my favorites and now they won't win because the other judges won't get a chance to try them."
Mrs. Blake sat down at the table next to her and took one of her hands in hers. "Posey, I didn't know you liked pickles this much," she said carefully.
"Me neither," Posey declared. “I couldn't stop. It was like I had a craving for them or something."
Mrs. Blake looked at her carefully. "Uh huh. How have you been feeling lately, Posey?"
Posey shrugged. "Good, I guess. The same as usual. But I have been hungrier than normal. I figure that's just because I'm so busy at the post office."
"Hmm." Mrs. Blake seemed to be fighting back a grin. "If you say so."
LIZZIE
"Wake up, darlin'. It's fair day!"
Lizzie struggled to wake up and peeked out of the bed at Matt who was already fully dressed.
"I didn't know I'd slept so late," she said, forcing herself to stand, then sitting back down. It just felt like she'd been literally swimming upstream the last couple of weeks. "I'm sorry, Matt. I haven't had much energy lately."
"That's my fault, sweetheart," he said. "I know I don't let you get much sleep. I just can't keep my hands off you." He came over and sat next to her on the bed. "Are you feeling well? Do you think we need to see the doctor?"
"Oh no, but thank you for being concerned. I'm sure I just need to catch up on my sleep. You have been extra frisky lately." She leaned against him and rested her head on his shoulder, certain that she'd be able to fall back to sleep in just a few seconds if given the chance.
"Maybe you need to sleep in a bit today. I'll head over to the fair and then come back for you in two or three hours. How does that sound?"
That sounds like heaven.
"I wish I could," she said. "But I am supposed to be judging the flower arrangements at nine o'clock, so I'd best get up and on my way, just like you. Besides, I'm excited for fair day, too."
"Judging the flowers, eh? How'd you get roped into doing that?"
"Mrs. Bloom, the president of the garden club asked me to. She seems to think that my background as a 'socialite', as she put it, gives me special insight into the art of flower arranging."
Matt stood and helped her to stand as well. He kissed her on the nose. "I'm sure you'll do a great job. But be careful, some of those ladies can be pretty aggressive about their flower arrangements."
"You're joking, right?"
Two hours later.
No, Matt had not been joking at all.
When Lizzie approached the flower tent, she didn’t need to read the sign above the doorway to know where she ought to go. A line of ladies carrying all manner of flowers stood in silence waiting their turns to register for the competition. Lizzie paused for a moment and studied the group.
How odd. She could clearly see Mrs. Campbell standing in line right ahead of Mrs. Blake, and yet neither lady spoke to the other. Nor did Mrs. Campbell talk to the woman in front of her, Mrs. Everett from the post office. And Mrs. Everett also studiously ignored Mrs. Summers behind her, though just the other day at the Juniper Junction Quilting Society meeting, she’d seen all of these women working together and enjoying themselves.
But not today. No today they had the silence which Lizzie imagined fell over soldiers on a morning when they prepared for battle. Expressions grim, eyes focused.
Shew buddy. She blew out a breath and hurried around to the back of the tent and slipped in between the flaps.
“Oh, there you are,” Mrs. Bloom hurried over to her. “I was beginning to wonder if you were going to make it.”
There was a bit of a scold in Mrs. Bloom’s voice which rankled Lizzie a bit. Scolding privileges were reserved for her husband Matt and even then Lizzie didn’t always take kindly to it. She was of a mind to turn and leave, but then she remembered that she’d made a promise and she meant to keep it. Already many of the people in the area treated her a bit differently now that they knew of her wealth and she’d be danged if she was going to give them any reason to call her snooty.
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting, Mrs. Bloom. It looks like there’s quite a crowd out there.”
“Oh heavens, yes,” Mrs. Bloom replied.
“The ladies in line seemed a bit … tense. Is that normal for this competition?”
Mrs. Bloom’s gaze darted away nervously. “Well, some of the ladies do take their flower gardens rather seriously.”
“I see. Well, thank you for inviting me to be a judge. I was flattered to be asked since I’m a newcomer here in town. Don’t you have some more experienced judges?” Lizzie suspected she knew the answer already but she wanted to force an admission from Mrs. Bloom.
“Oh, my, yes. We’ve had a number of judges over the years, but … well… we like to give a variety of people the chance to participate.”
“Uh huh,” Lizzie said. She might be new to town, but she didn’t just fall off the turnip truck. “Will the participants be here during the judging?”
“Oh heavens no!” Mrs. Bloom said, her eyes wide. “After the big skirmish of ‘82, we’ve not allowed any of the entrants to be in the tent until the prizes have been determined.”
Lizzie raised her brows. “Big skirmish?”
“Sorry, my dear, but I hear someone calling me. Have a seat and I’ll come and get you soon.” She headed off toward the registration table then turned back. “If none of the contestants has seen you, you might want to have a seat outside the tent, near where you came in. I’ll come and get you there.”
What have I gotten myself into?
Lizzie hurried to the safety on the other side of the tent wall and thankfully found a bench there. She plopped down and closed her eyes, wondering if it would be bad for her to stretch out and take a nap. She was just so tired. All the time, it seemed.
Deciding against a full-blown nap, she set her elbow on the arm of the bench and rested her head on her palm. But when she closed her eyes, she could see the strained faces of the women in line. If word got out that she’d been the judge, she could expect those same gazes to be directed at her.
“Lizzie? Are you feeling unwell?” a gentle voice asked.
Lizzie opened her eyes to see Posey standing in front of her with a look of concern.
Lizzie sat up straighter and gazed at her friend. “Is that pickle juice on your blouse?”
Posey glanced down and blushed. “Oh, I guess it is. I was judging the pickle competition and got a little carried away. I didn’t know I liked pickles so much.”
Posey sat down next to her and the aroma of dill and brine wafted toward Lizzie. She inhaled deeply. A pickle did sound kind of good.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Posey said. “Are you feeling well? You look tired.”
“I’m exhausted and I don’t know why. I slept well last night and even slept later than usual this morning.”
“Maybe you need to see Dr. Granger.”
“Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing. I just need to get used to all the chores I do.”
“Where’s Matt?” Posey asked, glancing around for Lizzie’s husband.
“I’m going to meet up with him later. I’m supposed to judge the flower competition in a few minutes.”
Posey gasped. “Oh no! I should have warned you.”
Lizzie gave a rueful laugh. “I wish you had, though I’m not sure I would have believed you. But when I saw those women standing in line with their flowers… oh my. Those were not friendly faces.”
“Some of the older ladies take their flowers pretty seriously,” Posey confided. “A bit too seriously, if you ask me.”
“Well, now I’m stuck judging their flowers. I’m going to make some enemies.”
Just then Mrs. Bloom stuck her head out the tent flap and gestured for Lizzie to join her. “Good luck,” Posey said as she left. Seemed like she wanted to get as far away from the flower competition as she could. Lizzie couldn’t blame her.
She gazed back at Posey with a bit of envy while she headed for the flower tent like a lamb to the slaughter. At least the participants wouldn’t be standing there glaring at her as she assessed their entries.
Once she was inside the tent, however, she pulled up short. Contrary to Mrs. Bloom’s assurances, the tent nearly overflowed with women. It seemed like all of them had their arms crossed over their chests with identical scowls on their faces. Lizzie’s stomach roiled.
“I thought you said none of the participants would be here,” she hissed at Mrs. Bloom.
“Well, dear, there’s been a change. It seems that a few of the ladies chatted with Mr. Knight the chair of the fair committee and he just stopped by to inform me that he’d agreed to allow the contestants to watch.”
Lizzie felt a cold sweat trickle down her spine. “And did Mr. Knight stick around to watch?”
“Oh no. He hightailed it out of here like a pheasant running from a coyote.”
This surprised Lizzie not at all.
Taking a deep breath, she let it out then said, “Well, we might as well get started. No point in putting off the inevitable.”
“I’m sure everything will be fine, dear.” Mrs. Bloom’s worried brow didn’t match her words.
Mrs. Bloom stood in front of the crowd of semi-hostile women. “Good morning, ladies. Please allow me to introduce our judge for this year’s competition. Many of you may know Lizzie Foreman, she’s married to Matt Foreman who works for Mr. Conners at Windy River Ranch. As it turns out, Lizzie was raised in St. Louis and has had extensive experience with floral arrangements so we feel very fortunate to have her as our judge today.”
Mrs. Bloom clapped her hands and smiled enthusiastically. A few of the spectators joined her, but mostly, they just stared.
“Don’t look like she knows much about flowers to me,” a harsh voice in the back said.
Newlywed Christmas (Brides of Juniper Junction Book 4) Page 3