by Keli Gwyn
She would miss El Dorado if she were to accept Mr. Grayson’s offer. But the opportunity to work in a large mercantile alongside a man who valued her opinions and wanted her because she was a woman was tempting.
Tildy caught her eye in the mirror. “There’s going to be a three-legged race. Constance is my partner. We’ve been practicing, and we’re fast. I think we can beat some of the boys. And when we do, I’m gonna laugh at them.”
“Gloating isn’t kind, sweetheart. Do you think the Lord would be happy if you made fun of the boys because they lost?”
“No, I don’t think He would, ’cause He’s a man. He’d probably want the boys to win.”
Elenora stifled a laugh, spun Tildy around, and fastened her hard-to-reach button. “He loves women as well as men. Mary and Martha were His friends. And Mary Magdalene, too.”
“But if He loves us all the same, why are the men in charge of everything?”
“They’re not. Look at me. I own my own business, and I’m in charge of the women’s committee for El Dorado Day. And speaking of that, we’d best be on our way.”
Tildy exercised caution as she carried her gingerbread to the grocery store. Elenora followed right behind and rejoiced inwardly when Mrs. Olds treated Tildy with the same respect she did an adult entrant.
“My gingerbread will be safe, won’t it? You won’t let anybody snitch any, will you?”
The grocer’s wife chuckled. “I’ll rap the knuckles of anyone who tries to snitch it, so you can join in the fun and trust that your entry will come to no harm.”
Tildy rushed off. Elenora strolled along Main Street, visiting with one person after another.
Two wagons rumbled down the street and creaked to a stop in front of her shop. Tarpaulins covered the load in the back of each. Miles and several of the men on his committee rushed over. He said something to one of them and strode in her direction.
When he reached her, he gave her one of his most charming smiles. “Ellie, may we use your sewing machine in one of the competitions?”
“But you said the machines are a luxury and won’t carry them in your shop. Why would you want to use one now?”
“You’ll see. And if things go as planned, you’ll have a buyer for it before the day’s out.”
She raised a brow. He was up to something. “You want to help me sell it? Why?”
“Mother loves hers. Says it saves her hours on every garment. She believes every woman who sews would benefit from owning one. I’m inclined to agree.”
“Why, Miles Rutledge, I think you honestly mean that, which makes this a red-letter day. Feel free to use the machine.” She handed him the key to her shop.
Half an hour later the women on her committee stood in the middle of Church Street flanking her as she faced Miles and the men on his. The townspeople gathered around them.
Abe stood in the center of the assembly and mopped his shiny brow with a bright red bandanna. “Ladies and gents, seein’ as how I’ve lived here in town since the early days, Miles invited me to serve as your master of ceremonies. So, without further ado, I hereby declare El Dorado Day officially begun. Because we’ve got a woman headin’ up part of the festivities, we’ll let her go first and tell you what she and her group have planned for us menfolk. Mrs. Watkins.” He held out a hand toward her.
“Thank you. In keeping with tradition, we’ll end with the shooting match. We have, however, come up with new contests that will allow you fine men of El Dorado to display your strength and prowess in two different manners. I promised Mr. Rutledge we wouldn’t ask you to don aprons and slice onions, but we did determine one task commonly considered women’s work that we believe you men would be as skilled at as we are—if not more so.”
Several of the men glanced at one another and shrugged.
“The Talbot twins have hung rugs between trees. Very dirty rugs. My daughter and the Dupree children rubbed five full cups of sand from the riverbed into each one. Your job, gentlemen, will be to choose three teams of five. Each man will beat his team’s rug for a full minute. At the end of the five minutes we’ll collect the sand on the sheets spread beneath each rug, measure it, and determine the winning team.”
While the townspeople processed the news, she stole a glance at Miles, and he smiled. With his experience beating rugs for his mother, he stood to do a fine job.
Abe got everyone’s attention with a piercing whistle. “If I can get you to stop your yammerin’, we’ll hear about the second competition.”
When all was quiet, she continued. “Our second contest is simple. Tommy and Timmy have laid out boards, nails, and hammers. Any man who wants to compete may do so. The winner will be the one who can hammer three nails flush with the wood using the fewest strokes. In the event of a tie we’ll go by time, so you’ll want to work quickly.”
Her announcement was met with cheers and some good-natured ribbing as men boasted to one another about how well they would do. Although Mr. MacDougall was sure to win, if Elenora’s assessment of the strength and skill of a certain shopkeeper were accurate, he would have some serious competition.
The townspeople trooped up the hill to the field beyond the church. Three Axminster rugs hung in readiness, an identical rug beater lying in the center of the sheet underneath each of them. In no time the three teams were chosen, with Miles serving as captain of one.
Each team lined up twenty paces from its rug, Abe gave another of his shrill whistles, and the first men were off. One team put their largest man first, but the others led with their smallest. The air filled with the smack of beaters against the sturdy carpets and billowing clouds of dust as each competitor gave it his all. Cheers rang out from those rooting for their friends and loved ones.
Every man made a valiant effort, but by the time the fourth heat neared its conclusion, only an occasional puff could be seen. At the signal, the final member of each team grabbed the wooden handle of his beater and slammed the tear-shaped top into the rug. To Elenora’s delight, Miles managed to fill the air with a fresh flurry of fine powder, something the other contenders couldn’t do.
Before she could stop it, a squeal escaped. With all the excitement, she hoped no one had noticed, but his mother must have because she graced Elenora with a smile.
At the end of the five minutes, Abe called time. “All righty, ladies and gents, let’s see which team couldn’t be beat.” He chuckled at his own play on words.
The Talbot twins made quite a show of collecting the dirt on each of the sheets and measuring it. How it thrilled Elenora’s heart to see the young men being treated with respect. They’d worked tirelessly on her behalf and shown her such kindness.
The barber examined the cups of sandy soil. “We have a clear winner, folks. Miles’s team got a full cup more’n the others. They’ll get the blue ribbons. Tiny’s team takes the red, and Mr. Morton’s will be sportin’ white.”
Tildy and Constance pinned the ribbons to the men’s jackets. When Miles received his, he said something to Tildy, and she laughed so loudly Elenora could hear her even though she was a good fifty feet away. Her dear girl had grown very close to Miles. Leaving El Dorado and her friends here would be far more difficult for her than Elenora had first thought. She’d have to pray for wisdom—and an extra measure of patience—because when Tildy wasn’t happy, she had plenty to say about it.
When Mr. MacDougall took first place in the nail pounding competition and Miles second, no one seemed at all surprised. Apparently Miles’s prowess with a hammer was a well-known fact.
Mrs. Rutledge sidled up to where Elenora stood at the edge of the crowd watching the girls present the ribbons. “I’m impressed. I didn’t say anything before, but I couldn’t have been happier to see the contests you championed. They certainly allowed Miles to shine. Does this mean you’ve forgiven him for withdrawing his offer when you arrived in town?”
“I do believe I have. I’ve come to see that his reluctance to accept me as his partner served a purpose. Had it n
ot been for him, I don’t know that I’d have found the courage to strike out on my own. I’ve enjoyed running my shop and doing things my way. Thanks to my hard work, I’ve been offered an opportunity beyond my wildest dreams.”
Applause followed the presentation of the nail-pounding winners. Mrs. Rutledge waited until it died down and leaned close to Elenora. “Doing things our own way is all well and good, but don’t be surprised if the Lord has other plans.”
Other plans? It seemed He did at that. Once she received Mr. Grayson’s credentials and had a clearer picture of exactly what he was offering, she’d be in a better place to determine what those plans might be. Perhaps God really did care about her hopes and dreams.
Chapter 25
Miles stood in the shade of the awning in front of Ellie’s shop and waited for Abe to finish his preamble. Normally he found his friend’s fondness for flapping his jaw entertaining, but today Miles wanted to get on with things. Ellie had obviously chosen competitions in which he was sure to excel. While he appreciated the recognition, what set his heart racing faster than a hound after a hare was the fact that she must care about him.
He’d given himself so many mental kicks for kissing her after the fire that his brain must be black and blue, but things had changed for the better since then. She’d dropped her guard. And the way she looked at him sometimes…
He ventured a glance at her. She seemed to be suppressing a smile. Only when she inclined her head toward Abe did Miles realize it had grown quiet.
Abe chuckled. “You’d best be careful how far you let your mind wander, Miles, or you’ll be windin’ your hair and combin’ your watch. The womenfolk are waitin’ to hear what we gents have planned for them.”
Miles cleared his throat. “We entertained many ideas but settled on two contests we think everyone will enjoy. Some of us have come to realize the old ways of doing things are not always the best or most expedient, as the first competition will show.”
Surely Ellie hadn’t missed his message. A quick look at her revealed nothing. She’d assumed her businesswoman persona.
“My mother bought the first sewing machine Mrs. Watkins sold, and I’ve seen how much time it saves. We men borrowed three machines to use today. The competitors will sew the four sides of a square to make a handkerchief. My mother, Mrs. Watkins, and Mrs. Olds have agreed to time the seamstress using her machine. The winner will be the one with the shortest time. Mother will demonstrate how easy the sewing machine is to operate, and we’ll be ready to begin.”
He stepped back to allow others a better vantage point. He’d never tell another soul, but after a short lesson from Mother, he’d sewn one of the squares himself. The machine was a marvel. Every woman who did her own sewing could make good use of one, which was exactly what he hoped the competition would prove. How shortsighted—and prideful—he’d been to scoff at Ellie’s idea of selling the sewing machines.
His pride had driven a wedge between them, one he would have to keep chipping at if he were to overcome her resistance. Hopefully he wasn’t too late.
One woman after another sat at a sewing machine, some appearing eager, others apprehensive, and a few doubtful. Without exception they left clutching a handkerchief and wearing a satisfied smile. One woman whispered to Ellie. Judging by the animated gesturing, Miles was sure the machine had been sold. He shouldn’t be so happy to send business her way, but he wanted her to make a sale. To prove to herself she was a successful merchant in her own right. To stay in El Dorado.
As soon as the sewing competition ended and the ribbons had been awarded, the crowd gathered in front of the mercantile, where the men had helped him set up makeshift tables using planks, sawhorses, and some of Mother’s old tablecloths.
He addressed the gathering. “Ladies, as everyone knows, I’m fond of flowers, as are many of you. Our second competition is to create a floral arrangement. I purchased a dozen cut glass vases. Those participating will be able to take home their creations. And here are the flowers.”
He opened the door to his shop, and his committee carried out buckets laden with fragrant blooms of assorted varieties and colors. Their sweet perfume filled the air. From the way many women’s eyes lit up, he knew this idea, one several of the men had thought silly, was anything but. Now to get Ellie to participate.
“Each contestant will have five minutes to arrange her bouquet. Our judge is none other than Mr. Parks, whom some of you know is the gardener responsible for the beautiful beds at the main church in Placerville. At the conclusion of the three rounds he’ll determine the winners.”
Women who provided arrangements for the church services filled the first eight slots. The second group of four contestants set their bouquets on a side table, where Mr. Olds labeled them, and stepped aside.
“Time for the final round.” Miles shot a glance at his mother, and she nodded.
Before she could say anything Pearl spoke up. “Elenora, you must take a turn. Everyone’s seen your shop and how beautiful your displays are.”
“That’s kind of you to say, but I’ve not had experience with fresh flowers. The ones I’m accustomed to are silk.” She patted the spray at her throat.
Mother chimed in. “Mrs. Dupree is right. You’ve a knack for putting things together. There are still openings, and I think you should take one.”
Miles held out a hand toward the four stations and gave Ellie what he hoped was his most encouraging smile. “And who will join Mrs. Watkins?”
Three other women were coaxed into competing and took their places behind the other tables. Abe gave the signal, and they set to work plopping flowers in their vases willy-nilly.
Ellie, however, laid her selection of blooms on the table, arranging them by color. She tilted her head and scrunched her mouth in an adorable gesture so like Tildy’s that Miles couldn’t keep from grinning. She took the pruning shears to the stems, snipping them into varying lengths.
He glanced at his pocket watch. Nearly half the time had elapsed, but she showed no sign of rushing. With deft movements she arranged the tallest stems in the rear, adding the others in graduated groupings until she slipped in the final pink rose front and center. She brushed her cuttings into a tidy pile, lined up the shears flush with the edge of the table, and spun her vase to face front just as he called time.
If Ellie didn’t end up with a blue ribbon, he’d be surprised. Her bouquet was by far the most artistically arranged, which was no surprise. She could make a display of rat traps into a thing of beauty.
Mr. Parks took his time examining each of the twelve entries. He paused in front of Ellie’s and nodded. A good sign. He moved to the other end of the table, studied another arrangement, and smiled. Not good. He returned to stand before Ellie’s and wiggled his moustache back and forth as though he were torn. Couldn’t he see hers was the prettiest?
The minister smiled again and spun around. “Ladies, you’re a talented group. In my mind you’re all winners. However, I do have to choose three of you to receive ribbons. Third place goes to Miss Crowley.”
Applause followed as Constance pinned the white ribbon on the older woman. Tildy held the red and waited for Mr. Parks to continue.
“The final two placements presented a challenge. Both are beautifully arranged, but after some deliberation I made my decision.”
Must he drag things out? He needed to announce the second-place winner so he could move on to Ellie.
“Second place goes to…Mrs. Watkins.”
Ellie looked as stunned as Miles felt, although from what he could see, she wasn’t disappointed. It didn’t appear she’d expected her name to be called at all. She’d been whispering with Pearl, who gave her a gentle shove. She smiled, an open-mouthed version that conveyed disbelief.
Tildy beamed as she pinned the red ribbon on her mother. He fought the urge to scowl and clapped a little less enthusiastically than the others when Mrs. Morton received recognition for first place.
Miles attempted to reach Elli
e, but she was swept away by a gaggle of gabby women eager for her to announce the winners of the bake-off—and one very excited girl. Tildy practically danced down the street to the grocer’s place.
Ellie presided over the ceremony with poise and grace, complimenting each entrant and thanking everyone who’d helped her with even the smallest task. She’d been in El Dorado a few short months, and yet she had captured the hearts of the townspeople. She’d certainly captured his. Somehow he must convince her to stay, because if she were to leave, she’d take the sunshine with her.
Tildy sidled up to Miles, who leaned against a pillar opposite the grocer’s place. “Did you see my ribbon, Mr. R? I got first place for sweet breads.”
Elenora patted Tildy’s shoulder in an effort to calm her exuberant daughter. “He was there, dearest.”
“Congratulations!” Miles made a show of admiring the blue ribbon pinned beneath Tildy’s lace-edged collar. “I’m not surprised you won, Tildy girl. I’ve tasted your gingerbread, and I can’t tell a difference between it and Mother’s. In fact, I’m hoping to get a piece at the picnic when you and your mama join us.”
“I’m afraid, Mr. Rutledge, that I made plans for Tildy and me to share our meal with the Duprees.”
“Well, that works out fine. Will said they’ll be eating with us.”
Pearl hadn’t mentioned that, but perhaps she hadn’t known. Either that or she was as determined as Miles’s mother to see that Elenora spent time with him.
Not that she minded. But she mustn’t allow attraction to be a distraction. As fond as she was of him, she wasn’t about to let a newfound friendship cloud her judgment when it came to making the decision about Mr. Grayson’s offer.
“It’s time, Miles.” Sheriff Henderson formed his thumb and forefinger into the shape of a pistol and used it to point to the edge of town, where the shooting match would take place.
