by AlLee, Jennifer L. ; Breidenbach, Angela; Franklin, Darlene
Edith’s stomach flip-flopped. Winning at least a couple of the baking competitions would make their bid for business that much stronger. No one cared about also-rans. “You’ll have to stay here. We can’t leave the booth unattended.”
Mama appeared like an answer to an unspoken prayer. “I’m sorry I didn’t get here earlier. I was caught up in admiring the quilts. But I’ll take care of the booth so both of you can hear the judges’ decisions.”
Edith managed a “thank you” as her feet headed for the corner of the pavilion. With Grant and her mother’s help, she had met her goal of entering all six categories of baked goods. She had her eye on the grand prize that stood four feet from the ground, for the best baker out of the hundreds spread before the judges. The ten-dollar monetary award would be nice as well.
Several women greeted Edith. In her first competition last year, she had shocked the competition by winning the quick-bread division for her apple walnut loaf. That had started her dream, in fact. If she could win one category, the only one she’d entered, why not try for all?
Mrs. Rowe, a lady with a commanding presence both in height and girth, approached. “She’s won the grand prize for the past three years,” Edith whispered to Grant.
“So glad to see you again. May we expect to see your apple walnut quick bread again this year?” Mrs. Rowe smiled like a cat waiting to pounce on a mouse who dared to come too near.
Edith held her head high. “Why, no, Mrs. Rowe. I’ve made something different.”
Mrs. Rowe studied the tables, as if trying to guess which plate held Edith’s entry. “Perhaps it’s that rich plum cake.”
Edith held back a giggle. “Why, that lovely cake must be your entry. I’m sure it’s delicious.” But not as good as hers was, God willing.
A hush settled across the crowd as the judges marched behind the tables. Edith wouldn’t want to be in their shoes, differentiating among dozens of entries from a single bite. The verse about too much honey and vomit came to her mind, and she hoped they didn’t get ill from partaking of so many delicacies.
Cookies came first. One judge had to break one in pieces because she couldn’t bite into it. It remained in her mouth a long time before she could chew it. The unfortunate baker’s face turned as red as her hair, and she buried her head against her husband’s chest.
Grant would care if she lost the contest, but he wouldn’t hold her in his arms. Those strong arms that could make a woman swoon.
The judges tried her honey ginger cookie without visible reaction. That was true of most of the tastes, so she told herself not to worry.
After every taste they made notes. When they finished, they retired to a corner and compared notes. A few quick minutes later, they had reached their decision. The lead judge headed down the table, placing the third-place yellow ribbon by a plate of sugar cookies, the red second-place ribbon by snickerdoodles. Edith held her breath. If she hadn’t placed at all, she would be heartbroken.
With a broad smile, the judges placed the blue ribbon by her honey ginger cookies. She spun around, wanting to cheer. Instead, she offered congratulations to the other ribbon winners.
Ladies offered her congratulations as well, including Mrs. Rowe. That spoke well of her, because her snickerdoodles came in second.
Grant didn’t say a word, but the joy gleaming in his eyes said it all.
One blue ribbon made Edith hunger for more. When she won a second blue ribbon, for her blueberry honey quick bread, and then a third, the congratulations turned into astonishment, and Edith could hardly hear what anyone had to say.
By the end, she had won four blue ribbons and two second-place ribbons. Her knees felt rubbery. Grant placed his arm around her, and she held on like an anchor, anxious to know whether the last big prize was hers.
One of the male judges picked up the trophy, and the room held its collective breath. Grant wasn’t sure who was more excited, him or Edith. She should win. No one else had come close.
The judge cleared his throat, and Edith’s fingernails dug into Grant’s arms. “We have a clear winner for the best baker in this fiftieth anniversary competition, since she placed in every category. Congratulations go to Edith Grace, of Edith’s Good Eating.”
The trophy dwarfed Edith. She placed it on the table while she spoke. “Thank you so much. I appreciate winning in the presence of so many wonderful cooks in the state of Vermont. And most of all I want to thank God, who answered my prayers.”
With that, Grant took the trophy before it dropped on Edith’s foot. “May I take a photograph for the paper?”
Edith agreed—why not? A photo would draw attention to the trophy, and their business. After the powder flashed, the reporter asked, “Miss Grace, do you have another trophy you wish to announce?” He pointed to Grant, who was holding the trophy.
Grant couldn’t help smiling, but he didn’t take the bait. “You’ll hear from us again. We expect this to be the first of several wins for Oscar Farms.” With that, he settled the trophy against his shoulder and slipped his other arm around Edie’s elbow to lead her away.
The trophy brought a lot of attention to their booth. Both women and men sampled her baked goods, and she introduced them to the “winning ingredient”—the honey. If they wished, she let them sample the honey butter, which sold as quickly as the bread. Win or lose, the Oscar Farm products were off to a good start.
Edith’s confidence in the honey proved true when it won its category. With five blue ribbons, two red ribbons, and one grand trophy, they should fare well in the business competition.
Grant couldn’t measure how much he hungered for a win. He craved, needed, to settle their debts and make certain the farm was on a secure financial footing before he would officially ask for Edith’s hand. He decided against the pulling contest after he saw the contestants hardened by years of scrabbling out a living in spite of Vermont’s harsh climate.
A different set of judges made the rounds throughout the day. “I wish we could see the other booths as well.” Edith rearranged the display to catch the eye as their supplies dwindled.
“Your mother will bring us news,” Grant said.
She didn’t answer, and he understood. He wanted to see for himself as well.
The judges didn’t make it to the Oscar Farms stall until the afternoon was well advanced. Over half of the baked goods had sold, leaving empty spaces on the shelves. Both the stickiness of honey and the creamy smear of butter had left their marks. Edie was wiping it down as best she could, one eye on the judges, one on the shelves. She scrubbed at one particularly stubborn spot and then dried it off.
The judges—three men, all of them successful entrepreneurs—approached. “Miss Grace. Mr. Oscar.” The youngest of the men, handsome and charming enough to win the ladies, spoke first. “Congratulations on your performance in the baking competition, Miss Grace. We have been looking forward to trying some of these amazing recipes.”
The second judge, round and friendly, pointed to the fifth blue ribbon. “I see you won first place for your honey as well. Well done.”
Both Grant and Edie smiled at that.
Edie looked worried. He could almost read her thoughts. What if they’re disappointed? “I have been sampling her cooking ever since I returned from the navy, and I haven’t tasted anything like it in all the world.”
The silent judge raised an eyebrow at that statement, but when he bit into a cookie, pleasure chased away any doubts about his opinion. “Your baking speaks for itself. But what makes the honey special?”
Edie spread honey butter over a muffin before handing it to them. She also offered each judge a honey dipper to sample the honey by itself, leaving the explanation to Grant.
“As you know, honey takes its flavor from the sources of the pollen. All the flowers God saw fit to put in Vermont fill the meadow where our log gums stand. When I was in the navy, I brought a jar of honey with me. Whenever I was homesick, I’d taste the honey and be reminded of all that was
good and right at home.”
The final judge let the honey drip into his mouth. “You may be on to something.”
The trio didn’t ask any additional questions before they proceeded to the next booth. Edie’s green-glazed eyes mirrored the worry in his heart. His mouth felt too dry to speak, so he sipped from a glass of water. “Let’s shut down our booth and enjoy ourselves for the rest of the day.”
“Good idea.” She grabbed a box and started filling it. Their laughter released some of their tension as they packed their goods in boxes and baskets and covered the stack with a blanket. “Let’s go see the motorcars, shall we?”
Amazing that oil from the ground could make a car move without horses. If anything made him envious, these beauties would. “They say these things can go as much as twenty miles an hour.”
“Oh, Grant.” Edie put her hand to her mouth. “If we win, we must get one of these things. I could sell my baked goods to so many more places if we could ship them faster.”
The salesman noted their interest. “They say engineers in Europe are making engines with wagon beds behind the cab. They call them trucks. But for now—you’re right, this car could revolutionize your business.”
Grant’s jaw clenched while Edie chatted as if buying a car were possible. When they paused their discussion, Grant said, “Let’s find your mother and head to the hotel.”
Edie glanced over her shoulder one last time before they got too far. “Buying a car would be a good investment, Grant. Of course, we need to come up with a business plan first.”
Grant shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. Once they picked up Mrs. Grace, the two women talked so much that he just listened—and hoped they wouldn’t notice.
He was wrong. Once they reached the hotel room, Mrs. Grace went to the dressing room. Edie turned on Grant. “After the day we had, I expected to celebrate. Instead, you look like you’ve gone to a funeral.”
“No. Yes.” He blew out a deep breath. “I can’t afford a car, not now, not in five years—I don’t know if I can ever get one. There’s something you don’t know, the reason why I need to win that prize.”
Her forehead wrinkled. “So, you—we—can get our business started more easily.”
He shook his head. “I—Pa and me—need the money for the farm. Pa’s missed several payments. If we don’t pay, in full, we’ll lose the farm.” He turned his back to her. “I should have left the navy a long time ago, but I didn’t know how bad things were.”
“I didn’t know.” Edie circled around so she was facing him. “Why didn’t you tell me? We can work things out.”
He stepped away from her. “There is no ‘we’ until I know I can support a wife.” He knew he sounded angry. In truth, he was desperate.
“Pardon me.” Mrs. Grace stepped into the room. She had heard the entire humiliating confession. “Sit down. There’s something I probably should have told you a long time ago.”
The women sat on the hotel chairs and Grant took the bed. Mrs. Grace spoke again. “Grant, your father never told us that he was having problems. And Edie, there’s something you don’t know. Mr. Oscar loaned us money that helped us save our farm back in ’93. And he said we could pay him whenever we had the money. We were waiting until we’d harvested the last of our crops this year, but—we have the money. He should have asked.”
Edie gaped at her mother, and Grant was sure a similar expression appeared on his face.
When Mrs. Grace mentioned the amount, Grant couldn’t believe it. If his father loaned that much money to other farmers … “The bank may work with us if we can give them that much.”
“As soon as we get back to Spruce Hill, I’ll make sure the money is transferred to your bank. We should have done it months ago. If you win, we want you to use the prize money to start your business.”
“So what do you say, sailor man?” Edie had her hands on his lapel.
“That tomorrow won’t come soon enough.” Grant leaned forward and kissed her briefly. She ran for the dressing room, her cheeks a bright red. His joyous laughter followed her.
Epilogue
The three judges stood on center stage, where music had played and magicians had performed tricks. But tonight’s announcement of the winning business was the final act, the highlight of the fair.
The handsome younger man stood behind the podium, one of the other judges on each side. “We had a difficult time choosing the winning business. Every entry shows the ingenuity and diversity of life in our beautiful state. But we can only award one company fifty dollars.”
He paused while an aide brought in a gigantic check, with the amount of fifty dollars written on it. “Before we announce the final winner, we want to recognize several businesses that came close to winning. You will each receive a blue ribbon and our very best wishes for a successful future.”
“Maple Notch Dairy.” A pair of men who could have been twins came forward to receive the ribbon.
“Beecher Motorcars.” The salesman who had sought to sell them the car yesterday took the blue ribbon.
“And, finally, a company that needs no introduction for everyone who was here for the baking competition, Oscar Farms, which includes both Edith’s Good Eating and Grace Meadow Honey.”
Grant and Edie stepped forward, managing to smile in spite of deep disappointment. And a worry that Grant might never marry her now.
Grant whispered to the judge, who said, “Mr. Oscar would like to say a few words.”
“Yesterday a reporter asked Miss Grace if she expected to take home any other trophies. We are blessed to be recognized with this blue ribbon. But the sweetest, best trophy I could hope for can’t be found in a bank or in a jar of honey. It’s the heart of the most wonderful woman I know, Edith Mae Grace. Edie, will you do me the honor of marrying me?”
She looked up at him, her right hand crumpling the ribbon. “All you had to do was ask.”
He lifted the hand holding on to the ribbon up high in the air, and the audience broke into applause.
Bestselling author Darlene Franklin’s greatest claim to fame is that she writes full-time from a nursing home. She lives in Oklahoma, near her son and his family, and continues her interests in playing the piano and singing, books, good fellowship, and reality TV, in addition to writing. She is an active member of Oklahoma City Christian Fiction Writers, American Christian Fiction Writers, and the Christian Authors Network. She has written over fifty books and more than 250 devotionals. Her historical fiction ranges from the Revolutionary War to World War II, from Texas to Vermont. You can find Darlene online at www.darlenefranklinwrites.com.
Dedication
To my mom’s sister, Marsha Carl.
When I was younger, I used to think you were the coolest aunt in the world. I loved all the crazy clearance sales at Michael’s in Watertown, and appreciate that you let two teenage girls do the gift wrapping—three pieces of tape only! I hope this story does your home city proud. (P.S. You’re still pretty cool.)
A Special Thanks
To Fish at Joe’s in Monroe, Louisiana, for sharing their experiences (good and bad) in starting a new business.
To Angela Breidenbach, Jennifer AlLee, and Susanne Dietze for joining me in the Daily Word Count Challenge. Best fun I ever had finishing a manuscript. The chatting during the breaks: priceless.
To my gluten-free boxer-Lab, Kansas, for protecting me from all the UPS, FedEx, and USPS delivery guys and gals who come to our front door. I feel safe.
“Land speculation was the mania of nineteenth-century America. The way to make money was to buy land cheap (or to get it for nothing) and sell it at a higher price. It was the falls of the Big Sioux River that made this location a prime townsite…. [Railroads] not only distributed goods to the smaller cities and towns of the region, they brought agricultural produce and people to Sioux Falls. By 1920 its population was two and one-half times larger than in 1900.”
—GARY D. OLSON AND ERIK L. OLSON, Sioux Falls, South Dakot
a: A Pictorial History
“I am more than ever pleased with Sioux Falls after seeing it. I confidently believe from what experience teaches me that Sioux Falls is certainly destined to be the Minneapolis and St. Paul of this country, if not its Chicago.”
—A VISITOR FROM MAINE, The Argus Leader, June 15, 1889
“We ford the Sioux, climb a big hill beyond and there lies at a little distance the prettiest of towns, Sioux Falls. We see it through the fading day—too late to visit the ‘Niagara of the Northwest,’ so we stop at a good hotel for the night.”
—MISS CARRIE PEABODY OF DUBUQUE, IOWA, November 7, 1877, upon visiting Sioux Falls
For they that are after the flesh do mind the things of the flesh; but they that are after the Spirit the things of the Spirit.
ROMANS 8:5
Prologue
Germania Hall, 220 West 9th Street, Sioux Falls, South Dakota Saturday afternoon, September 1901
Fifteen-year-old Reba Diehl gripped the back of her father’s sleeve, her heart pounding against her chest as he maneuvered her through the crowded aisle. With her other hand, she gripped the program. She twisted and turned and stood on her tiptoes to get a better view. The brocade silk curtains, wrought-iron decorations, stained glass, plaster carvings (so much to see!), and what she missed because everyone in the noisy theater topped her by a foot or more … well, Father had promised to take her to the balcony once the show was over.
The crowd thinned as they neared their seats. A tall girl, who couldn’t be much older than she was, strolled onto the stage wearing a sparkly turquoise dress and carrying a fiddle. Reba gasped. The girl’s heart-shaped face looked so much like that of famed Gibson Girl Evelyn Nesbit. The piano player and the fiddler started a song that sounded similar to the folk music their Norwegian neighbor Mr. Bergdorf played. People began clearing the aisle to find their seats. Crowd noise lessened. Calls went out for candy and popcorn.
