He punched the air. “Calf-raising is for boys and Leonard’s going to beat the pants off Madeline.”
“Says who?” I asked, which was a silly thing to ask since nothing could be plainer.
He threw out his chest. “Says me!”
I held tight onto Madeline’s ragged old bridle. “Well, I don’t hear me nobody talking. Don’t hear me nothing except a big bag of wind.”
Philip stuck out his tongue as he gave Leonard’s bridle such a let‘s-get-out-of-here jerk that I was pleasantly surprised to find that poor calf’s head somehow managed to stay attached to his body.
At ten o‘clock all the exhibits from the dairy animals to the flowers, foods, and crafts were ready and so Mr. Paulsen went on out to the front gate and told the crowd to “Come on in!” Around about noontime the entire fair grounds was packed with what looked like every living soul in Randolph County. And some of my favorite Randolph County souls, the Pretty Pennies, came by our stall to wish us luck and to remind us how important it is to “beat Phil and Leonard.”
I noticed that the Tiger Hunters went by Leonard’s stall and it wouldn’t be too hard for a smart girl like me to guess what those Tiger Hunters were advising.
“Well, they’re not going to beat us,” I said as I held Madeline’s tail lengthwise to brush it with the now half-bald brush. “ ‘Cause I don’t aim to let them.”
Mr. Paulsen walked through the long barn calling, “The judging is about to commence.”
I gave Madeline one last brush across her backside before unwrapping the secret weapon. A package of peppermint Lifesavers. A sweet breath can’t hurt none. Right away she took it and right away she spit it out, but not before it freshened up her mouth a mite.
The line began moving. I counted seven boys and me. And wouldn’t you know who was out there leading the parade? Out there wearing his new leather harness and holding his head high as any clothesline. Funny, but I ain’t liking Leonard any better than I’m liking Philip Hall.
All of us exhibitors walked backward so we could face our animals, seeing to it that they kept their heads high and mighty, leastways while the judge is a-looking. Once around the ring as bits and pieces of applause broke out from the spectators. Judge Paulsen motions for us all to go around again while he stays center-ring and watches. Once more he motions for us all to round-the-rosie, and this time the clapping is louder and longer. I thought about how a piece of that clapping had to belong to me, and I felt proud.
I looked away from Madeline to see if Ma, Pa, Luther, and Anne could be quickly spotted in the crowd. Wanted to see if they—like me—were wearing pride’s faces.
Only one I saw was my sister with Jason Savage on her right and Herbie Ferrell on her left. I yelled out, “How-dy.”
And then I heard Luther’s voice shouting over all the other ringside voices, “Watch her!” Right away I saw the problem. Madeline had dropped her head for a few juicy between-meals blades of grass.
I jerked her up by the rope halter. “Miserable Madeline! Ain’t no manners worse than eating while a judge is a-judging.” Luck may still be riding with us, though, ‘cause Judge Paulsen, back against us, is checking on the cleanliness of some animal’s hooves. Under my breath I thanked the Lord for giving me this new chance.
I looked into the eyes of my beautiful calf and made this sucking-in sound with my mouth. The sound that Madeline understands as friendly. “You ain’t one bit miserable,” I told her. “And I is sorry that I blamed you, sweet girl, for what was only animal nature.”
The judge slapped one calf across the rump and pointed with his thumb toward the open stalls. The calf’s boy looked hurt beyond belief, as he led his animal from the ring. Then the judge passed by Leonard to give the following calf the old rump slap and the hitchhiker’s thumb. The very next one, poor thing, came in for the same treatment.
When Madeline came before the judge’s eyes, I breathed in and kept my mind and eyes on her, praying that the judge was going to let us pass on by. The judge’s head made a very definite nod which I took to mean that Madeline was still in the contest.
After more walks around the ring a Guernsey and one Jersey, but not my Jersey, were sent from the ring. Who was left? A cherry-red-and-white Ayrshire, Leonard, and Madeline.
Mr. Paulsen was studying the Ayrshire, pressing his hands against the ribs, feeling its udder and then its chest. Suddenly he shook his head no and pointed the direction toward the barn. Farewell fancy Ayrshire!
As Philip led his animal around the opposite turn, he gave me one of his squinty looks that I read good as print. It said: Now there is only you and me, but soon it’s going to be only me.
I didn’t squint him back any special look because just now I had better things to do. I made the whistle-through-my-teeth sound and Madeline’s head rose, ever so slightly, as though searching for the wind. I did it again. That’s it. Keep your head up there, girl. Makes you look like the sweet-breath winner that you is.
For the second time Leonard and then Madeline was carefully examined. Through the corner of my eye I saw Judge Paulsen’s hand go to his chin as though thought was deep upon him. For a while he stared at Leonard and then he stared at Madeline, and all the while I kept the wind whistling so softly that it only existed for Madeline.
The judge motioned Philip and me to bring our calves to the center ring. “Ladies and gentlemen... ladies and gentlemen. We have a winner.” I struck my chest so as my heart wouldn’t stop beating. “The blue ribbon for dairy-calf-fitting goes to the exhibitor who has best taken care of and shown to best advantage their calf. It is now my very great honor to present the blue ribbon and five dollars to Miss Elizabeth Lorraine Lambert for her three-month-old calf, Madeline.”
Applause and it was all mine. Then the voices of my friends began chanting, “GO, PRET-TY PEN-NY ... GO, PRET-TY PEN-NY, GO!” And over there Ma and Pa clapping hard enough to raise the thunder. Even Baby Benjamin waved a hand in my direction and I knew that if he could, he’d be calling my name.
Judge Paulsen raised his arms above his head for quiet and that’s exactly what he got. He announced Philip as second-place winner for a red ribbon and three dollars, but there wasn’t all that much clapping, and even the Tiger Hunters who gave out with a “Phil and Leonard” chant didn’t seem to throw their whole hearts into it. Philip was looking down, not from modesty, but from shame. Was he thinking that he had let down the whole world—or just the Tiger Hunters at the very least?
Folks flooded into the show ring. Ma was the first one to reach me, not really hugging me but holding me at a distance as though to get a better look at what a blue-ribbon exhibitor really looks like. “Never knowed where you got all your smartness from, Little Beth, but I couldn’t hardly be no prouder than I am right now.”
“Awww, Mama,” I said, dropping my head to her shoulder so that she couldn’t see the tear or two that had begun irritating my eyes. I had made her happy. I had done just what I had set out to do. So why was I fretting?
She pulled me away from her and took another long look before saying, “Phil ain’t gonna be mad forever.”
“You don’t think so?” I asked, already beginning to believe.
“I don’t go strutting around saying things I don’t believe,” she said. “Besides, it being you, you couldn’t hardly do nothing but what you did do—your best.”
“Howdy, Miss Beth!” called Pa, grabbing me by the waist and giving me a free swing about.
When Fancy Annie came up holding Baby Benjamin, I took him in my arms and he showed his thanks by drooling a kiss down my cheek, which is a lot pleasanter than one of his sour-milk burps down my shoulder.
The next thing I noticed was my friends dropping to one knee as they formed a circle around me, my family, and Madeline. “Together now,” called out Bonnie. “Go, Pret-ty Pen-ny... Go, Pret-ty Pen-ny... Go, Pret-ty Pen-ny. GO! GO! GO!” Then they all jumped to their feet shouting, “Hooray Beth! Hoo-ray Lambert! Hoo-ray Beth Lambert! HOO-RAY!!!”
>
Later all us Pretty Pennies walked about the fair grounds while encouraging Ginny to believe that her canned carrots looked every bit as good as anybody else’s and that with a bit of luck she might win a blue ribbon too.
When folks saw me, they smiled, nodded, and offered up their congratulations. It was nice being all that special; still ... there was one person whose face I kept searching for, whose smile I kept hoping for. Would it hurt him to be nice? For once in his life? Well, just don’t go thinking I care!
The very next contest was the sewing, and all us girls had every finger and limb crossed for Bonnie’s gabardine dress with the Peter Pan collar. But a girl from Mountain Village whose dress wasn’t a bit prettier than Bonnie’s won the blue ribbon and if that wasn’t bad enough, another girl from the very same town came in second for a red ribbon. After that came the honorable mentions, but poor Bonnie went unhonored and unmentioned.
But a few minutes later, when we all ordered hot dogs and Nehi’s from the lunch wagon, Bonnie ate good enough to make me think that if she was taking defeat to heart, she stopped short at taking it to stomach.
At one o‘clock the canning contest began and when the woman judge began examining the glass jars, Ginny became as nervous as a cow fixing to calve. I grabbed ahold of my friend’s arms and gave them a shaking. “Quiet yourself down. Ain’t no end of no world a-coming.”
But when Ginny’s glass jar of canned carrots was passed over without ribbons or mentions, she became strangely relaxed. “I tried to push in too many carrots. Next year they ain’t going to be squeezed.”
The two o‘clock event was the tractor maintenance contest, and the crowd moved over to the area where there were six tractors each with the very same secret ailment and six boys with identical sets of tools. At the whistle they all began searching for the fault. Six minutes later Gordon Jennings was the first to replace a missing spark plug and win the contest while the entire Pocahontas 4-H Club chanted his praises.
When I saw Philip Hall, I tried to ease across the crowd to where he was, but when I got to where he was, he wasn’t. Don’t go thinking I care!
At the start of evening the lights strung about the grounds flashed on. A huge flatbed of a truck decorated to look like a stage wore a long banner sign: WELCOME SKINNY BAKER, KING OF THE SQUARE-DANCE CALLERS.
I reminded the girls what nobody on the whole fair grounds needed to be reminded of. “Square dancing oughta be starting up soon.” As we wandered off to the side to “pretty ourselves up,” Bonnie told us a secret. Gordon was going to be her partner. Then Ginny, Susan, and Esther admitted that they had been keeping the same secret, only with different partners.
Fact is, there was only one Pretty Penny who didn’t have a secret to tell ‘cause not even a blue-ribbon winner can swing a partner she hasn’t got.
When Skinny Baker struck up his do-si-do band, the girls jumped to their feet as though scared silly that they might miss a single square-dancing step. As they ran off toward the lights and the music, I sat in the darkness and wondered, what now?
For a while I watched the stars and waited for them to arrange themselves into a pattern spelling out in capital starlit letters exactly what I should or shouldn’t do. I thanked God in advance for all the trouble he was about to go through on my account, and I told him that there wasn’t any real rush. “You can take your time, Lord. Five, even ten minutes would be fine with me.”
I lay back across the grass and closed my eyes (peeking is cheating) and waited for the miracle of the stars to happen. It wouldn’t even be a problem knowing when the ten minutes are up because I remember Ma sometimes times her eggs by songs played over the radio. Each song is three minutes’ worth.
So when Skinny Baker finished up his third song and got a ways into the fourth, I called out, “Here I come, God, ready or not!” I opened my eyes and searched the sky for the starry message that would be waiting there. East, west, north, south. It wasn’t there. Nowhere.
I spoke in the direction of the star that looked the biggest and bossiest. “Reckon I don’t rightly know, Lord, where you got this reputation for answering prayers.”
I stood up, brushing the grass off my clothes as I spoke again. “Well, iffen you’re not going to spell out what I ought to do, then I’m going to have to use my God-given brains to do what I think I oughta.”
I came out of the darkness toward the lights and the music and looked among the faces for his face. The jerk. I hope I never see him again.
Over there dancing up a storm was my ma and pa. I didn’t know they could still do that. And would you look at Fancy Annie and Jason Savage? Don’t take no telling to tell they is sweet on each other. All the Pretty Pennies were being swung about by some Tiger Hunter. It seemed as though the whole world was dancing, with the exception of one Pretty Penny and one Tiger Hunter who was nowhere to be seen.
Well, if he wasn’t out dancing down the grass, then maybe he was one of the watchers who lined the field. I circled, looking everybody over from the backside. I saw a lot of backsides, only not his.
With everybody paired as though waiting to enter the ark, being separate was noticeable. “Well, Madeline,” I said, heading back toward the barn, “now that you is the champ, reckon you have time to listen to my troubles?”
Almost as soon as my foot struck the barn floor, I saw her fawn-colored head rise above her slatted stall. “You’re looking good enough,” I told her, “to pose for one of those advertisements about them ‘contented cows.’ ”
I put my arms around her neck and spoke directly into her spoon-shaped ear, “I like winning the blue ribbon, sure do, but I don’t like losing my best friend.” Madeline made a sound which I took to be friendly sympathy, so I went on. “Why should he fault me ‘cause I do things better than other folks? I’ve always been that way—you can ask my ma.”
As soon as I said that, the thought struck me that it ain’t likely that Madeline will ever ask that or any other question. But I just went on talking hurriedly so she wouldn’t take no notice of my mistake. “And so, Madeline,” I told her, “I know I wouldn’t be carrying on so if he had won the blue ribbon and I had only won the red one. I wouldn’t be one bit mad—and that’s the truth!”
Suddenly there was a lot of hoofing around a couple of stalls down. I looked up in time to see the face of Philip Hall rise above Leonard’s slatted gate. Reckon I was too surprised to do anything, excepting stare. He wasn’t smiling, speaking, or looking in any way pleasant, but then he wasn’t exactly looking altogether unpleasant either. Then he said something. It was “Hi.”
I answered with a “Hi” of my own. And neither of us seemed to be able to go on from there. Philip was looking down inspecting the floor while I was looking up counting the beams. It felt as though talking was something that neither of us had yet learned to do.
Suddenly I couldn’t take another moment like the last one. “Sorry!” I heard myself saying. “I should’ve let you win.”
Philip fastened his hands to his hips. “And you think that’s what I want!” He was doing more telling than asking. “Think I’m some baby other folks have to let win?”
“No, Philip. I only thought—”
“Truth is,” he continued, “all you been doing lately is winning, and that ain’t hard to live with. Hard thing is losing.”
“Reckon so,” I said.
“No, you done forgotten about losing,” he said, “ ‘cause if you’d remembered you’d know full well that it takes getting used to.”
“And are you getting used to it?” I asked. “I mean, a little?”
Philip nodded his head. “I ain’t no baby.”
“Reckon I know that,” I told him, “ ‘cause I can see you growing.” When I saw on his face the makings of a smile, I said, “Come on, we still have time to enter the square-dancing contest.”
He stopped short. “I’m not about to enter no more contests with you, leastways not today.”
“You don’t understand, Philip.
This contest is for partners. Win together or lose together.”
“Sometimes I reckon I likes you, Beth Lambert,” he said as we touched hands and together ran toward the lights, the music, and the microphone-amplified voice of Skinny Baker.
Bette Greene grew up in a small Arkansas town and in Memphis, Tennessee. Her first novel, Summer of My German Soldier, won unanimous critical acclaim. She is also the author of Get On Out of Here, Philip Hall, the sequel to Philip Hall Likes Me. I Reckon Maybe. Bette Greene lives in Brook-line, Massachusetts.
Bette Greene, Philip Hall Likes Me, I Reckon Maybe
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