THE GOOD GIRL

The fair smelled the same every year. Earthy hay, engine grease, and the sweetness of treats dunked in frying oil. This town deep fried everything & sprinkled cinnamon sugar on top.

Winnie's here. Mercy thought before she saw the booth. Twenty-some years she'd been following that smell to the same table, in the same corner of the Calamity Falls fairgrounds. Every year it arrived like something brand new. A gift. Winnie's gift.

The booth was decorated in calico and crepe paper. Blue, to match the ribbon they fully expected to hang there by afternoon. Winnie stood behind the table in a white apron over a blue dress. The dress ALWAYS matched that ribbon.

She watched as Winnie crimped the last of the hand pies with a focus that looked meditative. The pies were small and perfect. They always were.

“Mercy!” Allora's voice beckoned.

She was standing just inside the booth, next to her daughter. Always socializing. She was gracious with every win.

“All her,” she'd say, pressing both hands to her heart. “I just keep the pantry stocked.”

“Hey, Win.” Mercy leaned over the table to squeeze her hand. “How're they looking?”

“Good, I think.” Winnie glanced toward her mother. “Mama says the crust turned out better than last year.”

“The butter temperature,” Allora said. “We finally cracked it.”

We. Mercy smiled. Winnie smiled. The cinnamon moved through the fairground air like it owned the place.

Campbell hadn't been back to Calamity Falls in seven years. He'd gone to the city for work. Good work. Real work, his mother always said, as though Calamity Falls only had pretend jobs.

He'd grown up with Winnie. Or… near Winnie. The distinction became slightly blurry.

“You look exactly the same,” he said.

Winnie laughed. A beat after Allora.

“Campbell Hurst,” Allora said warmly. “Seven years. Where does the time go?”

Mercy watched Campbell try to talk to Winnie. What have you been up to? Mercy watched Winnie answer in the bright, agreeable way she always answered questions. No information, no wants, no details... She was taking classes. Online. She'd been experimenting with savory fillings. She'd tried a farmers market last spring. It went really well and thinking about doing it again.

Thinking about it. Not doing it. Thinking about it.

“Can I try one?” he asked Winnie.

“Oh, they're for the judging,” Allora said.

“Mama, I made extras.” Winnie reached under the table.

A half-beat. The length of a held breath.

“Of course,” Allora said. “Of course you did.”

Judge Berry ran the baked goods category now for the past eleven years. He knew what he liked. A good crust, no soggy bottoms. A filling with love & zest.

Winnie's pies delivered that and then some. The crust shattered just slightly at the bite. Then came the apple filling. Cinnamon and something darker underneath. Cardamom? He could never quite identify it. The warmth of it radiated in his chest like a favorite memory.

He wrote extraordinary in his notes. Always wrote extraordinary. He thought briefly that he should write something more specific. More criticism. Something useful. He didn't. The thought faded.

The ribbon was blue.

The crowd gathered the way it always did. Winnie stood in the center. Campbell stood at the edge of the booth watching Allora smoothe Winnie's hair back. Kiss her temple.

Mercy found herself looking at the ribbon box under the table. Her eyes dropped there and every year she thought, I'll count them this ttime. The impulse faded.

“She's so talented,” the woman beside Mercy said. “You'd think she'd have gone somewhere with it by now. Pastry school or a shop of her own.”

“Mm,” Mercy said.

“Allora must be so proud.”

“She is,” Mercy said. “She really is.”

On the other side of the booth, someone asked Winnie what her secret was. “I've been making these since I was seven,” Winnie said. “Mama taught me.”

She looked across the booth to where Allora stood. Allora was already looking back.

The crowd laughed warmly. Just like every year before.

Mercy ate her hand pie on the walk to her car. It was, as always, extraordinary. The crust shattered just right. The apple was warm & perfectly spiced. Familiar as a lullaby.

She thought, as she always thought, driving home, something. Something important.

The thought dissolved before she reached the first stoplight. It always did. She left it on the fairgrounds where it belonged. The same place she left it every year. In the smell of cinnamon threading out behind her.

In Calamity Falls, Winnie Mays won the blue ribbon with her mama at her side.

Of course she did.

She always would.

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Would you care for one of Winnie's hand pies?

Written for Bradley Ramsey Pandamonium Prompts….