very back, where a picnic blanket and a few seats were arranged in the shade. Jude ignored the mismatched collection of lawn chairs and flopped down onto the blanket with a handful of caramel corn. Within minutes, he was asleep.
Grandpa ambled over and chuckled at the site. “Looks like you did a good job of wearing him out,” he said. He tapped the cooler with the end of his paddle. “Get something to drink and rest a bit. Your mother and grandmother should be back soon, and you can all go to the exhibition hall together.”
Prissie’s heart skipped a beat then raced ahead. She’d nearly forgotten the upcoming judgment, possibly because she’d spent most of the day trying not to think about it. The results of the pie baking contest would be announced at four o’clock.
A little while later, Grandma Nell and Auntie Lou came into view. They had their heads together and were talking a mile a minute. Just behind them came Pearl, pushing Amberly in a stroller. Her husband Derrick manfully toted the oversized boxes they used to transfer the caramel apples from the bakery. Uncle Lou brought up the rear, hands in the pockets of striped shorts that left his knobby knees exposed. His straw hat, dark sunglasses, and camera made him look like a tourist in his own town.
For several confusing minutes, everyone was talking at once, but eventually, a small group split from the rest, moving purposefully toward the exhibition hall — Grandma Nell, Momma, Pearl, Prissie, and both Lou’s.
With a wistful expression, Koji asked, “Should we go along to offer our support?”
“Nothing doing!” Neil replied. “That’s girl stuff.”
Koji considered this for a moment, then pointed out, “Both your father and Ransom bake.”
“Well sure,” the teen replied with a shrug. “But that’s business. This is competition!”
As Prissie and the other ladies disappeared around a corner, Koji tried one last angle. “You like pie, though.”
“You bet, but I like pie on my plate. Looking at pies I’m not allowed to taste is just asking for trouble.”
The young angel studied Neil closely for several moments before declaring, “Turning away from temptation is very wise.”
Prissie’s older brother grinned and said, “You’re not the first person to notice I’m a wise guy.”
“Nor the last,” Grandpa Pete snorted. Dropping a hand onto Koji’s shoulder the old man said, “In my experience, this is best. Let Prissie share her news in her own way when she gets back. I’m prepared for any eventuality.”
Koji gazed at him expectantly.
Crossing to the stack of boxes that held all their supplies, Prissie’s grandfather fished out a box of glaze and showed it to the boy. “If she wins, we celebrate with pink popcorn. If she doesn’t, we cheer her up with pink popcorn.”
“This, too, seems wise!” Koji said in delight.
Grandpa gruffly replied, “Like they say, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
The fairgrounds boasted two large halls. One was given over to merchants who sold everything from knives to woodburning stoves, however, the second hall was home to all of the arts and crafts competitions, including the cooking contests. It was a great place to get out of the August heat and look at all kinds of interesting things—jars of jams and jellies, knitted afghans, colorful quilts, paintings, lace doilies, pottery, woodcarving, and photography.
Grandma Nell was of the opinion that hovering around the judges while they did their tasting soured the flavors of the pies they were sampling. It was her custom to deliver her entries, then leave well enough alone. Because of this, Prissie hadn’t seen any of the other entries yet. Together, they walked up and down the rows of long tables, sizing up the competition. Grandma Nell and Auntie Lou were old pros, so they recognized the names of their usual rivals and exclaimed over the most promising newcomers to the contest circuit.
“Where’s your entry?” Aunt Pearl asked in a low voice.
“The junior class entries are over on the far table,” Prissie replied, pointing.
“Let’s go check it out!”
Taking a deep breath, Prissie slowly followed Pearl along the lineup. There were more than she’d expected. Lemon cheesecake pie, blueberry crumble pie, raspberry mousse pie, crème brulee pie — each sounded more sophisticated than the last. “These are pretty fancy,” she remarked, feeling foolish. Next to all these other adventurous recipes, her apple pie must have looked awfully plain. When they finally made it to her entry, she was actually surprised there were pieces missing. “At least the judges tried it.”
“Let’s get a