Liz Marvin - Betty Crawford 03 - Too Long at the Fair (3 page)

4. Chapter 3

Outside of the mayhem of the crowd, the fair was going about its normal bustling business. The pickpockets hadn’t hit every fair attendee, and plenty of money was changing hands.

Betty and Clarise strolled arm in arm through the crowd enjoying the sights and sounds.  There were a few large groups’ re-enactors that had clearly come to the fair together.  Their uniforms made them easy to spot and both women found them fascinating but for different reasons.  Betty thought the whole notion of dressing up was funny beyond words.  Clarise examined their costumes with the critical eye of a stage director.

One group coming towards them was dressed like British soldiers from the Revolutionary War, complete with red coats, white leggings, tall Grenadier caps and antique rifles. 

“Oh my stars and garters.”  Betty exclaimed.  Clarise gave her a quick elbow to the ribs.  “Their uniforms are very authentic.  We could put on a production of Martha Bratton with that crowd.”

“I’ll wait for the movie” Betty retorted, rubbing her ribs.

“You’ll wait a long time, then. Look!”  Clarise pointed.

Clarise favored the group with another look.  “They’re a good lot.  Uniforms are worn and patched and a bit grimy.  Nothing too tailored to fit and their grooming matches the era.  Just look at those shoes and boots!”

Betty looked and saw nothing out of the ordinary.  “And?”

“And they’re made with straight lasts – they’re not made for left or right feet.   Shoes weren’t made for left and right feet until the eighteen fifties.”

“You would make a great detective.”

Clarise laughed “I’ll leave the amateur sleuthing to you.  I have enough trouble with amateur actors.  Especially the professional ones.  Oh Gawd!”
 

Clarise blanched.  Betty followed her gaze to a tight knot of men dressed as Yankee soldiers from the Civil War.  “You don’t see a lot of them around here…”  Her voice trailed off as she pulled Betty toward the men.  “And it’s a good thing too.  Even for Union re-enactors their uniforms are a disgrace.”

“Just wait until you see the Confederates.  I’m sure their costumes are perfect and since not many northerners are crazy enough to play dress up and the rebs have to pretend to fight something well I guess beggars can’t be choosers.”

Clarise just sniffed and turned up her nose. “I don’t know which is worse – you or them!”

“Them!  I’m buying lunch!”

“You’re doing no such thing.  Judges eat free and so, I expect, will their best friends.”

“Not after I tell them I’ve given away half their stocks to a bunch of pick-pocket victims.”

Clarise eyed her friend critically, and then gave her a squeeze.  “Then I’m buying you lunch.  As long as it’s low carb.”

“Betty! Roberta Crawford!   Yoo hoo!  Over here!”  Thelma Green was standing with Marlee May Johnson at the entrance to the pie eating contest booth.  How did Marlee May get here before they did?  The question puzzled and exasperated Betty.

Sighing, Betty allowed Clarise to lead her over to the two older women.  Thelma was sporting her best wicked witch smile.  “The fair has a tradition for one of the judges to enter the pie eating contest and of course we chose you for the honor.”

“I don’t think that is a good idea.” Clarise blurted which granted Marlee May permission to butt in.  “Oh nonsense.  It’s just a formality, really.  She can take a few bites, stir the pie a bit and lose graciously.  No one expects a judge to win, after all.”  Both women laughed.  A warning glance from Betty was enough to get Clarise to hold her tongue.

Betty smiled.  “Fine.  Thank you. Happy to oblige.”

The two women each took an arm and led Betty away.  “I’ll catch up with you at the cooking competition tent!” Betty called over her shoulder to her friend. “And don’t worry I’ll save room for lunch!” 

“I knew that!” Clarise called back with all the bravado she could muster “I’m still buying!”

But she was worried.   Betty had worked hard to get her diabetes under control but lately she had been slipping up; eating irregularly, following her diet for three days then binging on unhealthy food for two.  This fair could prove her undoing if she wasn’t careful.

5. Chapter 4

With Betty dragooned into competing in a, of all things, pie eating contest Clarise found herself left to her own devices.  As she wandered alone through the ever increasing crowd she pondered her choices.  She wanted to go see Wes but he was working with Bill to crack what appeared to be a pickpocket ring working the fair.  She would only be a distraction for him and he would have no time for her. 

She had no interest in wandering the grounds watching the other fair-goers without Betty and she had even less interest in wandering through the booths and competition displays. Honestly which heifer calf won the blue ribbon was of no concern.

The midway rides and games of skill and chance were next to the bottom of her list, right above sitting with the gossiping grannies.  The livestock pens were beginning to look more and more appealing.

Then she spied them.  The North Carolina Confederate Civil War re-enactors.  They were dressed in Confederate gray and carried what appeared to be a replica North Carolina battle flag but she couldn’t identify the regiment.  She stopped and studied their costumes with a director’s critical eye.  She had long wanted to produce a play about the Civil War at the Lofton Theater where she was manager, curator, acting coach and director or as she referred to herself, chief cook and bottle washer.

The costumes were authentic looking enough and certainly better than their Union counterparts.  They all had the look of goods ordered from approved re-enactor vendors but they were just too… neat.  Too neat and too clean.  And they all were tailor fitted and looked too much alike.  If – and she had to admit it was a bit “if”; if she were to put on a play about the Civil War in North Carolina that was not the impression she wanted to convey about the south or southerners then or now.

Certainly there were still racists in the south but Clarise had grown up in the “north”.  A small town on Long Island, New York.  That seemed like ages ago.  In truth her childhood had been Idyllic and her love of small towns came from there but she also knew racism wasn’t a fault found only in the southern states. 

Furthermore, she knew more people like Betty and her darling Wes in Lofton than she had ever met on the whole of Long Island.  She found “southerners” were similar in their manners, dialect, distrust of authority and a live-and-let-live attitude towards everyone outside their family but if she had to ascribe three qualities to a typical southerner she would say that each was unique as a snowflake, gaudy as a peacock and stubborn as a mule.  The thought made her laugh out loud which caught the attention of the Confederate re-enactors.

The group huddled up like a gang of school kids then fell into a very strict and formal marching formation and headed right for Clarise. Amused, she put her hands on her hips, smiled and waited.

The troop surrounded her in a tight circle with a portly middle aged man with bushy sideburns and a captain’s uniform facing her.  “Ma’am we’ll have to see your papers.”

“My papers?  Why dear me I must have misplaced them.”  Clarise was far from intimidated and for the sake of the fair was willing to play along.

“To what plantation do you belong?”

Up to a point.  Rather than taking offense she continued the charade.

“Sir I am a free woman and I expect and demand to be treated as such.”

“Well now with all due respect how do we know that?  Ma’am.”

Some of the other re-enactors chimed in. “She’s a runaway!”  “Mebbe a Yankee spy!” “I reckon she’s that thar Harriet Tubman lady!”

That was enough.

Clarise’s smile vanished. Her hands on her hips turned to fists.  She planted her nose about six inches from the “captain’s” and let loose.

“This is a fair and I’m willing let you have your fun and I’ll even play along but you farbs don’t know any more about civil war reenacting than a prize heifer calf and you’re a damned sight less intelligent!”

Her outburst drew a larger crowd.  She gestured to all the men surrounding her “You’re wearing fitted Billy Tart authentic wool uniforms dry cleaned for the occasion and don’t deny it I can see at least two dry cleaning tags and you captain are carrying an eighteen ninety three railroad pocket watch in your fine none standard issue silk vest which is amazing since if my memory serves the civil war ended in eighteen sixty five!”

The captain pulled his watch chain free and stuffed it in his pocket.

“And no soldier on either side no matter how addle brained would carry a watch or gold chain into battle.  Now if you’d had a Waltham American model fifty seven on a leather strap I might understand but then again your command is wearing Confederate States shell jackets when everybody and their mother knows North Carolinians wore Richmond Depot type two shell jackets and none of them wore polished Brogans with clean socks!”

The captain was properly chagrined but one of his troupe took it upon himself to try and regain the upper hand “Jest show us your papers of manumission and we’ll be on our way.”

She whirled on the unfortunate upstart, looked him up and down and planted her nose six inches from his.  “Manumission says you?  That’s a mighty big word for a farm boy turned buck private.  Where did you learn that?”

He straightened up at attention and held her gaze. “I read it in a book.”

Clarise laughed harshly.  “Not one in a hundred Confederate soldiers could read their own name and those that could were officers!  Now let’s examine your so-called armaments.”

But before she could start a half dozen Union re-enactors showed which only added to the confusion.

“Unhand that free woman of color you scalawag!”

Clarise faced her “saviors” with the same scorn and contempt she’d heaped on the Confederate re-enactors.  “You polyester clad buffoon! Negro is the polite term Yankees used and scalawag is a term for southern whites who supported the Republican Party and post-Civil War reconstruction.  I am surrounded by blue and gray idiots!”

“None of that now just come along quietly.”  The captain took her arm just above the elbow.  He had a soft grip and she shook free.  Not so from the Yankee re-enactor who grabbed both her arms.  “Leave off she’s coming with us!”

A tug of war ensued but fortunately neither side seemed that intent on dislodging her arms from their sockets.  Never one to panic, Clarise assessed the situation as calmly and dispassionately as possible.  The number of people had stopped to watch continued to grow. Many in the crowd were laughing and snapping photographs. 

“They must think this is all an act!”  She thought and realized she had to do something but she didn’t want to start a panic or a riot.  To one side she saw a flash of a khaki shirt and hat.

“Wes!  Help!” she called and then she couldn’t see him! “Wes!  Wesley Bundy!”

“All right break it up! Let her go now!”

He had heard her and come running.  Hands fell away and the group fell back.  Half the Union re-enactors ran away, sprinting off in all directions.  Before they too could retreat Wes had grabbed the arms of both the Confederate captain and Union … who could know what he was supposed to be. A sergeant, perhaps?   None of the men appeared happy but Wes looked downright angry.

“All right, boys, explain to me what is going on and why you two and the rest of your playmates should not spend the next three days in jail and be polite because I am the only man here wearing a uniform that still counts.  Do I make myself clear?”

The captain straightened up and regained some composure. “We were invited here by the fair committee.  We were just adding some authenticity to our performance.”

“To behave like racist idiots and assault people?”  Clarise asked as sweetly as her mood allowed.

The captain examined his shoes carefully.  “We meant no harm.  We’re just trying to behave in character so to speak.  It’s all in good fun.”

The union soldier chimed in “What next?  You gonna dress up in white robes and pointy hats and claim that’s all in good fun to?”

Wes gave him a hard shake.  “Shut up.  I’ll get to you in a minute.”

Clarise stepped in. “If you want to play dress up and pretend to be civil war soldiers that’s your business but don’t drag me into it.  Besides your uniforms being all wrong and your language being off base your behavior is not only inexcusable today it doesn’t reflect the attitude a southern soldier would have taken during the Civil War.  A black person walking openly through a crowd would have been ignored. Period.  Because hassling them would have incurred the wrath of the owner who would certainly have been wealthier and more powerful than any of you miscreants and you would know that.”

The captain had the good sense to look shame faced but regained his composure quickly.  “See here now what makes you -”

Wes cut the captain off with another good hard shake and enlightened him.  “Clarise Birdsong is the director of the Lofton Theater and if she says your costume is wrong and your performance is off then your costume is wrong and your performance is off.  Do both of you understand?”

Both men nodded dumbly.  “Then I suggest you confine yourselves to barracks-”

“Bivouacs” The Captain corrected, coughing slightly. “Bivouacs are an improvised camp site created for short durations. Sir.”

Wes looked at the man incredulously but Clarise gave a faint smile and a nod and so he continued.  “Fine. Stay in your bivouacs while in costume for the remainder of the fair and if any of you so much as speak to someone before they speak to you while in these get-ups you will regret it.  Understood?”

The gathered men agreed and Wes let the two men go.  To a man each of the Confederate and even a few of the Union re-enactors apologized to Clarise before retreating.  Three of the Confederates offered her their headshots with theatrical resumes printed on the back which she graciously accepted.

Once they were gone and the crowd dispersed she slipped her arm through Wesley’s and strolled toward the cooking competition tent.  She would have an adventure story to tell Betty when she caught up with her but she wanted to reward Wes first.  She pulled him between two tents for a modicum of privacy and kissed him.  He kissed her back with just as much fervor.  Both were grinning like school kids when they came up for air.

“That was the most excitement I’ve had since – since the first time I kissed you.”

Clarise snuggled up to Wes “We’ll have to do that again.”

“But without the costumed crowd.”

They laughed and hugged.  Clarise held him back at arm’s length just to enjoy looking at him.  Wes didn’t mind; he enjoyed looking at her equally as much. “Can I buy an officer of the law a thank-you cup of coffee?”

“As long as it’s not a bribe.”

“We’ll see,” she smiled and reached for the money in her back pocket only to discover twenty dollars missing!

~

Betty found herself seated between two large men in blue jean bib overalls.  At the far end of the table to her right a slender teen-age boy bounced on his seat in anticipation.  On the left a middle aged businessman pushed his glasses up on his nose and looked about self-consciously.

The contest was held in front of the reviewing stand, empty of course.  Beyond the stand lay the field.  The field was used for every public presentation at the fair.  Years ago it had been the site of every sort of competition, even a boxing match.  Now ribbons and trophies were awarded to the oversized animals that were paraded around the field.  Betty found that thought very disquieting. 

In her youth the Lofton High girls’ softball team had practiced there when the boys needed the diamond at school (which, of course, was all the time).  She had loved that field and knew every divot, mound and rut in the outfield.  Between then and now she had grown older, stopped playing sports, gained weight and generally forgotten what a joy movement had once been. 

Back then she had coveted a position on that reviewing stand.  She had dreamed of being a judge and standing before a cheering crowd of neighbors, friends and family looking distinguished and serene, prepared to hand out awards and accolades and in so doing, receiving the same.