He anchored himself behind a group of perfumed ladies chattering together near the front of the stage. No sense wrestling them to the ground for their prime spot as he stood a good hand taller than them—even with their hats on.
“Let’s welcome our first contestant, Miss Ivy Dewfeather of Cottington Cottage.” The announcer gestured for a plump lady in a purple coat. “If you’d step up here, please, miss.”
Covering her mouth with a gloved hand, the woman giggled her way to the front of the stage.
“Very good, Miss Dewfeather. Now then, speaking loud and clear, tell these good folks about a personal accomplishment or skill you believe sets you apart from the rest of the lovely ladies.” He swept his hand toward the other nine in line. “What makes you a worthy candidate for queen of the bonfire?”
Though there was absolutely nothing to laugh about, she giggled again, then finally pulled her hand from her mouth. “Biscuits.”
Egad. No wonder she kept her hand in front of her mouth. Her teeth stuck out every which way as if trying to decide which direction to run.
“Em ... er...” The announcer fiddled with the curl on his moustache, evidently as baffled as Bram and the whispering crowd around him. “Care to elaborate on that, Miss Dewfeather?”
“Oh! Yes.” Another giggle burst out as she bobbed her head. “Father says I make the best biscuits he’s ever tasted.”
“Ah, that explains it. How about you take a turn for everyone now, miss?”
She minced across the stage, which on a more graceful woman might have been attractive. But as it was, Bram had no time tothink on her poor choice of gait. His gaze fixed on Eva, whose face had paled. How would she ever get a word out, let alone cross the stage without swooning? He gave an obligatory clap as Miss Dewfeather resumed her place in line.
“Next up is Miss Margaret Parkins, but we all know her as Meg the seamstress. Miss Parkins, what sets you apart from these other women?”
A petite woman in an ornately embroidered coat sashayed boldly to the front. “Everyone knows I make the tiniest stitches in all of Royston. None can compare. Why, just last week I—”
The woman continued talking for quite some time before she finally took her turn across the stage. Bram hadn’t the faintest idea of what she’d blathered on about, nor what the next woman said or the next. There was no way he could concentrate while Eva nibbled on the nail of her pinky, curling in on herself more the closer it came to her turn. Now this was the timid girl he remembered, the one he hadn’t seen since he’d arrived in Royston. He’d do anything to help her, but it wasn’t as if he could leap up there and speak for her. She’d be a laughingstock. Blast! It was as if the calendar had been rolled back fourteen years, and he was as powerless now as he had been that time she’d stuttered her way through John 3:16 in front of the whole Sunday school.
God,please giveEva the confidence I cannot.
Men’s voices carried over the top of the crowd, the mention of Eva’s name quickly ending his prayer. “Say, is that Eva Inman next to Peggy Trestle? She’s not been to any festivities for over a year.”
“Kind of wide-mouthed for me, but those hips surely aren’t.”
Laughter followed.
Bram’s hands curled into fists. Just like old times, the urge to protect Eva’s good name pulsed through his veins. He craned his neck to confront the rude fellows, but a well-upholstered brute with jowls like mounds of mashed potatoes had stationedhimself practically at his elbow, making it impossible to look past him.
And that’s when the announcer called, “Our final contestant of the afternoon is Miss Eva Inman of Inman Manor.”
Bram jerked his gaze back to the stage. Eva didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t do anything but stare straight ahead. Miss Channing advanced from the back of the stage, whispering something into her ear, and still Eva stood as stiff as a Roman’s javelin.
Bram’s heart dropped in his chest just as Eva’s head lowered and she swayed slightly. Stars and money! Would she swoon right here in front of all of Royston? He shoved his way through the tangle of women, prepared to leap up on the stage should Eva plummet to the planks.
But then her eyes snapped open. She squared her shoulders and marched up to the announcer as proud as you please.
Bram blinked at the transformation. Gone was the little girl, replaced by the tigress of a woman he admired more with each passing day.
“Now, Miss Inman,” the announcer began, “what is a personal accomplishment or skill you believe sets you apart from the other women here today and makes you a worthy candidate for queen of the bonfire?”
“Nothing.”
Everyone gasped.
Eva merely lifted her nose in the air. “The truth is, I am not remarkable, no more so than any other woman here. We are all created in God’s image, each of us with our own unique giftings. Any one of these women would make a fine winner.” She swept her hand toward the other nine, all in various states of dropped jaws, wide eyes, and even a bout of hysterical giggling from Miss Dewfeather. Whispers began to swirl around the crowd.
“I’ve never heard the like.”
“Did she really just recommend the other ladies over herself?”
“What sort of trickery is this?”
