They worked side by side, each treat and trinket positioned with care, inviting curious glances from early shoppers. Erna’s cheeks flushed with pride, and Joel couldn’t help but share in her infectious enthusiasm.
As people began to meander over, drawn by the allure of fresh pastries and unique crafts, Erna leaned close to Joel. “This is it,” she whispered, a twinkle of anticipation in her eyes.
“Yep,” he whispered back, his hand finding hers for a brief, comforting squeeze. “We’re ready.”
Erna smiled at the cluster of customers gathered around their booth. “Y’all have to try my pecan pie cookies,” she said, her voice as warm as the oven that had baked them. “They’ve got a bit of the ranch in every bite.”
“Is that so?” one matronly woman asked, her eyes twinkling with interest as she accepted a sample.
“Sure is,” Erna replied, her hands deftly arranging the pastries on a platter. “Pecans picked right from our trees. And this here’s Missy,” she continued, lifting a doll dressed in a tiny apron. “Each one’s got its own name and story, and comes with two dresses and a nightgown.”
“That’s precious,” another customer chimed in, her fingers brushing against the doll’s yarn hair.
Joel, standing sentinel by the cash box, couldn’t help but let a small smile grace his lips at the sight. He took the money handed to him, offering back change with a nod. “Appreciate it,” he said, his voice firm but friendly.
Their stall became a hub of laughter and chatter. Joel’s efficient management kept the line moving, while Erna’s anecdotes about her creations wove a spell over the crowd.
“Never knew you could tell tales as well as bake,” an elderly gent commented, a chuckle escaping his weathered lips as he pointed to a craft.
“Got lots of practice telling stories to the dog while baking,” Erna confessed with a playful tilt of her head.
The community buzzed around them like bees to a hive, each person drawn to the honest charm of home-cooked treats and hand-sewn crafts. The air was thick with the scent of sugar and fabric, the sounds of commerce and companionship intermingling under the unforgiving sun.
“Seems like they can’t get enough of your pies and dolls,” Joel observed during a rare lull, his gaze sweeping over the dwindling stacks of goods.
“Or your handy work,” Erna countered, her eyes alight with gratitude. “Couldn’t have done it without your help, Joel.”
“Likewise,” he said.
Erna smiled as another satisfied customer walked away, biting into a slice of apple pie that was just this morning a part of the rolling hills of golden dough in her kitchen. Joel, his hands adept at collecting coins and making change, nodded in approval at their coordinated dance of labor.
“Need more cinnamon twists out here,” Erna called over her shoulder, already turning back to the boxes they’d brought packed with treats.
“Got it,” Joel replied, stacking coins with a rhythmic clink. He reached into the wagon, his sturdy arms pulling out the requested pastries with ease.
“Here you go—fresh from the oven,” she said with a smile, handing a twist to a little girl whose eyes sparkled at the sight of the sugared treat.
“Thank you kindly, ma’am!” the child beamed, skipping away.
“Keep them coming,” Joel encouraged, watching the line of customers ebb and flow like the nearby river.
“Can’t believe how fast they’re selling,” Erna marveled, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Feels like Christmas came early.”
“Your baking’s better than any holiday,” he said, earning a blush and a laugh from Erna.
As shadows lengthened and the sun dipped low, signaling the day’s end, the crowd thinned out. Erna and Joel sat side by side on the tailgate of their wagon, counting the day’s earnings. Coins shone like bits of hope in Joel’s calloused palms.
“Look at this, Erna,” he said, voice tinged with disbelief. “This is more than I make in a month.”
Her fingers, still dusted with flour, danced over the bills and coins, tallying up totals that exceeded even her most optimistic estimations. “It’s enough, Joel. It’s enough to keep the bank at bay,” she whispered.
Joel met her gaze, the sharpness in his eyes now softened by the amber glow of twilight. “All thanks to you, your baking, and those crafts of yours,” he said, his voice steady and sure.
“Couldn’t have done it without you,” she returned, her hand finding his. Their fingers intertwined, a tangible sign of their unity. “We make quite the team, don’t we?”
“More than quite,” he agreed, a half-smile playing on his lips.
ERNA FOLDED THE LASTof the unsold linens, her hands moving with practiced ease. Beside her, Joel carefully placed the remaining dolls into a wooden crate, his movements deliberate and gentle.
