The morning moved. More customers, more sales. By 10, she had sold everything and had nothing left to do but wait. And waiting was the hard part. Because waiting left too much room for thinking, and thinking was not where she wanted to be right now.
She was folding her selling cloth when Emily found her. Emily came alone, which meant Nathan was somewhere close, but had exercised some restraint in allowing his 10-year-old to range briefly unsupervised. or possibly that Emily had simply moved faster than his restraint could keep up with. She appeared at Margaret's elbow with her braid coming loose again and her eyes very bright and said without preamble, "I used cold butter." Margaret looked at her for the children's contest. I submitted it this morning, "The edges were right this time."
Emily said this with the satisfaction of someone who had solved a genuine problem through application of correct information. Papa said it looked professional. That's a good word for a pie crust, Margaret said. He said I should tell you it worked. Emily paused.
He was going to come tell you himself, but Rose needed something and I was faster anyway. Another pause and then more carefully. Are you nervous about the competition? Margaret considered the honest answer. Yes, she said.
Emily nodded seriously. Papa says nervous just means you care about something. He says that's not a bad sign. Margaret looked at this child for a moment, 10 years old, with her father's eyes and her own entirely separate relationship to the world, coming to tell a woman she barely knew that her pie crust had worked out because someone in her house had understood that the information mattered. "Your father is a wise man," Margaret said.
He's pretty smart, Emily agreed with the measured generosity of a child who loved someone without needing to make them legendary about it. Are you selling more pies later or just waiting for the judging? Just waiting now, Margaret said. Everything sold, Emily brightened. Then you should come watch the children's results.
They do those first before the main judging. She said it like an invitation that was also simply a reasonable plan. And then she was already moving in the direction of the children's tent. And Margaret looked at her folded cloth and her empty table. In the morning she still had several hours of and she followed.
The children's competition results were announced in a small ceremony near the east side of the main tent with a judge named Mr. Aberthy who had flour in his mustache and took the business of 10-year-old's pie crusts with complete seriousness. There were 12 entries. He moved through the results with great formality, starting from third place and working up. And Margaret stood at the edge of the gathered families and felt with a clarity that surprised her that she cared quite a lot about how this went. Third place went to a boy named Thomas with a pumpkin tart.