A Year on Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [47]
“Oh. Well, yes, of course we’ll come. Thank you.” She felt compelled to add, “I’m sure it will be wonderful, even without fireworks.”
She wanted to ask him about wiring the house for a heat pump, but he started the engine of the tractor and puttered down the driveway without another word.
All things considered, it was probably just as well.
10
In Which the Ladies Find Religion
“What do you suppose a pig-picking is?” Bridget asked
Lindsay tossed her a look of mock disdain. “Where are you from, anyway? The big city? Everyone knows a pig-picking is where they turn a little pig loose in a maze and a bunch of boys try to catch it.”
“I think that’s a greased pig chase,” Cici said.
“Well, it’s something like that.”
Cici pulled into one of the few remaining parking places on Main Street, half a block away from the Dollar Store. “Remember,” she cautioned, “we can’t stay long. I want to try to get the front porch floor painted this afternoon.”
“You sure know how to celebrate a holiday,” Bridget said.
“It’s way too hot to paint,” agreed Lindsay. “What I want to do is find someone, anyone, who will sell me a window air conditioner.”
“You try to plug in an air conditioner and you’ll blow every fuse in that house.”
“Come on, girls,” Bridget said, opening the car door, “let’s try to forget about the heat for a while and enjoy the parade.”
“No fireworks,” Cici reminded them with a fair imitation of Farley’s glum expression, and they all grinned as they got out of the car.
The smell of charcoal and hickory smoke greeted them, causing them each to suppress a groan of anticipatory pleasure. The sidewalks were lined with booths decked in red, white, and blue bunting, selling everything from crocheted teapot cozies to memberships in the Women’s Club. The Lions Club had the most popular booth, featuring homemade ice cream scooped from churns packed in dry ice. The ladies joined the line of men, women, and children dressed in cotton shorts and colorful shirts and found themselves sharing some of the restless anxiety as, in the distance, they heard the drumming of the marching band beginning its warm-up. No one wanted to miss the opening of a parade.
They purchased dripping sugar cones—peach, strawberry, and black walnut—and followed the hurrying crowd to the roped-off intersection of Main, Harrison, and Riker Streets. Veteran parade-goers had arrived early and set up lawn chairs and coolers on the curb. Now they sat with paper plates filled with barbecue and sticky-faced children bouncing up and down with excitement, proud owners of the best seats in the house. Others had camped out on the grassy lawns of the two churches with checkered tablecloths spread out for picnics and games of dodgeball and blindman’s bluff going on to pass the time until the parade started. There were tables and booths everywhere one looked, most of them selling food, and from the lawn of the Baptist church came a slow coil of smoke and the enticing aroma of savory cooked pork.
“Wow,” said Cici, looking around as she licked melted ice cream from the bottom of her cone. “It’s like a scaled-down version of Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.”
“Or maybe a miniature Rose Bowl,” offered Lindsay, catching drips from the piled-high scoop of strawberry ice cream with her tongue. “This is heaven in a cone.”
“We are not going home without some of that barbecue I smell,” Bridget said.
With a drumroll and a slightly flat blare of trumpets, the nattily dressed marching band opened the parade with their own rendition of “Stars and Stripes Forever.” There were high-stepping girls with flaming batons, and no one seemed in the least alarmed when one of the batons, having sailed to the heavens and executed three midair turns, landed in the middle of the crowd somewhere. There was a little excitement while the flames were stamped out and the baton was returned to its rightful owner, but the marching band never missed a beat.
The riding club was represented by riders in turquoise Stetsons atop white horses in jingling harness, and Miss Blue Valley made her entrance