Ivy, Beth, and Philip were almost at the end of the display when Philip had started fussing about finding Gregory.
Now Ivy pointed to a strange painting, trying to distract him. "What do you think that is?" she asked.
"Things." He read the title with a scowl.
"Looks to me like a row of lipsticks," Beth said, "or trees in the fall or Christmas candles or catsup bottles or missiles at sunset—" Philip screwed up his face. "It looks to me like it's stupid," he said loudly.
"Shh! Philip, keep your voice down," Ivy warned. "For all we know, the artist is right behind us."
Philip turned around to look. Suddenly the scowl was gone. His face lit up. "No," he said, "but there's an—" He hesitated.
"What?" Beth asked.
Ivy glanced quickly behind her. No one was there.
Philip gave a little shrug. "Never mind." He sighed.
They moved on to the last entry, a panel with four watercolors.
"Wow!" Beth said. "These are fabulous! Number thirty-three, whoever you are, you're my winner."
"Mine, too," Ivy agreed. The artist's colors were almost transparent and infused with a light of their own.
Ivy pointed to a painting of a garden. "I wish I could sit there, for hours and hours. It makes me feel so peaceful."
"I like the snake," Philip observed.
Only a little boy would have found that snake, Ivy thought, painted in so slyly.
"I want to talk to the woman in the last picture," Beth said.
The woman sat under a tree with her face turned away from the painter. Blossoms were streaming down on her, luminous apple blossoms, but they made Ivy think of snow. She looked at the title: Too Soon.
"There's a story behind that one," Beth said softly.
Ivy nodded. She knew the story, or one like it, about losing someone before you had a chance toFor a moment her eyes stung. Then she blinked and said, "Well, we've seen everything in the show. Let's go spend money."
"Yeah!" Philip shouted. "Where're the rides?"
"There aren't any rides, not at a festival like this."
Philip stopped short. "No rides?" He couldn't believe it. "No rides!"
"I think we're in for a long afternoon," Ivy told Beth.
"We'll just keep feeding him," Beth replied.
"I want to go home."
"Let's walk back to Main Street," Ivy suggested, "and see what everyone is selling."
"That's boring." Her brother was getting that stiff-jawed look that meant trouble. "I'm going to find Gregory."
"No!" She said it so sharply that Beth glanced over at her.
"He's on a date, Philip," Ivy reminded him quietly, "and we can't bother him."
Philip started dragging his feet as though he had been walking for miles. Beth was walking slowly, too, studying Ivy.
"It's just that it's really not fair to Gregory," Ivy told Beth, as if she had asked for an explanation. "He's not used to a nine-year-old tagging along everywhere."
"Oh." The way Beth glanced away told Ivy that her friend knew this wasn't the whole truth. "And of course, Suzanne's not used to it at all." "I guess not," Beth replied mildly. "This is boring, boring, boring," Philip complained. "I want to go home." "Then walk!" Ivy snapped. Beth glanced around. "How about getting our picture taken?" she suggested. "Every year there's a stand called Old West Photos. They have different costumes you can dress up in. It's fun."
"Great idea!" Ivy replied. "We'll take enough for an album," she added under her breath, "if it keeps him occupied."
The canopied stand was set up in front of the photo shop and looked like a small stage set.
There were several backdrops to choose from, trunks of clothes that kids and adults were sorting through, and props scattered about — pistols, wooden mugs, a fake-fur buffalo head. Tinkly piano music gave the tent a saloon atmosphere.
The photographer himself was dressed up in a cowboy hat, vest, and tight cowhide pants. Beth eyed him from behind. "Cute," she observed. "Very cute."
Ivy smiled.
"I like anything in boots," Beth said, a little too loudly.
The cowboy turned around.
"Will!"
Will laughed at Beth, who flushed with embarrassment. He put a reassuring hand on her arm, then nodded at Ivy. Philip had already strayed toward the costume trunks.
"How are you?" Will asked.
Beth banged herself on the head. "I completely forgot that with your job, you'd be doing this."
He smiled at her — a big and easy smile. It was impossible to see Will's eyes under the shadow of his hat, but Ivy could tell when he glanced from Beth to her, because the smile became not so big, and not so easy.
"Thinking about having your picture done?" he asked.
Philip was already elbow-deep in clothes. "Looks like our date wants to," Beth said to Ivy. "Your date?"
"My brother, Philip," Ivy explained. He had wedged himself in between two guys big enough to play pro football. "The short one."
Will nodded. "Maybe I should steer him toward another trunk. Ladies' costumes are over there," Will added over his shoulder, pointing toward trunks where a flock of girls were gathered.
A few of the girls were older than Ivy and Beth. Others looked two or three years younger. All of them kept turning around, looking at Will and giggling.
"Hey, cowboy," Beth called softly after him. "I bet they´d like your help, even more than Philip." "They're doing fine," he said, and continued on. "Love those buns." Will stopped.
Ivy looked at Beth, and Beth looked at Ivy. Ivy knew she hadn't said it, but Beth acted as if she hadn't, either. Her blue eyes were brimming with laughter and surprise. "I didn't say it." "Neither did I" Will just shook his head and walked on. "But you were thinking it," someone said. Ivy glanced around.
"Well, maybe I was. Ivy," Beth admitted, "but—" Will turned around.
"I didn't say it!" Ivy insisted.
"Say what?" Will asked, cocking his head.
Ivy was sure he had heard. "That you have — That I thought— That—" Ivy looked sideways at Beth. "Oh, never mind."
"What is she talking about?" Will asked Beth.
"Something about your buns," said Beth.
Ivy threw up her hands. "I don't care about his buns!"
The buzz of voices beneath the canopy ceased. Everyone looked at Will, then Ivy.
"Would you like to see mine?" asked one of the football types.
"Oh, jeez," Ivy said.
Will laughed out loud.
"Your cheeks are pink," Beth told Ivy.
Ivy put her hands up to her face.
Beth pulled them away. "It's a much better color for you than purple and yellow."
Fifteen minutes later. Ivy grimaced as Beth zipped her up in front of the dressing room mirror.
"If I lean over. Will's going to get a fine shot."
"He's going to get a fine shot even with you straightened up," Beth observed.
They had decided to dress as saloon girls in identical red-and-black dresses, "floozy frocks," as Beth called them. She smoothed her hands over her ample hips. "I don't care if my man's law-abiding," she said with a Western twang, "so long as he abides by my laws."
Ivy laughed, then gave a backward glance at herself in the mirror. Beth had given her the smaller dress to wear, there wasn't a curve that didn't show. Ivy was reluctant to step through the dressing room curtains, though Beth informed her chat the two football types had left. Ivy could deal with the Brothers Macho; it was Will she felt shy around.
Maybe he sensed that. He stretched out his hand to Beth, as she and Ivy stepped out of the dressing room. "Oh, Miss Lizzie," he said, "you do look mighty fine today. You too. Miss Ivy," he added quietly.