The Seam Sorceress

Pudding and Pie, part 2.

The glaze and sugar crust gave the pie a pleasant crunch. As Tilly tore off a mouthful of fried dough, she made a noise of surprise. Hand cupped to catch any spillage, she lowered the pastry, licking the unanticipated filling from her lips. "It's paw-paw custard!"

"No, it's banana pudding." GP pulled a handkerchief from his vest pocket with a disbelieving laugh. "You like it? My own recipe. The trick's in the crumbles of angel food cake."

"It's awful good. I've never had banana before." She took the offered handkerchief and smoothed it across her lap. "There's a general store here that gets bananas in from time to time, but I think they're too 'spensive for what you get."

"You can get them for a reasonable price in the capitol. Ships come into the harbor just lousy with bananas. The fair buys them by the crateful." He watched her, grinning, as she tried to navigate the pastry without getting anymore on herself. "If it makes you feel any better, I don't even know what a 'paw-paw' is."

"They're trees that grow around here. Fruit kinda look like a runty little 'nanner, all green. Real pretty this time of the year. The leaves turn bright gold." Tilly took the most ladylike bite she could muster, considering how good the pie was, and how hungry she had been. "So you work for the fair?"

"I think every boy wants to run away and join the circus at some point," he said. "I didn't know any, but a fair seemed like the next best thing. What about you?"

"Oh, I don't work for nobody," she felt a little childish to admit. "Mr. Cole's factory is always hiring, but I don't got the aptitude for it. Do a little sewing work here and there, usually just for friends and family."

"Really? I would've never pinned you for a seamstress." As soon as the comment left his mouth, his grin turned sly. "You get it? Pinned? Seamstress?"

She sighed. "How in Pentamerone do I always find myself in the company of comedians?"

"Just lucky, I guess." He jerked a thumb back in the direction of the car slowing climbing the first hill of the Jack-be-Nimble. "Hey, you ever been on one of these things? They're a real hoot, let me tell you."

"Once or twice, yeah." She tried not to think of the carousel.

"Let's go on a ride, then," he said. "Maybe take the dodgem cars for a spin."

She licked a bit of stray pudding from her thumb. "That sounds mighty keen, but Sprout wasn't fibbing—I really don't have any money for tickets."

"Tickets?" He almost looked offended, a hand placed to his chest. "Who needs tickets when you've got your very own prince of the fairgrounds?"

"You look don't look like much of a prince," she said with a squint.

"Well, you don't look like much of a seamstress," he replied matter-of-factly. "It's not always about appearances."

She glanced to the mirror sitting beside her. "Not always, no."

"Then we're in agreement." He got to his feet and extended his hand. "Shall we?"

Tilly used the time it took to chew and swallow the last bit of pie crust to think over his offer. The fit of the hand mirror, snug and safe in her front pocket, seemed encouraging. Nevertheless, she looked at his open palm and long, outstretched fingers as though all-together they were a snake about to strike. In the end, she stood but didn't take his hand, crumpled newspaper joining a pile of emptied popcorn boxes in a rusted out oil drum. "A ride or two won't hurt, I reckon. But I have to be back by five. That's when they're announcing the winners for the pumpkin contest."

"The pumpkin contest. That's what I thought Sprout said." He hooked his thumb in a pocket as they wove back towards the roller-coaster. "Which entry number? I'll be on the lookout for it."