The Seam Sorceress

Pudding and Pie, part 3.

Tilly's legs felt like they were the same consistency of the banana pudding in GP's fried pies as she disembarked from the Jack-be-Nimble. She hoped no one noticed the small grooves she had left in the metal handlebar from gripping it so hard. All things considered, it was a small wonder she hadn't sheared the thing in half.

Still, as she put more steps between herself and the roller-coaster, the quake of her knees became a tremble of exhilaration. Running to keep pace with GP, she hooked her arm through his with a giggle. "All right, where to next?"

"That's a quick turnaround. From the look you gave me on that last hill, I thought we'd have to collect what was left of you with a mop and bucket." His eyes rolled like pretty blue marbles to consider the skyline, brow pinching as though he could see the answer in the shape of the pink-white clouds that meandered just above the distant mountain range. "There's the Fun Slide. The dodgem cars I mentioned before—those are a ball, I'm telling you, but I get the feeling you're gonna give me a case of whiplash if you get behind the wheel..."

"There's the merry-go-round," she added, but tried not to seem too invested.

"Oh sure, there's all of those kiddie rides, but who wants to go in circles all the time?" His steps slowed in thought. "You know, there is one thing I'd like to show you, if you don't mind."

"What is it?"

"One of my favorite attractions," he said. "Promise me you won't laugh?"

She smiled. "Promise."

Still arm-in-arm, Tilly struggled to keep up with GP's purposeful strides as they passed by a handful of vendors selling deep-fried vittles, both sweet and savory, and a cart with a machine that spat handfuls of fluffy popcorn into a waiting metal drum. At the last stall, a window squealed open.

Freckled, tanned hands braced on the counter. Their owner, a woman, was maybe ten years older than Tilly's mother, but the sun had aged her so much more than that. "There you are, GP. You were starting to worry me."

"I told you I wasn't sure when I'd be back," he said. "How's business?"

"Glad we made a surplus this morning." She stood aside so Tilly and GP could see into the interior of the stand. Another woman topped a glistening fried pie with puffs of powdered sugar and a dollop of syrupy strawberries before she passed it through a window to a paying customer. "The contest whet a lot of appetites, looks like. I had to borrow one of the girls from the frozen custard stand."

Tilly winced. "Aw, shoot, I'm not keeping you from your work, am I?"

"Hardly." GP leaned a shoulder on the aluminum side of the stand, nodding towards the woman in the window. "This is Ms. Jenny Pieman, the lady I was telling you about earlier."

"Nice to meet you, ma'am." Tilly grabbed at the hemline of her skirt and dipped into a clumsy curtsy.

"—And this is Tillomena," he continued, winking to Ms. Pieman. "And I daresay that she'll be one of our repeat customers now that she's tried some of our wares. You agree, Tilly?"

"They're mighty fine pies," she gushed, head ducked.

It took a moment for Tilly to recognize the surprise in Ms. Pieman's face, the woman's sparse eyebrows lost in her patchy complexion, but eventually she warmed into a happily bewildered smile. "It's a pleasure, sweetie. You want another?"

"Oh." Tilly's hand doubled up in her skirts. "I'm sorry. They really are lovely, but I can't afford another right now. I'll try to drop by again sometime, while the fair's still here."

The piemaker waved the thought away. "No, honey, I'm not asking for your money. Which would you like? We've got cherry, apple, banana pudding, peach—"

"I really couldn't," Tilly said.

"Of course you can." Ms. Pieman placed a folded hand to her eyes as she glanced towards the midday sun. "My, it's a hot one, isn't it? Let me get you a cup of lemonade, at least. Fresh squeezed this morning."

"Did GP help with that, too?" Tilly asked.

"What can I say," he said, feigning a modest shrug, "I'm multi-talented."

"Well, let's just hope that she doesn't get to witness all of your talents." Ms. Pieman set a tall paper cup on the counter. "There you go, sweetie. On the house."

GP crossed his arms. "All fine and well, but where's mine?"

"Still in the pitcher, I imagine." Ms. Pieman jerked a thumb back into the stand. "You can get it when you work your next shift."

"Thanks," GP said flatly, but there was a twitch of the corner of his mouth that looked a great deal like a smile.

Tilly's laughter was cut short as she saw the cup's contents. Suspended in the lemonade, among bits of lemon pulp and seed, were three whole ice cubes. The Lafayettes had a spring near the property line that kept necessities cold enough, but any ice they collected over the winter never made it out of March intact. "Thank you kindly, ma'am."

"You're welcome, hon. Figure it's the least I can give you for keeping GP company today," Ms. Pieman said.

"Speaking of which," he interjected with an authoritative clap to the side of the stand, "we were on our way to see my favorite attraction."

"Really?" The piemaker sighed. "You're gonna show her that old thing?"

GP stiffened with indignation. "I think it's fascinating, and I suspect Tilly will too. She strikes me as a girl of exceedingly good taste."

"Maybe." Ms. Pieman reached across the counter to smooth a single strand of hair the Jack-be-Nimble had loosened from his pomaded hairstyle. "After all, she's out with you."

"Hey now, cut that out." It could've been the trick of the light, but Tilly swore she saw a bit of color rise to GP's face as he shooed away Ms. Pieman's attention. "You're embarrassing me."

"Fine, fine," she sighed, setting a chin on a knuckle. "You kids have fun. Plenty of pie here if you change your mind, Tilly."

Murmuring another round of thanks, they took their leave. Tilly took a long sip from her lemonade cup. It was perfectly tart and perfectly cold but did little to distract her from the question growing quietly at the back of her thoughts.

"Sorry about that," GP said after a long moment. "Jenny—Ms. Pieman—she means well, really, she does. She never had any children of her own, you know. She thinks of me as a son, and for the most part I try to indulge her—"

"It's all right. I think it's sweet," Tilly said. "But what did she mean back there? About me not witnessing all your talents?"

"Oh, ah, about that." There was a slight squeak to his voice, cleared away with a cough. "Let's just say I have a real knack for landing myself in hot water."

"So do I," Tilly admitted. "Maybe if we stick together, we can keep each other out of trouble."

"Maybe so," he said. "But if there was anybody I'd had to be in trouble with, Tilly, I think I'd like it to be you."

Tilly's breath hung in her chest. The colors of the fair seemed to blur and melt together as she stared at him. "GP..."

He gave a tentative smile, unable to meet her eyes. Instead, he swept a hand through a candy-striped tent flap and pulled it aside for her with a flourish. "Here we are."

She took a step back to examine their destination. There were no signs, no larger-than-life barkers urging people inside. There wasn't even a place to pay an admittance fee. "Doesn't look like much of anything."

"This is the employee entrance," he said. "We could go around front like everybody else, if you want, but you'll be missing out. Consider it a V.I.P. tour."

"V.I.P.?" Tilly was not familiar with the phrase.

"Very Important Prince," he explained. Then, working his jaw, he added, "Or Very Important Princess, considering."

She laughed. "Don't think you need to worry about Ms. Pieman embarrassing you. You do a fine job yourself."

With that, she went inside.