The Cowboy's Mail Order Bride by Carolyn Brown Page B

even a group of ceramic cats on a pretty knitted blanket under the coffee table.
    The coffee table sported a long white table runner and was covered with crystal plates of finger foods: cheese and summer sausage on long toothpicks with cute little green paper fans on the ends, cookies, and crackers spread with a cream cheese mixture and topped with an olive or a tiny pickle.
    A pitcher of lemonade and one of sweet tea and eight glasses waited on top of one of those antique pushcarts with three shelves. A pretty crystal ice bucket took up the middle shelf with extra paper plates and napkins on the bottom one.
    Seven ladies each claimed a rocking chair, set a colorful tote bag at their feet, and pulled out their craft for the day. Emily folded her hands in her lap and watched Clarice and Dotty’s crochet hooks working in a blur as the ball of white cotton thread bounced around in their bags.
    Rose was knitting just as fast as Dotty and Clarice crocheted, but evidently it did not affect her ability to talk. “Clarice, have you explained this to Emily?”
    “We have our bazaar the last Saturday in February every year. We make crafts all year, meeting here at Rose’s on Saturday afternoons when we can. It’s not set in stone and sometimes all of us can’t be here, but we try, and ‘I don’t want to’ is not an acceptable excuse. We use the money we make to put into our fund for the ladies’ auxiliary to give a scholarship to one senior girl from Ravenna. Sometimes we can give a five-hundred-dollar scholarship; sometimes we can only do half that much. But it all adds up.”
    Rose chimed in when Clarice stopped. “The economy isn’t what it used to be. One year we gave a girl a thousand-dollar-scholarship, but folks don’t come out to a bazaar and bean supper like they used to. I’d love to see the day when we could offer one of our country girls at least a two-year ride.”
    “Then make it a bigger affair,” Emily said.
    “How?” Dotty asked. “Our mommas did the bazaar before us and probably our grandmas before them. If it could be crocheted, stitched, sewn, or knitted the months comin’ up to the bazaar or baked on the day before, we’ve done it. Folks just ain’t interested in little church bazaars like they used to be.”
    “Offer something that people will get all excited about even during a bad economy. Ever thought about an auction in addition to all the things you make?”
    Dotty looked up. “What would we auction off?”
    Emily’s first thought was a million dollars’ worth of knickknacks from Rose’s house, but she asked, “How much trouble would it be to clean up the sale barn?”
    “What are we going to auction? Tractors or cattle?” Clarice asked.
    “Cowboys,” Emily said.
    All seven rockers stopped moving and she had their undivided attention.
    She took a deep breath and went on, “We did this in Happy one time to raise money for a local family when their house burned. Only we did it at the town park because it was in the hot summertime. Cowboys volunteered their time, and at that auction folks bid on the cowboys to work for them for an eight-hour day, and all the money went to the family. Raised enough for a down payment on a really nice double-wide trailer. The next week they were living in it and most of the cowboys had already worked off their debt.”
    Clarice clapped her hands. “I love it.”
    “We’ve only got two weeks,” Dotty said.
    “We could move mountains in two weeks,” Clarice said. “Tell us more, Emily.”
    “You could have barbecue sandwiches and chips, and all the ladies could bring desserts. Charge five dollars at the door and the price includes the supper. Then anyone who wants to bid on a cowboy has to buy a ten-dollar fan. You can make those out of card stock and ice cream sticks that you get at the craft store. Put a cowboy’s picture on one side of the fan and a number on the other. That makes even more money. I can print them off the computer. Most of