Most places that still ran ploughing competitions usually made it a two-day event. One to plough the fields and one to celebrate as a town.
But not in Sharon Springs, Wallace County.
Folks here and in the neighbouring Wallace and Weskan had long ago given up hope of there being anyone other than Scott Tracy crowned as King of the Harvest, and in a cunning plan had decided to switch the usual way of things and have the drinking celebrating first in an effort to level the playing field.
It had not worked yet.
But they lived in hope.
A vain hope, but they hoped nonetheless.
The celebrations were rapidly approaching. A cloud of cinnamon hung over all three towns as the baking became intense. The air smelled sweetly of stewed apples and other baked goods, interspersed with wafts of berry jams and the slightly sour smell of mash.
Sheriff Eli Williams breathed in deeply and appreciatively. His nose was gifted with the ability to be selective, years of training at *not* smelling mash and absolutely *knowing* that his fellow citizens did *not* make corn whiskey and home brew…
It was Wednesday evening, three days before the celebratory weekend, and he could tell it was going to be a long night. The signs were there.
In the shape of a green pickup and four young men all dressed in jeans and various shades plaid.
Normally Scott would have driven them over from the farm, but Virgil had obviously laid down the law for whatever reason, as it was his green-clad bulk that emerged from the driver's side in the late summer sun.
Yellow-clad Gordon and red-clad Alan jumped out of the back while John, in his beige/gold plaid, exited the passenger side. Of Scott there was no sign – at first. But then a throaty roar and in a cloud of slightly blue exhaust the eldest Tracy boy pulled up. On a motorbike. He was clad in blue leathers with silver and red highlights.
This was new.
As was the blue smoke.
Eli watched, amusement warring with concern, as they worked in tandem to get the giant hog of a bike up onto the back of the pickup and secured. He watched as Scott removed his helmet and unzipped his jacket to reveal a matching plaid shirt, albeit in the blue he was known to favour.
He laughed as Gordon rammed a Stetson with a colour band matching Alan's shirt on the boy's head, before donning one himself, to which Alan's response was to attempt to push his brother over. He did not succeed. Moving as one, Scott cuffed Alan as Virgil cuffed Gordon and John moved to stand the other side of the eldest so that the youngest were nowhere near him.
They all walked past Eli, greeting him with dipped heads and tipped hats. Music was already filling the street and Eli sighed as he looked to his watch. He had about three hours before things would kick off as they always did when the Tracy boys came to town en masse every Wednesday evening.
Time for some of Grandma Tracy's special brew coffee and that last slice of apple pie. He'd pick more up tomorrow when he dropped in to see Sally about her grandsons.
The Dew Drop Inn was one of the bigger buildings in that part of town and always had a large area in front of the stage cleared, the well-worn but solid wooden floor smooth to the touch. Booths lined the walls and tables surrounding the dance floor. The bar itself ran the entire length of one wall and offered a reasonable selection of cold beers and greasy food that always hit the spot.
There was music and dancing every night, but Wednesdays was special. Wednesdays a specific local band that Virgil deemed 'not too bad' usually played. And there was always line dancing.
The boys came for the dancing first and the beer/food combo second. All except for John, who came for the beer and then the food but never got up to dance but loved to see his brothers letting loose for a change, especially Scott, and for four hours solid the wood hummed to the quiet slap and shuffle of booted feet and the muted thump of feet tapping along to the music. John may not share the outgoing and gregarious nature of his brothers, but he would never miss a Wednesday night.
Scott had to admit that the pause when the five of them entered was barely discernible, and he hid his smirk better than Gordon did. He tipped the hats off both youngest brothers, and John and Alan headed to their usual table while he, Virgil and Gordon headed to the bar to order food and drink.
Chicken fried steak, mash, gravy and biscuits for Scott.
Smoked prime rib with everything for Virgil.
Cheeseburger and all the trimmings for John.
Fried Catfish for Gordon.
They always had the same. Only Alan varied his order. Today he wanted the brisket sandwich with fries.
Everything quickly, the advantage of having a regular order, and along with their meals came bowls of the homemade chilli and mac & cheese. The boys tucked in while the band warmed up, washing everything down with cold beers. Except for Alan, too young for alcohol and much preferring Coke anyway.
As the place filled up and the noise reached levels of just-about-bearable, it was Alan who started the ball rolling. He'd finished before everyone – the only benefit of choosing a smaller meal – and was raring to go. He joined the front line and let loose.
The baby of the family was all limbs. Alan was all enthusiasm and no coordination. Gordon called him The Dancing Fawn – AKA Bambi – much to Alan's disgust. But all of his brothers agreed that he was cute, and usually left the first few dances just for him. It also drew the girls, and soon Alan was flanked by pretty much every teen girl in town. Gordon was so proud.
Three dances in and it was Gordon's cue. He always joined Alan at the front, shimmying his way between the girls to be beside his brother. While Alan was all limbs and uncoordinated, Gordon was sheer anarchy, dancing how he felt. While it was line dancing, to keep everyone on their toes occasionally he would throw in a square-dance move or grab Alan and twirl him around to swap places, both of them ignoring the grumbles from the crowd of people who knew exactly what the pair of them were like. By the time the band moved on to another tune they and at least a half-dozen similar-aged girls were giggling.
It was at this point Virgil entered the fray.
He took the middle of the front row, ignoring his younger brothers' calls for him to join them. Pretty soon a small area had cleared around him as he pivot turned and heel jacked and grapevined his way through a couple of numbers.
Scott and John took the opportunity of no younger brothers to down a couple shots of whiskey and enjoy watching the kids kick loose. They used the opportunity to discuss things they didn't want the others to hear about, making plans for the week ahead before talk turned to John's plans for stargazing. This week they also had calculations and formulas to work out for the ploughing competition.
But eventually they ran out of both whiskey and talking and Scott got up, a brief hand on John's shoulder before he joined Virgil. Gordon and Alan took the opportunity to sit out the next number and refuel, and the three watched their brothers take the floor.
Virgil lived and breathed music. The tempo of the dance beat time with his heart and in turn with his feet. He was a joy to watch.
But Scott…
Scott had a flair that Virgil couldn't match. If asked, not one of his brothers could name how what Scott did was any different to what Virgil did, but there was something just that little bit *more* when he danced.
And when they teamed up there was nothing better.
The lines behind moved back slightly. Townsfolk stopped dancing to watch the two brothers. The band shifted from old classics to more modern songs. The tempo picked up slightly. Pretty soon there were seven people dancing and the rest were sitting or perched and clapping along.
This was the point that Eli walked in and perched at the bar. He had impeccable timing, knowing instinctively that certain people would begin to kick off soon without his presence to calm them.
Refreshed, Gordon and Alan re-joined Scott and Virgil so the oldest were in the centre. Once the band saw the four brothers they launched into one of Gordon's favourite pieces.
Wellerman was one of Gordon's absolute favourite shanties. And it was one of Scott's favourite dances, the three-part-repeat dance was one of the most advanced, and few could keep up with him.
Syncopated Dorothy Steps, Rocking Chair, Heel Jack & Cross, Knee Pop, 1⁄4 Triple, 1⁄4 Side Rock, Recover, Full Turn, Side and Hitch. Hitch Triples travelling back, Roger Rabbits, Ball Step, Stomp, Stomp. Close, Leg Flicks with 1⁄2 Turn Right, Ball, 1⁄2 Pivot Turn, 1/2 Turn, 1⁄4 Slide to Right, 1⁄4 Turn with Hitch.
Repeat.
Step Forward, Flick, Step Back, Flick, Step Hitch Side, Slap/Clap Section & Heel Grind, Sweeps Back, Rock Recover, Skip Turn.
Repeat both sections. Twice.
A collective cheer went up when the dancers finished, loud enough to drown out the few complainers who hated the new music and the Tracy family in particular. No one would do more than that though with the Sheriff present.
And then the band started it again. But faster. And faster.
One by one the dancers dropped out until only Scott and Virgil remained. Their feet moved in a blur. At one stage it looked like they were standing still from the waist up while their legs were just…almost not there.
It wasn't in the spirit of line dancing, certainly, but it was most definitely a very Tracy thing to do, and in fact it had been Gordon's doing.
The minute he'd heard Wellerman he'd fallen in love with it, and when the steps had been released he had practiced furiously. He'd asked the band to play the first opportunity. That first time Gordon had been the only one to dance, and as everyone knew, there was no way Gordon danced the correct steps…
Scott's ears had pricked up at the music, his eyes had lit up aa he watched Gordon's feet and John had immediately passed his eldest brother his tablet with the steps outlined. As Gordon took a bow and cleared the floor Scott nodded to the band and they struck up again.
With only a 30-second read of the steps Scott performed the dance.
Flawlessly.
Gordon had been trying to outdo him ever since. Half-heartedly, because he knew he'd never come close. So, being the annoying younger brother he was, he'd done the one thing he could.
Next week he paid the band to play it again. Faster.
Now it was a tradition.
Scott hadn't faltered once.
It took longer for the rest of them, but pretty soon they all knew the routine, even John. Despite not ever dancing in public John could dance and did so at home on occasion. He was an excellent dancer, and even Scott thought John was the best of all of them.
Once Scott had finished, to cheers and clapping, he collapsed into his chair panting but happy. Molly, the waitress, brought them all coffee and soda for Alan and they watched the band pack up and listened to the sounds of happy townsfolk leaving. Several people came over to clap Scott and Virgil on the back, and eventually the brothers were the only ones there apart from the staff and Eli.
Eli watched as the boys all began to help clear the floor as usual, and the six of them left together and headed for the pickup. Scott slid behind the wheel and Virgil grumbled about sharing the back with his brother's bike as well as Alan and Gordon. He rammed a hand on each brother's hats, much to their annoyance, and Virgil just grinned at the complaints.
The Sheriff leaned in the window on John's side and tipped his hat back with a finger while the two oldest smiled at him.
'You boys ready for Saturday?'
'Yes sir!'
'Good. Good.'
'Don't worry, Sheriff Winters, Grandma has a pie set aside with your name on it.'
'Well, I appreciate that, Scott.'
'And some more coffee.'
'Good to know. Give your Pa and your Grandma my regards.'
'Sure will.'
Eli watched the pickup drive off and pretended not to see the slightly purple smoke that it left behind.
Saturday was going to be interesting.