“First prize,” said Molly at the desk.
“Just leave a space for me.”
Three second prizes sat at home.
She’d come for victory.
Her mustache curled above her grin.
Her boots shone red with dust.
“This year,” she said, “my winning beans
will make that old judge bust.”
“No bursting,” said the judge, Ellis.
“I need to taste all nine.
The bowls have numbers, not your names.
Go sign the entry line.”
Across the lane stood Vera’s stall,
with ten new cups to sell.
Her café opened Monday morn.
She meant to start it well.
“Come try my chili afterward,”
her painted notice said.
He moved both cooks’ own ladles back.
“More room for bowls,” he said.
Molly set her giant pot
where Ellis had cleared the stand.
She piled some bread beside it, then
checked the stand by hand.
She pushed the pot to clear some space
upon the counter’s edge.
“I’ve ridden bulls and walked a rope
above a mountain ledge.
I’ve roped a train—” The wagon came.
Its wheel struck Molly’s stand.
Her giant pot swung off the edge
and landed in the sand.
The noon crowd hushed. Molly stared.
A bean stuck to her shoe.
“Bring fresh beans in by three,” he said.
“There’s time to start anew.”
Molly picked the empty pot
up by its bent old ear.
“Vera, could you spare a bowl?”
“To enter? No, my dear.
“I worked all morning on this batch.
I’m trying for that prize.”
She turned to serve a customer.
Molly rubbed her eyes.
Then Molly looked along the stalls,
where onions, bread and beans
sat waiting for the supper trade
in bags and little tins.
“I’ll buy those cooked beans, Mr. Dell.
May I borrow that small pan?”
“Back before I shut at five.”
“By four, sir. That’s my plan.”
She bought an onion, bought cooked meat,
then eyed the peppers, red.
She’d promised fire enough to chase
the coyotes out of bed.
She had no time to cook that boast,
nor coins to buy the heap.
She chose one pepper, not the lot.
The rest were Dell’s to keep.
Her big pot needed washing first.
The small pan took its place.
She stirred beside the cookhouse stove,
with sweat upon her face.
She tasted. Added. Tasted twice.
Then stopped herself from more.
At ten to three she carried it
through Ellis’s wide judging door.
He filled a bowl and marked it SIX.
“Now set your pan aside.”
He tasted each bowl with a spoon.
She joined the cooks outside.
She stood beside the other cooks,
her hands upon her hips.
At last Ellis read the numbers out
and Molly bit her lips.
First prize was Vera’s. Second, Dell’s.
And Molly’s beans came third.
She thought of all her winning boasts
and swallowed every word.
Then Vera brought her cups across.
“I’ve won. Will you buy two?”
“Ten,” Molly said. “I have a pan
for people coming through.”
She lined the cups beside her pan.
“What’s in it?” asked a man.
“Beans, meat and onion, pepper too.
I’ll fill one, if I can.”
“One pepper, not a blaze,” she said.
“You want a little more?”
He scraped the first cup with his spoon
and asked for one cup more.
“First prize?” a passing cowboy asked.
“Third place,” she answered. “Third.”
He bought a cup. She charged him twice
for missing what he’d heard.
She gave the extra coin straight back.
“That was a joke,” she said.
He took the coin and bought some bread.
Vera shook her head.
She sold the last small cup of beans,
then scraped the pan quite clean.
At four she gave Dell back his pan
then turned and tipped her hat.
Vera stepped across the lane.
“My ladle. Give me that.”
“I never took your ladle, ma’am.”
“It’s there beside your shoe.”
“Ellis left that one beside my pan.
I thought it came from you.”
Ellis cleared his throat. “I moved them both
while making room for bowls.”
Both cooks stood back. He took the pair
as if he’d handled coals.
Vera stood upon his left.
Molly watched his right.
“Underneath,” said Vera.
“Hold it toward the light.”
Ellis scrubbed the ladles in the trough.
He thought he’d got them clean.
Then Molly pointed with her thumb.
“You’ve missed a winning bean.”
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