Competing Hearts

By Cynthia Hickey

The Great Depression has hit Annie Mae Thompkins' family, and prize money from the county fair could really help them.

But when Jonathan Mercer's pig destroys her quilt entry, she hunts for another prize to chase.

A beauty pageant may be the ticket, until she learns Jonathan is a judge.

Can these two set aside their differences and find the true prize of love?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cynthia Hickey
• Release date: May 7, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201013035

Cynthia Hickey

Multi-published and best-selling author, Cynthia Hickey, has taught writing at many conferences and small writing retreats. She and her husband run the publishing press, Winged Publications, which includes some of the CBA's best well-known authors. They live in Arizona and Arkansas, becoming snowbirds with two dogs and one cat. They have ten grandchildren who them busy and tell everyone they know that "Nana is a writer."   

Book preview

Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life? – Matthew 6:27 (NIV)

1

Arkansas 1930

Turn the lights off! Pa bellowed from his roll-top desk in the living room. Our electric bill was $1.37 this month. We’re in a depression, you know.

Annie Mae Thompkins exchanged an amused glance with her mother. We’ll manage, Papa. I’m entering my quilt in the county fair. I’m sure to win first place, and it’s a twenty-five-dollar prize. Plus, Mama’s canned peaches always win.

Pipe dreams. What we need is cash in hand today. He entered the kitchen where Annie Mae and her mother prepared soup for lunch. I’m heading to town to try and get some mill work. I’ll be back in an hour or so. Keep lunch hot for me. He kissed Mama’s cheek and gave Annie Mae a hug. Where’s the young’uns?

Mama told them to tend the garden. Her younger brother and sister were most likely playing in the mud, but at least they were out of her hair. It usually fell on Annie Mae to watch them since Mama took in sewing and did other odd jobs to help make ends meet.

His eyes softened. If we don’t make some money, we’ll have to sell the pig.

No, Pa, not Daisy. Tears stung Ann Marie’s eyes. She’d gotten the animal as a piglet and had hand-fed her ever since. She was Annie Mae’s most trusted confidant. They’d spent many hours together while Annie Mae talked of her dreams and fears, her secrets, and whatever cute boy she might have a crush on.

He cupped her cheek. I’ll do my best, but hard times... He sighed and grabbed his hat on the way out the door.

Don’t worry. Mama gave her a soft smile. I’m making the widow Olsen a dress. It’ll take care of the electric bill this month and then some.

I need twenty-five cents to register my quilt. Papa was right. Annie Mae’s winning was nothing more than a pipe dream. Her parents were worried about money and here she stood with her hand out. They all worked hard to make enough funds to keep food on the table. Annie Mae would have to work harder. Her parents shouldn’t have to shoulder all the burden.

Take it out of the jar. You can pay me back when you win.

Surely? Annie Mae’s heart leaped. With her mother’s support, how could she lose? She retrieved the coins and practically skipped out the door. What if I don’t win?

We’ll figure it out. God hasn’t let us down yet.

Annie Mae bounded outside, the screen door slamming behind her. Squeals from the garden drew her attention. Robby and Lulu had made a mudhole and covered themselves with the rich clay so thoroughly, it was hard to tell who was who. You two better get cleaned up before Mama calls you for lunch.

With Mama miscarrying a few babies after Annie Mae’s birth, there were ten years between her eighteen years and Robby’s eight. Then another two before little Lulu came along. The doctor told Mama no more babies. God knew best. More mouths were harder to feed when the country was in such dire straits. Marcus, her older brother, had been killed the year before in a tragic hunting accident and life around the Thompkins farm just wasn’t the same. Instead of the laughter from Marcus’s constant pranks and jokes, a cloud of melancholy as thick as the morning fog hung over their heads.

Life goes on, Pa said. But it was tough when sadness and worry were Annie Mae’s constant companions.

Her scuffed black shoes kicked up the red dirt on her way to the general store where she could sign up to participate in the county fair. With each step she took, her excitement grew. Many folks around Rabbit Hollow had commented on her quilt. How the colors complemented each other, how tiny her stitches were. Each square represented a memory. A baby’s gown, one of Pa’s old shirts. Her steps began to falter as she second-guessed whether or not to enter it. What if someone wanted to purchase the quilt after it won? The money was sorely needed, but could she bear to part with her memories?

Good afternoon, Annie Mae.

She rolled her eyes and squared her shoulders as Jonathan Mercer, her long-time tease from elementary school, jogged to her side. He’d returned to their neck of the woods a few weeks ago. Good afternoon.

Where are you headed?

Mason’s. She grinned despite her determination not to engage him. I’m going to enter a quilt in the fair.

I’m going there, too. Going to enter my Belle.

His pig. Well, if he wanted real competition, she ought to enter Daisy. That’s nice.

She peeked up from under lowered lashes. It was a cruel joke of God’s to make such an annoying man so devastatingly handsome. Blue eyes the color of a babbling brook twinkled from under dark lashes. Hair the color of mahogany caught the sun’s rays with strands of gold. It just wasn’t fair. Not with the way her heart had started fluttering each time she saw him. It was all she could do to concentrate on a Sunday morning sermon with him sitting one pew over!

It’s a nice day.

Yes, it is. She stopped and glanced up at him. You don’t have to walk with me and make small talk. I’m in no hurry, and with your hog farm and all, I’m sure you’re busy.

There’s no place I’d rather be right now than walking down this road with you. A dimple winked in his right cheek.

So not fair. Very well. Suit yourself. She resumed walking.

The store was a thirty-minute walk from the Thompkins farm. In the colder months, Annie Mae rode their one horse, an old plodding thing that would take a nip out of your leg if you got too close. With the way her senses went haywire every time Jonathan’s arm bumped hers, she wished she’d chosen to ride the nag today.

He cut her a sideways glance. I don’t remember you being this quiet.

You’ve been gone a while. I’m no longer the chatty little girl I used to be. Responsibilities weigh on my shoulders now. You were away on a work relief program, right?

Yep. Jonathan kicked a rock, sending it bouncing down the road. "I spent some time in Minnesota fighting fires, then when winter got so bad I thought my toes would fall off, I headed to the east coast to build roads. Now, with Pa hurting his back, it was time to come