Blue Ribbon

She should have been considered the queen of the county. Her husband was in charge of the new plant that employed half the town and the surrounding area. Their home was the largest, by far, of anyone, including the mayor. A new Bel Air sat in their garage. They were the only house in the surrounding three counties with a color television set. Alice Kincaid should have been, considering the rural environment in which she lived, have been recognized as aristocracy or at least what passes as such down South. She should have been.

Ethel Bradley, on the other hand, was treated as though she were royalty. Her family had been living in the area since back before the state was even a territory. Her husband’s family came later, but not by too much in the grand scheme of things. One of his ancestors even helped draft the constitution when they applied for statehood. Quincy Bradley may only have been a mortician by trade, but his family name was synonymous with that of the town founder Jacoby Walsh for whom it was named after. If that alone weren’t enough, which in fact it was, the Bradley’s were very well off as well. That comes from having a prosperous heritage as well as choosing a trade with a supply that is never out of demand. When the church cemeteries began to fill up, they opened several acres of their own property adjacent to their business and home as the new one. They were son and daughter of the very soil beneath everyone’s feet. No matter how much money or how many fancy toys Alice Kincaid had or made her husband buy, she would be no more than a carpet bagger.

It had been five years since her husband had dragged her down from the East Coast to this backwards town. In that time she had joined a local church, organized several fund raisers for the local schools, and even opened her home to victims of that horrible tornado that destroyed so many homes a few years back. Anywhere else she would be the talk of the town, sought out for advice, and just generally adored.

Alice did have a plan to change all of that. Every year just before the county fair, the local Daughter’s of the Confederacy awarded a blue ribbon for the best flower garden. Her mother had kept a beautiful flower garden that she would help out in as a child. All of her family was in agreement that even as a young girl that Alice had a green thumb. Winning such an award from an institution like that would surely bring her into favor with the locals.

The first year she did not enter. Instead, she spent that time plotting out the flower beds, tilling the dirt, and planting. Every morning she tended to the garden first thing never seeing her husband off to work. She saw what did and didn’t grow well and where and made changes accordingly for the next year. That year she signed up to be judged and displayed a fantastic outdoor space that looked as though it came off a magazine cover.

Sadly, she had not even considered checking out her competition. The blue ribbon went to, as it had the previous fifteen years, Ethel Bradley. Ethel’s flowers were healthy and tall. Their colors were bright and cheery. One could not help but smile at the mere sight of them. And the aroma that blanketed the back yard was truly heavenly. Alice Kincaid utterly hated it.

The next year she tried new soil full of nutrients and spent more hours tending the garden every day, and Ethel Bradley won. Then she had her husband ship down fertilizer that a sister company manufactured. Her plants grew healthy and pretty, and Ethel Bradley won. Then, the greatest thing that could ever have happened happened. Quincy Bradley died of a heart attack. Without him Ethel would surely not enter the competition just two weeks away.

Alice’s steps were lighter. Her smile was just a bit wider. A tune hummed from her lips without any indication that she was aware of it at all. Her garden was strong and beautiful. More importantly, her only true competitor was out of the game. As her husband went to get his hair cut, Alice practically skipped down main street to the five and dime where the sign-up sheet was kept. It sat on a table next to the register, clipped to a clipboard. She waived to Ben Stills who was stocking the shelves close to the back and picked up the clipboard. Her pen anxiously looped across the paper spelling out her name in pretty, dainty letters. Everything almost dropped out of her hand when she saw the name five spots above hers. Ether Bradley.

Despite his reluctance and vocalization of such, her husband drove his car past the Bradley household. It was hard to see into the back yard as the house itself was so large. It was after all not only their home but the mortuary that Quincy ran for nearly forty years. There was also the rather tall fence that closed the back off from visitors. Most likely a way to keep mourners from entering in upon the privacy of the family. Alice hopped out of the Bel Air and ran up the driveway. She leapt upon the fence and pulled her head up over the top. There stood Ethel Bradley with her watering can next to the most gorgeous roses that Alice had ever seen.

The next week and a half was pure hell for Alice. She couldn’t help but think of how Ethel Bradley was going to snatch victory away from her again. Alice had done everything that she could to be accepted and cherished by this town as she should be, but none of it had worked as it should. This was the only way she could ever imagine winning over a local group as loved and respected as the Daughters of the Confederacy. She had to have it and was tired of waiting for it.

Three days before judging was to commence, Alice didn’t go to sleep as she usually would after her husband passed out in his study over a mound of paperwork. She changed into her gardening clothes and slipped out to the shed. There she picked up a can of gasoline and placed it into the trunk of the car. She parked down the road a bit off into the woods from the Bradley home. She made her way across the cemetery and to the fence. She strained on her tip toes as her arm fumbled around on the inside of the gate trying to grasp the latch. Eventually, she found it and let herself inside.

There it was. The bright, cheery colors boiled her blood. These plants were all that stood between her and her happiness. They weren’t going to be standing any longer. She set down the fuel can and twist open the top. The harsh fumes overpowered the sweet fragrances. As she began to approach the first flower bed fire lit up her skull and everything went black.

Alice awoke laying on the paving stones surrounding the flower beds. Her hands and legs were bound. She could feel the dried,caked blood in her hair. Ethel Bradley stood a few feet in front of her with a shovel, digging into the flower bed. She’d already removed some of the flowers and soil and placed them into pots.

“What are you doing?” Alice was able to lazily ask.

“I could ask the same of you, Yankee,” Ethel responded curtly.

“I’m not a Yankee. I’m from Virginia.”

“North enough from here.” Ethel set the shovel to the side and began to drag Alice over. “You hate my flowers, do you? Can’t stand that I win every year, is that it? Well, I’ll tell you my secret. I don’t have to spend money to make my flowers grow. I give them the love and care that they need. That’s the secret to a good garden, giving it what it needs. Plants don’t like your nasty chemicals. They prefer all natural fertilizers.”

Alice looked into the hole as she came close and passed out from the shock of Quincy Bradley staring up at her from beneath the petunias.

“Yep,” Ethel said as she pulled out the hacksaw. “All natural. My Quincy understood that. He always did.” A tear came to the old woman’s face as she thought about all the empty coffins her husband had buried over the years for her and her passion.