The Seam Sorceress

Mr. Tubbington the Third, part 1.

No wonder Sprout had asked for her help.

"'The third?'" Tilly's eyebrows lifted as she glanced towards the gourd. "What happened to the first two Mr. Tubbingtons?"

"They got just a mite too big for their britches." Sprout pushed up from the orange rind as she cast through the tall grass in search of something. "After a certain weight there's a real risk for cracks. Was pretty messy, but their sacrifice weren't in vain."

A dim memory surfaced of a cupboard in the kitchen stuffed to the brim with mason jars filled with dried pumpkin seeds. Tilly nodded. "All right, then. But the third, you think he's gonna make it to the fair in one piece?"

"Mmhm. He's a good boy. Fat as a pig, strong like a bull." Sprout found what she was looking for, pulling herself upright with a sturdy, forked stick in hand. "We just gotta get him all cozy-like in the wagon now."

Tilly looked from her sister to Mr. Tubbington, then down the way to where the wagon sat at the end of a dirt and gravel path, then back to the pumpkin again. "There ain't no way."

Sprout looked up from drawing spells in the dirt. "What?"

"It's like trying to fit 100 pounds of cornmeal into a 50 pound bag." Tilly took a step back from the gourd with a shake of her head. "Not gonna happen."

"Ain't that just like you." Sprout tapped the stick to her palm like a riding crop. "Decide on a whim it won't work and then not even try."

Tilly pointed at the wagon. "Not like I'm saying it won't work just for the fun of it, sis. That thing'll crush the wagon in a heartbeat. If he's properly motivated, he's likely to crush us, too."

"C'mon. Don't be such a scaredy cat."

"This ain't nothing to do with being scared." Tilly's voice was a mite more forceful than she'd intended and she shrank back in the following silence. "What's wrong with the one you were sitting on, back in the garden? It'll fit in the wagon fine."

"Tillomena Mayelle Lafayette, every year we enter this gosh-darn competition when the county fair rolls around." Sprout twirled the stick through the air before dotting Tilly on the nose with it. "We pay the entrance fee—which ain't cheap, mind—only to come in second to Peter and his monster pumpkins, and I'm pert-near sick and tired of it."

"I know that," Tilly sighed. "But I just don't think this is a good idea."

"Do you want the prize money or not?" Sprout asked, voice low.

There was a long pause. Tilly looked again from Mr. Tubbington to the wagon, curling in on herself in thought. She took a deep breath, defeated. "Okay. Let's give it a whirl."

Sprout grinned, nose wrinkling. The stick grazed the dirt again as she resumed her spell. The tall grass and weeds around her shivered to attention as she called them. Tilly even thought she saw Mr. Tubbington, in all his hugeness, give a slight shift towards her sister.

"Move the pumpkin, please," Sprout said.

There was a crack like a whip as two strands of kudzu grabbed the pumpkin by his stem—as big around as one of Tilly's arms—before pulling with all their might towards the wagon. Mr. Tubbington rocked to one side.

Booger flew from Tilly's shoulder and landed on the ground with a skip-hop. Her feathers molted into the hide of a spotted ox. With a grunt, she dug her head and shoulders beneath the pumpkin and pushed, hooves leaving deep scrapes in the dirt. Mr. Tubbington inched forward.

Rolling her sleeves to the elbows, Tilly sized the massive gourd up. She knew she could carry the weight, but the sprawling, uneven nature of the pumpkin would make it difficult to get a grip on. As Booger shoved the pumpkin further onto its side, Tilly went in low. She connected with Mr. Tubbington with both arms.