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.

Normally, her limbs would've failed under the pressure, but Tilly hefted the pumpkin up in one smooth motion. With magic, he wasn't exactly light as a feather, but Tilly likened him to carrying an armload of firewood.

Sprout whooped with an excited clap. "Now we're cooking!"

The only trouble with this arrangement was the lack of visibility. Turning her head to the right and to the left, all Tilly could see was orange rind. She teetered forward, steps unsure, until Sprout started giving her directions. Booger followed just behind, herding the pumpkin towards the wagon, ready to shoulder the brunt of Mr. Tubbington if Tilly showed any signs of struggle.

"Am I getting close?" Tilly asked when she noticed the absence of the tall grass tickling her shins.

"Almost." Sprout sounded surprisingly far away. "Can you lift him up any higher?"

"Any more and he's gonna be over my head," Tilly grunted. "Forgive me for thinking that might be a scootch hazardous to my health."

"Fine, fine. We'll lower the tailgate, but I don't know if he's gonna fit in the side rails," Sprout said.

The back of the wagon opened with a squeal of rust and a clap of lumber. While it wasn't too strenuous a journey, Tilly was still relieved to set the giant gourd on the lip of the wagon. It took some rearrangement, but Mr. Tubbington eventually found himself situated as well as he could be, though both sisters thought he greatly resembled a prize hog jammed into a baby bassinet.

"Well, I'll be an ugly stepsister." Tilly dusted her hands off, a slow smile spreading across her face. "You were right, Sprout. We did it, sure 'nough."

"You did a real good job. Much obliged." Sprout stroked a few leaves of retreating kudzu before they returned to the earth and became inert once more. She turned her attention back to Tilly, arms crossed and head thrown back in a way that oozed self-satisfaction. "I'll be the bigger person and not say 'I told you so.'"

"Mmhm." Tilly declined to mention how, by saying that, Sprout had more or less said 'I told you so' anyway. She knew when to pick and choose her battles. As the last colors of the sunset dimmed around them, Tilly ran to the end of the long path leading off their property to the main road. Craning her neck and standing on tiptoe, she could just make out the tops of the highest church steeples in the Coleville town limits over the surrounding hills. "That spool of silver thread is as good as ours."

"With maybe enough left over for a funnel cake and some cotton candy." Sprout climbed onto the wagon, grabbed the reins, and gave them a haughty flick. "Onward to victory!"

The pride rapidly drained from her face as she heard a crack beneath her.

"Oh, no," Tilly sighed.

With an awful death rattle, the wagon split keenly in two, sending both Sprout and her prize-winning pumpkin to the ground with a rolling cloud of dust. Tilly dove out of the way of an errant wheel as it broke loose and careened across the road, hit a ditch, launching itself over the fence and into the neighbor's property where it disappeared into the uncut hay.

As the air cleared, Sprout sat stunned in the splintered remains, still clutching the reins to her chest. "Oops."

Tilly approached what was left of the wagon and offered her sister a hand up. "You all right?"

"I think so." Sprout gave herself a once over. Though there didn't seem to be anything wrong with her, she rubbed at her hind-end with a wince. "Think I might have bruised my biscuits a little."

"Let's be grateful that's all you got." Tilly hugged her sister tight in relief before flashing her a bittersweet smile. "I'll be the bigger person and not say 'I told you so.' Maybe we'll have better luck next year."

"Aw, no, don't tell me you're giving up already!" Sprout tore away from her sister's grasp and started picking up pieces of the wagon. "We just gotta—if we can just—let's try—"

"No, Sprout." The firmness of Tilly's voice had an undercurrent of disappointment. "I think we've tried enough for one night."

"But the fair—"

"We can still go," Tilly said. "I'm sure one of the neighbors will let us hitch a ride, or Booger can turn into a horse. But I'm afraid Mr. Tubbington's gonna have to sit this one out."

"We have to fix the wagon." Sprout's pleas took a desperate turn as she took in more and more of the damage. "We've got to. Mama's gonna be madder than fire tomorrow when she gets ready to leave and it's all busted up."

"Mama ain't going to the fair this year." When the words left Tilly's mouth, the fractured side rail dropped from her sister's hands. It fell to the gravel, echoing through the quiet. Tilly looked away. "To tell you the truth, I don't know if Mama's ever gonna get to go to the fair again."

Sprout nodded. On wobbling legs, she wandered over to Mr. Tubbington and braced her arm against him. She kept on nodding, more to herself than to Tilly. "We need that silver thread."

"I know we do, honey." Tilly took a step towards her. "We'll get the money another way."

"How?" Her sister's voice was small. "I tore up the wagon. We're gonna need to replace it first, and I can't take our harvest to market without one, and—"

"Hey—" A helpless hush fell over Tilly as Sprout took off her smoked goggles to tip the tears out of them.

"I just wanted to be better than stupid Peter. But now I'm worse. I'm worse than stupid Peter murdering his stupid wife and putting her stupid body in his stupid pumpkin patch," she said, wiping her runny nose on a wrist. "I mighta killed Mama tonight. Me. It's all my fault."

"No, now I'm the one who agreed to this." Tilly tried to sound optimistic. "If anything, the blame should be split 'tween the two of us. It's gonna be okay."

Sprout didn't answer for a long time. "I think I hear Mama calling us."

Before Tilly could stop her, Sprout ran towards the house, leaving her and Booger alone in the quiet night.