Candy shook her head. She still couldn’t believe it.
It was Monday morning, two days after the festival and the pageant that had ended so dramatically. Candy was in her ten-year-old teal Jeep Cherokee, headed into town to run a few errands. She had a lot to do before she met Maggie at noon for lunch. But for some reason she just couldn’t get Sapphire Vine out of her mind.
Twice yesterday, the video of the Blueberry Queen Pageant had been rebroadcast on the local cable-access channel. Candy watched it both times, from start to finish, with a mixture of horror, fascination, and outright glee.
There were so many parts of it she loved, like when Sapphire came prancing out on stage in her cowgirl outfit, or when she recited that wacky poem of hers while dressed as a giant ripe blueberry. But Candy also liked watching Amanda go through her athletic routine, and she especially enjoyed hearing Haley Pruitt play the Rachmaninoff piece.
Her favorite part, though, was what had happened
As Bertha Grayfire announced the winner, Sapphire Vine had overreacted wildly, squealing like a teenager at a sixties Beatles concert. She had bounced up and down shouting “Oh! Oh! Oh!” and flailed her arms about so wildly she actually came close to pummeling the other contestants on stage.
At the same moment, Helen Ross Pruitt, Haley’s sour-faced grandmother, rose quickly to her feet, much to the surprise of her butler Hopkins (or whatever his name was). He reached out to perhaps comfort Mrs. Pruitt, or perhaps to restrain her, but she forcefully shoved him aside and charged the judges’ table like a bull on the streets of Pamplona, her long bony finger leveled at them as she spat out her displeasure, her face dark with rage.
The judges had risen uneasily to their feet in defense, and the shouting had begun. Wild accusations and vehement denials had flown back and forth. Mrs. Pruitt actually came close to blows with one of the judges, Oliver LaForce, who ran the Lightkeeper’s Inn. He had vehemently denied any wrongdoing and accused her of overreacting and, worse, bad sportsmanship. Candy had watched as Mrs. Pruitt flourished her tightly clenched fists in rage. She looked ready to swing out but had finally been restrained by her long-suffering butler.
It was a surrealistic moment straight out of the movies but something rarely seen in real life.
Candy loved every moment of it.
The entire hall erupted then as the camera lens swung erratically about, trying to record the ensuing chaos for posterity. The audience members were on their feet; some clapped politely, but most just stood in shock, and a few — perhaps supporters of Haley Pruitt and some of the other contestants — stormed from the hall in disbelief or disgust.
And though she stood in the middle of the firestorm, Sapphire Vine had been strangely oblivious to what was going on around her. Instead, she acted every bit the Blueberry Queen — probably because, Candy suspected, Sapphire had been anticipating and practicing that moment for weeks, more than likely in front of a mirror. It was almost as if she had known she was going to win — or at the very least, thought it her destiny.
With great dignity she accepted the bouquet and sash from the two little girls and bent forward regally so Bertha Grayfire could place a crown on the queen’s head. Sapphire then responded to the muted congratulations of the other contestants by pulling each of them to her in tight, glorious hugs.
At this point, Candy had squinted closely at the TV to watch the barely controlled expressions of distaste on the faces of the other girls. Amanda stiffened as she allowed Sapphire to give her a hug, but she did a good job of forcing a smile. The other girls reacted similarly, trying to be good sports in a difficult situation. Still, the shock they felt was as plain on their faces, as it was on most of those in the audience.
As for Haley Pruitt, she had not waited around to congratulate the winner. In tears, she dashed off the stage to be with her grandmother, who finally allowed herself to be escorted away from the judges’ table by Hopkins the butler. It was clear from his grim expression that he knew he was on shaky ground even touching his mistress, but she finally turned to him and gave him a hard nod. At that point, he released her, and with Haley in tow, the three of them had stormed from the building.
Meanwhile, Sapphire Vine stepped to the front of the stage, where she flashed a radiant, obviously well- practiced smile and waved out at the audience, tears of joy streaming down her face. (Whether those tears were real or carefully and purposefully leaked was yet to be determined, Candy decided.)
But Sapphire hadn’t stopped there. Caught up in the grandeur of the moment, she stepped down from the stage and marched out into the audience, hugging anyone and everyone she came to — grandmothers and schoolteachers and bankers and burly lobstermen and little girls, whom she lifted off the ground and twirled happily about.
Eventually the images on the TV had faded, to be followed by rebroadcasts of the previous week’s town council meeting or committee meeting or some such thing, and Candy had reluctantly flicked off the set.
She thought that, if it were broadcast again, she would tape the pageant so she and Maggie could watch it whenever they wanted, perhaps accompanied by a pitcher of blueberry daiquiris (a specialty of Candy’s, made with fresh blueberries, natch, plus blueberry schnapps and white rum). She knew that taping the pageant for perennial mocking might be crass, but hey, when you lived on a blueberry farm on the outskirts of a sleepy seaside village in Maine, you had to get your pleasures where you could.
In fact, Candy thought as she turned off the Coastal Loop onto Main Street and looked around for a place to park, she could hardly wait for lunchtime so she could talk more with Maggie about it. They’d already had three or four phone conversations that had descended rapidly into tear-filled bouts of uncontrollable laughter, but there was no doubt they would be talking about the Blueberry Queen Pageant, and the new Blueberry Queen herself, for months, perhaps years, to come.
Life, as they say, was good.
But it wouldn’t stay that way for long.
Ten
Candy’s first stop was the Black Forest Bakery. She had promised Herr Georg she would drop off a few pounds of blueberries she’d raked the day before. The larger harvest would take place in the next couple of weeks, but in the meantime she was harvesting small batches for herself and a few others like Herr Georg, who loved to bake with fresh blueberries.
She and Doc were pleased with their crop this year and were expecting a good yield, though they would harvest only about seven acres — half their fields — this season. As was common when growing wild blueberries, the fields were harvested in two-year cycles. Half of the fields were in the sprout year. The plants would produce bud sets by the fall, and the following spring those bud sets would flower and produce blueberries in July and August. The other half was ready for harvesting this year.
The system worked well, producing an abundance of long, unbranched shoots that made for easy harvesting of the fruit. It also helped control pests and diseases, since after the field was fully harvested, it was burned, or sometimes mowed, to take the plants back to their roots, and the two-year cycle began again.
In a single day, working by herself and using a short-handled metal rake, Candy could harvest several hundred pounds of blueberries, though that was admittedly back-breaking work. So far she had gone easy and was delivering only about sixty pounds to Herr Georg today.
He was thrilled with what he saw. “Oh, they are beautiful!” he enthused as he grasped one of the eight-quart buckets in his hands and shook it gently. He leaned forward and inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of the ripe succulent berries. “I can do wonderful things with these!
