McTavish looked up to judge where it was headed, then coiled his body up like a spring and leaped.
Afterward, nobody could quite agree on exactly what had gone wrong.
Perhaps McTavish forgot to calculate that extra bit of body fat he still carried around his middle.
Perhaps Betty’s aim was the problem.
Perhaps there was a slight spin on the ball, which caused it to change direction in midair.
Perhaps a gust of wind blew it off course at the very last moment.
All the onlookers turned to watch as the ball flew above the crowd. All the onlookers watched as the ball flew directly toward McTavish’s jaws. And all the onlookers gasped as the ball flew—not into McTavish’s jaws but just barely, ever so slightly, beyond them.
McTavish snapped his mouth shut, but the ball kept going.
It flew up, up, up, and then, thanks to the miracle of gravity, it began to fall down, down, down. Instead of hitting the ground, the ball clipped the edge of the long table and ricocheted sideways at great speed.
Ollie watched with horror as the ball headed straight toward him.
It might be good to remember that it is a natural human reflex to duck when a ball is headed straight toward you at great speed.
Ollie ducked.
He did not let go of the board, but when he ducked, his side of the board dropped by approximately three feet. This meant that his side of Pa Peachey’s masterpiece also dropped by approximately three feet.
A gasp went up from the crowd as the Palace of Versailles, still entirely covered in brown paper, began to slide.
But before Ollie could react to the sliding palace, McTavish’s ball whacked him on the side of his head, causing him to shout “OW!” and fall sideways.
The Palace of Versailles began to slide off the board. Ollie put his hand out to stop it. But it was too late.
The gingerbread palace slid off the end of the board and plummeted to the ground. It met its end with a muffled noise that was somewhere between a crunch and a thud.
Pa Peachey’s masterpiece lay in a terrible heap on the ground, still covered in brown paper.
“NOOOOOOO!” cried Pa Peachey.
“NO!” cried Betty and Ava and Ollie and Ma Peachey together.
The judges and rival contestants all rushed to the scene of the disaster.
Pa Peachey dropped to his knees beside the large tangled pile of brown paper and broken gingerbread.
“My beautiful palace!” he cried.
McTavish was nowhere to be seen.
“My glorious palace!” Pa Peachey cried. “Oh, the tragedy! Oh, the heartache!”
It is an interesting fact that not one of the judges had seen Pa’s palace before it was smashed to smithereens. When they saw it lying in a heap on the ground, it was easy to think it had once been a creation of exquisite beauty. The judges covered their faces with their hands. They assumed sorrowful expressions. They circled Pa Peachey and his ruined palace, shaking their heads. They could only begin to imagine the amount of work that had gone into building the entire Palace of Versailles out of gingerbread.
“It must have been glorious,” one of them said in a hushed voice.
“It must have been a work of art,” another said, nearly choking with sorrow.
“It must have been unlike anything we’ve ever seen,” another said, holding back actual tears.
“You can say that again,” Ollie muttered.
Somebody handed Pa Peachey a dustpan and brush.
Sadly, and with great dignity, Pa Peachey began to sweep up the remnants of his broken dreams.
Pa Peachey did not win the five-hundred-dollar prize that day.
First prize went to a most amazing model of the Titanic made entirely of chocolate, sinking into the sea surrounded by marzipan lifeboats.
Second prize went to the beautiful blue whale made out of rye bread.
And third prize went to the cake that looked so much like a cactus nobody dared touch it for fear of getting pricked.
The Peachey family stayed through the award ceremony because only sore losers sneak off home when they have not won. They clapped when each winner was announced. But they all felt very downcast.
Pa Peachey looked like a man whose dream had been shattered in a terrible ball-throwing accident.
Which it had.
The Peachey family looked like a group of people who had been through a most distressing and emotional experience.
Which they had.
McTavish looked like a dog who had managed to save his family from disaster and humiliation without anyone even noticing.
Which he had.
Betty looked at her father. His sadness moved her to tears.
“Let’s go home, Pa. There will be other contests,” she said, taking his hand.
But just as they were about to set off for home, they heard the mayor call Pa Peachey’s name.
“Will Mr. Peachey please come up to the stage to join the winners?”
A confused Pa Peachey made his way through the crowd and took his place onstage, where he looked this way and that, wondering what could possibly happen next.
The mayor handed Pa Peachey an envelope and shook his hand.
“Mr. Peachey,” the mayor said, “in recognition of the extraordinary toil and creativity you invested in your entry, not to mention the unfortunate destruction of the magnificent Palace of Versailles, the Fame and Fortune Flour Company hereby awards you a consolation prize of a year’s supply of free flour.”
The crowd clapped and stamped and cheered and whistled. Pa Peachey turned bright red. The barest hint of a smile appeared on his haggard, exhausted face.
“Thank you,” he said softly, and shook the mayor’s hand. He was too overcome with emotion to say anything else.
After everyone had congratulated the winners and admired the cakes, Betty threw her arms around her father.
“Oh, Pa,” she said, “I am more sorry than words can ever express that my ball caused your palace to crash to the ground.”
“Never mind, Betty,” Pa Peachey said cheerily. “All’s well that ends well. I am planning to use at least five hundred dollars’ worth of flour this year. So my consolation prize has turned out to be nearly as
