Town In a Blueberrry Jam

by B. B. Haywood

  After the other two girls had answered their questions, Bertha brought the competition to a close. “We’ll have another short intermission now,” she announced, “while we total the scores and determine the winner. We’ll see you in ten minutes.”

  She stepped down off the stage to collect the judging forms, shaking hands with each judge as she did so. Then she disappeared out a side door with two assistants.

  “Now we wait,” Candy said, easing back into her chair. “Pretty good show so far, though, huh?”

  “Oh my, that was wonderful,” Maggie managed to say, her voice still cracking with emotion. “She did such a good job.”

  “Nice answer on that question about success, huh? How does it feel to be so highly thought of by your daughter?”

  Maggie’s smile said it all. “It feels more wonderful than you can imagine,” she admitted, tears nearly welling up in her reddened eyes again. “I have to go and give her a hug. I’ll be right back.”

  After she had gone, Candy checked her watch. It was nearly seven thirty. She had been up since six that morning. A sudden wave of exhaustion swept through her, and her eyes stung with tiredness as she crossed her arms and let her gaze wander aimlessly around the hall.

  Mrs. Pruitt was whispering furiously to her butler—what was his name? Hopkins or something like that? His face had gone bright red. Apparently Mrs. Pruitt was not happy about something and was taking it out on the paid help.

  Candy’s gaze drifted.

  At the judge’s table, Herr Georg looked particularly subdued—not his usual buoyant self at all. Sheila Watson, the high school’s music director, was leaning sideways in a relaxed manner and chatting with him, but he seemed to be having a difficult time focusing on her. Sebastian J. Quinn also seemed strangely quiet—not at all the pushy, self-assured man who had stopped by her booth earlier in the day.

  Candy’s eyes moved on. Ray Hutchins was in the room, leaning against a wall toward the back of the hall, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets, eyes focused on someone at the front of the hall. Candy followed his gaze. Who was he looking at? One of the contestants, maybe? Or one of the judges? She couldn’t tell.

  She turned her head, surveying the crowd. Lots of couples, she noticed, middle-aged and elderly. Families with small children. A few teens mixed in here and there. But surprisingly few single people like her, and almost no single men her age.

  Candy sighed. Cape Willington was not the best place to be if you were a single woman of dating age. The pickin’s here were mighty slim—which was a depressing thought.

  She was contemplating a future spent in spinsterhood when Maggie slipped back into the seat beside her. “Here we go. Keep your fingers crossed.”

  Sure enough, Bertha Grayfire crossed the stage to the microphone. Her face looking a shade paler in the harsh stage lighting than it had earlier in the day, she stood with tightly drawn lips, holding up a hand, as she waited for the crowd to settle. Finally she spoke.

  “Before I announce the winners,” she began, almost too quietly, “I think we once more should express our appreciation to all of our contestants and acknowledge the hard work they’ve put in this evening. Won’t you join me in a warm round of applause for our Blueberry Queen contestants.”

  After the applause had died down, Bertha continued. “As is the tradition in our little pageant, I’ll begin by announcing the specialty awards. The winners of these awards will each receive a fifty-dollar gift certificate, good at most stores in Cape Willington, as well as a wonderful gift basket from the Cape Willington Merchants’ Association. First up is our Ms. Spirit Award, which is presented to the contestant the judges believe best exemplifies the spirit of life here in Cape Willington. And the winner is . . .” She paused momentarily for dramatic effect, then announced, “Mollie McKay!”

  The audience applauded heartily as two young girls emerged to present Mollie with a bouquet of roses and a white satin sash with red lettering, which was placed over her head and draped from her right shoulder across her body.

  “Next is our Ms. Charm and Personality Award,” Bertha continued, “presented to the contestant whom the judges believe best fulfills those qualities. And the winner is . . . Emily Fitzsimmons!”

  Again, presentations of roses and a satin sash were made, as they were to the winner of the third specialty award, Jennifer Croft, who won for Ms. Photogenic.

  “From our final three contestants,” Bertha Grayfire announced, “the judges have chosen two runners-up, as well as this year’s Blueberry Queen. I should mention that the queen and her court will preside over the Blueberry Queen Dance, which will kick off in about half an hour. I hope you’ll all attend. And now it’s time to announce our winners.”

  As the audience sat in hushed expectation, Maggie reached over, took Candy’s hand, and pressed it to her chest. “Feel my beating heart,” she said, her voice trembling. “I’m so nervous.”

  “Hang in there,” Candy whispered supportively. “We’re almost at the end.”

  “The second runner-up,” Bertha said as she glanced down at the card in her hand, “will receive a two-hundred-fifty-dollar scholarship award, as well as a one-hundred-dollar gift certificate and a gift basket. And the second runner-up is . . . Amanda Tremont!”

  “Oh!” was all Maggie could say in a surprised voice as she joined the audience in applause. “She came in third place.”

  Candy nudged her friend. “That’s pretty good. Look, she’s happy.”

  With a wide smile Amanda stepped forward to accept her bouquet of roses, her white satin sash, and a small silver tiara. She bent down so the two young girls could place it securely on her head.

  “Amanda Tremont, our second runner-up!” Bertha called out to the crowd as the applause welled up again.

  As Amanda stepped to one side, Bertha gathered the two remaining contestants to her side. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said dramatically, “we’ve come down to our final two contestants—Haley Pruitt and Sapphire Vine. As you know, the first runner-up plays a vitally important role. Should the Blueberry Queen not be able to fulfill her duties, for whatever reason, the first runner-up will assume those duties. And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for.”

  Bertha took a moment to place her reading glasses on the end of her nose and check her card a final time. Candy noticed her hand was shaking. Finally, she lowered her glasses and stepped up to the microphone.

  “It’s got to be Haley Pruitt,” Candy hissed, leaning close to Maggie’s ear.

  Maggie gripped her arm. “Pray to God you’re right. I hate to think what will happen if the Blueberry Blob wins.”

  “The first runner-up will receive a five-hundred-dollar scholarship award, as well as a one-hundred-dollar gift certificate and a gift basket,” Bertha said. “The Blueberry Queen will receive a one-thousand-dollar scholarship award, as well as a one-hundred-dollar gift certificate and a gift basket.”

  Bertha paused and looked out over the audience. “There’s nothing more to say, except to announce the winners. And so, without further adieu, the first runner-up is . . . Haley Pruitt!”

  A wave of shock and gasps swept through the audience, and Mrs. Pruitt appeared to faint, as Bertha Grayfire announced over the tumult, “That means this year’s Blueberry Queen is Sapphire Vine!”

  NINE

  So Sapphire Vine is the Blueberry Queen.

  Candy shook her head. She still couldn’t believe it.

  Hell has definitely frozen over—and has become a skating rink for the Sapphire Vines of the world.

  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 ti
mes, 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 after Sapphire Vine had been crowned the Blueberry Queen. Whenever that part came on the TV, Candy leaned forward, rested her elbows on her knees and her chin in her palms, and scrutinized every delicious moment.

  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.

  She’s really into this, Candy had thought as she watched the rebroadcast for the second time on Sunday. She must have been really desperate to win this . . . but why? Has her life been that empty? Did she need this positive affirmation that badly?

  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!

  “Ah, Candy,” he continued as they settled into chairs at one of the small round tables near his shop’s front window, “this is my favorite time of year. I love it so! Surrounded by all this freshness, all this goodness and healthiness! Blueberries straight from the fields, delivered right to my door just hours after harvest by a beautiful woman! It is like giving new paints to an artist or a new instrument to a musician. How could a baker ask for more?”

  “Well, you know me—I love to
keep my customers happy. Just let me know when you need more.” Candy paused and leaned forward a little. “By the way,” she continued conspiratorially, her voice dropping just a notch in volume, “I’m dying to ask you about the pageant on Saturday night. You must have been stunned when Mrs. Pruitt charged the judges like that and started yelling at you.”

  At this sudden change in subject, Herr Georg’s expression became guarded, and he drew back in his chair. His gaze shifted back and forth. “Oh, that? Well, yes, yes, it was a very strange night, wasn’t it?” Absently he licked his lips. “I mean, that Vine woman winning? How odd that was. It surprised us all, I think. Very shocking.”

  “Yes, it was, wasn’t it?” Suddenly enthralled, Candy shifted her chair a bit closer to him. “So tell me everything . What did you think about that cowgirl outfit of hers? Wasn’t that odd? And that poem? It certainly was creative, yes, but you couldn’t have given her very high marks for that dreadful performance, could you? So how did she win anyway?”

  Herr Georg looked at her nervously. “Candy, meine liebchen, you should know I can’t talk about those things. I’m sworn to secrecy.”

  “Just a hint. A little tidbit. Please? For your old friend Candy.” She made goo-goo eyes at him, egging him on.

  Herr Georg hesitated for the longest time, glancing this way and that, then allowed himself a small smile as he leaned in close. “Well,” he said quietly, obviously unable to resist Candy’s charms, “I suppose it won’t hurt to talk about this just between the two of us. As long as the conversation goes no further than this table.”

  Candy made a gesture of locking her lips with a key and tossing the key away.

  Herr Georg laughed, then continued in a tone barely above a whisper. “Just as you say, I was horrified, simply horrified, when Mrs. Pruitt charged us like that! It was so unexpected and so frightening! Such fury from such a small, thin woman! I thought she was going to slay each of us right there!”