The guards exchanged glances, as though they couldn’t decide whether they should be answering or asking the questions. “Our employer,” one of them said.

“And your employer is…?” Mom asked, continuing her interrogation.

“Uniworld,” the first guard answered, raising his chin.

“I see,” Mom said, standing with arms akimbo. “In other words, Uniworld is against the Constitution of the United States.”

The two guards glanced at each other in bewilderment as a murmur of amusement went through the crowd. My mom hadn’t spent six years teaching eighth grade civics for nothing.

“What’s the Constitution got to do with this?” Guard Number Two asked, breaking open a package of jelly beans. His partner followed suit, making me wish I still had some of those hot beans in my possession so I could slip them into the bowl.

Mom gazed at both men in astonishment. “The right to free speech is guaranteed by the Constitution, gentlemen. Surely you know what the First Amendment says.”

To show they didn’t much care, both guards made a noisy show of chewing their candy.

Ignoring their rude behavior, Mom began to quote, “ ‘Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press-’ ”

I glanced at the men to see how they were taking Mom’s impromptu lecture and spotted bright red dribble leaking from the corner of one guard’s mouth.

Oh no. Not the jelly beans.

“ ‘-or the right of the people peaceably to assemble-’ ” Mom paused, her eyes widening as she, too, caught sight of the red drool.

Then I noticed the other guard’s lips had turned cherry red. Neither man had glanced at the other to realize what was happening, but Tara apparently knew, judging by the giggles she was trying to suppress.

Mom continued quickly. “ ‘-and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.’ Thank you.”

The crowd burst into applause. The guards smacked their lips and reached for more candy. Tara clapped both hands over her mouth to stifle her laughter.

“Okay, I think my work here is done,” Mom said hastily. “Tara, let’s skedaddle.”

She wasn’t going to leave me holding the bag-or bowl, as it were. “Mom, may I speak to you for a moment?” I motioned for her to join me behind the table.

“I really need to go pick up your father at the dentist’s office, Abigail.”

I locked my arm through hers and took her with me, whispering frantically, “What did you put in the candy?”

“Nothing harmful. Just a little beet juice.”

“Beet juice!” Tara snorted, doubling over with laughter.

“You told me I’d have amazing results with that candy,” I whispered furiously to my niece.

She nodded in agreement, wiping tears from her eyes. Clearly, we had differing definitions of amazing results.

Suddenly, from another aisle we heard a scream, followed by “My teeth are bleeding!”

At that moment, the security guards caught sight of each other. “Hey, man, what’s wrong with you?” the first one asked in an alarmed voice. “Your mouth is all bloody!”

“Yours is, too!” The second guard wiped his lips with the back of his hand, then stared at the scarlet stain. “What the hell is going on here?”

“I think I’m gonna puke,” the first guard said, then loped off.

Tara held her ribs as she laughed harder.

His partner pointed at me. “You’re in big trouble now.” Then he ran off, too, holding a hand over his mouth.

When another horrified wail shattered the air, uneasy murmurs began to spread through the crowd. Hearing whispers of “poisoned candy,” I called, “Everyone please calm down. The candy is colored with beet juice. Nothing to be nervous about.”

Mom sank onto a chair, a look of extreme mortification on her face.

“Where is she?” a woman cried. Then the two older ladies who’d declined to sign the petition came hurrying up to the table. “Look what your candy did to us!”

They bared their teeth, revealing decent sets of chompers, except for their vivid crimson color. Others followed close behind the women, having also partaken of the sweets.

“It’s nothing harmful,” I assured them. “All natural, totally washable, beet juice.”

After promising ten percent discounts at Bloomers to the irate bunch and sending them off at least partially soothed, I picked up the glass bowl and handed it to my chagrined mother. “We won’t be needing this anymore.”

“I feel just awful,” Mom said. “I’m so sorry, Abigail.”

“You were awesome the way you handled those big apes, Grandma,” Tara said.

“Thanks, sweetie,” Mom said. She sighed miserably as she set the candy bowl aside. “I don’t think I’m cut out to be an artist.”

I was so tempted to agree, but no way could I crush what was left of her spirit. “Are you kidding? Come on, Mom. You love creating art.”

“That’s true, but look what happened with my first batch of candy hearts. Really, whatever possessed me to use red pepper flakes? Do you know your dad thought my mistake was so funny that he put the candy hearts in a glass jar and set it on the coffee table as a display piece? And now”-she waved her arm in the air-“this fiasco. I just wanted to make the red brighter for your display. I guess I used too much beet juice.”

“Okay, so you’re not great with candy,” I said. “Why not go back to your roots?”

She glanced at me as though I’d grown a horn. “Farming?”

“Your artistic roots, Mom. Your pottery wheel. You always enjoyed throwing clay. Am I right, Tara?”

“Totally. I love to watch you work on your wheel, Grandma.”

Mom thought about it for a minute, then sighed. “Maybe you’re right. Clay is a safe medium. I felt I’d exhausted the possibilities, but perhaps all I need is some inspiration to get me back in the groove.”

Suddenly, Tara’s eyes widened in alarm. “Uh-oh. Incoming at two o’clock.”

I looked over to see two new guards approaching the table. “You!” one of them said to my mom. “Twenty minutes to pack up and get out.”

“It’s my booth,” I said, rising, “and I didn’t do anything illegal. Why do I have to leave?”

The guard laid a piece of paper on the table and tapped a thick fingertip on the lower edge. “That’s your signature at the bottom, right?”

I glanced down and saw the rental agreement I’d signed when I paid my fee. “So?”

“So you disrupted the show and caused physical harm to the personnel. In other words, you broke the rules.”

My mom’s face turned white with shock. “Physical harm? But it was only beet juice.”

“You didn’t cause any harm, Mom,” I assured her, “except maybe to a couple of egos.”

The guard snatched up the paper. “We’ll be back in thirty minutes to make sure you’re gone.”

“Fine,” I shouted as they marched away. “Then I want my fee refunded.”

“Fat chance,” one of them called back.

As I stood there glaring at their double-wide backs, trying to decide if it was worth standing my ground, I noticed people watching us with grins and whispers, pointing to their teeth, no doubt spreading word of the jelly bean debacle. Would anyone take my petition seriously now? With a sigh, I pulled a cardboard box from beneath the table and began to stack my brochures inside.

“This is all my fault,” Mom said in despair.

“No, it’s not,” I replied. “The petition was my idea. And I guess I did push the envelope a little by bringing it here.”

“At least let us help you pack up,” Mom said. “Tara, put your phone away, please, until we’re finished.”

“In a minute,” Tara muttered.

“Would you write my name on your petition, Abigail?” Mom asked. “And let me know if you’re going to hold another rally? I want to be there.”

I paused to gaze at her in astonishment. “Really?”

“I did grow up on a farm, you know. Milking cows was one of my daily chores, and I certainly recall how the poor beasts would bellow in pain if I was late getting to them. I can’t imagine the kind of suffering they’d have every single moment of their lives with their udders swollen so full they look like gigantic watermelons. What Uniworld is doing is unconscionable, and I’m proud of you for taking a stand.”