The sweetness gone away.

All that is left is bitterness.

The love and kindness are gone,

Replaced with agony and anger,

Something you regret but cannot erase.

A love, lost.

The blueberries, gone.

Speaking the final words almost in a whisper, Sapphire Vine closed her eyes, let her arms fall limp at her sides, and dropped her chin to her chest.

For a moment the audience sat in stunned silence, uncertain of how to react, uncertain if she had finished. But when several long seconds had passed, and Sapphire still stood unmoving with eyes closed and hands clenched, the audience sensed that she was indeed done.

Someone near the front clapped tentatively. Others followed hesitantly, politely.

It was far from the ovation Haley Pruitt had received, or even Mollie McKay, for that matter. But when she heard the applause, Sapphire opened her eyes and lifted her head. Her face was radiant.

“Did you like it? I wrote it myself!” she bubbled, hopping up and down like a two-year-old.

Most of the judges sat with their heads bowed to the table before them, scribbling on their judging forms. None was able to meet her gaze. Sapphire apparently took this as a good sign, for she waved frenetically toward the audience, blew a few kisses toward the judges, and bounced off the stage.

Maggie shook her head in disbelief. “Did I just see what I just saw, or did I black out and have some sort of dreadful dream?”

“That was no dream. It was a disaster.”

“What could the poor girl have been thinking?”

“That was the worst thing I’ve ever seen in my life. It was like watching a train wreck happen right in front of your eyes.”

Both of them burst out in high-pitched giggles but quickly slapped their hands over their mouths as a few audience members shot questioning looks their way.

“Oops! We’d better be good,” Maggie whispered, “or they’ll throw us out of here.” Both struggled to contain their giggling, but it seemed like a lost cause.

After a brief interlude, the contestants gathered onstage for the final portion of the pageant. They all wore formal dresses and stood nervously with clenched hands as they faced the judges.

“Now comes our final event of the evening: the Q and A. Each contestant will be asked a question chosen at random,” Bertha Grayfire explained. “Contestants will be judged on their speaking skills, ability to think on their feet, and stage presence. This portion of the pageant will account for forty percent of each contestant’s final score. Let us begin.”

A pretty young girl wearing yellow chiffon walked onto the stage carrying a basket. From it, Bertha withdrew a length of paper, upon which was written the first question. She turned to the contestants. “Jennifer, you’re first. Here is your question.” And she read, “If there is one feature you could change about yourself, what would it be, and why?”

Jennifer Croft thought a moment, lips pressed tightly together. “I wouldn’t change a thing about myself,” she began tentatively, “because I’m happy with who I am. Many people feel they need to change something about themselves to be happy, but I believe it’s best to just accept yourself as you are. Each one of us is unique, and each one of us has a special place in this world. It’s best for us to accept that rather than dwell on what’s good or bad about ourselves. If we can accept who we are, that is the first step on the road to personal happiness.”

Jennifer smiled and let out a breath of relief as she finished, and the audience applauded politely.

“Very nice,” Bertha said. “Emily, you’re next. Here’s your question: If you could invite any person or persons, living or dead, to have dinner with you, whom would you choose, and why?”

As she announced that Helen of Troy, Abraham Lincoln, and Justin Timberlake were her preferred dinner guests, and explained why, the audience smiled appreciatively.

Amanda Tremont, looking nervous, fielded the next question, “What is your definition of success?” and seemed to answer it well, using her mother as an example, which caused tears to well up in Maggie’s eyes.

Sapphire Vine was asked, “What do you believe is the greatest crisis facing our world today, and how would you fix it?” Her answers: intolerance, and loving each other more.

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!”