The Blue Door (14 page)

“
May
we,” she corrected, shooting a sulky look at Ransom. There was no missing the challenge in his quirked brow, and she smoothly answered, “Whatever
you
want, Jude.”

They queued up at the end of the line along with Ransom and his buddies. Once their turn came around again, Prissie asked, “Are you sure you’ll be okay on your own?”

Jude fixed her with a reproving look. “I
know
how to drive, Priss. Haven’t you been watching?”

“Fine,” she sighed, but when they stepped through the gate, she made sure her little brother was securely buckled into his green car before choosing a red one for herself.

As soon as the sparks skittered across the ceiling grid, the cars lurched into motion, and “the game” entered its second round. Jude zoomed over to Ransom, who didn’t seem to mind adding a six-year-old to his gang of hoodlums, and they put their heads together for a quick conference. Prissie took a moment to locate Brock, Marcus, and Joey, but they were
off along the far edge of the ring doing their best imitation of whirling dervishes.

Knowing she was outnumbered, she decided that her best bet was to go on the offensive and exact a little vengeance on Ransom’s bumper. As soon as she saw her way clear, she punched the accelerator and aimed for the two green cars.

“Scatter!” Ransom yelled, and he and Jude split up.

Prissie might prefer to behave like a lady, but that didn’t mean she didn’t know how to give as good as she got. She
did
have five brothers, after all, and she’d been driving tractors since she was eight.

Jude wasn’t at all surprised by his sister’s single-minded intensity behind the wheel and squealed in delight every time she rammed him, but Ransom opted to steer clear.

He played hard to get, swerving back and forth, wending his way through the other drivers as he offered offhand apologies for the madwoman in his wake. Ransom laughed every time he looked over his shoulder at her. “Last hit earns the win,” he taunted.

After several near misses, the teen made a series of hand signals that alerted Prissie to the danger of an ambush, though she couldn’t tell who he was communicating with. He circled around and let go of the steering wheel, casually clasping his hands behind his neck and smirking at her. He was wide open, and that was good enough for her. Prissie had to admit she was having fun, and it looked like she would get the last hit. Putting on a burst of speed, she raced into a head-on collision, but before she could exult over her final triumph, Jude broadsided her just as the power was cut, and their turn ended. “Gotcha!” the boy shouted gleefully.

His gray eyes shone with happiness, and before she had
time to get irritated again, Prissie’s face softened at the sight. It was impossible not to smile when Jude was happy. “Yes, Judicious, you got me,” she graciously conceded. Unbuckling, she stepped out of her vehicle and gave her skirt a brisk flap before flipping her braid over her shoulder. Ransom was still buckled in, his arms draped over the small steering wheel as he gazed bemusedly up at her. “What?” she asked sharply.

“So you
do
know how to have fun,” he remarked blandly. “I never woulda guessed!”

“I have more fun depending on the company,” she said.

“I had fun, too!” Jude exclaimed as he tucked his hand into Prissie’s. “Thanks, Ransom,” he said politely.

“Sure, kid,” he replied, unbuckling and unfolding his lanky frame from the bumper car. With a careless wave, he backed toward his friends. “See you later, Miss Priss.”

“I don’t think so,” she returned haughtily.

“Can’t avoid it. We’re both working the evening shift at your folks’ booth,” he rejoined, then slouched off with his friends, bound for the roller coasters.

“He’s nice!” Jude announced.

“He’s
annoying
,” she corrected, tugging him off in the opposite direction.

By mid-afternoon, Jude was sticky, sleepy, and satisfied to be led back to the family’s booth to rest. They followed their noses toward a rich, sweet aroma that could only mean one thing. “Grandpa’s making caramel corn!” Jude exclaimed. Forgetting his weariness, the boy pulled at his sister’s hand, practically dragging her the rest of the way back.

Beneath the canopy behind their stand, Prissie could hear
the hiss of the burner under the kettle, and when she rounded the corner, there was her grandfather, using the long wooden paddle to keep the popcorn moving over the heat. The air was thick with the smells of sizzling oil, popping corn, and burnt sugar — perfect for bringing in customers.

Grandpa Pete tipped the batch out onto the cooling tray and broke apart some of the larger clusters. Beau and Koji spread the pile across the cooling trays with their scoops, giving the batch a little time to set up before bagging it for sale. Waving at everyone, Prissie circled around to the very back, where a picnic blanket and a few seats were arranged in the shade. Jude ignored the mismatched collection of lawn chairs and flopped down onto the blanket with a handful of caramel corn. Within minutes, he was asleep.

Grandpa ambled over and chuckled at the site. “Looks like you did a good job of wearing him out,” he said. He tapped the cooler with the end of his paddle. “Get something to drink and rest a bit. Your mother and grandmother should be back soon, and you can all go to the exhibition hall together.”

Prissie’s heart skipped a beat then raced ahead. She’d nearly forgotten the upcoming judgment, possibly because she’d spent most of the day trying not to think about it. The results of the pie baking contest would be announced at four o’clock.

A little while later, Grandma Nell and Auntie Lou came into view. They had their heads together and were talking a mile a minute. Just behind them came Pearl, pushing Amberly in a stroller. Her husband Derrick manfully toted the oversized boxes they used to transfer the caramel apples from the bakery. Uncle Lou brought up the rear, hands in the pockets of striped shorts that left his knobby knees exposed.
His straw hat, dark sunglasses, and camera made him look like a tourist in his own town.

For several confusing minutes, everyone was talking at once, but eventually, a small group split from the rest, moving purposefully toward the exhibition hall — Grandma Nell, Momma, Pearl, Prissie, and both Lou’s.

With a wistful expression, Koji asked, “Should we go along to offer our support?”

“Nothing doing!” Neil replied. “That’s girl stuff.”

Koji considered this for a moment, then pointed out, “Both your father and Ransom bake.”

“Well sure,” the teen replied with a shrug. “But that’s business.
This
is competition!”

As Prissie and the other ladies disappeared around a corner, Koji tried one last angle. “You like pie, though.”

“You bet, but I like pie on my plate. Looking at pies I’m not allowed to taste is just asking for trouble.”

The young angel studied Neil closely for several moments before declaring, “Turning away from temptation is very wise.”

Prissie’s older brother grinned and said, “You’re not the first person to notice I’m a wise guy.”

“Nor the last,” Grandpa Pete snorted. Dropping a hand onto Koji’s shoulder the old man said, “In my experience, this is best. Let Prissie share her news in her own way when she gets back. I’m prepared for any eventuality.”

Koji gazed at him expectantly.

Crossing to the stack of boxes that held all their supplies, Prissie’s grandfather fished out a box of glaze and showed it
to the boy. “If she wins, we celebrate with pink popcorn. If she doesn’t, we cheer her up with pink popcorn.”

“This, too, seems wise!” Koji said in delight.

Grandpa gruffly replied, “Like they say, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

The fairgrounds boasted two large halls. One was given over to merchants who sold everything from knives to woodburning stoves, however, the second hall was home to all of the arts and crafts competitions, including the cooking contests. It was a great place to get out of the August heat and look at all kinds of interesting things—jars of jams and jellies, knitted afghans, colorful quilts, paintings, lace doilies, pottery, woodcarving, and photography.

Grandma Nell was of the opinion that hovering around the judges while they did their tasting soured the flavors of the pies they were sampling. It was her custom to deliver her entries, then leave well enough alone. Because of this, Prissie hadn’t seen any of the other entries yet. Together, they walked up and down the rows of long tables, sizing up the competition. Grandma Nell and Auntie Lou were old pros, so they recognized the names of their usual rivals and exclaimed over the most promising newcomers to the contest circuit.

“Where’s
your
entry?” Aunt Pearl asked in a low voice.

“The junior class entries are over on the far table,” Prissie replied, pointing.

“Let’s go check it out!”

Taking a deep breath, Prissie slowly followed Pearl along the lineup. There were more than she’d expected. Lemon cheesecake pie, blueberry crumble pie, raspberry mousse
pie, crème brulee pie — each sounded more sophisticated than the last. “These are pretty fancy,” she remarked, feeling foolish. Next to all these other adventurous recipes, her apple pie must have looked awfully plain. When they finally made it to her entry, she was actually surprised there were pieces missing. “At least the judges tried it.”

“Let’s get a picture of you with your pie.” Uncle Lou’s voice just behind her shoulder made her jump. He held his camera at the ready, waving her to get closer. “What did you end up calling it?”

“Candy Apple Pie,” Prissie murmured, offering a wan smile before the flash popped.

“The name suits the color,” he commented. “Kinda pretty, unusual for apples.”

“Do Nell or Naomi ever make those candied apples? Not the caramel ones, but the ones dipped in sugar syrup?” Aunt Pearl asked. “That’s what this makes me think of!”

“Crust looks good,” offered Lou, still eyeing Prissie’s entry critically.

“It
won’t
win,” Prissie stated flatly.

Uncle Lou straightened and peered at her from under his bushy brows. “How do you figure?”

“It’s too plain.”

“Louise has been entering these competitions at the county level and the state level for forty years, so I’m something of an expert when it comes to pie,” he declared, patting his stomach for emphasis. Waving toward the long line of entries, Uncle Lou said, “People always try to dazzle folks with their presentation, but all that gussying up won’t fool any judge worth their salt.”

“Really?” Prissie asked.

“Taste is what counts,” he asserted. “Now, as much as I’d like the chance, I can’t very well taste these entries, but I’ve got a nose. The smell will tell you if the taste is there!” With that, Uncle Lou leaned down and took a good whiff of her pie. “This here’s a
good
pie,” he announced with authority.

His compliment helped bolster Prissie as the minutes crept along, and promptly at four, a group of five people wearing official-looking badges filed toward a podium standing in the corner of the room. “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen! The time has come to announce the winners of this year’s competition. However, before we do that, I’d like to take a moment to thank the contest organizers and introduce our judges.”

As the woman at the microphone droned through the credentials of the men and women who’d tasted all their pies, Grandma Nell, Auntie Lou, and Naomi Pomeroy found their way over, and they formed a little huddle of hopefulness in front of Prissie’s entry. Aunt Pearl crossed her fingers and whispered, “Isn’t this exciting?”

Prissie could only shake her head. It wasn’t exciting; it was
excruciating
, and she thought she might be happier never knowing the judge’s verdict. Glancing around desperately for an escape route, she spotted someone who
wasn’t
supposed to be there. Ransom stood just inside the doors, his hands shoved casually into his jeans pockets. “What’s
he
doing here?” she protested.

Aunt Pearl followed her gaze, then smiled warmly. “Why wouldn’t he be? That boy’s bound and determined to be a fancy pastry chef. He’s probably getting ideas.”

She glared, but Ransom’s attention was where hers probably should have been, because she didn’t realize that they’d
announced her name until Auntie Lou whooped and Grandma Nell pulled her into a hug. “Congratulations, sweetie!”

“Not bad at all for your first time out!” declared Uncle Lou.

Then she was in her mother’s arms. “I’m so proud of you, Priscilla!”

Finally, they released her so she could walk up to the front and receive her ribbon. It wasn’t until she had thanked the judges and turned back toward her family that she saw the words printed in the center of the rosette —
Second Place.

W
hich is their goal?” inquired the warrior, gazing in frustration between the two Protectors.

“Does it matter?” his captain replied. “Either way, there is cause for concern.”

He nodded curtly and said, “I should get back. She is with her family right now, but …”

“The others have been alerted to the potential dangers, so there are many who are willing to lend you their aid. Unless she is somehow lured away from the rest, she is safe.”

“I wish we were not so close to the Deep.” Gazing unhappily toward the east, he added, “It cannot be a coincidence.”

“No, it cannot.”

When Margery and company turned up at the Pomeroy’s booth a few days later, Prissie had no idea they’d be spending the day at the fair. The sting of being left out of the planning was somewhat soothed by the fact that the first thing her friends had done was come to find her. She was scheduled to work all day, but her family pulled together so she could go with the other girls.

“I’ll work doubly hard!” Koji pledged gravely.

“Is it all right?” Prissie whispered to her mother, who was taking a turn at the register.

Momma smiled. “Go ahead, sweetheart.”

Without further urging, Prissie anxiously smoothed her hands over her skirt. She wasn’t wearing anything fancy today — a faded pink gingham sundress and sneakers. But April and Jennifer both wore shorts, while Margery and Elise sported mini-skirts, so she didn’t think she’d stick out
too
much. Before she stepped out from behind their stall, her grandfather slipped her a little spending money. “Tomorrow’s the last day of the fair,” he said gruffly. “Treat yourself to some favorites.”

“Thanks, Grandpa!” she said softly, carefully tucking the funds into the small backpack that doubled as her purse. Adding a couple of bottles of water from the cooler, she met Koji’s gaze. “You’ll be okay?”

He curved his thumb and forefinger into the accompanying hand sign and echoed, “Okay.”

While she was settling up with her family, Elise scooted around the side of their stall and smiled at her brother. “Hey, Neil! Remember me?”

The sixteen-year-old looked up from where he was cleaning out the kettle in preparation for the next popping. “Uhh,
sure. You’re one of the girls who hangs out at the field during practice.”

She pouted, then prompted, “I’m Elise, one of your sister’s friends.”

“Nice to meet you.”

Prissie knew her brother was only giving her run-of-the-mill courtesy, but as Elise practically batted her lashes at him, her annoyance flared. “I’m ready to go,” she announced crisply, gesturing for Elise to precede her to the front of the booth. With a last wave to her family, Prissie followed her friends through the crowds.

One of the first things she noticed was that all four girls had an assortment of beads and bangles dangling from their pockets. When she asked April about the odd accessories, her friend extracted her cell phone from her pocket and passed it to Prissie. “Oh, wow,” she murmured, slowing her steps as she looked over all the doo-dads attached to the phone’s strap.

April pointed to a tiny stuffed rabbit. “This is from my sister because my birthday was on Easter this year, and I won this one at the arcade next to the pizza place.” There was a tiny pair of fuzzy dice, an ornate letter
A
and even a flash drive hanging amidst the odd collection.

Prissie thought it looked like an oversized charm bracelet. “This is
so
cute!” she said enviously.

“You should totally start your own set.” April unhooked a strand of sparkling crystal beads in shades of silver and gray that reminded Prissie of April’s eyes. “Here,” she offered. “You can have this one.”

“But I don’t have a cell phone.”

“Well, until you get one …” April replied, her eyes roving. “Ha! This will work!” Prissie stopped walking and peered
over her shoulder as her friend deftly attached the decoration to her backpack’s zipper, where it sparkled in the sunshine.

Prissie was touched by the gesture. “Thanks, April,” she said sincerely.

“Sure!”

For the next couple of hours, they roamed through the fairgrounds, tallying up how many things could be sold on a stick and sampling most of them. Going with the flow, they ended up on the edge of the crowd that had gathered to watch a square dancing demonstration. A little farther along, they ran up against a watermelon seed spitting contest. They played a ring-toss game for about twenty minutes. Eventually, Margery insisted on showing Elise the bazaar set up in half of one of the exhibition halls, where local artisans sold everything from handmade jewelry to tie-dyed scarves. Prissie was glad to be with her friends again, but it bothered her that, for the first time
ever
, she wasn’t suggesting what to do next. She didn’t even feel like part of the decision.

Margery had always willingly fallen in line with Prissie’s plans, so much so that Grandpa teasingly dubbed his granddaughter the queen bee of her set. But now, her closest friends kept laughing over inside jokes and making references to phone calls, text messages, and past conversations she knew nothing about.

Normally, she would have told them all about her ribbon from the baking contest, but Prissie suspected that Elise would put her down. She’d rather keep her happiness to herself than see it trampled on.

The summertime separation had always been difficult, but up until now, everything went back to normal once classes started up again in the fall. This year, Prissie doubted
that school would automatically fix things. She strongly suspected that the only reason she’d been included at all was because Elise wanted to get closer to Neil.

“Should we do some rides?” Jennifer suggested.

“Not until after dark; it’s
way
better with lights,” said April.

“Hey, look!” Elise said, pointing, sounding surprisingly excited. A large, square tent stood between a gyro stand and a cart selling cones of red, white, and blue shaved ice. It was set back from the main thoroughfare, and tapestry rugs were strewn on the ground leading to the entrance. Off to one side stood a fancy sign on an easel — Lady Ophelia, Seer of Fortunes. The heavy purple fabric of the tent was stitched with moons, stars, pretty little spirals, and zodiac figures. A curtain of multicolored beads swayed across the opening. “Let’s see what she has to say about our futures!”

With excited agreement, the girls moved to follow, but Prissie stayed put. Margery glanced over her shoulder and noticed. “Come on,” she invited.

Prissie shook her head. “I can’t.”

“What?” Jennifer asked in concern. “Why not?”

“Don’t you have enough money?” guessed Elise.

“I’ll lend you some,” offered Margery.

“No, that’s not it,” Prissie hedged. “I just don’t like fortune-tellers.”

“Have you ever been to one?” quizzed April. When she shook her head, her friend reasoned, “Then how would you know?”

She couldn’t explain exactly
why
it was wrong, but she knew that fortune-telling was one of the adamant
thou shalt nots.
If she told her friends that she couldn’t go in because
she believed it was wrong, they’d probably laugh at her. So, Prissie stood there, wanting nothing more than to have the ground swallow her, but keeping her chin up. “I should check in with my family,” she lied, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I’m supposed to be working today … and I really need to get back.”

“Oh … well, maybe we’ll see you later?” Margery said awkwardly.

Prissie smiled weakly, knowing they wouldn’t. “Okay.”

Elise shrugged and turned to Jennifer. “I had my cards read once at this place near my old house, and you wouldn’t
believe
…” With a swoosh of heavy fabric and the clatter of beads, four giggling girls disappeared into the fortune-teller’s tent, and Prissie could have cried over the unfairness of it all.

For a moment, she was tempted to follow them, but her conscience pricked. “I can’t,” she muttered unhappily. It would have been nice to have Koji with her right then, because he would have assured her she was doing the right thing. As it was, she just felt left out.

“Miss Priscilla!” hailed a familiar voice.

“Prissie!” came another enthusiastic call.

She turned to see Milo and Baird weaving their way toward her through the crowd, Kester close on their heels. Up until now, the only time she’d talked to Baird, he’d been up on stage, so she hadn’t realized how short he was until he strolled up to her. They were eye-to-eye. “Hi,” she managed weakly.

The Worshiper’s wild hair was pulled away from his face with a series of little clips that made it stand out like a red mane, and his sleeveless gray shirt was printed with a huge
D.V.
in grungy blue letters. Baird grinned unabashedly and
gave her shoulder a gentle poke. “Good girl!” he proclaimed. “Difficult choices are difficult!”

“Would you like to join us instead?” invited Milo.

“It’ll be fun!” coaxed Baird.

“Really?” she asked, glancing toward Kester, who brought up the rear at his own pace. “Would that be okay?”

“Most assuredly,” the tall angel replied kindly.

With a tremulous smile, she whispered, “Thank you.”

“Do you come to the fair often?” Prissie asked.

“Every year! Practically every day, too,” Baird answered. “Yesterday, I helped chaperone a DeeVee event, and my band is on rotation for music at the bandstand. But today, I’m here with friends!”

“Speaking of which, I hear you’re making sure Koji has a good time,” Milo interjected.

“Of course.”

“I’m
also
showing a newbie around,” Baird announced, gesturing broadly to his apprentice, who held a paper sack of mini-doughnuts. The tall musician’s charcoal gray slacks and white button-down shirt looked far too formal in the middle of the shorts and tank top crowd, but Prissie suspected that this counted as relaxed attire for Kester.

Baird opened his arms wide to encompass the entirety of the fair. “There’s nothing like looking at something familiar through the eyes of someone who’s seeing it for the first time!” Giving his partner a sidelong glance, he added, “Though I suspect Koji was
much
more enthusiastic.”

“Undoubtedly,” agreed Kester calmly.

“Don’t they have fairs in … wherever you came from?” Prissie asked.

Kester smiled faintly. “I have been to bazaars and street festivals all over the world, but they were nothing like this. Each land has its own flair and flavor, and this one’s is uniquely, uh, deep fried.”

“At least
try
the doughnuts,” said Baird.

His apprentice opened the small bag and poked through the contents with one long finger. “I think it may be wisest to eat when we return home.”

“Spoil sport,” Baird sighed. “Food is a part of the whole fair experience!”

Milo chuckled. “It’s not exactly healthy, but it’s not forbidden fruit, either.”

Prissie hesitantly offered, “The apple turnovers my dad makes are baked, and they’re really good. Would you like to try them?”

Kester smiled and graciously accepted her invitation. “I would like to sample your family’s wares. Thank you, Prissie.”

When they reached the Pomeroy’s booth, Prissie wrinkled her nose at Ransom, who only rolled his eyes before nodding to Milo. “Hey, Mr. Mailman,” he greeted.

“Hello, Ransom,” he returned amiably. “Four apple turnovers, please. And you can call me Milo.”

“Sure, okay,” the teen replied, efficiently bagging the pastries.

“Did you have a hand in these delectables?” Milo asked conversationally.

“Yeah,” Ransom admitted.

“They look delicious!”

“They’re
good
,” the teen asserted, looking a little defensive, but mostly pleased.

Koji waved to Prissie and asked, “What happened to your friends?”

She grimaced. “Long story.”

Neil glanced her way and jokingly asked, “Did they ditch you?”

“She
ditched
them,”
Baird corrected, propping his arms on the edge of the stall. “Nice operation you guys have here. Working hard?”

“Yo, Baird,” Neil grinned.

Beau raised a hand in greeting, and Koji followed suit, adding, “Hello, Kester!”

“Good day,” he replied, meeting each person’s gaze in turn. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”

Prissie glanced around to see what had become of Milo and spotted him talking to her father, who was minding the kettle in Grandpa’s place for the afternoon. With a wave, the mailman called Baird over and introduced him; Kester followed, and the three angels talked with Jayce for several minutes. Prissie fiddled with the end of her braid as they chatted, wondering if they were talking about her. When her dad finally looked her way, it was with a smile. “Come back in time for dinner, my girl,” he urged.

With a jolt, Prissie realized that Milo had wrangled permission for her to stay with them for the rest of the afternoon. She didn’t have to be told twice. When Baird led the way back onto the fairgrounds, she walked beside Kester with her head held high.

“Thanks again!” Milo called to Jayce, and Prissie peeped over her shoulder. To her complete and utter delight, Ransom
was watching them go. If only Elise could see her now, being escorted by three handsome men — well,
angels.
The possibility buoyed her spirits even further. Maybe her luck had taken a turn for the better!