“I'm not going to die, Tom. What I am going to do is be very, very careful. You are the only person I am going to tell this to. As far as everyone else is concerned, including Dunne and MacIsaac, Mrs. Fairchild is scared silly and minding her own business."
“So So what do you plan to do then ? "
“Just watch, Tom, just watch.”
He looked at her resolute face and they went up to the Moores'.
Patricia's house when Patricia had gone from it was like the husk of one of the milkweed pods in the nearby meadow when all the strands of shiny silk had blown away in the wind. Faith walked down the hall past the familiar ship pictures, the Queen Anne lowboy on which Patricia had placed a huge bowl of chrysanthemums only yesterday morning. They were as fresh as when she had gathered them and bore the mark of her own distinctive way of arranging flowers—tendrils of ivy and wild flowers mixed with their more cultivated neighbors. Faith knew she was going to start crying again.
Robert took them into his study. He was shivering and Tom immediately lit the fire, which had been laid but not started. Faith went into the kitchen to make some tea. She filled the kettle, put it on the stove, then reached for the teapot before remembering that of course it wouldn't be in its usual place. She opened a cabinet to look for another one and felt totally overwhelmed at the sight of Patricia's neat shelves, her blue and white cups hanging from their hooks. Faith found it impossible to believe that she wouldn't ever sit down and look across one of these cups at Patricia. She closed the door and went into the dining room for some brandy instead.
When she returned, Robert's head was bowed and he was mumbling to Tom. She left the decanter and went to find Jenny.
She was in her room with Rob. Both of them were momentarily cried out and sitting silently by the window leaning against one another. Jenny ran to Faith and put her arms around her and started to sob. There was really nothing Faith could think of to say, so she just sat and held the girl, stroking her soft hair. After a while, Jenny was calmer and Faith looked over her head at Rob still sitting in the window seat and apparently engrossed by the design on the cushion.
He looked up at her and spoke first, "It's not Dave, Mrs. Fairchild. You believe that, don't you ? “
“Yes, I do."
“But who ? It had to be someone who knew her pretty well—and knew the house.
Jenny 's room was flooded with sunlight and Faith was stunned by a sense of unreality as she sat with these two children talking about murder amidst Jenny 's collection of foreign dolls and horse books. Their mother 's murder.
Rob continued to speculate. Faith realized he was trying to cope with the whole thing by organizing it like a term paper. She half expected him to produce a card file—and maybe it wasn 't such a bad approach.
“The thing to figure out is what linked Mom with Cindy? Did she see something or did somebody tell her something ? She was in town at the Museum of Fine Arts that day, so she couldn 't have actually seen anything. I think it had to have been something somebody said later and Mom realized it didn't sound right.
“She's been pretty tense lately," he continued, "And talking a lot about not judging people harshly. I thought she meant me, because of how I felt about Cindy. I know it is horrible, but I was almost glad she was dead. But maybe Mom was talking about somebody else."
“Did she have any visitors lately? Especially anyonewho didn't come normally ? " Faith asked, addressing the question to Jenny. Rob wouldn't have known who had been there that week.
“Jenny and I have been all over that." He smiled for a moment and Jenny managed a faint replica in turn. "Mom always had a lot of visitors. This house is like the Grand Central Station of Aleford. You know that. Her quilting group met here on Wednesday and it was their turn for the Bridge Club Thursday night. This doesn't include all the people dropping in and out.”
Faith knew it was true. She had been in the habit of dropping in herself when she was up that way, to see Patricia, walk in the garden and likely as not leave with some flowers or a jar of jam. On paper Patricia would have sounded too good to be true. In real life you thanked God she was.
Faith offered to take Jenny for the next few days, but as she suspected the kids wanted to stay together and with their father.
“You know we don't have much family. Dad was an only child and now there 's no one left in Mom's family, so we have to stick together," Rob said matter-of-factly, then added in a voice a little less controlled, "Dad has been pretty bad and he doesn't want to see anybody but us. We don't want to leave him.”
Faith had only met Rob a few times before and although she had been slightly amused at the refined punk image he had adopted in defense against the preppiness of Williams, she didn't have much impression of him. Now she felt that he was going to keep things under control here. The numbness of grief would come later, but first there was anger and a lot to do.
With Jenny it was different. She looked completely devastated and Faith noticed that she was almost unable to speak. When Rob walked downstairs alone with Faith, she was glad to hear that Doctor Kane had given Jenny a tranquilizer the night before and had been checking in on them throughout the day. Jenny was going to try to sleep a little now—it was the best escape Faith could think of for her.
“If you need anything at all, Rob, please call—or just come over. For a meal, or talk, whatever helps.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Fairchild, we will; although, it won 't be for a meal unless we bring the food. If I could get all this stuff in the freezer, we 'd have enough for a year or two. Plus the Minuteman Café phoned this morning and offered to bring a hot meal whenever we wanted. And of course none of us can eat a thing.”
They went into the study. Robert and Tom were sitting before the fire. Robert looked a little better and Rob went over to his father and put his arms around him.
They left father and son soon after and went out to the car. As they were getting in they heard an insistent tapping on the upstairs window. It was Jenny. She was struggling to lift the heavy sash. Faith called up to her, then, realizing she couldn't be heard, went back in the house and up the stairs. Jenny was standing in the doorway of her room, her arms filled with a quilt—Patricia's last quilt.
“Mom wanted to give this to you. It's not finished. She was going to add another row of these quilted feathers ... " Jenny could barely say the words.
Faith held her closely. "Oh, Jenny, it would be one of my greatest treasures, but I think you ought to keep it." Jenny interrupted her as fiercely as her shaky voice would allow, "No, Mom wanted you to have it ! "
“Then I will take it with great thanks. It is very beautiful, like your mother, but I am going to leave it with you to keep for me—just for now." Faith took Jenny's hand and led her back into her room, tucked her into bed, and spread the quilt over her—the deep blues and purples with flashes of red were like jewels inthe sun and she hoped it would blanket Jenny with a little of the warmth and comfort of that other irreplaceable warmth. She closed the door softly and let herself out without disturbing Robert and Rob, noting as she did so what an easy house it was to slip in and out of unnoticed.
On the way back to the parsonage Faith told Tom what Jenny had done.
“Of course you know what this means?”
Tom knew exactly. " It means she was listening."
“ Got it in one, sweetie. And it means she probably heard the whole conversation on the deck, not just the part about the quilt.”