This was an impeccable source, and the obvious question was voiced by one of the Sanfords, "Where in this world would Mitchel Pierce get al that money?”
It was what Pix was asking herself. Less than a year ago, he was skipping town to avoid his debts and now he was on easy street—or would be if alive. Either he'd been restoring houses at breakneck speed up the coast or he'd been branching out into some other lines of business. The multitude of coves and inlets on the coast brought to mind several il egal possibilities.
Jil offered a suggestion. She was younger than the other members, but she had come so often with her aunt, who had raised her, in days gone by that when the aunt died, it seemed only right to ask Jil to take her place. "He did sel a lot of antiques and maybe he came across something real y valuable."
“That's possible," Pix agreed, "but the police would have discovered that by now."
“How do we know they haven't?" Jil asked.
“Wel , if you don't know, no one on this island does,"
Dot teased her, and Jil obliged by turning red.
“Has anybody claimed him yet?" Serena Marshal asked. "Because when they do, you march right down, Louel a, and get your money back" Serena was partial to Court TV. Cable had changed the landscape of the minds of islanders forever. "They have to settle his debts from the estate.”
Everyone nodded and they moved away from the topic of Mitch to the consideration of a new member.
“She hasn't lived here that long, but she does beautiful work and they are year-round now.”
Pix assumed they were talking about Valerie Atherton.
She said Samantha was enjoying her work at the camp.
“Oh no, not Valerie"—Mabel. laughed—"though she'd liven things up. I don't believe that girl has ever even threaded a needle in her life. We're talking about Joan down to the Inn." Joan Randal and her husband, George, owned the Sanpere Inn. Smiles of the "sil y old Pix" variety crossed some lips and Pix lowered her age to five. She loved these women—but one at a time.
“I don't see why we shouldn't have her," Louise said.
"There's a space open." Everyone grew silent for a moment as they remembered their friend who'd died the year before. "Joan's eager to join and she's a gifted quilter, although a bit shy about her talents. I've seen her quilts. In some of them, she's taken the traditional patterns and given them a new twist by using contemporary fabrics. She has a wonderful sense of color.”
It was agreed that Joan would be the newest Sanpere Stitcher and informed of this signal honor as soon as possible so she could contribute to the sale.
The afternoon drifted on. A lot of coffee was drunk, some gossip conveyed, and a surprising amount of work accomplished. The only note of discord had been struck when Adelaide misplaced her scissors and, finding that her sister-in-law was sitting on them, chewed Rebecca out in no uncertain terms. "I do believe you are getting scattier by the minute, Rebecca! You know you put cream that had turned in the gravy last week." Rebecca appeared not to hear her and just went on working. It was something she'd grown adept at over the years. The other women ignored Addie, too. They'd also heard it al before.
After the last woman left, Ursula looked about at the wreckage of half-fil ed cups and crumb-laden plates and said, "Don't you wish we could leave al this until tomorrow?" Unfortunately, Gert had had to leave, as it was her evening to do for the Bainbridges. Besides Ursula, Gert seemed to do for most of Sanpere.
“Why don't we? Come to my house for supper and leave everything," Pix suggested. She had no problem with it, yet she was sure what her mother's response would be.
“Getting up and seeing a pile of dirty dishes in my living room would be worse than seeing a ... wel , let's just say it would be unpleasant.”
Pix knew what her mother had intended, but she didn't agree. Seeing a body would be far worse. And she, Pix, should know.
It didn't take as long as they thought to clean up. Ursula turned down Pix's offer of supper. "Maybe it's the noise, but al I ever want on Sewing Circle days is a boiled egg and early bed.”
Pix kissed her mother good-bye and headed home.
She felt like talking to Sam and hoped her husband would be around. She'd always thought it was one of life's little inequities that when a man was left on his own, he was showered with dinner invitations—the poor thing. When Sam was out of town, kids home or not, no one so much as offered her a casserole.
Samantha was in the living room reading. Pix was glad to see it was Alice Hoffman and not Martha Stewart—this after Samantha's remark the other evening that their soup bowls didn't match. It had never come to her attention before, and the bowls had been around as long as she had.
She'd be tying ribbons around their napkins next.
“How was your day, sweetheart?"
“I like the teaching part, but it's boring standing around while they eat, then it's a big rush to clean up. The kids are great, except it's kind of sad."
“What do you mean?"
“Wel , some of them real y don't want to be there, although I think they kind of like me."
“They're probably just homesick. Most kids are that way at camp in the beginning."
“I know. I remember Danny sending you al those cards to come get him, then when you final y broke down and went, he wanted to know what you were doing there”
Pix remembered the incident wel . Danny, or their unexpected little dividend, as she and Sam cal ed him in private, was predictably unpredictable in al things.
“But these kids have been sent to camp for years, even though they're so young. It's like their parents want to get rid of them," Samantha continued.
“Maybe their parents need to have a program for them.
If both are working, a child can't simply stay home."
“I know and I think that's true in some cases, but there's one little girl, Susannah, who's so sweet, and I know her mother isn't working. She said so. And then there's this boy I'm kind of worried about. He's real y mad at his parents for what he cal s `dumping' him at camp while they're on vacation."
“It's hard to know what's going on in other people's families." With that understatement, Pix went to make some supper for the two of them, after which she had a delightful and foolish talk with her husband, reminiscent of al the talks of al the other summers.
“Dad thinks he wil be up on Sunday," Pix happily told Samantha. "And he can stay on through the Fourth."
“I'd better make myself scarce," her daughter teased her. "I know what you two are like.”
Pix was stil not used to the idea that her older children knew their parents had and enjoyed sex. "Oh, Samantha, don't be sil y. Daddy wants to spend as much time as possible with you, too.”
And it was true. Sam was taking the thought of his daughter's leaving for col ege in the not-too-distant future even harder than Pix.
The phone rang and Samantha grabbed it, but this time it was for her mother.
“Pix? It's Jil . What are you doing tomorrow? Valerie and I are going to go antiquing over in Searsport and toward Belfast if there's time. Could you join us? Valerie says prices are especial y low because of the economy, and since it's stil early in the season, things haven't been picked over. We'l leave after breakfast. I have someone to cover the store then."
“I'd love to. I have to be home in the afternoon to make chowder for the Fraziers' clambake, so the morning is perfect for me," Pix answered. "I'm looking for a night table to go in the guest room at home, and in any case, it's always fun to poke around."
“Plus, Valerie knows so much about everything.
Whenever I go with her, I always learn new things—and she's very good at dickering. I can never find the nerve.”
Pix had always been amazed that Jil had found the nerve to open and run her store. She was extremely quiet and shy. Both Pix and Faith thought Jil was beautiful—what was cal ed in another day a "pocket Venus"—tiny but perfect, with thick, silky dark brown straight hair fal ing to her shoulders. Her attire betrayed the fact that she spent winters off-island working in Portland. The outfit she'd worn today at the Sewing Circle—a hand-painted turquoise tunic over a gauzy white accordion-pleated skirt—hadn't come from the Granvil e Emporium, where it was stil possible to find printed shirtwaist dresses circa 1955. Tom and Sam both said “attractive" was as far as they would go in describing Jil , thereby confirming Faith's oft-stated notion that men knew nothing about female pulchritude.
The next day, Valerie met them at Jil 's. Pix had offered to drive, but Valerie had a van and there was always the possibility they might be carting home something big. Jil hoped to get some things for the store—smal folk art items and thirties jewelry had proved especial y popular.
“Hop in," Valerie cal ed out cheerful y. She was wearing work clothes jeans, turtleneck, sneakers, each discreetly emblazoned by Lauren. The first place they stopped was a barn. The sign out side promised TRASH
AND TREASURES. Jil had found some alphabet plates at a procurable price there earlier and wanted to look in again. Pix walked through the door feeling the tingle of excitement she always did at an auction, a yard sale, any place that offered not just a bargain but a find.
Jil started sifting through boxes of costume jewelry and Valerie was climbing over dressers and bedsteads to examine an oak dining room set. Pix strol ed through the musty barn. There was a pile of Look magazines next to a windup Victrola. Tables were fil ed with a mixture of fine cut glass and gas station giveaways. She was slightly taken aback to see the kind of tin sand pail and shovel from her childhood behind locked doors with other toys of various vintages. Maybe hers was stil in the attic at The Pines. At the end of the aisle, there was a heap of linens, and her heart began to beat faster when she saw there were some quilts in the pile. She started to sort through them. Motes of dust floated in the strong light from an adjacent window.
Some of the quilts had suffered a great deal of dam age, but one was remarkably wel preserved. Left in a trunk or used only for company, it was the Flying Geese pattern, done in shades of brown and gold. The triangular "geese"
were several different prints—some striped, some flowered. The setting strips were muslin and elaborately quilted. It was a real scrap quilt and Pix fel in love with it.
There were occasional touches of bright red, perhaps flannel, and the handwork was exquisite. She took it and two of the damaged ones that she thought could be repaired to the front of the barn.
“How much for al three?" she asked the owner. "Some of them are very badly worn."
“Came out of a house over near Sul ivan. Nothing that went in ever left until the party that owned it departed in a pine box." He seemed to find this very funny. Pix had heard about these untouched houses before.
“What's your price?"
“Two hundred dol ars," he said firmly.
Pix almost gasped. The man obviously didn't know what quilts were bringing. She held on to her senses and countered, "A hundred and fifty"
“We'l split the difference, deah. How about one seventy-five—plus tax”
Pix agreed. She wasn't about to lose her quilts. She paid him and ran over to Jil , who had a fistful of Bakelite bracelets.
“Look what I got!" Pix kept her voice down, but it was hard.
“Quilts! How wonderful. I'l pay for these and then let's go where I can see them properly.”
They cal ed to Valerie that they'd be outside, then spread the quilts on the grass by the van. The Flying Geese quilt looked even better in the sunlight against the green grass. "Pix, it's gorgeous," Jil enthused.
Pix was elated and bent down to look at the stitching again. That's when she saw it. Close to the border, just like the other one. Two crossed blue threads.
Two crossed blue threads just like the ones on the quilt that had served as Mitchel Pierce's winding-sheet.