“I guess it's because I like the Athertons so much. I wasn't thinking of it from his point of view. It's hard to be sympathetic, but you're right. What if Daddy died and you got married again and made me move from Ale-ford, although coming to Sanpere wouldn't be so bad."
Samantha was working out a whole scenario. "Except no matter who you picked, it wouldn't be Daddy."
“Who wouldn't be Daddy?" Sam appeared at his daughter's side.
“Mom's next husband—that is, if something happened to you and she remarried," Samantha added hastily, seeing her father's startled look.
“I thought you were going to be faithful to my memory,"
Sam said to his wife. "Now I find out you're getting hitched when I'm barely cold in the ground.”
Whether it was the heat, the sand fleas, the scene with the Athertons, or something altogether different, Pix suddenly felt a sense of deep despair. She didn't want to joke about Sam's demise. She didn't want to talk about death at al .
“Samantha, why don't you and your friends see if you can find Duncan. He may want someone to talk to" Pix had not liked the look of fear and anxiety on the boy's face as he'd run off. "He's probably up in the ledges at the other end of the beach. I saw him sitting there before"
“You're right, Mom, but I think he'd be more apt to talk to one person than a bunch of us. I'l go.”
She ran off. Sam looked at Pix. "What's going on?”
“I don't know. I wish I did. It's probably just me. I got tired al of a sudden”
At that moment, El iot began to bang on the lid of Pix's now-empty chowder pot with the ladle.
“Hear ye, hear ye! Gather round!”
El iot, normal y a reticent and mild-mannered man in his late sixties, assumed an entirely different persona at the clambake. He wore an apron that proclaimed him "The Clam King," a gift from a partygoer some years ago and now indispensable garb, as was his broad-brimmed straw hat decorated with smal plastic clams, lobsters, and various seashel s bearing absolutely no resemblance to reality.
People crowded near to the pit, knowing that before they would get their hands on a lobster or an ear of corn, they'd have to listen to El iot's traditional clambake speech.
“Some of you have heard this al before," he started.
"Many times before," a friend cal ed out, and everyone groaned.
El iot continued undaunted.
“When my friend Sam and I dug the pit and lined it with rocks this morning, getting everything ready for you sleepyheads who were stil snoring away, we were continuing a tradition that goes back to the first summer people to come to Sanpere—the Abenaki Indians. Along with al the other useful things Indians taught the early colonists, they showed them how to cook in the sand this way. I always like to remember them—we could be eating at the site of one of their clambakes—and say thank you before we tuck in."
“Thanks, Abenakis," a little girl shouted, and everyone laughed. She buried her head in her mother's skirt in embarrassment.
“Now, I'm not quite done yet. At the risk of being accused of being sentimental—"
“Risk it, El iot." This, much to Pix's surprise, came from her own mother.
“Thank you, Ursula, I wil . I'd like to make a toast to al of you good people, who mean so much to Louise and me, and also, as always, to absent friends. Final y, in the words of Sean O'Casey, `May the very best of the past—be the worst of the future!" He took a swig of beer, handed the bottle to his wife, took the first stone anchoring down the tarp covering the steaming pit, removed it, and flung it into the sea. 'It resounded appropriately with a loud splash.
Everyone cheered and rushed to help uncover the steaming food, packed in cheesecloth parcels.
Pix stayed close to Sam. "I love El iot's toasts" Things were beginning to be al right again.
“And I love you," he said, kissing the tip of her nose.
"Now let's eat." Definitely al right.
Perhaps because they had been waiting so long for the food or because the various potables that had been imbibed created an atmosphere of heightened enjoyment, one and al declared the food the best ever. Pix knew she was a mess. She'd dripped melted butter down her chin as she'd consumed her lobster and clams. Her fingers were sticky from the chicken—Louise always charcoal-broiled it a bit first—and corn. Above al , she was ful —and there was stil dessert. She and Sam were sitting on the blanket she'd brought when Earl and Jil strol ed past laden with lobster carcasses and clam shel s.
“Come and join us," Pix cal ed.
“Just as soon as we dump this stuff," Earl answered.
She'd have to go see Earl down in Granvil e at the combined post office, town hal , and office of the law to get him alone and talk about the blue quilt marks. Although her appearance at the tiny hole-in-the-wal that served the needs of justice on the island would immediately cause talk. She'd better cal him. Now she might just try to steer the conversation to antiques, quilts in particular, perhaps, and fakes. She was feeling comfortably sated and the demons disturbing her earlier were gone. She didn't want to waste the opportunity. Earl was right here and she hadn't made much progress in her investigation so far. Faith would no doubt have had the whole thing sewn up by now—
but maybe not. Pix sat in the growing darkness waiting for Jil and Earl's return. El iot had lighted his huge bonfire and a few people were playing guitars. It was a lovely scene.
She was content to wait.
* * *
Samantha had not been able to find Duncan at first. He wasn't in plain sight and she walked deeper and deeper into the woods before she found him, curled up in a fetal position on a bed of pine needles.
“Duncan, it's me, Samantha Mil er. I'm a friend of Arlene Prescott”
He didn't move for a second, then slowly sat up and eyed her warily.
“You work at the camp. I've seen you. Did they send you to get me?" He spat the words out.
Assuming he meant Valerie and Jim, Samantha answered, "No, I just thought maybe you'd like to talk to somebody. You seemed pretty upset" He was so antagonistic that she'd begun to wish she hadn't been the good little Samaritan her mother expected and had stayed down on the beach.
“I'm not going back."
“It's a long walk." She almost said home, then quickly changed it to the house.
“So what" He leaned against a tree and put his arms behind his head. He was pathetical y skinny and short for his age. Samantha hoped for his sake that he would grow a few inches this summer and maybe start to work out. It would certainly make life easier if he looked a little more attractive.
She decided to give it a try. "I know a kid whose mother died last year—cancer. It was real y terrible.
Anyway, I wanted to say I'm sorry about your dad. I know how my friend feels, and she didn't have to move”
Duncan looked as if he was going to cry. His face got al screwed up, then he opened his eyes wide and shook his head. The ring in his ear wobbled. Samantha noticed that the hole was red and angry, obviously infected. Now completely grossed out, she decided she'd done her duty and turned around to return to the party.
“Hey, are you leaving?"
“My parents might be wondering where I am," she lied,
"and besides, the food is almost ready and I love lobster cooked this way. You ought to try it."
“I don't eat fish—or meat," he added.
Definitely not getting enough protein, Samantha thought. She sat down beside him. He was so pathetic.
"There's lots of corn. It's steamed in the husk. My dad brought it up from Boston, since there's no corn here yet.
Come back and you can eat with us." It was worth a try.
“Why are you being so nice to me?”
She didn't have an answer ready.
“I don't know. I guess I feel sorry for you.”