“We'l start next week," Pix vowed. "Most people don't even know we're here yet."
“Granny does," Samantha reminded her.
“True, but look at this sky. Surely this is a day that the Lord hath made, and I'm sure both the Lord and His representative on earth would be glad we're enjoying it."
“Hey, Mom, I don't even like going to church here. It's so boring compared to Reverend Fairchild's service. You don't have to convince me.”
Through a quirk of faith, and through Faith's quirks, the Fairchilds had managed to buy the entire forty-acre parcel of land known local y as the Point, a long finger of land stretching out toward the open sea. It had one of the only white, sandy beaches on Sanpere and was a popular spot for swimming and picnicking. The Fairchilds had given most of the land to the Island Heritage Trust, saving a few acres for themselves at the very end. An old road had been improved and they had been able to get the power and the telephone companies to string lines out to the site—no mean accomplishment, Pix had informed them. Faith had been surprised. "How could we possibly be out there without power or a phone?" She was even more surprised when Pix had told her that the Mil ers hadn't had a phone at their cottage, by choice, until the kids had started to go to sleep-away camps off-island and Pix's nerves couldn't take it. "It was wonderful. A real vacation when no one can cal you" Faith had privately thought this New England eccentricity in the extreme. No phone!
Today, Samantha and Pix were fol owing the road straight down the spine of the Point. They'd take the shore way back, clambering over the rocks when the tide was lower. The road went through the woods, but there were openings that cut down to the sea. Judging from the number of sailboats out, local pews were pretty empty this Sunday morning. The sun sparkled on the surface of the water and the clouds in the sky were as white and bil owy as the sails beneath them. Pix thought how much of their lives on Sanpere was governed by the sea. Their days were planned around the tides. When it was high, they swam. When it was low, they dug clams, gathered mussels, or simply combed the beaches for shel s, peering into the jewel-like tidal pools at the starfish, sea anemones, tiny crabs, and trailing seaweed. The Mil ers' cottage was not on deep water, unlike The Pines. First-time visitors were always shocked at the broad expanse of pure mud revealed where a few hours before the ocean deep had beckoned. Pix had grown to prefer the change, charting the summer by the time of the tides.
She remembered suddenly what the tide had revealed to her friend Faith several summers earlier and shuddered.
She stepped determinedly along and almost bumped into Samantha, who was crouched down on the shady path leading from the road to the construction site.
“What are you looking at?"
“Someone dropped a key," Samantha answered. "It looks like an old one. Isn't it pretty?" The cut work on the top of the key was done in intricate swirls.
“Hold on to it and I'l ask Seth next time I see him if anyone has lost it. I'd take it, but these pockets have holes in them, I'm ashamed to say"
“If that's al you've got to be ashamed about, Mom, you're in good shape" Samantha shoved the key in her jeans pocket. If no one claimed it, she'd wear it on a ribbon around her neck.
Pix was debating whether to fol ow up Samantha's comment with a veiled inquiry as to what Samantha might be ashamed of that would lead her to make a comment like this. She stepped into the sunlight; news that Samantha was running a lunch-money extortion ring at school would have been welcome compared with the news that greeted her eyes.
Seth Marshal hadn't done a thing since Memorial Day.
No, she quickly took it back. An ancient cement mixer had been brought in and there were empty cans of soda and other potables on the ground, nestled next to Twinkies wrappers and squashed Mother Goose potato chip bags.
“Mom! Didn't you say they would be framing the house by now?”
Pix was speechless. She nodded dismal y. The Fairchilds hoped to move in at the end of the summer.
They'd be lucky if the roof was on before bad weather struck.
Her anger mounted, and she found her vocal cords worked after al . "Wait until I get hold of Seth! This is total y inexcusable!" Pix's voice, which at times like these assumed the strident tones of a sideshow barker by way of the Winsor School and Pembroke, rang out indignantly in the crisp Maine morning air. She strode to the edge of the hole where the basement was supposed to be, the dogs fol owing at her heels. "I know he's not dead or injured. It would have been in The Island Crier." The Mil ers subscribed to the Sanpere weekly paper year-round. Next to Organic Gardening, it was Pix's favorite reading material. "He'd better have a pretty darn good excuse!"
“Look over here," Samantha cal ed. She was behind a stand of birches the Fairchilds had specified be left. "Aren't these the things they use to stiffen the concrete? It must mean they're going to do it soon. They wouldn't leave them here to rust”
Pix went over to get a closer look.
“You're right. These are reinforcing rods, and here are some anchor bolts. But even if they pour tomorrow, we're stil weeks behind schedule. And in any case, they couldn't pour any concrete without putting in the footing forms, and I don't see any sign of them.”
Samantha tried to cheer her mother up. "Come on, let's go down to the shore and eat our sandwiches. It's not like it's your fault. Mrs. Fairchild wil understand." Samantha correctly zeroed in on the thing Pix was dreading—tel ing Faith.
“I know, but I'm so mad at Seth, I could scream.
Promises, promises. I should have known better and cal ed him every day."
“Wel , scream if you want to. It wil make you feel better.
Tiffany Morrison says her therapist told her to, and it's awesome"
“Why is Tiffany seeing a therapist?" Pix was suddenly sidetracked. The Morrisons owned a real estate agency in Aleford and had always seemed like the perfect apple-pie family. Maybe that was the trouble.
“Oh, you know, the eating thing. She won't eat anything, then she eats like crazy. I think she first started doing it to get her parents' attention. They're always so busy. Then it kind of got out of hand. She tel s us about it in gym, and it's total y gross. But she's doing okay now. I guess the screams worked.”
They both laughed, then Pix said, "Real y, an eating disorder is no laughing matter."
“That's not what we're laughing at," Samantha pointed out sensibly. Sometimes she thought the term guilt trip had been coined for her mother.
Pix felt much better. She'd cal Seth as soon as she got home. Then once she pinned him down to a firm date—
and she would tel him she would be there watching—she'd phone the Fairchilds and might providential y get Tom.
She cal ed to the dogs. Dusty and Henry came running from the woods, barking happy doggy greetings as if they had been crossing the country for months, desperately trying to find their people. But the third dog did not emerge from the greenery.
“Artie! Artie! Arthur Mil er! Come now! Do you see him, Samantha?"
“No, but he can't be far. He never strays from the others.”
Pix found him immediately. "Oh, naughty, naughty dog!”
Artie was down in the cel ar hole, digging furiously. He glanced up at the sound of his mistress's voice, then went back to his work.
“What is he doing? He must have found an animal bone.”
Pix jumped in, landing on the soft earth. She went over to the dog and grabbed his col ar. "Stop it this instant!" As she pul ed the dog away, she noticed that what he had unearthed was not a bone, but a piece of fabric.
“Samantha, look what Artie's found. I think it's part of an old quilt."
“I'l get something to dig with."
“It's probably in tatters. Remember the beautiful Dresden Plate quilt I saw in the back of Sonny Prescott's pickup? He was using it to pile logs on, to keep the truck clean!"