Prescott Point?'
“I know the very house she's thinking of. Only it's not there anymore.”
Pix and Faith looked at each other, crestfallen.
“Which house was it? Did it burn or was it moved?' Pix asked. Houses were moved routinely on the island as fortunes rose and fell.
“Neither. It just fell down and most of the lumber got hauled away. Belonged to Clifford Prescott. It wasn't even a white house. It was gray, but it got that nickname in the forties. FDR was yachtin' up here and they hailed Clifford when he was out lobsterin'. Wanted to buy eighty pounds of lobster. Clifford was a friendly sort, and he got to chatting with them and gave the President some special lobsters as a gift and got a thank-you note from The White House. He was right proud of that letter. Had it framed on the wall. That was when people started calling Clifford's house the Prescott White House. He loved the joke, and Matilda must have too.'
“That's a great story,' Faith said. She was in the mood for a cheerful story or two.
“If the house caved in, it's possible that the steps are still there.' Pix was thinking out loud.
“Of course,' Faith agreed eagerly. Nan looked a bit wary.
“Just be careful,' she said. 'Now I'd better get home or Freeman will try to make his own supper, and there's no tellin' what the mess will be like.' She looked at Faith. 'I hear you don't think much of island cookin'. You have to come over and have a meal with us sometime. I'm not a bad cook, if I do say so. The two best cooks on the island are two sisters. Had a restaurant in their old farmhouse. You may remember it, Pix, South Beach Farm? It was too popular and they got worn out, had to close. But that was some good.”
Faith blushed. Had her distaste at the casserole supper been so obvious? She remembered all the good smells in Nan's kitchen and didn't doubt her expertise.
“A lot of the food at the supper we went to was delicious—the baked beans, the biscuits, and the desserts. I don't care much for casseroles,' Faith said apologetically. 'I hope you don't think I don't appreciate the island.'
“Well,' Nan admitted, 'some of those casseroles the girls got from magazine recipes, and I never did lean that way myself.”
She turned at the door. 'By the way, those were Freeman's beans.”
Nan left, and Faith decided to spend the night. The idea of going back to the cottage alone was both terrifying and exhausting.
After supper they put Ben to bed, popped some corn, and played Trivial Pursuit, to Samantha's infinite delight. Faith reminded her that this was a once-in-a-blue-moon occasion and she would always detest all forms of board games. She also enjoined her to secrecy. If Tom discovered she had played Trivial Pursuit, then backgammon, Othello, parcheesi, Chutes and Ladders, whatever, would not be far behind. It was pleasant to sit and be beaten, basking in the ordinariness of the situation, but when she climbed into bed at last, she was aware that her arms still ached from being treed, her cheek was sore, and she was still afraid. Pix had suggested reporting it to Earl, but Faith wanted to forget the whole thing. She wasn't going to be alone anymore and she'd be leaving soon. She wasn't sure if she was happy or not at the prospect. So many loose ends remained, but today's intimate experience with a spruce had given her a longing for impersonal sidewalks and forests of skyscrapers of her childhood.
When Ben came in and jumped on her bed the next morning, thrilled with the novelty of sleeping in a different house, Faith noticed at once that the fog, as predicted, had gone wherever it goes. It was a perfect Maine day.
She got up and dressed hurriedly. She wanted to look for the White House steps, and she had a lot to do to get ready for Hope and Quentin. They had said late afternoon, but that could mean virtually anytime between two o'clock and midnight.
After bolting breakfast, Pix and Faith climbed into the Woody and set off on the trail. They drove straight to the area of Prescott Point where they had been on Saturday. Afterdriving up and down the road searching fruitlessly, they finally admitted there was no indication of where the road to the White House was, or had been. Nothing suggested Jacob's Ladder either and they agreed the square could have been mistakenly identified.
They'd have to get in touch with Nan to find the old road and since she didn't have a phone, that meant going to her house. Pix volunteered to do it while Faith went back to the cottage. It was impossible to feel apprehensive with such a blue sky.
As Faith was dropping her off and fetching her son, she took a deliberately cheerful view. 'The Hamiltons are bound to know where the road is, and it won't take me too long to get things in order. Quentin can always remake the bed if my hospital corners aren't taut enough. Call me and we can resume the search. Ben shouldn't be a problem.' Samantha was with Arlene for a joyful reunion after their fog-induced separation.
“Don't worry, I'll call the moment I have any news. Oh Faith, isn't this exciting! Even if it's not the gold, we've solved the puzzle.”
Pix phoned a half hour later. 'Nobody's home! I'm so disappointed. I'll go back in an hour or so and keep checking until I find them. They can't have gone far. Freeman says the last time he went off island was in 1979. Hasn't needed to since. Nan does go up to Ellsworth to shop occasionally.'
“Well, let's hope she didn't go today. Talk to you later.”
It was almost four o'clock when Pix called again. 'Still nobody home!' she cried. 'Should I wait until tomorrow?'
“Why don't you try once more at dinnertime, island dinnertime that is? And maybe by then Hope and Quentin will be here and can help us hunt.'
“All right, I'll let you know one way or the other.”
At five o'clock Hope and Quentin pulled up to the cottage in the Jeep Cherokee they had rented. Faith grabbed Ben and rushed out to meet them. Hope was getting out of the car in one swift motion. It was the way she did most things. Like her mother. They didn't look the same, but they moved the same way. Women who knew where they were going.
Faith hugged her sister warmly and turned her cheek to Quentin. It wasn't an air kiss, but it wasn't a big smacker either and that pretty much summed Quentin up. Nothing in excess. He and Hope looked as if they had just stepped out of the J. Crew catalogue. Faith knew for certain that everything Hope was wearing was brand-new, but it could just as well have been sailing in Newport for years. And Quentin's jacket was either an old favorite of his father's handed down or the equivalent at a price. Dressed for the part, they were delighted to be there.
“We've been having such fun, Fay. Maine is wonderful!”
“But the last few days were a bit foggy, don't you think?' Hope and Quentin looked at each other in astonishment. 'Foggy? They've been the best of our trip. We were out sailing all day yesterday and the sun never stopped shining.' Of course.
“Are you hungry? Why don't we go in and get something to drink and sit on the porch? I have a nice 1987 Bertani Catullo white chilling and some tidbits to go with it,' Faith proposed.
“I'm sure you do. We stopped for clams at Beal's, but I can eat again. How about you, honey?' Quentin said. He was very appreciative of Hope's sister's talents. Hope herself had firmly told him her own culinary expertise involved knowing which number to dial.
“We have been eating like pigs. Lobster, clams, all those biscuits and pies, but it's vacation, so lead me to the trough.' She was on a permanent diet. The Sibley side of Faith and Hope's family were tall and also had what was referred to kindly as 'big bones.' Hope's skin had been stretched tightly, but not too tightly, over those bones so far, and with her dark hair and deep-green eyes—the only ones in the family, to Faith's chagrin-the hearts Hope Sibley did not cause to quicken in fear over her business acumen quickened for more pleasurable reasons. Quentin was tall too, although less exotic in appearance: light brown hair, brown eyes. Just your average, run of the mill, good-looking-enough-for-any-adcampaign-from-Dior-to-Dewars kind of guy. They made a nice couple.
They settled onto the porch and took turns retrieving Benjamin from trying to climb onto the Jeep's hood. He had settled into car worship and Faith had to keep her car locked at all times after once discovering him at the wheel, steering away and screeching in imitation of squealing tires.
Quentin seemed to find it all very amusing, and Faith and Hope exchanged looks of relief. Quentin did not have a great deal of experience with children. None, in fact, and viewed the whole notion of parenthood with fear and loathing. There was no question of avoidance, he had told Faith once as she was cleaning spit up off his linen suit in Ben's earlier days. The line must continue, but preferably out of sight with a good nanny. Hope felt almost the same way, with moments of thaw when Ben was particularly winsome.
Faith raised an eyebrow in inquiry and glanced in the direction of her sister's ring finger. Hope shook her head
