'Come on, Mom. What aren't you tel ing me? You are such a bad liar.'
“And you're a good one?'
“Don't try to change the subject”
Pix realized that the proximity in which they were spending the summer would make keeping secrets difficult.
'I don't know what it means. Probably nothing. It's just that there was a cross like this one on the quilt out on the Point, too.'
“Nothing! It could be a major clue!' Samantha was excited, yet after they discussed it some more while finishing the chowder preparations, both women were forced to agree that if it was a clue, they were without one.
The chowder was simmering and Samantha had gone off to the dance at the Legion Hal . It was an island institution, a mixture of ages, groups, and most especial y music—everything from 'Like a Virgin' to the Virginia reel, with a stop at 'a one and a two and a three' in between.
She'd cal ed Faith, who had then cal ed back to say she'd located the book and placed it in Sam's car just before he left. That was at six o'clock. He'd arrive, like Samantha, before midnight. Pix told Faith about the discovery of the quilt and the second mark.
“Perhaps both quilts belonged to the same family,'
Faith suggested.
“Sul ivan!' Pix was annoyed she hadn't made the connection before. 'The man said the linens had come from Sul ivan and that was where Mitch was living before he was kil ed.'
“It does seem like more than a coincidence. What you need to do is figure out if your quilt is authentic and talk to Earl.”
Pix was tempted to say she'd already planned this very course of action, but instead she thanked Faith for getting the book and told her she'd be in touch soon.
“I know,' her friend said before she hung up.
Pix never minded being in the cottage alone. It was so familiar and felt so safe that she thought of it as a kind of shel . Now she curled up inside, actual y in one of the big overstuffed armchairs in the living room, with a mug of Sleepy time tea and the latest issue of Quilter's Newsletter Magazine.
The first car door slam was her husband's. She'd dozed off but awoke instantly at the welcome sound and was at the door. He dropped his suitcase and held her tightly.
“I wish I could have come up right away. It has to have been a hel ish time for you both.”
After a moment, she leaned away and told him, 'It honestly hasn't been too bad. Everyone is more puzzled than alarmed, and it's easier because none of us was real y very close to Mitch.'
“He was an interesting son of a gun, though.
Remember the night he came and played the mandolin at the Hamiltons and he and Freeman got to trading stories. I don't think I've ever laughed so hard in my life.'
“That was a great night.' It had been many years ago, before Danny was born. That reminded her. 'Did you stop at Chewonki and see Danny?'
“No, I did not.' Seeing the look on her face, Sam took both his wife's hands. 'First off, it was late and I would have interrupted the evening program, thereby embarrassing him for the remainder of his summer, and second, he likes, even loves, his old man, but at home. Chewonki is his turf, a parent-free zone for Danny. Don't worry, sweetheart, he'l be back before you know it and expecting you to do everything for him just as usual.' It was not entirely a frivolous observation and they'd had this conversation before—many times before, inserting Mark or Samantha for Danny.
“Are you hungry?' Pix asked, hoping Sam would want only a drink and maybe some crackers and cheese. She had some of the chutney spread stil left from Friday's Sewing Circle.
Sam saw the look on her face. He had not stopped to eat, but he couldn't do it to her.
“Not very, how about a drink and maybe a few crackers or whatever you have around.”
Pix beamed. Why wouldn't Jil —or Earl—want to get married?
In bed, Pix found having someone to keep her company while she listened for Samantha to come home did a great deal to diminish the anxiety. Also, they were busy tel ing each other al the things that had happened in their respective worlds since they'd last been together.
Atypical y, more had been going on in Pix's than Sam's.
He did not seem to think the quilt marks meant much.
'It was probably a common way to mark where something else was going to go—the name and date, as you suggested. Or maybe it was part of the basting that didn't get removed.' Sam had watched his wife complete several quilts and was quite knowledgeable about how they went together. Sam was the type of man who liked to know the way things worked. This had led him to medical school, but the discovery that he fainted with great regularity at the sight of an abundance of blood curtailed his career, although not his interest. He stil read The New England Journal of Medicine and the Harvard Health Newsletter in between briefs.
Slam—music to the ears of parents of teenagers, just as the cessation of noise was for the parents of toddlers.
Samantha was home safe and sound.
Pix reached up to turn out the light.
“No, I want to say hel o. I'l be right back' Sam threw on his robe, a wel -worn Black Watch plaid flannel one he kept hanging on the back of the door, and went downstairs. He had missed his daughter and wanted to tel her so. He also wanted to tel her that a quarter after midnight was the thin end of the wedge on a twelve o'clock curfew. Pix had enough to cope with this summer without Samantha's coming in just a little bit later every Saturday night.
The weather continued unbroken and the Mil ers awoke to gorgeous blue skies and almost balmy weather.
Too balmy, Pix thought as she got dressed. It wasn't supposed to be this hot on the coast of Maine.
Sam was already gone, having offered as usual to help El iot get the clambake ready, no smal task and one Pix suspected the men relished for its complexity and the opportunity to dig in the sand. After constructing a pit unpleasantly reminiscent of what she and Samantha had stumbled across the previous week, they would line it with rocks and pile driftwood, plus anything else that would burn
—charcoal if there wasn't enough wood—on top. The fire had to heat the rocks for at least five hours. Otherwise, when they threw the wet seaweed on, there wouldn't be enough steam to cook the lobsters, clams, corn, chicken, and sausage that would be layered on top. The Fraziers'
clambake was famous for its authenticity and had become a Fourth of July tradition. They always seemed to be able to find room for more guests and it had grown each year from humble beginnings to the kind of quintessential red-white-and blue photo opportunity that politicians running for office dream about.
Pix and Samantha were going to church. After last Sunday, Pix was not about to skip it, even though she relished the clambake preparations as much as her husband did. She was not a superstitious person, yet something told her she'd enjoy the day a whole lot more if she'd bent a knee in a pew rather than hauling rocks.
Sam returned before they left. He wanted to get more wood from their cove.
“We'l be back at noon to change,' Pix told him, 'and then I promised Louise I'd help her bring things to the beach, so I'l see you there.' She kissed her husband goodbye. He returned it somewhat absentmindedly and she knew his thoughts were on hot rocks and rockweed, the
'snap, crackle, and pop' seaweed, the kids cal ed it, because of the sound it made beneath your toes and when squeezed between your fingers.
“I'l get rid of this load of wood, then change cars with you, so take both sets of keys.' It wasn't that he didn't like her driving his Porsche—he al owed it because he knew he should. It was that he didn't want coleslaw, chowder, and whatever else was going to the clambake to be stowed on his particular leather-covered backseats.
“Don't worry, Daddy, we'l take good care of your baby,' Samantha teased him. 'Can I drive?'
“Don't even joke,' her father replied.
Pix enjoyed the short trip across the island to the smal white clapboard church where they worshiped. It was nice to drive a sleek, jazzy machine that sped forward instantly at the slightest pressure on the gas. Maybe she
