“True, but the gold-plated faucets didn't.'
“Where did Jim get al his money? The fees at the sailing camp have always been pretty steep, yet nothing that would produce an income like this.'
“His mother's father invented scouring pads or some such thing and money made money. Keeps on making it, if the house and those boats of Jim's are any indication.'
“So they real y intend to live on the island year-round.
I'm not so sure I'd want to be here al winter. It gets pretty quiet.' Pix thought of her constant round of activity in Aleford and realized with a start that she'd miss it if she moved.
“Your father and I considered living in The Pines when he retired, but when it came down to it, there were too many things and people we didn't want to leave.”
The two women paused in their conversation and looked out across the water at the sunset. They could see Samantha silhouetted against the horizon. The Pines had been built to take advantage of 'the view.' There was a large front porch and one extending off the second-floor bedrooms. It was an ark of a house, with rooms added to the rear as needed. By modern standards, it was dark. The windows were smal and the interior pine paneling old- fashioned. The only remodeling that had been done since it was built was to the indoor plumbing and the addition of a gas stove and other modern appliances in the kitchen. The old woodstove was stil used for heat and Gert kept it blackened, its chrome sparkling. Pix had seen a similar one for sale in an antiques shop for five hundred dol ars.
Her mother had been stunned.
The sun was a bal of fire, descending rapidly into thesea, leaving streaks of purple, pink, and orange as it fel that would have seemed garish in any other context. Flashy.
It brought Pix back to the Athertons. It wasn't that Valerie dressed in gaudy colors or was dripping with rhinestones.
Her jewels were real, especial y the large diamond solitaire Jim had given her as an engagement ring. It was that she dressed. She wore outfits. Blouses matched shirts and pants. Sweaters matched both. Her shoes matched her scarves, as did the polish on her perfectly manicured nails.
Pix's nails, clipped short, tended to suggest activities like weeding and clamming. Valerie's indicated pursuits like sunbathing and page turning.
“Let's see, the Athertons have been married for about three years, right? And they used to spend the winters in Virginia, where Valerie lived?'
“Yes, we al thought Jim was a confirmed bachelor. He met Valerie when he was sailing someplace in the Bahamas. It was just after her husband died so tragical y.”
Pix had heard the story. Valerie, Duncan, and Bernard Cowley were sailing when a sudden tropical storm hit, almost destroying the boat and sweeping Bernard overboard. Valerie had developed an understandable aversion to boats of any size or shape amounting to a phobia and refused to set foot on one. That her new husband ran a sailing camp was definitely ironic.
Pix looked over at her mother. She'd been widowed a long time. It was a prospect Pix kept firmly shoved way in the back of her mind. She sincerely hoped she and Sam would go at exactly the same moment.
“And what are you going to do with yourself while Samantha's busy making al this money?' Ursula asked.
“The usual—and maybe this year we'l tackle the attic.
Then remember, I'm overseeing the Fairchilds' new cottage.'
“I'd almost forgotten about that. Seth Marshal is building it, isn't he?'
“Yes, and tomorrow I want to go over and see how much he's done since Memorial Day.”
Faith and Tom were building a modest house on a point of land not far from the Mil ers. The Fairchilds had hired Seth Marshal as the architect and contractor after seeing his work. It was a very simple plan, yet Faith had stil wanted Pix to keep an eye on the progress. Pix had steadfastly refused to accept any money for the job, insisting that having the Fairchilds as neighbors on Sanpere as wel as in Aleford was reward enough.
Besides, Pix argued, she was the one who had lured them to Sanpere in the first place, with somewhat startling results. But Faith had pressed hard. She knew the amount of time Pix would devote to the project, so final y they'd compromised on an amount. Pix grudgingly agreed, especial y when Faith threatened to bar her from the site if she wouldn't take the money.
It was the kind of thing Pix loved doing, and being paid for it seemed wrong. There was nothing more exciting than watching a new house go up. She loved al the smel s—
from the fresh concrete of the foundation to the fragrant fir of the framing. She'd miss out on the concrete. Seth would have poured the foundation long ago. They'd seen the gaping hole in May.
“It wil be nice to have the Fairchilds on the island,' her mother remarked. 'I'm not surprised they decided to settle here. Sanpere has a way of getting into one's blood'
“Just think. This is your eightieth summer on the island. We should make a banner to carry in the Fourth of July parade.”
Her mother sighed. 'I've lived a very long time. Maybe even too long.”
Pix was used to this sort of remark, but her heart never failed to tighten. 'Don't be sil y.'
“Oh, I'm not sil y. I'l tel you what the funny thing is, though. Eighty years old and I stil feel twenty inside. It's al gone so fast.”
Pix stood up and cal ed Samantha to come in. Too fast. Much too fast.
The next morning proved to be another typical Maine day and Pix proposed to Samantha that they pack sandwiches and walk out to the Point to check what progress had been made at the Fairchilds' cottage. Her daughter agreed wholeheartedly. She was curious about the house, too.
“Show me the plans before we go, and let's take the dogs.”
Pix had assumed any walk they took would automatical y include the golden retrievers that she regarded as canine offshoots of the Mil er line: Dusty, Artie, and Henry.
“Of course we'l take the dogs.' She leaned down to stroke Dusty. 'Do you think you can keep up with us, old lady?' Dusty's muzzle was turning white and she no longer raced into the mud at low tide when one of the children threw a stick, her former favorite and extremely messy pastime.
It was close to ten o'clock by the time they set off, feeling vaguely wicked about skipping church.
“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
