“Are you Mrs. Harding? I got your name at the post office”
This appeared to be vetting enough.
“Yes, I am. Why don't you come in, deah, and sit down? It is too hot for man or beast today. I told Virgil—
that's my husband—that he was to stay in the shade as much as possible and keep his hat on. He's bald, you know, and bald people have to be very careful not to get burned. He won't let me put on any of that cream I got from Marge Thomas. She sel s Avon. Anyway, Virgil says he doesn't want to smel like a perfume factory, but it has no smel I can make out. Those summer people work him to death, cutting the grass, weeding the garden. He caretakes now, you know.”
This, Pix thought, profoundly grateful, was going to be a piece of cake.
She told her story again—or rather, tried to. Mrs.
Harding—'Cal me Bessie, deah. Everybody does, even the grandkids'—tended to use Pix's every word as a jumping-off point for one of her own tangents. But after hearing about the priceless antique garnets—necklace, bracelet, earrings, and ring—Mr. Harding's mother had owned and which were promised to her, Bessie, but just because Mother had lived in their house, Mr. Harding's brother's wife, 'who was no relation at al ' claimed everything and she, Bessie, did not get so much as a button of her own mother-in-law's who also happened to be a second cousin, Pix was able to get on with her story.
Once Mitchel Pierce's name was mentioned, Pix didn't have to do anything else.
“I know he was no better than he should have been, but I liked the man. Always paid his rent on time and sometimes he'd come down here to the parlor—that's where we watch TV—and sit with us. Played that mandolin of his. A couple of times, he'd bring a bottle of something, not that Mr. Harding and I are drinkers, though we do enjoy a nip of something now and then. I don't know what he was doing down on Sanpere in a basement, but the whole thing is very sad and we miss him. That man could make you laugh from here to Christmas'
“Do you think it's possible he may have left some of Mother's things here in his room or maybe someplace else in the house? Mother is particularly concerned about her quilts. He said they might be valuable.”
It was the longest remark she'd been able to make so far.
Bessie shook her head. 'He never did keep much here. Told me once that he put his wares—that's what he cal ed them—over to El sworth in one of those storage places people rent. Why on earth, I can't imagine. If you don't have room for what you've got, then you've got too much, is what I say. Somebody else is in his room now, a real nice man who's working at Acadia this summer. We don't see too much of him, though, and of course he can't tel a story the way Mitch could. I think he's from New Jersey or one of those places.”
Pix made one last try. 'So you never saw any quilts—
or other antiques—that Mitch might have taken on consignment or bought?'
“No, deah, and I'm real sorry for your mother. The only quilt Mitch ever brought into this house was the one he gave me last year for my birthday. I was some surprised. Don't know how he knew, but he come into the kitchen right after breakfast—I always gave him breakfast when he was here
—and gave me the most lovely quilt. It's too nice to use, so I keep it on a rack in the parlor. Do you want to see it?'
Bessie had a sudden thought. 'You don't think it could be one of your mother's? I mean, with this talk about Mitch being a little crooked and al .'
“Oh no,' Pix hastened to reassure her, speaking with the conviction the absolute truth gives. 'It couldn't be. It's only been a little over two months that he's had ours.”
She fol owed Bessie into the parlor and stood to one side as the woman spread the quilt out for her to admire.
Pix made al the right comments—and once again she was speaking the truth. The quilt was beautiful, intricately worked, the colors lovely. And Pix ought to know. She'd bought the twin of it a week ago—the twin, even down to the tiny blue cross at the edge.
It was difficult to get away from Bessie Harding, but after drinking two glasses of iced tea and promising to drop in again if she was ever up that way, Pix got in her car, waved good-bye, and backed out of the drive. Bessie watched her go, then ran to the mailbox cal ing after the car,
'I never did get your name, deah! What was it again?' Pix turned onto the main road and headed south. The car windows were rol ed down, but she missed Bessie's last words.
The sight of the bridge from the mainland to Sanpere always gave Pix a feeling of wel -being. A welcome- home feeling. She drove up the steep incline and looked at the sky overhead. She felt inches away from the heavens on the top of the bridge. As a teenager, she and Sonny had climbed to the uppermost crossbar of the bridge a few times before their parents heard about it and forbade them to ever do such a crazy thing again. Stil it had been wonderful, swinging your legs into nothingness and seeing al of Penobscot Bay at your feet. She let the car coast down the other side and reminded herself to mention, as she did each summer to her children, that the top of the bridge was strictly off limits.
She was eager to talk to Faith but decided to stop at The Pines before going home. She had spoken with her mother earlier to tel her about the planned excursion and see whether she needed anything in El sworth, it standing in relation to Sanpere roughly as, say, Paris to a French vil age on the Atlantic Coast. Mother had wanted for nothing and told Pix that Rebecca was fine, sitting by Ursula's side as she spoke and sipping a cup of tea.
Tea, or rather, iced tea again, sounded good. It was a long drive from Sul ivan to Sanpere and Pix was tired. She needed to recharge before cal ing Faith and trying to figure everything out.
She walked into the living room, surprised not to see her mother and Rebecca on the porch.
“Hel o,' she cal ed. 'Mother, where are you?' She walked through to the kitchen and saw the two women in the garden vigorously attacking anything that wasn't supposed to be there.
“You have to keep at it every day,' Rebecca was saying. 'They real y do grow up over night.”
Ursula was about to reply when she saw Pix. 'Wil you excuse me for a moment, Rebecca? I have to talk to my daughter.' Pix liked neither the expression on her mother's face nor the tone of voice in which she had said 'my daughter.' What have I done? she wondered.
She wasn't in the dark for long. Mother pul ed her unceremoniously up the back stairs into the kitchen and plunked her down on a chair.
“Myrtle Rowe Mil er! What have you been doing? What could you be thinking of going up to Sul ivan like that!”
Mother was definitely clairvoyant. The word witch did not even occur to Pix.
She was stunned. 'How did you know where I was?'
'Earl cal ed. The Sul ivan post office thought they should report to the state police that someone was asking about Mitchel Pierce. They cal ed Earl, who knew, of course, from the description it was you. There was no answer at your house, so he cal ed here to see if I knew whether you were off-island. It was quite embarrassing.'
“I'm sorry,' Pix mumbled. 'It seemed like a good idea at the time.' And stil does, she thought defiantly. She was sorry she had upset her mother, but some prices had to be paid.
“You're to cal Earl immediately. Now, you must be exhausted, al that driving. Would you like a cup of tea?'
She was forgiven.
“After I cal Earl.' Sometimes virtue was its own reward, and besides, she might get a cookie.
She went upstairs to cal , since Rebecca might run out of weeds and Pix didn't want her activities known by any more people than she could help.
He answered on the first ring. 'Now before you get mad at me, let me tel you what I found out,' she said, hoping to distract him, which she did.
“We knew he had the storage place. It was clean as a whistle, but this business with the quilts seems to prove he was involved in antiques fraud'
“Does this mean you'l have to take Bessie's quilt?'
The woman had been so proud, Pix was sorry to be responsible for having it impounded or whatever they cal ed it when they seized evidence.
“Yes, but she'l get it back. It's her property, unless at the end of this mess we find out differently.'
“No one has stepped forward to claim the estate yet, right?”
This would have been big news on Sanpere.
