of lack of evidence but, rather, because they felt that Duncan might only become more withdrawn and disturbed if caught up in the juvie system. Both Pix and Sam had been very moved by Samantha's description of what the boy kept in his trunk. Earl spoke to the Athertons and they were going to find an appropriate residential school with a summer program—not the military one—for their son as soon as possible. Depending on how he did and what those working with him said, they'd decide whether he would return home in the fal or stay.
Sam had left reluctantly, trying up to the last minute to get his wife and his daughter to go back with him, but neither woman wanted to budge.
“I'm not going to let her out of my sight,' Pix told her husband, 'especial y at night. Earl doesn't think she's in any danger. Duncan wil be leaving soon, and we can't run away.”
Sam agreed intel ectual y, yet his gut told him otherwise. 'I'l be back Friday night.' Pix wasn't going to argue with that.
Adelaide Bainbridge's funeral was Tuesday morning.
Pix and Samantha had driven out to The Pines to get Ursula. Rebecca had been picked up earlier by a contingent of Bainbridge cousins feeling pangs of familial obligation: 'Poor old Becky.”
Samantha had had plenty of company since she'd returned home from the hospital Saturday morning, none more constant than her grandmother's. Pix knew her mother would be terribly shaken by what had happened and she was right. Today, Ursula opened the door to Samantha, who was running up the steps, the only evidence of the attack and her slight concussion hidden by her hair. To al intents and purposes, she was ful y recovered, but the pain in the older woman's eyes was fresh. Pix was struck anew by how much her mother seemed to have aged since Saturday. There were dark shadows and lines that Pix had never seen on Ursula's face before. When she spoke, it was not in her usual timbre. The volume had been turned down and the treble increased.
“Mother, are you sure you want to go?' Pix asked.
'There'l be so many people at the service, no one wil miss us.'
“Of course I want to go—and Rebecca would notice, for one. Besides, I couldn't miss Addie's funeral. I've known her for so many years”
Pix thought her mother would say this and she resolved to get her away as soon as possible after the graveside service.
As they drove across the causeway back toward Sanpere Vil age, Pix again noted the happy vacationers on the beach and out in their boats, enjoying the typical Maine day. The heat spel had broken and normal July weather was back. There was a good stiff breeze on the water, turning up smal whitecaps. The sun shone just enough for comfort and a few hardy souls were swimming.
“I'm glad it's not so hot today. The idea of sitting through the service wondering who was going to pass out, maybe even me, is distinctly unappealing.”
Samantha laughed. The idea of her mother passing out in any situation seemed pretty far-fetched—but then, she had been in no shape to judge on Friday night.
“Addie could never take the heat, even when she was thin.'
“Addie was thin?' In Pix's memory, Adelaide had always been a substantial woman.
“Oh yes, she was thin—and very pretty—when she was young. She could have had her pick of any number of the boys. My brother, Tom, used to talk about the beautiful lighthouse keeper’s daughter. She'd come over for dances and such, but even then she tended to be outspoken. He thought she'd probably boss a man to death.”
It hit Pix that they were on their way to a funeral. So much had been going on that she'd been viewing the morning's activity as a kind of respite, especial y since the medical examiner had ruled the death due to heart failure, plain and simple; nothing to do with quilts, crosses—or knives. Samantha had told her about the knife they'd found.
She would have to ask Earl about it.
“Rebecca must have been mistaken about the quilt,'
she said to her mother, who was sitting up straight in the seat next to her, holding her purse in gloved hands. 'I hope it's not a sign that she's beginning to deteriorate.'
“I don't think Rebecca Bainbridge's going downhil any faster than the rest of us—but she may have made a mistake with the quilt.”
Pix looked over to exchange a smile with her mother about the downhil remark, but her mother's face was shut up tight.
The whole island was crowded into the simple white church that sat high on a hil facing out to Penobscot Bay where Addie had worshiped, off and on—mostly on, of late.
The Sanpere Stitchers al sat in one pew, immediately behind Rebecca and the rest of the family. Pix reached for Samantha's hand and gave it a squeeze. She had told her daughter she didn't need to come but had been happy when Samantha wanted to be there. Pix was stil not ready to be separated from her, even for an hour or two. She looked around the church, flooded with sunshine from the clear long, glass windows that framed the bay above the plain altar and that on the sides offered a view of the woods on the left, the cemetery on the right. Soon Adelaide would join her husband, James, there. The stone with both their names had been in place for many years, merely waiting for this last date to be carved on its polished granite surface.
Pix looked down the row of faces in her pew: Nan Marshal ; Geil, Dot, and Louel a Prescott; Mabel Hamilton; Louise Frazier; Jil Merriwether; Serena Marshal ; and others. These island women held the community together in so many ways, a root system like the evergreens and ground covers that kept the thin layer of earth on top of this inhabited rock from washing off into the sea. The women were al subdued but showed no outward signs of grief. It was Addie's time. And she had had a long life, not like some: Louel a's grandson, lost diving for urchins; Mabel's daughter, kil ed in a car accident. Pix saw Jil bow her head suddenly. In silent prayer? What—or whom— was she thinking about? Ursula's head was unbowed and her face appeared swept clean of al expression, except to one who knew her as wel as her daughter did. Something was troubling Mother. The slight lowering of her eyebrows, the barely perceptible tightening of her lips. Pix looked at her mother's lap. Her hands were clenched together, thumbs locked over each other. Not in prayer. She had been upset about the attack on Samantha and the death of her old friend, of course, but was there something else? Mother was remarkably good at keeping things from people. Pix resolved to find out what was bothering her, even if it took the rest of the summer.
She gave a surreptitious glance over her shoulder as they stood for a hymn. The church was indeed packed.
Norman Osgood was in one of the rear pews, solemn-faced. Seth was also in the rear. He seemed perfectly at ease in his unaccustomed formal garb, a wel -cut dark suit.
Pix wondered why he wasn't up with the rest of the family.
Had to get back to work quickly?
They sat down and the minister began his eulogy.
Rebecca began to cry audibly. She was going home today, she'd told Ursula. She'd been able to go back ever since the final report from the state medical examiner's office, but at Ursula Rowe's urging, Rebecca had decided to stay at The Pines until after the funeral. Would she move to the front bedroom right away? Pix wondered. Or would she stay in the smal one in back until a decent period of mourning had passed? And what would the family do?
Surely not turn her out immediately. Pix hoped the force of island opinion, mainly the formidable force of the Sewing Circle, would prevent that from happening.
She realized she had barely listened to the service.
She was agitated, too. The world was topsy-turvy and the sooner she could get her feet firmly planted on the ground, the better. One death was resolved, but the other was not.
They al filed out of the church in silence as the organist played Adelaide's favorite hymn, 'Abide with Me.' Then they buried her.
“Mother, you cannot keep me locked up like some princess in a tower! I want to get back to work. They need me! And nothing could be safer. I'm surrounded by hordes of little munchkins every minute I'm there. You can drive me over and pick me up. I won't even go to the bathroom by myself, I promise. But you've got to let me leave. I'm starting to go nuts here”
The argument had begun the night before and had not been resolved by bedtime. Now, the next morning, Samantha was up bright and early, perched at the foot of her mother's bed, picking up where she had left off. Pix hadn't slept wel . She knew Samantha would have to resume her schedule sometime, but why did it have to be today? She'd hoped to keep her close to home for another week at least to make sure she was al right.
